This morning he was frowning. The blue of the sea was admirable, the gardens were, as always, a delight, but the people disappointed him--he thought them an ill-dressed, shoddy crowd. Some, of course, were gamblers, doomed souls who could not keep away. Those Mr. Satterthwaite tolerated. They were a necessary background. But he missed the usual leaven of the élite--his own people.
"It's the exchange," said Mr. Satterthwaite gloomily. "All sorts of people come here now who could never have afforded it before. And then, of course, I'm getting old. All the young people--the people coming on--they go to these Swiss places."
But there were others that he missed, the well-dressed barons and counts of foreign diplomacy, the grand dukes and the royal princes. The only royal prince he had seen so far was working a lift in one of the less well-known hotels. He missed, too, the beautiful and expensive ladies. There were still a few of them, but not nearly so many as there used to be.
Mr. Satterthwaite was an earnest student of the drama called Life, but he liked his material to be highly colored. He felt discouragement sweep over him. Values were changing--and he--was too old to change.
It was at that moment that he observed the Countess Czarnova coming toward him.
Mr. Satterthwaite had seen the Countess at Monte Carlo for many seasons now. The first time he had seen her she had been in the company of a grand duke. On the next occasion she was with an Austrian baron. On successive years her friends had been sallow men wearing rather flamboyant jewelry. For the last year or two she was much seen with very young men, almost boys.
She was walking with a very young man now. Mr. Satterthwaite happened to know him, and he was sorry. Franklin Rudge was a young American, a typical product of one of the Middle West states, eager to register impressions, crude, but lovable, a curious mixture of native shrewdness and idealism. He was in Monte Carlo with a party of other young Americans of both sexes, all much of the same type. It was their first glimpse of the Old World and they were outspoken in criticism and in appreciation.
On the whole they disliked the English people in the hotel, and the English people disliked them. Mr. Satterthwaite, who prided himself on being a cosmopolitan, rather liked them. Their directness and vigor appealed to him, though their occasional solecisms made him shudder.
It occurred to him that the Countess Czarnova was a most unsuitable friend for young Franklin Rudge. He took off his hat politely as they came abreast of him, and the Countess gave him a charming bow and smile.
She was a very tall woman, superbly made. Her hair was black, so were her eyes, and her eyelashes and eyebrows were more superbly black than any nature had ever fashioned.
Mr. Satterthwaite, who knew far more of feminine secrets than it is good for any man to know, rendered immediate homage to the art with which she was made up. Her complexion appeared to be flawless, of a uniform creamy white. The very faint bistre shadows under her eyes were most effective. Her mouth was neither crimson nor scarlet, but a subdued wine color. She was dressed in a very daring creation of black and white, and carried a parasol of the shade of pinky-red which is most helpful to the complexion.
Franklin Rudge was looking happy and important.
_There goes a young fool_, said Mr. Satterthwaite to himself. _But I suppose it's no business of mine, and anyway he wouldn't listen to me. Well, well, I've bought experience myself in my time._
But he still felt rather worried, because there was a very attractive little American girl in the party, and he was sure that she would not like Franklin Rudge's friendship with the Countess at all.
He was just about to retrace his steps in the opposite direction when he caught sight of the girl in question coming up one of the paths toward him. She wore a well-cut suit, she had on sensible walking shoes, and carried a guide book. There are some Americans who pass through Paris and emerge clothed as the Queen of Sheba, but Elizabeth Martin was not one of them. She was "doing Europe" in a stern, conscientious spirit. She had high ideas of culture and art and she was anxious to get as much as possible for her limited store of money.
It is doubtful if Mr. Satterthwaite thought of her as either cultured or artistic. To him she merely appeared very young.
"Good morning, Mr. Satterthwaite," said Elizabeth. "Have you seen Franklin--Mr. Rudge--anywhere about?"
"I saw him just a few minutes ago."
"With his friend the Countess, I suppose," said the girl sharply.
"Er--with the Countess, yes," admitted Mr. Satterthwaite.
