It was a decidedly pretty place. The long festoons of coloured lights were reflected in the lake, while out towards the pine-covered island were many small boats decorated with paper lanterns. In the garden there was quite a crowd of Parisians, who had gone there in the evening to lounge in the fresh air, or to stake their francs upon the little horses or upon the miniature railway. The band was playing, and the smart pleasure-seekers were promenading over the gravelled walks, laughing gaily, and chatting merrily.
The woman upon whom I was keeping such a close watch strolled through the gardens, peering hither and thither, as though in search of someone. It was the entr'acte, and the theatre, one side of which was open towards the garden, had emptied. At Enghien the entr'actes are long, in order to allow people to go to the gaming-room. Two men I recognised as habitués at Monte Carlo, one of them middle-aged, well-dressed and black-bearded, who invariably wore white kid gloves. He was half bald, and his face showed marks of premature age brought on by dissipation. The other, who was younger, was his partner. They were well-known figures at Monte Carlo, and had evidently left there and come north, now that, the season being over, there were no more pigeons to be plucked in the private gaming-rooms of the Riviera.
The woman at length took a seat at one of the café tables, deep in the shadow of a tree, and ordered a consommation. I suspected that she had an appointment with someone, and therefore resolved to watch. As far as I could observe, she had never once detected my presence, and if she did now, she most probably would not recognise me, dressed as I was in an old stuff gown. She had seen me, I recollected, in the smart Monte Carlo toilettes, in which I presented such a different appearance. I took up a position on one of the seats by the lakeside, opposite the café, a spot from which I could see all that might come to pass.
I must here admit that my continual search was growing terribly wearisome. Unused to acting the spy, my nerves had been during those days of travel and adventure strained to their utmost tension. For five nights sleep had scarcely come to my eyes, so constant was the vigil I had kept, and for five days I had existed in feverish anxiety on the very horns of a dilemma. I sat there watching the passing crowd of gay Parisiennes, and breathing the fresh evening air from across the lake. On the other shore were large mansions, with their lawns sloping down to the water, reminding me of English houses on the upper reaches of the Thames. From time to time a night-bird skimmed the placid water, causing it to eddy in the starlight. From across the water came feminine laughter from a passing boat, and a girl's voice reached me from far away, trilling the refrain of Paulette Darty's "romance-waltz," which I supposed had just been sung in the café-concert:
"Donne-moi ta lèvre, ta lèvre rose,
Qu'amoureusement ma lèvre s'y pose
Et qu'étroitement tous deux enlacés
Nos querelles soient querelles de baisers."
Yes, the scene was certainly charmfxing. I, like thousands of the people who go to Paris, and who know the Rue Rivoli better than they do Oxford Street, had never troubled to spend an evening at Enghien. The Casino would really be a delightful one were it not for the presence of that curse to French and Belgian popular resorts—the tapis vert. Dozens of similar places are spoilt by the introduction of those tables, for play and the demi-monde are inseparable, just as are baccarat and blackguards.
The electric bells had rung to announce that the variety entertainment was about to be resumed, and the crowd from the gaming-room and from the garden was making its way back to the theatre, to be entertained by the drolleries of Paulus and the risky chansons of Liane de Vries, when, of a sudden, I noticed that the woman who had stolen my lover's heart had half-risen and given her hand to a stranger, evidently the man she had been expecting.
He was short of stature, and well-dressed, for in the shadow where he stood I could see the wide expanse of starched shirt-front displayed by his open overcoat, and could tell that he wore an opera-hat.
She re-seated herself, evidently pleased by his arrival, while he stood for a moment bending towards her and speaking earnestly. Then he drew back, laughed merrily, and seated himself opposite her.
He sat back in the half-darkness, so that I was unable to distinguish his face. But his presence there was sufficient to tell me that this woman, by whom Ernest had been fascinated, was a worthless person, who made secret assignations unknown to the unfortunate man, who probably believed her to be the very paragon of all the virtues.