"But, no, m'sieu. It is a new gentleman. He has bought the villa and the larger one, which is close to it but higher up the hill. He is a scholar of some sort, and lives quite alone, so he cannot want the smaller house on the road. It was, moreover, always let in the time of the last owner, M. Visguis, of Nice."
I thanked the good dame, refused a cup of goats' milk, gave her a five-franc piece and started on my way again rejoicing. My luck was in. This mountain châlet would be just the thing, and I made up my mind to interview the recluse on my way home.
The sun sank, and night came up with a rush out of the Mediterranean. Everything was dead still. There are no birds in these solitudes, and the hum of day insects was over. Although the moon rose almost at once and gave sufficient light to steer by, the place was eerie. Immense rocks threw ashen shadows. The stone pines stood like silent sentinels, and the huge coronet of jewels—topaz against black velvet—that was Monte Carlo seemed a hundred miles away.
Following my directions, I came at length to the garden wall of a fairly large villa, painted all along the sides, with gigantic and melancholy trees, and the moonlight shed a ghostly radiance upon it. This, I knew, was the house in occupation. The one that might be let was lower down the slope and on the other side of the road—to my right. I could just see the roof of it as I peered over the parapet.
Pushing open a wooden gate, I went up the garden path towards the Villa Turquoise—that I had discovered was its name. Tree frogs were croaking round the house, but as it was winter, there were no friendly fireflies; once or twice the fans of a palm clicked with a dry, rustling noise.
It was difficult to find the door as I came up to the villa, but after a moment, I saw a broad band of yellow light coming from the side, and turned towards it. I walked upon the turf of a little lawn, and threaded my way between orange and pepper trees, with here and there a bush of Cape gooseberries.
And up to that moment I never had a suspicion or a qualm. Indeed, I felt at peace with myself and all the world, washed and purified by the sweet Alpine air and all the loveliness my eyes had looked upon that day. Then I heard, clear, strong and sudden, a chord of music on a piano.
I stopped dead still.
Again that crash of sound, and then a smooth and mellow arpeggio, as masterly fingers ran up and down the keys of a magnificent instrument.