Evening Star Newspaper, July 23, 1922, Page 50

o o T may he remembered that Arls- tide Pujol had _aged parents, browned and_wrinkled children of the soll, who had passed all thelr days in the desolation of Algues- Mortes, the little fortified, derelict clty in the salt marshes of Provenoe. Although they regarfed him with the same unimsaginative wonder as a palr of alligators might regard an Argus butterfly, their undoubted but freak- 1sh progeny, and although Aristide soared high above thelir heads in all phases of thought and emotion, the mutual ties Temained strong and per- durable. Scarcely a year passed with- out Aristide struggling somehow south to visit ses vieux, as he affec- tionately called them, and whenever Fortuno shed a few smiles on him, one or two at least were sure to find thelr way to Algues-Mortes In the shape of, say, a silver-mounted um- brella for his father or a deuce of a Paris hat for the old lady's Sunday wear. M. and Mme. Pujol had a sacred museum of these unused objects—the Pride of their lives. Aristide was en- tirely Incomprehensible. but he was a good son. A bad son in France is rare. * x X X NCE Aristide nearly killed his old peopls outright. An envelope from him contained two large ca- resstve slips of bluish paper, which when scrutinized with starting eyes turned out to be twa 1,000-franc notes. Mon Dieu! What had hap- penned. Had Aristide been robbing the Bank of France? They stood paralyzed and only recovered motive force when a neibhbor suggested their reading the accompanying let- ter. It did not explain things very clearly. He was In Alx-les-Bains, a place which they had never heard of. making his fortune. He was staying at the Hotel de I'Europe, where Queen Victoria (they had heard of Queen Victoria) had been contented to reside; he was a glittering figure in a splendid beau-monde, and If ses vieux would buy a few cakes and a bottle of vin chete with the inclosed trifle, to celebrate his prosperity, he would deem it the privilege of a de- voted son. But Pujol, sr. though wondering where the devil he had fished all that money from, did not waste it in profligate revelry. He took the eighty pounds to the bank and exchanged the perishable paper for solid 100 golden louis, which he car- ried home in a bag curiously bulging beneath his woolen jersey, and se- creted It with the savings of his Jong life in the mattress of the con- jugal bed. “If only he hasn't stolen it." sighed the mother. *“What does it matter, since it is sewn up there all secure?’ said the old mar. “No one can find it." The Provencal peasant is as hard- headed and practical as a Scottish miner, and if left alone by the fairies would produce no imaginative effect whatever upon his generation: but in his progeniture he is more preposter- ously afficted with changelings than any of his fellows the world over, which, though ethnologically an entirely new proposition, accounts for a singular number of things and inter alia for my dragon-fly friend, Aristide Pojol. Now, Aristide. be it said at the out- set, had not stolen the money. It (and a vast amount more) had been honestly come by. He did not lie when he said that he was staying at the Hotel de I'Europe, Aix-les-Bains, honored by the late Queen Victoria (pedantic accuracy requires the cor- rection that the august lady rented the annex, the Villa Victoria, on the other side of the shady way—but no matter—a hotel and its annex are the same thing), nor did he lte in boast- Jng of his prodigious prosperity. * * X X ARISTIDE was in clover. For the first, and up to now as I write, the only time in his life he realized the gorgeous visions of pallid years. He was leading the existence of the amazing rich. He could drink cham- pagne—not your miserable tisane at five francs a quart—but real cham- pagne, with year of vintage and gout Americane or gout Angiais marked on label, fabulously priced; he could dine lavishly at the Casino restaurants or at Nikola's, prince of restaurateurs, among the opulent and the fair; he could clothe himself in attractive ralment; he could step into a flacre and bid the man drive and not care fwhither he went or what he paid; he feould also distribute five-franc pleces o lame beggars. He scattered his money abroad with fboth hands, according to his expan- sive temperament; and why not, when he was drawing wealth out of an inexhaustible fount? The process was so simple, so sure. All you had