The Car of Destiny

								

"You don't mean to follow, then?"
"There's something I need to do at once at Biarritz," I answered. It was
true. I needed to find out whether she was the Princess, or--just a girl.

                                    II

THE GIRL

It was easy to learn that she was not the Princess. I did that by going
into a stationer's shop and asking for a photograph of the royal lovers.
It was not quite so easy to find out who she was, without pinning my new
secret on my sleeve; but luckily everyone in Biarritz boasted knowledge of
the King's affairs, and the affairs of the pretty Princess. Christopher
Trevenna made himself agreeable after dinner to the lady with the nose,
who would probably have shrunk away in fear if she had known that she was
talking with the Marqués de Casa Triana.
I, in my character of Trevenna, found out that the Princess had a friend,
Lady Monica Vale, daughter of the widowed Countess of Vale-Avon, who, when
at home, lived in the Isle of Wight. At present, the two were staying at
Biarritz, in a villa; and Lady Monica, a girl of eighteen or nineteen,
sometimes had the honour of going out with the Princesses, in the King's
motor.
There were other privileged friends as well; but the description of Lady
Monica Vale, though painted with a colourless brush, was unmistakable.
Casually I inquired the name of the house where Lady Vale-Avon and her
daughter were staying, and having learned it, I made an excuse to escape
from the lady with the nose.
It was half-past ten o'clock, and a night flooded with moonlight. I
strolled out, smoking a cigarette, and in ten minutes stood before the
garden gate of the Villa Esmeralda.
There were lights in three or four of the windows, sparkling among
close-growing trees; and I had not finished my second cigarette, when a
carriage drove round the corner and stopped.
I moved into the background. A groom jumped down, unfastened the gate, and
having opened the brougham door, respectfully aided a middle-aged lady to
descend.
The moonlight showed me a clear, proud profile, and fired the diamonds in
a tiara which crowned a head of waved grey hair.
There were billows of violet satin and lace to keep off the ground; and as
the groom helped the wearer to adjust them under her chinchilla coat, a
girl sprang out of the carriage, her white figure and rippling hair of
daffodil gold in full moonlight.
I stood as a man might stand who sees a vision, hardly breathing. I made
no sound, yet she turned and saw me, sheltered as I was by the dappled
trunk of a tall plane-tree. It was as if I had called, and she had
answered.
I knew she remembered me, and that she did not misunderstand my presence.
There was no anger in her face, only surprise, and a light which was
hidden as she dropped her head, and passed on through the gate.
I could have sung the song of the stars. She had not forgotten me since
the afternoon. The look in my eyes then, had arrested some thought of