CHAPTER IV
On the balcony of her bedroom Pansy Langham stood, slim and boyish-looking in a suit of silk pyjamas.
Beneath, the hotel grounds spread, running down to the shore. Beyond, the sea stretched, a silver mirror, away to the sparkling, frosty mist of the horizon. In the milky sky the moon soared, a molten globe, touching the drooping palms and making their quivering fronds look like silver fountains. A little line of waves lapped murmurously on the shore, in a running ridge of white fire. The stone wall edging the garden was turned into marble. Here and there across the beach the taller trees threw thick, ebony shadows.
On the whole expanse of silvered sea, only one mark showed like a black dot in the distance.
Pansy had seen the mark when it had been much nearer the shore; a man's dark head. He had swum out and out, away into the mist and moonlight.
It was long after midnight. In the whole white world there was no sign of life except that dark head and the girl on the balcony who was watching the swimmer.
The black dot grew bigger, as, with powerful overhand strokes, the man made his way shorewards.
When about two hundred yards away from the beach the strong ease of his limbs altered suddenly. They grew contorted. He threw up his arms, and a moment later vanished completely.
Pansy gave a quick gasp of alarm.
But the man appeared again, trying to float, as a level-headed swimmer does when cramps seize him, in order to get air between the spasms that send him writhing under water; a hopeless task usually, unless aid is quickly forthcoming.
For just one second Pansy watched with horror and distress on her face. Then she turned sharply and vanished into her bedroom. A moment or so later she was out of the hotel and running swiftly through the silent garden towards the shore.
To Le Breton out there with the water choking his powerful lungs, gasping and fighting for his life against a death that only his own nerve and wit kept at bay, that struggle seemed an eternity.
All at once, he was caught and held from behind, just on the surface of the water; a slight support, but sufficient to keep him from going under when the spasms were on.
Unlike the average swimmer in difficulties, he did not snatch at his unseen rescuer. For all his dire straits he had the presence of mind to let his preserver alone.
For another ten minutes or more the attack lasted. Then his muscles unknotted and strength came back to his limbs.
He turned himself over to see who had come to his aid.
Out of the misty moonlit sea a young face looked at him from under a mop of short curls.
"You didn't come a moment too soon, my boy," he said.
There was a tired look about Pansy, but that did not prevent her dimpling in an effort not to smile. And to hide her mirth she dived suddenly and struck out towards the land.
Le Breton struck out too. He reached the shore first.
Pansy, however, did not go in his direction. She turned off and landed where the shadows were the thickest.
From where the man stood, he saw what looked to be a slim, fragile boy of about fourteen, who staggered slightly with fatigue as he made towards the most shadowed pair of steps leading into the hotel grounds.
Quickly Le Breton went towards his rescuer, with the idea of lending a hand, for it looked as if the boy were thoroughly worn out.
By the time he reached her Pansy was leaning against the wall under cover of the thickest shadows.
"I'm afraid you've over-exerted yourself on my account," he said in a solicitous way.
"I don't usually get knocked out so quickly," she replied. "But I had a nasty accident some weeks ago, and I've not quite recovered yet."
The answer was in French, as fluent and Parisian as his own.
"You must let me help you back to the hotel," he said.
"Oh no, it's not necessary. I shall be all right in a moment."
"What you need, my boy, is a dose of brandy," he remarked. "That would soon put you right."
Pansy put her hand to her mouth to hide her smiles. Her short hair, pyjamas, and the shadows had deceived him completely.
"It wouldn't be a bad idea," she replied; "but I don't happen to have any."
"Ring for some, then, when you get back to the hotel."
"I wouldn't dream of disturbing people at this hour of the night," she said in an indignant tone of voice.
"What else are the servants there for?" he asked in a surprised and peremptory way.
"They're not there for me to root out of bed at two o'clock in the morning."
He laughed in an amused manner.
"I'm not so considerate of menials as you appear to be. But tell me the number of your room and I'll bring you some."
There was a brief pause.
Out from the shadows Pansy scanned the man. She could not see much, except that he was big and of splendid proportions. But he had a well-bred air, and his deep voice, if imperious, was pleasant and cultured.
Then her eyes started to sparkle with mischief.
"My room is number three on the first floor," she said. "Don't knock; come straight in. I'll leave the door ajar. I don't want to disturb my neighbours with my midnight prowls."
"Very well. I'll be there in ten minutes or so,"
They parted company, Le Breton going along the shore, Pansy up the shadowed steps.
On reaching her own room she switched on the light.
Slipping off her sodden garments, she dried herself quickly and put on a low-necked, short-sleeved, silk nightgown embroidered with purple pansies. Giving a quick, vigorous rub to her curls, she opened the door an inch or so. Then she skipped into bed and sat there, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, delighted with the surprise she had prepared for the man.
Unaware of what was in store for him, Le Breton returned to the hotel. Knowing the place well, he made his way noiselessly along the dim, deserted corridor towards a door that stood slightly ajar, letting out a sharp knife of light. He was in shirt and trousers, and in his hand he carried a small jewelled flask.
Without any preamble he went into the room.
The apartment he entered was a sumptuous one to average eyes, the best the hotel boasted.
On the wide dressing-table was a litter of silver toilet appointments, each with a pansy in purple enamel on it.
Le Breton did not give the room a glance.
He had eyes for nothing but the figure sitting up in bed. A figure no longer in pyjamas—they lay in a wet heap in the middle of the floor—but in a pretty nightgown; and from beneath a flood of golden curls wide, purple eyes looked at him, sparkling with innocent mischief.
It was no boy who had come to his assistance, but a girl! A lovely girl with a full, perfect mouth, vividly red, a milk-white skin and cheeks where roses bloomed.
He backed slightly and locked the door, as if the situation were one he was quite accustomed to and equal to dealing with.
"There's no need to lock the door," Pansy said.
"It's on your account, not mine. A little incident of this sort won't damage my reputation."
"I'd forgotten about my reputation," she said, a note of concern in her voice. "I only thought about giving you a surprise."
"It is. A most delightful one, too. In fact, I don't think I've ever experienced anything quite so delightful and unexpected," he responded drily.
He crossed to the bed, and stood looking at the girl with a critical, appreciative air. And Pansy looked at him with candid, friendly gaze, taking stock of him equally.
He struck her as being remarkably good-looking, but his expression was too arrogant, his mouth too hard; it even had a suspicion of cruelty. He had an air, too, of having ridden rough-shod over people all his days. In spite of his well-groomed, well-bred appearance, there was a suggestion of the wild about him, as if he had never been properly broken in.
There was a brief silence as the two surveyed one another.
Le Breton was the first to speak, and his remark was of a critical nature.
"Why do you wear your hair short? It would suit you far better long, as a woman's hair ought to be."
"I like it short. It's less trouble."
There was a note in her voice as if his or any man's opinion about her appearance did not worry her in the least; an air of thorough independence, out of keeping with her years, that he was quick to notice.
"Do you always do as you like?" he asked.
"Always. It's an excellent habit to cultivate, and one you've cultivated to the fullest by the look of you, since criticism is the order of the day," she replied.
Le Breton thought of the desert kingdom he had ruled with undisputed sway for sixteen years.
"I dare say I do as I like more than most people you've come across," he answered with emphasis.
Pansy dimpled.
There was an air about her visitor as if he expected and were accustomed to people standing in awe of him. However, he did not inspire her with this feeling, only with a desire to tease and plague him; he was so big and masterful looking, as if he thought himself "monarch of all he surveyed," even herself, at that moment.
"Are you in the habit of asking strange men to your bedroom?" he asked suddenly.
"If I remember rightly, you volunteered to come."
"And now I'm here, what am I supposed to do?"