to do was to believe in the cards on which you staked your money. If you knew you were going to win, you won. Nothing could be easier. He had drifted into Aix-les-Bains from Geneva on the, lamentable de- sermination of a commission agency in the matter of some patent fuel, with & couple of louis in his pocket forlornly Jingling the tale of his en- tire fortune. As this was before the days when you had to exhibit certificates of baptism, marriage, sanity and bank balance before being allowed to enter the barrarat rooms, Aristide paid his two francs and made a bee line for the tables. I am afrald Aristide was 2 gambler. He was never so happy as when taking chances; his whole life was a gamble, with Providence bolding the bank. Before the night was over he had converted his two louis into fifty. The next day they became five hun- dred. By the end of a week his gar- ments were wadded with bank notes whose value amounted to & sum so stupendous as to be beyond need of computation. He was a celebrity in the place and people nudged each other as he passed by. And Aristide passed by with a swagger, his head high and the end of his pointed beard sticking joyously up In the air, * ¥ & ¥ Wl ®es kim one August morning in the plenitude of his success, lounging in & wicker chair on the shady lawn of the Hotel de I'Europe. Ke wore white buckskin shoes—I begin with these as they were the first point of his person to attract the notice of the onlooker—lilac silk socks, & white flannel suit with & sig- 2ag black stripe, & violet tle secured by & sapphire and diamond pin, and =« rakish panama hat. On his knees lay the Matin; the fingers of his left hand held a fragrant ; his right hand was uplifted in a gesture, for »e was talking. ‘He was talking to & couple of Jadles who sat nearby, one & mild-looking Englishwoman of ffty, dréused In black; the other, her daugh- ter, & beatiful girl of twenty-four. That Aristide should fly to feminine charms, llke moth to candle, was a law of his being; that he should lle, with shriveled wings, at Mies Er- rington's feet, was the obvious result. Her charms were of the winsome kind to which he was most suscepti- ble. She had an oval face, a little mouth like crumpled rose petals (so Aristide himself described it), & com- plexion the minglng of ivory and peach blossom (Aristide again), a straight little nose, appealing eyes of the deepest blue velled by sweep- nig lashes and fascinating fluMness of dark hair over a pure brow. She had a graceful figure, and the slen- der foot below her white pique skirt ‘was at once the envy and admiration of Aix-les-Bains. * % x x ARISTIDE talked. The ladles lis- tened, with obvious amusement. In the easy hotel way he had fallen into their acqualntance. As the man of wealth, the careless player who took five-hundred-louls banks at the table with the five-louls mini- mum, and cleared out the punt, he felt it necessary to explain himself. I am afraid he deviated from the nar- row path of truth. “What perfect English you speak!" Miss Errington remarked, when he had finished his harangue and had put the corona between his lips. Her voice was a soft contralto. “I have mixed much in English so- ciety since I was a child,” replied Aristide, in his grandest manner. “Fortune has made me know many of your county families and members of parliament.” Miss Errington laughed. “Our M. P.s are rather & mixed lot, M. Pujol.” “To me an English member of par- liament is a high-bred conservative. I do not recognize the others,” said Aristide. “Unfortunately, we have to recog- nize them,” said the elder lady with a smile. ot socially, madame. They exist as mechanical factors of the legis- lative machine; but that is all.” He swelled as if the blood of the Mont- morencys and the Colignys boiled in his veins. “We do not ask them into our drawing rooms. We do nat allow them to marry our daughters. We only salute them with cold politeness when we pass them in the street.” “I's astonishing,” sald Miss Er- rington, “how strongly the aristo- cratic principle exists in republican France. Now, there's our friend, the Comte de Lussigny, for instance—" A frown momentarily darkened the cloudless brow of Aristide Pujol. He did not like the Comte de Lus- signy- “With M. de Lussigny,” he inter- posed, “it is a matter of prejudice, not of principle.” “And with you?" “The reasoned philosophy of a life- time, mademoiselle,” answered Aris- tide. He turned to Mrs. Errington. “How long have you known M. Lussigny, madame?” She looked at her daughter. “It was in Monte Carlo the winter before last, wasn’t It, Betty? Since then we have met him frequently in England and Paris. We came across him, just lately, at Trouville. I think he's charming, don't you?" “He's a great gambler,” sald Aris- tide. Betty Errington laughed agaln. “But so are you. So is mamma. So am I, {n my poor little way.” “We gamble for amusement,” sald Aristide loftily. “I'm sure I don't” cried Miss Betty, with merry eyes—and she looked adorable—“When I put my de- spised five-franc piece down on the table I want desperately to win, and when the horrid croupler rakes it up 1 want to hit him—oh, I want to hit him hard!" “And when you win?" “I'm afraid I don't think of the croupler at all,” sald Miss Betty. * x X % HER mother smiled indulgently and exchanged a glance with Aris- tide. This pleased him—there was an agreeable little touch of intimacy in it. It confirmed friendly relations with the mother. What were his de- signs as regards the daughter he did not know. They were not evil, cer- tainly. For all his southern blood Latin traditions and devil-may-care upbringing, Aristide, though perhaps not reaching our divinely set and, therefore, unique English standard of morality, was a decent soul— further, partly through his pedagogic sojourn among them and partly through his childish adoration of the frank, fair-cheeked, northern god- desses talking the quick, clear speech, who passed him by when he was & hunted little devil of a chasseur in the Marseille cafe, he had acqulred a peculiarly imaginative reverence for English girls. The reverence, in- deed, extended to English ladles gen- erally. Owing to the queer circum- stances of his life they were the only women of a class above his own with whom he had associated on terms of equality. He had, then, no dishon- orable designs as regards Miss Betty Errington. On the other hand, the thoughts of marriage had as yet not entered his head. You ses, a Frenchman and an Englishman or an American. view marriage from entirely different angles. The Anglo-Saxon of honest instincts, attracted towards a pretty sential. but transient phenomena of girl, at once thinks of the possibili- ties of marrl: If he finds them infinitely remote, he makes romantic love, to her in the solitude of his walks abroad or of his sleepless nights, and, in her presence, is as dumb and dismal as a freshly hooked trout. The equally honest Gaul does nothing of the kind. The attraction in itself is a stimulus to adventure. He makes love to her, just because it is the nature of & lusty son of Adam to make love to & pretty daughter of Eve. He lives in the present. The rest doesn’'t matter. He leaves it to chance. PR I AM speaking, be it understood, not of deep passions—that is a differ- ent matter altogether—but of the more superficial sexual attrhctions which we, as a race, take so seriously and puritanically, often to our most disastrous undoing, and which the Latin light-heartedly regards as Aristide made the most respectful love In the world to Betty Errington, because he could not help himself. ARISTIDE TALKED. “Tonnerre de Die he cried when from my Britannic point of view I talked to him on the subject. You English, whom I try to understand and can never understand, are so funny! It would have been Insulting to Miss Betty Errington—tiens!—a purple hyacinth of spring—that was what she was—not to have made love to her. Love to a pretty woman is like & shower of rain to hyacinths. It passes, it goes. Another one comes. Qu'importe? But the shower is neces- sary. Ah! sacre grendin, when will you comprehend?! All this to make as clear as an Englishman, in the confidence of a changling child of Provence, can hope to do, the attitude of Aristide Pujol toward the sweet and innocent Betty Errington with her mouth like crumpled rose petals, her ivory and peach-blossom complexion, her soft contralto voice, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, as per foregoing bald descrip- tion, and as per what can, by imagina- tive effort, be pictured from the Pu- Jjolic hyperbole, by which I, the un- important narrator of these chron- Icles, was dazzled and overwhelmed. “I'm afraid I don't think of the croupier at all,” said Betty. “Do you think of no ona Wwho brings you good fortune?” asked Aristide. He threw the Matin on the grass, and, doubling