Page:Braddon--The Trail of the Serpent.djvu/121

Rh position; but I do so in the firm belief that you are a woman of spirit, courage, and determination, and"

"And that I can pay you well," she adds, scornfully.

"And that you can pay me well. I am no Don Quixote, madame; nor have I any great respect for that gentleman. Believe me, I intend that you shall pay me well for my services, as you will learn by-and-by."

Again there is the cold glitter in the blue eyes, and the ominous smile which a moustache does well to hide.

"But," he continues, "if you have a mind to break your heart for an opera-singer's handsome face, go and break it in your boudoir, madame, with no better confidante than your lady's-maid; for you are not worthy of the services of Raymond Marolles."

"You rate your services very high, then, monsieur?"

"Perhaps. Look you madame: you despise me because I am an adventurer. Had I been born in the purple—lord, even in my cradle, of wide lands and a great name, you would respect me. Now, I respect myself because I am an adventurer; because by the force alone of my own mind I have risen from what I was, to be what I am. I will show you my cradle some day. It had no tapestried coverlet or embroidered curtains, I can assure you."

They are driving now through a dark street, in a neighbourhood utterly unknown to the lady.

"Where are you taking me?" she asks again, with something like fear in her voice.

"As I told you before, to have your fortune told. Nay, madame, unless you trust me, I cannot serve you. Remember, it is to my interest to serve you well: you can therefore have no cause for fear."

As he speaks they stop before a ponderous gateway in the blank wall of a high dark-looking house. They are somewhere in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, for the grand old towers loom dimly in the darkness. Monsieur Marolles gets out of the coach and rings a bell, at the sound of which the porter opens the door. Raymond assists Valerie to dismount, and leads her across a courtyard into a little hall, and up a stone staircase to the fifth story of the house. At another time her courage might have failed her in this strange house, at so late an hour, with this man, of whom she knows nothing; but she is reckless to-night.

There is nothing very alarming in the aspect of the room into which Raymond leads her. It is a cheerful little apartment lighted with gas. There is a small stove, near a table, before which is seated a gentlemanly-looking man, of some forty years of age. He has a very pale face, a broad forehead, from