"To be most surprised. To give me a drink of brandy; and then go, nicely and quietly, like a good 'boy.'"
An amused look crossed Le Breton's face. Innocent mischief had not come into his life before.
"I am most surprised," he said. "I flattered myself I could tell a woman anywhere."
"I'm not a woman, not until next year. So that must account for your deplorable mistake."
"You look even younger than twenty. Are you English or American?"
"Why can't I have a choice of being either French or Russian or Italian or Spanish or German?"
"Only an English or an American girl would play this sort of a trick. Not that I've had any dealings with either. I'd like to hear you were American."
"What's wrong with being English?"
"I dislike and despise the English," he replied, a latent note of savagery in his deep voice.
"Then you'll have to dislike and despise me, because I'm one of them."
Pansy stretched out her hand. The action brought into view a network of disfiguring red ridges and scars on her upper arm, marring an otherwise perfect limb.
"Please give me a drink," she finished.
The excitement of the surprise she had prepared was dying down, leaving her looking what she really was—worn out with the exertion of saving him.
Crossing to the wash-stand, Le Breton picked up a glass. Pouring a small dose of brandy into it, he added the requisite water and brought it back to the girl.
Then he seated himself on the bedside, watching her as she drank it.
"What a nasty scar you have on your arm," he remarked, is if any flaw on such perfection annoyed him.
"I've worse scars here and here," she replied, touching her side and thigh; "and they don't look at all pretty. 'The Sultan' did them."
He started slightly.
"The Sultan! What Sultan?"
"A brown Sultan. A very nice Sultan, but we understand one another now."
Le Breton took the girl's arm into his grip with the light, firm, careful touch of a man who is used to handling women.
"They're the marks of a horse's teeth," he remarked after a brief survey.
With an air of relief, Pansy held the empty glass towards him.
"Thank goodness that's finished. Now, with your permission, I'll go to sleep."
He took the glass, placing it on a table near; but he did not move from his seat on the bedside.
"You must tell me your name," he said.
"You'll find out quite soon enough without my telling you. It's not at all necessary for me to advertise myself nowadays."
"Won't you tell me?" he asked in a cajoling tone.
Pansy shook her head.
"Then I must find a name for you," he said. "A flower name would suit you admirably. Let me see, what do you call the flower in English?"
He hesitated.
"Pansy," he finished, after a moment's thought.
"But why 'Pansy' specially?" she asked, smiling at him. "Why not Lily or Rose or May, since I'm to be given a stupid flower name?"
"There are pansies in your eyes, on your nightgown, on the appointments of your dressing-table, on your handkerchief here."
With a deeply bronzed hand he touched a scrap of embroidered muslin that peeped out from beneath her pillow and which had a pansy worked on it in one corner.
Pansy laughed, amused at his perception.
"Now, I'm too tired to entertain you any longer," she said. "Good night, and thank you for bringing the brandy."
Le Breton was not accustomed to being dismissed when he was prepared to stay.'
"Are you really anxious to get rid of me?" he asked.
"Most anxious. I'm dying to go to sleep."
In a reluctant manner he got to his feet.
Stooping over the bed, he gave a caressing pat to the tired, small face.
"Good night, Pansy, little flower," he said softly. "I'll go if you really want me to, but I'm not in the habit of going unless I want to."
"What an autocrat you sound! And please—don't forget my reputation. I can't afford to lose it so early in life."
There was anxiety in the girl's voice, for all her light tone.
"Your reputation will be quite safe with me," he said.
He stood for a moment watching her, an amused expression lurking in his dark, fiery eyes. Then he turned and, switching off the light, went noiselessly from the room.
It was not until he had gone that Pansy recollected that he had touched her twice and she had not minded or reproved him, and usually she very strongly resented being touched by men. And it was not until Le Breton reached his villa that he remembered the girl had not even troubled to ask his name. In fact, once the trick had been played, her only desire had been to get him out of the room.