himsel? up in his chair regarded her earnestly. “Last night you put five louls into my bank——" “And I won forty. hugged you.” “Why didn't you? Ah!" His arms spread wide and high. *“What I have lost!" “Betty!" cried Mrs. Errington. “Alas, madame,” sald Aristide, “that is the despalr of our artificial civili- zation. It prohibits so much spon- taneous expression of emotion.” “You'll forgive me, Monsieur Pujol." said Mrs. Errington dryly, “but I think our artificial civilization has its advantages.” “If you will forgive me, In your turn,” sald Aristide, “I see & doubfful one advancin A MAN approached the group and with profuse gestures took off a straw hat which he thrust under his right arm, exposing an amazingly flat head on which the closely crop- ped halr stood brush-fashion upright. He had an insignificant pale face to which a speclous individuality was given by a mustache with ends waxed up to the eyes and by a mon- ocle with a tortolse-shell rim. He was dressed (his valet had misjudged things—and valets like the rest of us are fallible) in what was yesterday a fairly white flannel suit. Madam—*"mademoiselle.” hards with charming grace. “Mon- sieur.” He bowed stiffly. Aristide doffed his Panama hat with adequate ceremony. “May I be permitted to Join you?” “With pleasure, Monsleur de Lus- signy,” sald Mrs. Errington. Monsieur de Lussigny brought up a chair and sat down. “What time did you get to bed last night?”* asked Betty Errington. She spoke excellently pure French, and 80 did her mother. x “Soon after we parted, made- moisells, quite early for me, but late for you. And you look this morning as If you had gone to bed at sun- down and got up at dawn.” Miss Betty's glance responsive to the compliment filled Aristide with wrath. What right had the Comte de Lussigny, a fellow who oconsorted ‘with Brazilian Rastaquoures and per- fumed Levantine nondescripts, to win such a glance from Betty Errington? “If madsemoiselle can look so fresh,” sald he, “in the artificial at- mosphere of Aix, what is there so adorable that she must not resemble in the nnocence of her Somersetshire home?” “You cannot imagine it, monsieur,” sald the count, “but I have had the privilege to see it “T hope Monsieur Pujol will visit us also in our country home, when we get back,” sald Mrs. Hrrington with intent to pacificate. ‘It is modest, but it is old-world and has deen in our family for hundreds of years." “Ah, th old English homes!” sald Aristide. “Would you care to hear about 1tT *1 should,” said he. * % xS drew his chalr cowftéously s I could have * % x % ‘He shook N N NN NS THE LADIES lady; Monsieur de Lussigny took in- stant advantage of the move to estab- lish himself close to Miss Betty. Aristide turned one ear politely to Mrs. Errington’'s discourse, the other ragingly and impotently to the whis- pered conversation between the de- tached palr. Presently a novel fell from the lady’'s lap. Aristide sprang to his feet and restored It. He remained standing. Mrs. Errington consulted a watch. It was nearing lunchtime. She rose, too. Aristide took her a pace or two aslde. “My dear Mrs. Errington,” said he, in English. “I do not wish to be in- discreet—but you come from your Quiet home in Somerset and your beautiful daughter is so young and inexperienced, and I am a man of the world who has mingled in all the soclety of Europe—may I warn you against admitting the Comte de Lussigny too far into your intimacy?” She turned an anxious face. “M. Pujol, is there anything against the count? Aristide executed the large and ex- pressive shrug of the southerner. “I play high at the tables for my amusement. I know the principal players, people of high standing. Among them M. de Lussigny’s repu- tation Is not spotless.” “You alarm me very much” Mrs. Errington, troubled. “I only put you on your guard,” sald he. The others, who had risen and fol- lowed, caught them up. At the en- trance to the hotel the ladies left the sald THE SUNDAY BSTAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JULY 23, 1922—PART % One of the Adventures of Aristide Pujol youth deep in thought, in front of an untouched glass of beer. At Aristide’s approach he raised his head, smiled, nodded and sald: “Good morning. sir. Wil you join me?