But here there was no such saving purpose; it was all mean, all sordid, compact of vanity and greed and sensuality....
Then, suddenly, his eyes saw the face they had been searching for, almost without his knowledge—the arresting and clever face of Madame Ghita. She, at least, had no reason to fear the light, nor had the glowing young Cicette who chattered beside her. Madame Ghita was listening and smiling as though to a child, oblivious of the glances she attracted, with that air of supreme poise which Selden had noted and admired the night before. Would she see him, he wondered, his heart accelerating its beat....
Yes, she saw him; her eyes rested in his for an instant, and she gave him a gracious little nod of the head as she passed.
He was unreasonably elated—yet why shouldn’t she nod? Monte Carlo was not a formal place; besides, he had been of some little assistance to her the night before in interpreting her to Davis. It was almost an invitation—should he turn and intercept her? And then he caught himself up grimly; really, he told himself, he was behaving like a boy of twenty, rather than like an experienced and somewhat disillusioned man of thirty-four. What could Madame Ghita ever be to him? Nothing, of course! Just the same, he would like to know her—no harm in that!—she looked stimulating. Perhaps she would pass again.
He turned at the end of the terrace—to find himself face to face with the Countess Rémond.
“How you walk!” she gasped. “Like the wind. And how people have stared to see me pursuing you!”
“They must think me very fortunate!”
“Ah, well—yes!” she smiled. “But had you quite forgotten me?”
“Forgotten you! My dear countess!”
“Then you must have been composing a new article, to stalk along like that with your head down, looking neither to the right nor left.”