Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 77: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A CROWN the hit of the whole of Europe it was that vear. In France they called it ‘‘ Nuit noire.” I’m sure the man thought me crazy. He even protested. ‘But milady, it is so much the fashion.” “I know,” I said. ‘‘ But I do not like it.” I might have been King Peter himself the way I spoke. The poor man looked piteous, but could say nothing. And this was Raoul, the Jeader of the most famous orchestra in France! That night I felt I could not bear it. As I went back, I passed through a big, airy loggia, marble-walled and floored and set about with palms and flowering trees. Though it was heated, the early March evenings were none too warm, and there were heavy white velvet curtains, drawn between the marble pillars to keep out drafts. The smoking room was on one side, and from the door of it I heard footsteps and voices. They were the voices of King Peter and Lord Maurice Angell. I was just running on, when I heard a name that made me stand still. The men could not see me. I was inside the cur- tains and they were outside, walking slowly round toward the ballroom. — “You know that little dancing partner of yours, sir, at the Flower Garden Club,” Lord Maurice was saying in his deep, drawl- ing voice. ‘‘ Miss Fane—wasn’t that her name? The one who was there such a short time.” I held my breath. “Ves,” said King Peter curtly. “ Well?” “Gad, what a dancer that was!” Lord Maurice went on. He was on very easy terms with the king. ‘“‘ I remember the two of you one night, dancing the ‘ Sable Night.’ And a queer little thing, wasn’t she? Almost a grotesque type—and yet devilishly : ttrac- tive! What I was going to say was that I tried to get her to do some exhibition dances at Laline’s féte. You know, you had to leave just before, sir.” “Ves,” came Peter’s voice again, sharp and staccato, not a bit encouraging. “T thought I’d fixed it up,” Lord Maurice went on in the dense, unheeding way of his kind, so utterly sure of himself. “ The ~ She must turn up again. FOR SALE. 707 woman at the club was awfully keen. Laline was paying enormously. Jaime De Vasco was to be her partner. And, then, if you please, the little creature threw it up and her job as well. Sent a telegram—cool as you please! And nothing more was heard of her. I know that because I took the trouble to inquire.” “Why did you take that trouble, Maury?” asked the king. ‘Oh, well, she caught my eye, you know. Such a dancer Shouldn’t wonder if she’d got a job down here. Their other girl, Miss Honesty, went to Cairo. These girls pick up no end of money, I know.” There was a short pause. Then the king said: —‘‘ Miss Fane was a very good dancer. So was Miss Honesty.” That closed the conversation. Such a tone! He might have been saying—‘‘ Thus far and no farther!” Like King Canute to the waves. I could feel that Lord Maurice was abashed. They walked off together. As for me, I leaned up against one of the pillars, and caught at the curtains and clenched my hand on it in a sort of rapture. Then King Peter still thought of Betty Fane. She had a place in his heart. He would not discuss her, even with his friend. Of course, I disgusted him again about the dancing. He asked me and I said my head ached too much. Honestly, I couldn’t have risked it. Wooden though I seemed to be, I couldn’t make myself wooden enough for ° that. Know I looked ill. fort. But I saw the gleam of interest that my appearance had aroused fade out of his eyes, as he went on to Laline de Chanter- elle. Toward the end of the evening there was a demand for the “ Sable Night” waltz. Somebody came over to me and asked me to tell the musicians to play it. I shrugged my shoulders and said I was tired of it. The king was near me at the time. I saw his face grow cold as he looked at me. “You don’t like the ‘ Sable Night ’?” he asked me. as that. That was some com- oO COnmiclooo S (S@)