* Aristide graciously accepted the In- vitation and sat down. * x % % HE young man was another hotel acquaintance, one Eugene Miller of Atlanta, Ga, a curious compound of shrewdness and simplicity, to whom Aristide had taken a fancy. He was twenty-eight and ran a colossal boot factory in partnership with an- other youth and had a consuming pas- sion for stained-glass windows. From books he knew every square foot of old stained glass In Europe. But he had crossed the Atlantic for the first time only six weeks before, and hav- ing Indulged his craving immoderate- 1y, had rested for a span at Aix-les- Bains to recover from esthetic indi- gestion. He had found these amenities agree- able to his ingenuous age. He had also, quite recently, come across the Comte de Lussigny. Hence the depth of thought in which Aristide discov- ered him. Now, the fact that north 1s north and south is south, and that never these twain shall meet, is a proposition all too little considered. One of these days when I can retire from the dull but exacting avocation of tea-broking in the city I think I shall write a newspaper article on the subject. Anyhow, I hold the theory that the northerners of all nations have a com- mon characteristic and the southern- ARISTIDE CAUGHT HIM BY THE COLLAR. men elaborately saluting. The latter,|ers of all nations have alone, looked at each other, “Monsieur.” “Monsieur.” Each man raised his hat, turned on his heel and went his way. Aristide betook himself to the cafe on the Place Carnot on the side of the square facing the white Etsblissement des Bains, with & etern sense of having done his duty. It was monstrous that this English damask rose should fall 2 prey to so detestable & person as the Comte de Lussigny. He suspected him of disgracetul things. If only he had proof. Fortune, ever favoring him, stood st his elbow. She guided him straight to a tahle in the front row of the terrace where sat & black- H.loot or 8o nearer that of the mild |haired, hard-featured though comely common characerisic, and it is this common characteristic in each case that makes north seek and understand north and south seek and understand soutl. I will not go further into the general proposition, but as a particular in- stance I will state that the American of the south ‘and the Frenchman of the south found themselves in essen- tial sympethy. Eugene Miller had the ‘unfesring frankness of Aristide Pujol. “I used ratiter to look down upon Europe as & place where people knew nothing' at all,” sald he “We're sort of ‘traimed to think it's an extinot ‘volcane, but it imn't It's alive. My Godl Tt's allve! ' It's hell in the shape of a limburger cheese. I wish \ »> LISTENED WITH OBVIOUS AMUSEMENT. the whole population of Atlanta, Ga., would come over and just see. There's 2 lot to be learned. I thought I knew how to take care of myself, but tris tortoise-shell-eyed count taught me last night that I couldn’t. He cleaned me out of $2.500." “How?" asked Aristide, sharply. “Ecarte.” * x ok * ARISTIDE brought his hand down with a bang on the table and mut- tered anathemas in French and Pro- vencal entirely unintelligible to Eu- gene Miller, but the youth knew by instinct that they were useful, soul- destroying curses and le felt com- forted. “Ecarte! You played ecarte with Lussigny? But my dear young friend, do you know anything of ecarte?” “Of course,” said Miller. “I used to play it as a child with my sistera” “Do you know the Jeux de regle?™” “The what?” “The formal laws of the game—the rules of discards——" “Never heard of them,” said Eugene Miller. “But they are as absolute as the Code Napoleon,’ cried Aristide. “You cant play without knowing them. You might as well play chess without knowing the moves.” “Can’t kelp it,” said the young man. ‘Well, don't play ecarte any more.” “I must,” said Miller. “Comment?" “I must. I've fixed it up to get my revenge tkis afternoon—in my sitting room at the hotel,” “But it's imbecile! The sweep of Aristide’s arm pro- duced prismatic chaos among a tray full of drinks which the waiter was bringing to the family party at the next table. “It's imbecile,” hecried, as soon as order was apologetically and pecuniarily restored. “You are a little mutton going to have its wool taken off.’” “I've fixed it up,” sald Miller. “T've never gone back on an engagement yet in my own country and I'm not going to begin this side.” Aristide argued. He argued during the mechanical absorption of four glasses of vermouth-assis —after which prodigious quantity of black currant sirup he rose and took the Gadarene youth to Nikola's, where he continued the