scratching her face like a cat with her ^y^iTtiifw) perfumed fingers, made some impression on
him. They talked things over, and by dinner-time she ^yas consoled. In the evening he made his appearance at the Casino with the lady on his arm. As usual, Mile. Selma laughed very loudly, and her manner was somewhat more free and easy than before. She definitely showed that she belonged to the class of ladies who, when they go up to the roulette table, shoulder the other players aside to clear a space for themselves. That's particularly ehic among such ladies. You must have noticed it?'
'Oh, yes.'
'It's not worth noticing. To the annoyance of the decent public they are not moved on here—at least, not those of them who can change a thousand-rouble note every day, at the roulette table. As soon as they cease to produce a note to change they are asked to withdraw, however. Mile. Selma still went on changing notes, but her play became more imlucly than ever. Note that such ladies are very often lucky in their play; they have a wonderful self-control. However, my story is finished. One day the Count vanished just as the Prince had done. However, Mile. Selma made her appearance at the roulette table alone; this time no one came forward to offer her his arm. In two days she had lost everything. After laying down her last louis d'or and losing it, she looked round, and saw, close by her. Baron Burmerhelm, who was scrutinising her intently and with profound indignatiai. But Mile. Selma, not noticing his indignation, accosted the Baron with that smile we all know so well, and asked him to put down ten louis d'or on the red for her. In consequence of a complaint from the Baroness she received that evening an invitation not to show herself at the Casino again. If you are surprised at my knowing all these petty and extremely improper details, it is because I have heard them from Mr. Fider, one of my relations, who Ccirried off Mile. Selma in his carriage from Roulettenburg to Spa that very evening. Now, remember. Mile. Blanche wishes to become the General's wife; probably in order in future not to receive such invitations as that one from the police at the Casino, the year before last. Now she does not play; but that is because, as it seems, she has capital of her own which she lends out at a percentage to gamblers here. That's a much safer speculation. I even suspect that the luckless General is in debt to her. Perhaps De Grieux is, too. Perhaps De Grieux is associated with her. You will admit that, till the wedding, at any rate, she can hardly be anxious to attract the atten-
tion of the Baron and Baroness in any way. In short, in her position, nothing could be more disadvantageous than a scandal. You are connected with their party and your conduct might cause a scandal, especially as she appears in public every day either arm-in-arm with the General or in company with Miss Polina. Now do you understand?'
'No, I don't!' I cried, thumping the table so violently that the gargan ran up in alarm.
'Tell me, Mr. Astley,' I said furiously. 'If you knew all this story and, therefore, know positively what Mile. Blanche de Cominges is, why didn't you warn me at least, the General, or, most of all, most of all. Miss Polina, who has shown herself here at the Casino in public, arm-in-arm with Mile. Blanche? Can such a thing be allowed?'
'I had no reason to warn you, for you could have done nothing,' Mr. Astley answered calmly. 'Besides, warn them of what? The General knows about Mile. Blanche perhaps more thsm I do, yet he still goes about with her and Miss Polina. The General is an unlucky man. I saw Mile. Blainche yesterday, galloping on a splendid horse with M. de Grieux and that littie Russian Prince, and the General was galloping after them on a chestnut. He told me in the morning that his legs ached, but he sat his horse well. And it struck me at that moment that he was an utterly ruined man. Besides, all this is no business of mine, and I have only lately had the honour of making Miss Polina's acquaintance. However' (Mr. Astley caught himself up), 'I've told you already that I do not recognise your right to ask certain questions, though I have a genuine liking for you ...'
'Enough,' I said, getting up. 'It is clear as daylight to me now that Miss Polina knows all about Mile. Blanche, but that she cannot part from her Frenchman, and so she brings herself to going about with Mile. Blanche. Believe me, no other influence would compel her to go about with Mile. Blanche and to beg me in her letter not to interfere with the Baron! Damn it all, there's no understanding it!'
'You forget, in the first place, that this Mile, de Cominges is the General's fiatmcde, and in the second place that Miss Polina is the General's stepdaughter, that she has a little brother and sister, the General's own children, who are utterly ijeglected by that insane man and have, I believe, been robbed by him.'
