“No,” observed Liane, with a forced smile. To her also the name of d’Auzac was synonymous of cunning, brutality, and unscrupulousness. She pictured to herself the great mountain stronghold, a grim, grey relic of an age of barbarism, the lonely dreary place peopled by ghosts of an historic past, that was to be her home, in which she was to live with this man who held her enthralled. Then she shuddered.
Her hostess noticed it, wondered, but attributed it to the draught from the open window. To her it was inconceivable that any girl could refuse Prince Zertho’s offer of marriage. He was one of the most eligible of men, his polished manner had made him a favourite everywhere, and one heard his wealth discussed wherever one visited. Either of her own daughters would, she knew, be only too pleased to become Princess.
Liane, although nothing of a coquette, was nevertheless well enough versed in the ways of the world to be tactful when occasion required, and at this moment strenuously strove not to betray her world-weariness. Although consumed by grief and despair she nevertheless smiled with feigned contentment, and a moment later with an air so gay and flippant that none would guess the terrible dread which was wearing out her young life, joined in the light amusing chatter with Madame’s daughters.
“We saw you at Monte Carlo last night,” one of the girls exclaimed, suddenly, addressing Zertho.
“Did you?” he answered, with a start. “I really saw nothing of you.”
“We were quite close to you,” observed her sister, “You were sitting with Captain Brooker, and were having quite a run of good fortune when, suddenly, you both jumped up and disappeared like magic. We tried to attract your attention, but you would not glance in our direction. Before we could get round to you you had gone. Why did you leave so quickly?”
“We wanted to catch our train,” Zertho answered, a lie ever ready upon his lips. “We had only three minutes, and just managed to scramble in.”
“Did you notice a fine, handsome-looking woman at the table, a woman in blue dress trimmed with silver?” asked Madame Bertholet.
Zertho again started. In a second, however, he recovered his self-possession.
“I am afraid I did not,” he replied with a smile.