argument during de- jeuner. Eugene Miller's sole conces. slon was that Aristide should be pres- ent at the encounter and, backing his hand, should have the power (given by the rules of the French game) to gulde his play. Aristide agreed and crammed his young friend with the jeux de regle and pate de fole gras. ** %3 THE oount looked rather black when he found Aristide Pujol in Miller's sitting room. He could not, | however, refuse him admittance to | .he game. The three sat down, Aris- tide by Miller’s side, so that he could overlook the hand and, by pointing, indicate the cards that it was advis- able to play. The game began. For- tune favored Mr. Eugene Miller. The count’s brow grew blacker. “You are bringing your own luck to our friend, M. Pujol,” said he, dealing the cards. “He needs it,” sald Aristide. *“Le roi,” sald the count, turning up the king. ‘The count won the vole, or all five tricks, and swept the stakes toward him Then, fortune quickly ané firm- ly deserted Mr. Miller. The count, besides being an amasingly fine play- er, held amazingly fine hands. The pile of folded notes In front of him rose higher and higher. Aristide tug- ged at his beard in agitation. Sud- denly, as the count dealt a king as trump card, he sprang to his feet, knocking over the chair behind him. *You cheat, monsieur. You chi “Monsieur!” cried the outraged dealer. “What has he done?™ e has been palming kings and neutralising the cut. I've been watch- ing. Now I catch him,” cried Artistide in great excitement. “Ah, le voleur! Maintenant je vous tlen “Monsieur,” said the Comte de Lus- signy with dignity, stufing his win- nings into his Jacket pocket. “You in- sult me. It is an infamy. Two of my friends will call upon you." #And M. Miller and I will kick them over Mount Revard.” “You cannot treat gens d'honneur in such & way, monsieur.” He turned to Miller, and said haughtily in bis imperfect English, “Did you see the cheat, you?” #1 can’t #ay that I did,” replied the young man. “On the other hand that terchlight procession of kings doesn't seem exactly natural” “But you did not see anything! Bon!" “But I saw. Isn't that enough, hein?”’ shouted Aristide, brandishing his fingers in the count’s face. “You come here and think there’s nothing easier than to cheat young foreign- ers who don't know the rules of ecarte. You come here and think you can carry off rich young English misses. Ah, sale escroe! You never thought you would have to reckon with Aristide Pujol. You call your- self the Comte de Lussigny. . Bah! 1 know you"—he didn't, but that doesn’t matter—“your dossier is in the hands of the prefeot of police. 1 am going to get that dossier. Mon- sieur Lepine Is my intimate friend. Every autumn we shoot together. Aha! You send me your two galley birds and see what I do to them.” * ok k% THE Comte de Luseigny twirled the tips of his moustache almost to his forehead and caught up his hat. “My friends shall be officers in the uniform of the French army,” he said by the door. “And mine shall be two gendarmes.” retorted Aristide. And he cried, after the other had left the room: *“We let him take the money!" “That's of no consequence. He didn’t get away with much, anyway,” said young Miller. “But he would have if you hadn't been here. If ever I can do you & return service, just ask.” Aristide went out to look for the Erringtons. But they were not to be found. It was only late in the aftér- noon that he met Mrs. Errington in the hall of the hotel. He dragged her into a ocorner and in his impulsive fashion told her everything. She lis- tened, white-faced, in great distress. “My daughter's engaged to him. I've only just learned,” she faltered. “Engaged? For the second he was desperately, furiously, jealously in love with Betty Errington. “Ah, le sale type! Voyons! This engage- ment must be broken off. At once: You are her mother.” “She will hear of nothing against him." “You will tell her this. It will be 2 blow, but—" Mrs. Errington twisted a handker- chief between helpless fingers. “Betty is infatuated. She won't believe it." She regarded him piteously. “Oh Monsieur Pujol, what can I do? You see she has an independent fortune and is over twenty-one. I am powér- less.” “I will meet his two friends, claimed Aristide magnificently, I will kill him. Volla!