'Yes, yes, that is so! To leave the children would mean abandoning them altogether; to remain means protecting tiieir
interests and, perhaps, saving some fragments of thdr property. Yes, yes, all that is true. But still, still! ... Ah now I understand why they are all so concerned about Granny!'
'About whom?' asked Mr. Astley.
'That old witch in Moscow who won't die, and about whom they are expecting a telegram that she is djring.'
'Yes, of course, all interest is concentrated on her. Everything depends on what she leaves them I If he comes in for a fortune the General wiU marry. Miss Polina wiU be set free, and De Grieux . . .'
'Well, and De Grieux?'
'And De Grieux will be paid; that is all he is waiting for here.'
'Is that all, do you think that is all he's waiting for?'
'I know nothing more.' Mr. Astley was obstinately silent.
'But I do, I do!' I repeated fiercely. 'He's waiting for the inheritance too, because Polina wiU get a dowry, and as soon as she gets the money will throw herself on his neck. All women are like that 1 Even the proudest of them turn into the meanest slaves! Polina is only capable of loving passionately: nothing else. That's my opinion of her! Look at her, particularly when she is sitting alone, thinking; it's something predfestined, doomed, fated! She is capable of all the horrors of life, and passion . . . she . . . she . . . but who is that calling me?' I exclaimed suddenly. 'Who is shouting? I heard someone shout in Russian: Alexey Ivanovitch! A woman's voice. Listen, listen!'
At this moment we were approaching the hotd. We had left the caf6 long ago, almost without noticing it.
'I did hear a wgman calling, but I don't know who was being called; it is Russian. Now I see where the shouts come from,' said Mr. Astley. 'It is that woman sitting in a big armchair who has just he&x carried up the steps by so many flunkeys. They are carrying trunks after her, so the train must have just come in.'
'But why is she calling me? She is shouting again; look, she is waving to us.'
'I see she is waving,' said Mr. Astley.
'Alexey Ivanovitch! Alexey Ivanovitch! Mercy on us, what a dolt he is!' came desperate shouts from the hotel steps.
We almost ran to the entrance. I ran up the steps and . . . my hands dropped at my sides with amazement and my feet seemed rooted to the ground.
CHAPTER IX
AT the top of the broad steps at the hotel entrance, surrounded by footmen and maids and the many obsequious servants of the hotel, in the presence of the ober-keU^r himself, eager to receive the exalted visitor, who had arrived with her own servants and with so many trunks and boxes, and had been carried up the steps in an invalid chcdr, was seated— Granny.' Yes, it was she herself, the terrible old Moscow lady and wealthy landowner, Antonida Vassilyevna Tarasyevitchev, the Granny about whom telegrams had been sent and received, who had been dying and was not dead, and who had suddenly dropped upon us in person, like snow on our heads. Though she was seventy-five and had for the last five years lost lie use of her legs and had to be carried about everywhere in a chair, yet she had arrived and was, as always, alert, captious, self-satisfied, sitting upright in her chair, shouting in a loud, peremptory voice and scolding everyone. In fact, she was exactly the same as she had been on the only two occasions that I had the honour of seeing her during the time I had been tutor in the General's family. Natundly I stood rooted to the spot with amazement. As she was being carried up the steps, die had detected me a hundred paces away, with her lynxlike eyes, had recognised me and called me by my name, which she had made a note of, once for all, as she always did. And this was the woman they had expected to be in her coffin, buried, and leaving them her property. That was the thought that flashed into my mind. 'Why, she will outlive all of us and everyone in the hotel 1 But, my goodness! what will our friends do now, what wiU the General do? She will turn the whole hotel upside down!'
'Well, my good man, why are you standing with your eyes starting out of your head?' Granny went on shouting to me. 'Can't you welcome me? Can't you say 'How do you do'? Or have you grown proud and won't? Or, perhaps, you don't recognise me? Potapitch, do you hear?' She turned to her butler, an old man with grey hair and a pdnk bald patch on his head, wearing a dress-coat and white tie. 'Do you hear? he doesn't recognise me. They had
