Three Weeks | Page 8

be somebody from the people in the hotel making such a fuss--and that servant--Then why alone?" He mused and mused.
She was not a demi-mondaine. The English ones he knew were very ordinary people, but he had heard of some of the French ladies as being quite grande dame, and travelling en prince. Yet he was convinced this was not one of them. Who could she be? He must know.
To go back to the hotel would be the shortest way to find out, and so by the next descending train he left the Bürgenstock.
He walked up and down under the lime-trees outside the terrace of her rooms for half an hour, but was not rewarded in any way for his pains. And at last he went in. He, too, would have a dinner worth eating, he thought. So he consulted the ma?tre d'h?tel on his way up to dress, and together they evolved a banquet. Paul longed to question the man about the unknown, but as yet he was no actor, and he found he felt too much about it to do it naturally.
He dressed with the greatest care, and descended at exactly half-past eight. Yes, the table was laid for her evidently--but there were giant carnations, not roses, in the silver vase to-night. How quickly the waiters seemed to bring things! And what a frightful lot there was to eat! And dawdle as he would, by nine o'clock he had almost finished. Perhaps it would be as well to send for a newspaper again. Anything to delay his having to rise and go out. An anxious, uncomfortable gnawing sense of expectancy dominated him. How ridiculous for a woman to be so late! What cook could do justice to his dishes if they were thus to be kept waiting? She couldn't possibly have ordered it for half past nine, surely! Gradually, as that hour passed and his second cup of coffee had been sipped to its finish, Paul felt a sickening sense of anger and disappointment. He got up abruptly and went out. In the hall, coming from the corridor of her rooms, he met the lady face to face.
Then rage with himself seized him. Why had he not waited? For no possible reason could he go back now. And what a chance to look at her missed--and all thrown away.
He sat sullenly down in the hall, resisting the temptation to go into the beautiful night. At least he would see her on her way back. But he waited until nearly eleven, and she never appeared, and then the maddening thought came to him--she had probably passed to her rooms along the terrace outside, under the lime-tree.
He bounded up, and stalked into the starlight. He could see through the windows of the restaurant, and no one was there. Then he sat on the bench again, under the ivy--but all was darkness and silence; and thoroughly depressed, Paul at last went to bed.
Next day was so gloriously fine that youth and health sang within him. He was up and away quite early. Not a thought of this strange lady should cross his mind for the entire day, he determined as he ate his breakfast. And soon he started for the Rigi in a launch, taking the English papers with him. Intense joy, too! A letter from Isabella!
Such a nice letter. All about Pike and Moonlighter, and the other horses--and Isabella was going to stay with a friend at Blackheath, where she hoped to get better golf than at home--and Lady Henrietta had been gracious to her, and given her Paul's address, and there had been a "jolly big party" at Verdayne Place for Sunday, but none of his "pals." At least if there were, they were not in church, she added na?vely.
All this Paul read in his launch on the way to the Rigi, and for some unexplained reason the information seemed about things a long way off, and less thrilling than usual. He had a splendid climb, and when he got back to Lucerne in the evening he was thoroughly tired, and so hungry he flew down to his dinner.
It was nearly nine o'clock; at least if she came to-night he would be there to see her. But of course it did not matter if she came or not, he had conquered that ridiculous interest. He would hardly look until he reached his table. Yes, there she was, but dipping her white fingers in the rosewater at the very end of her repast.
And again, in spite of himself, a strange wild thrill ran through Paul, and he knew it was what he had been subconsciously hoping for all day--and oh, alas! it mattered exceedingly.
The lady never glanced at him. She swept from the room, her stately graceful movements delighting his eye.