™ ex- *and “Oh, a duel? No! How awful!" cried the mild lady, horror-stricken. He thrust his cane dramatically through a sheet of a newspaper which he had caught up from a table T will run him through the body like that"—Aristide had never handled a foil in his life—“and when he Is déXd your beautiful daughter will thank me for having saved her from such an execrable fellow.” “But you musn't fight. It would be too dreadful. Is there no other way?" “You must consult first with your daughter,” said Aristide. * % %8 JF dined in the hotel with Eugene Miller. Neither the Erringtons nor the Comte de Lussigny Wers any- where to be seen. After dinner, how- ever, he found the elder lady walting for him {n the hall. They walked out into the quiet of the garden. She had been too upset to dine, she ex- plained, having had a terrible scene with Betty. Nothing but absolute proofs of her lover's iniquity would satisfy her. The world was full of slanderous tongues; the noblest and purest did not escape. For herself, she had never been comfortable with the Comte de Lussigny. She had no- ticed, too, that he had always avolded the best French people in hotels. She would give anything to save her daughter. She wept. “And the unhappy girl has written him compromising letters,” she la- mented. *They must be got back.” “But how? Oh, Monsleur Pujol, do you think he would take money for them?” “A scoundrel llke that would take money for his dead mother’s shroud,” sald Aristide. “A thousand pounds?" She looked very haggard and help- less beneath the blue arc lights. Aristide’s heart went out to her. He knew her type—the sweet gentlewo- man of rural England who comes abroad to give her pretty daughter a sight of life, ingenuously confident that forelgn watering places are as innocent as her own sequestered vil- lage. “That {8 much money, dame,” sald Aristide. “I am fairly well oft,” sald Mrs. Er- rington. Aristide reflected. At the offer of a smaller sum the count would pos- sibly bluff. But to a knight of in- dustry, as he knew the count to be, a certain thousand pounds would be a great temptation. And after all to 2 wealthy Englishwoman what was a thousand pounds? “Madame,” said he, “If you offer him a thousand pounds for the letters, and a written confession that he is not the Comte de Lussigny, but a common adventurer, I stake my repu- tation that he will accept” * % % % TBEY ‘walked along for a few mo- ments In silence. The opera had begun at the adjolning Villa des Fleurs and the strains floated through the still August air. After & while she halted and laid her hand on his sleeve. “Monsleur Pujol, I have never been faced with such a thing before. Will you undertake for me this delicate and difcult business?™ “Madame,” sald he, “my life is at the service of yourself and your most exquisite daughter.” She pressed his hand. “Thank God. I've got & friend in this dreadful place,” she sald brokenly. “Let me g0 B3° And when they reached the lounge, she sald, “Walit for me here.” She entered the lift. Aristide wait- ed. Presently the lift descended and she emerged with a slip of paper in her hand. “Here is & bearer check, M. Pujol, for s thousand pounds. Get the let- ters and the confession it you ean, and & mother's blessing will go with you." chere ma- By W. J. Locke She left him and went upstairs again In the lift. Aristide athirst with love, living drama and unholy hatred of the Comte de Lussigny, cocked his black, soft-felt evening hat at an engaging angle on his head and swaggered into the Villa des Fleurs. As he passed the plebelan crowd round the petits-chevaux ta- ble—these were the days of little horses and not the modern equivalent of la boule—he threw a louls on the square marked §, waited for the croupler to push him his winnings. 7 louls and his stake on the little white horse, and walked Into the baccarat room. A bank was being called for 30 louis at the end table. “Quarante,” sald Aristide. “Ajuge a quarante louls” cried the crouplier, no one bidding higher. Aristide took the banker's seat and put down 40 louls. Looking round the long table he saw the Comte de Lus- signy sitting in the punt. Ths two men glared at each other deflantly. Some one went 'banco’ Aristide won. The fact of his holding the bank attracted a crowd round the table. The regular game began. Aristide won, lost, won again. Now it must be explained, without going into the de- tails of the game, that the hand against the bank is plaved by the members of the punt in turn. Suddenly, before dealing the cards, Aristide asked, “A qui la main?" “C'est