The Lighted Match

She might have been the genius of Rouge et Noir. Her litheness had the

panther's sinuous strength. The vivid contrast of olive cheeks, carmine

lips and dark eyes, gave stress to her slender sensuousness.

Hers was the allurement of poppy and passion-flower. In her movements

was suggestion of vital feminine force.

Perhaps the incurious glance of the American made itself felt, for as

she threw down a fresh louis d'or, she looked up and their eyes met.

For an instant her expression was almost that of one who stifles an

impulse to recognize another. Possibly, thought Benton, she had mistaken

him for someone else.

"Mon dieu," whispered a voice in French, "the Comptessa d'Astaride is

charming this evening."

"Ah, such wit! Such charm!" enthused another voice at Benton's back.

"She is most perfect in those gowns of unbroken lines, with a single

rose." Evidently the men left the tables at once, for Benton heard no

more. He also turned away a moment later to make way for an Italian in

whose feverish eyes burned the roulette-lust. He went to the farthest

end of the gardens, where there was deep shadow, and a seaward outlook

over the cliff wall. There the glare of electric bulbs and blazing

doorways was softened, and the orchestra's music was modulated.

Presently he was startled by a ripple of laughter at his shoulder, low

and rich in musical vibrance.

"Ah, it is not like this in your gray, fog-wrapped country."

Benton wheeled in astonishment to encounter the dazzling smile of the

Countess Astaride. She was standing slender as a young girl, all agleam

in the half-light as though she wore an armor of glowing copper and

garnets.

"I beg your pardon," stammered the American, but she laid a hand lightly

on his arm and smilingly shook her head.

"I know, Monsieur Martin, we have not met, but you were with the Duke at

Cadiz. You have come in his interest. In his cause, I acknowledge no

conventions." In her voice was the fusing of condescension and regal

graciousness. "It was wise," she thoughtfully added, "to shave your

mustache, but even so Von Ritz will know you. You cannot be too

guarded."

For an instant Benton stood with his hands braced on the coping

regarding her curiously. Evidently he stood on the verge of some

revelation, but the rôle in which her palpable mistake cast him was one

he must play all in the dark.

"You can trust me," she said with an impassioned note but without

elevating her voice. "I am the Countess--"