Raoul was going away
that very night. He had an errand to do for a woman who was a dear and
intimate friend of his dead mother. You must know of the Duchesse de
Montpellier? Well, it was for her: and Raoul is like her son. She has no
children of her own."
"I don't know her," I said, "but I've seen her; a charming looking
woman, about forty-five, with a gloomy-faced husband--a fellow who might
be rather a Tartar to live with. They were pointed out to me at Monte
Carlo one year, in the Casino, where the Duchess seemed to be enjoying
herself hugely, though the Duke had the air of being dragged in against
his will."
"No doubt he had been--or else he was there to fetch her out. Poor dear,
she's a dreadful gambler. It's in her blood! I She lost, I don't know
how much, at Monte Carlo on an 'infallible system' she had. She's afraid
of her husband, though she loves him immensely; and lately a craze she's
had for Bridge has cost her so much that she daren't tell the Duke, who
hates her gambling. She confessed to Raoul, and begged him to help
her--not with money, for he has none, but by taking a famous and
wonderful diamond necklace of hers to Amsterdam, selling the stones for
her there, and having them replaced with paste.
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