[CHAPTER XLI.]
Annette did not remain long in her delusion. Gradually, but surely her bright hopes faded away, to be replaced by a terrible feeling of hopeless resignation. The serpent cannot change its nature, and the worst features in Newman Chaytor's character began to assert themselves soon after the signing the document which Gilbert Bidaud had described as the preliminary marriage contract. He was sure of Annette; what need, therefore, for the wearing of an irksome mask? He threw it aside, and exhibited himself in his true colours, to the grief and despair of the girl he had successfully deceived. She heard him, in conversation with her uncle, use language and utter sentiments at which her soul revolted; she saw him frequently the worse for liquor; and often now she purposely avoided him when he sought her society. Brightness died out of the world, and she thought shudderingly of the future. The flowers in her young heart were withered. And yet she dwelt mournfully upon the image of the man she had adored, and asked herself, Can it be possible--can it be possible? The answer was there, in the same house with her, sitting by her side, pressing her hand, while he uttered coarse jokes, or gazing darkly at Gilbert Bidaud, who was ever ready to give smiles for frowns. For this was the old man's method; he was urbane and light-hearted in the family circle, and nothing that Chaytor said could disturb his equanimity. He had the traitor in his toils, and he played his game with the air of an indulgent master.
The Villa Bidaud was a great rambling house of two storeys, standing in its own grounds. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, and stood far back from the public road; when the strong iron gates were locked it resembled a prison. Annette, chilled at heart, began to feel that it was one and but for the companionship of her faithful maid Emily, her life would have been dark and gloomy indeed. It was a relief to her when her uncle announced that he and the man to whom she was betrothed were going away on business for two or three weeks.
Their mission was special and important, and has been attempted by hundreds of other gulls. Gilbert Bidaud had discovered a system by which he could break the bank at Monte Carlo. The one diversion of the two knaves at the Villa Bidaud was gambling. Never a day passed but they were closeted together in a locked room rattling the dice or shuffling the cards. It may be questioned whether the demon of play is not more potent than the demon of drink, and it is certain that it had so fastened itself upon Newman Chaytor that he could not escape from it. His losses maddened him, but his infatuation led him on to deeper and deeper losses, Gilbert Bidaud always declaring that the luck must change and that the money Chaytor lost was only money lent. Occasionally he professed indifference to the fatal pastime, and lured Chaytor on to persuasion, replying, "Well, as you insist." One day Chaytor, as usual, was savagely growling at his ill-luck, when Gilbert said carelessly: "You can get it all back, ten, twenty, a hundred-fold, if you like."
"How?" eagerly demanded Chaytor.
Then Gilbert unfolded his plan. He had made a wonderful discovery, an absolutely infallible system by which fortunes could be won at the roulette tables of Monte Carlo and elsewhere. Chaytor caught at the bait, but with smaller cunning threw doubt upon it.
"You can demonstrate it," said Gilbert. "I have here a roulette table to which I have not yet introduced you, and upon which I have proved my figures. You shall take the bank, and I will carry out my system. We will play for small stakes. What say you?"
Chaytor suggested that the stakes should be imaginary, but to this the cleverer knave would not agree.
"You insist that the bank must win," he said. "Take the bank and try."
They played for three days, during which, as luck would have it, Gilbert rose invariably a winner. At the end of the third day, he said: