A few days later a charitable fête was held in Cimiez, in the beautiful gardens of the Château de Valrose, standing on the hills which tower above Nice. Madame d'Erlande was one of the chief organizers of the fête, and she invited Françoise, whom she had known since she was a little girl, and for whom she had always shown a great affection, to take charge of a stall. Françoise could not well refuse. Didier went with her. He allowed her to sell his choicest tobacco with all the reckless and charming freedom which the holder of a tobacco stall is expected to show in an affair of the sort.
He wandered among the clumps of trees, strolled through the sham Roman ruins, and drew near and entered the Château de Valrose almost at the same time as the redskin, who was surrounded by a regular "court" of smart women. He knew the man's name now, for it was to be heard on every hand. He called himself Herbert Ross.
They went into the theater at the same time. The surgeon-dentist from Chicago took a seat in front of him, next to a woman whose appearance seemed to be familiar to him. She chattered incessantly to the redskin and did her utmost to arouse his interest. But with his usual unruffled calm he replied to her only in monosyllables. That was his method. Moreover, it was stated that he could only speak a black man's broken lingo.
At that juncture a celebrated Russian diva sang Gluck's "Alceste." She secured a great triumph, and was followed by sundry instrumental pieces on the piano, harp and violin. Finally it was announced that the celebrated Nina Noha would appear in her character dances.
Didier gave a start when he heard her name. He had often seen mention of her in the newspapers since his return to France. He was fully aware that the dancer, was still much courted, or at least that the fascination which the great public in Paris found in her who used to be Raoul de Saint Dalmas's mistress had in no sense diminished. The war had made no difference to her. On the one hand were those who fought, and on the other those who idled away their time.
Nevertheless it struck him that Nina Noha must have changed in the course of fifteen years. If he had been bent on it, he could have seen for himself. It would have been easy for him to have found an opportunity. But he did not seek her out—far from it. In spite of the image which was reflected in his mirror, and showed him a Didier who in no way resembled the old Raoul, he could not help shuddering with a peculiar dread at the thought of finding himself confronted by a countenance which used to be so familiar to him. Suppose she recognized him! Repeat to himself that the thing was impossible as he might, he had none the less procured some tortoiseshell-rimmed dark glasses in order to take refuge behind those glasses should any sudden encounter place him in an embarrassing position.
Nina Noha! She was the origin of all his misery. What follies he had committed for the woman whom he now held in horror!
She came on to the stage. What a marvel she was! She had not changed in the least. She still possessed her fatal beauty. Her eyes, her great dark, blazing eyes still held their disturbing fire. Her movements were still as lithe, as voluptuous, as before. She was still as young as ever.
Nina Noha danced in a Parisian robe which revealed her figure more completely than if she had worn a Corinthian tunic. What were Didier's real feelings as he gazed at that apparition? Did they betoken the death of his former passion for her? Was he mourning over himself? Did he see in her the hated cause of all his woes?
He clapped his hands like everybody else, hardly knowing what he was doing. Five minutes later, at the sound of a voice which, likewise had undergone no change, he came to himself from his musings.