a monsler,” said the croupier, indicating Lussigny. “Il y a une suite,” said Aristide, sig- nifying, as was his right. that he would retire from the bank with his winnings. “The face of that gentle- man does not please me.” * ok x % HERE was a hush at the hum- ming table. The count grew dead white and looked at his fingernails. Aristide superbly gathered up his notes and gold, and, tossing a couple of louls to the croplers, left the table, followed by all eyes. It was onme of the thrilling moments of Aristides life. He had taken the stage. com- manded the situation. He had pub licly offered the Comte de Lussigny the most deadly insult and the Comte de Lussigny sat down beneath it liko a lamb. He swaggered slowly through the crowded room, twirling his moustacke, and went into the cool of the moon-lit deserted garden be- yond, where he waited gleefully. Ha {had a puckish knowledge of human nature. After a decent interval and during the absorbing interest of tha newly constituted bank, the Comte de Lussigny slipped unnoticed from the table and went in search of Aristidec He found him smoking a large corona and lounging in one wicker chair with his feet on &nother, beside a very large whisky and soda. “Ah, it's vou" sald he without sald the count furiously. “I haven't vet had the pleasure of kicking your friends over Mont Revard,” sald Aristide “Look here, mon petit. this has got to finish," cried the count. “Parfaitement. I should like nothing better than to finish. But let us finish ltke well-bred people. a Aristide suavely. “We don’t whnt the whole Casino as witnesses. You'll find a chair over there. Bring it up.” He was enjoying himself immensely. The count glared at him. turned and banged & chair over by the side of the table. “Why do you insult me like this™" “Because," said Aristide, “T've talk- ed by telephone this evening with my good friend Monsieur Lepine, pretect of police of Paris “You lfe,” sald the count. “Vous verrez. In the menntime, perhaps we might have & liitle con versation. Will you have a u'hlnk;{ and soda? It iz one of my Englis habits.” No, sald the count emphatically. “You permit me the He drank a great draught. “You are wrong. It helps to cool one’s temper, Eh bien, let us talk.” * %k * x JJE talked. He put before the count the situhition of the beautiful Miss Errington. He conducted the scene like the friend of the family whose astuteness he had admired as & boy In the melodramas that found their way to Marseille. “Look,” said he. at last, having * vainly offered from one hundred to eight hundred pounds for poor Betty Errington's compromising letters. “Look!" He drew the cheque from his note-case. “Here are twenty-five thous- and francs. The signature is that of the charming Mme. Errington herself. The letters, and a little signed word, just a little word, Mademoiselle, I am a cheva=~ ler @'industrie. I have a wife and five children. T am not worthy of you. I give you back your promise.” Just that. And twenty-five thousand francs, mon ami"” “Never in life!” exc'aimed the count, rising. “You oontinue to insult me." Aristide for the first time abandon- ed his lagy and insolent attitude ana jumped to his feet. “And T'll oontinue to insult you, canaille that you are, all through that room,’ ‘he cried, with a swift-fluig gesture toward the brilllant door- way. “You are dealing with Aris- tide Pujol. Will you never under- stand? The letters and a confession for twenty-five thousand francs.” “Never in life,” said the count, and he moved swiftly away. Aristide caught him by the collar as he stood on the covered terrace a foot or two from the threshold of the gaming room. “I swear to yov. I'll mi that you won't surviv The count stopped and pushed Aris- tide's hand away. “I admit nothing,” eaid he. “But you are a gambler and so am L I will play you for those documents against twenty-five thousand francs.” “Eh?" sald Aristide, staggered for the moment. ’ The Comte de Lussigny repeated his proposition. “Bon,” said Aristide. “Tres bon. C'est entendu. C'est fait” * % x 8 IF Beelzebub had arisen and offered to play beggar-my-neighbor for his soul. Aristide would have agreed; pecially after the large whisky and soda and the cordon rouge and the brandy which Eugene Miller had in- ted on his drinking at dinner. “I have a large room at the hotel” sald he. * wil! Join you,” said the count. “Monsieur,” he took off his hat very I will be there e & scandal