"That Countess of his doesn't cut any ice with me," said the girl in a rather high, shrill voice. "Franklin's just crazy about her. _Why_ I can't think."
"She's got a very charming manner, I believe," said Mr. Satterthwaite cautiously.
"Do you know her?"
"Slightly."
"I'm right down worried about Franklin," said Miss Martin. "That boy's got a lot of sense as a rule. You'd never think he'd fall for this sort of siren stuff. And he won't hear a thing; he gets madder than a hornet if anyone tries to say a word to him. Tell me, anyway--is she a real Countess?"
"I shouldn't like to say," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "She may be."
"That's the real Ha Ha English manner," said Elizabeth with signs of displeasure. "All I can say is that in Sargon Springs--that's our home town, Mr. Satterthwaite--that Countess would look a mighty queer bird."
Mr. Satterthwaite thought it possible. He forebore to point out that they were not in Sargon Springs but in the principality of Monaco, where the Countess happened to synchronize with her environment a great deal better than Miss Martin did.
He made no answer and Elizabeth went on toward the Casino. Mr. Satterthwaite sat on a seat in the sun, and was presently joined by Franklin Rudge. Rudge was full of enthusiasm.
"I'm enjoying myself," he announced with naïve enthusiasm. "Yes, sir! This is what I call seeing life--rather a different kind of life from what we have in the States."
The elder man turned a thoughtful face to him. "Life is lived very much the same everywhere," he said rather wearily. "It wears different clothes--that's all."
Franklin Rudge stared. "I don't get you."
"No," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "That's because you've got a long way to travel yet. But I apologize. No elderly man should permit himself to get into the habit of preaching."
"Oh! that's all right." Rudge laughed, displaying the beautiful teeth of all his countrymen. "I don't say, mind you, that I'm not disappointed in the Casino. I thought the gambling would be different--something much more feverish. It seems just rather dull and sordid to me."
"Gambling is life and death to the gambler, but it has no great spectacular value," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "It is more exciting to read about than to see."
The young man nodded his agreement.
"You're rather a big bug socially, aren't you?" he asked, with a diffident candor that made it impossible to take offense. "I mean you know all the duchesses and earls and countesses and things."
"A good many of them," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "And also the Jews and the Portuguese and the Greeks and the Argentines."
"Eh?" said Mr. Rudge.
"I was just explaining," said Mr. Satterthwaite, "that I move in English society."
Franklin Rudge meditated for a moment or two.
"You know the Countess Czarnova, don't you?" he said at length.
"Slightly," said Mr. Satterthwaite, making the same answer he had made to Elizabeth.
"Now there's a woman whom it's been very interesting to meet. One's inclined to think that the aristocracy of Europe is played out and effete. That may be true of the men, but the women are different. Isn't it a pleasure to meet an exquisite creature like the Countess? Witty, charming, intelligent, generations of civilization behind her, an aristocrat to her finger tips!"
"Is she?" asked Mr. Satterthwaite.
"Well, isn't she? You know what her family are?"
"No," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "I'm afraid I know very little about her."
"She was a Radzynski," explained Franklin Rudge. "One of the oldest families in Hungary. She's had the most extraordinary life. You know that great rope of pearls she wears?"
Mr. Satterthwaite nodded.
"That was given her by the King of Bosnia. She smuggled some secret papers out of the kingdom for him."
"I heard," said Mr. Satterthwaite, "that the pearls had been given her by the King of Bosnia."
The fact was indeed a matter of common gossip, it being reported that the lady had been a _chère amie_ of His Majesty's in days gone by.
"Now I'll tell you something more."
Mr. Satterthwaite listened, and the more he listened the more he admired the fertile imagination of the Countess Czarnova. No vulgar "siren stuff" (as Elizabeth Martin had put it) for her. The young man was shrewd enough in that way, clean-living and idealistic. No, the Countess moved austerely through a labyrinth of diplomatic intrigues. She had enemies, detractors--naturally! It was a glimpse, so the young American was to feel, into the life of the old régime with the Countess as the central figure, aloof, aristocratic, the friend of counselors and princes, a figure to inspire romantic devotion.