After they had drunk their coffee, and listened a while to the music, Henry suggested a visit to the casino.
"We may as well be real dogs while we are about it," he said.
The night was warm and still. He hummed a bar from Rigoletto, and helped Mrs. Price into a fiacre.
"You know," he said, "when I stood in front of that villa this afternoon my spirits went down to zero. It really was a miserable moment."
"I know," she said; "you poor thing. I felt so sorry. And how are the spirits now?"
"Higher than they've been for months, for years," he said, "for which my very grateful thanks."
She blushed again, and laughed, turning the subject. There were many people in the casino, and they had to walk slowly amongst the crowd, pushing their way from room to room. The bright unshaded lights made a glare, and there was something monotonous in the flat voice of the croupier, the click of the little ball on the table for roulette. They watched some of the play, peering over the shoulders of the people in front of them. The atmosphere was stifling.
"Couldn't stick very much of this," said Henry to his companion. "What a waste of time, eh, day after day?"
"Appalling," she agreed. "I should have a splitting head in an hour."
They moved away into the next room. Two men coming out were laughing together.
"But she's always like that," one of them was saying: "has a flaming row with the croupier whenever she loses.
They say she's lived here for years."
"Do they ever throw her out?"
"I believe so, when she gets too excited."
As Henry and Mrs. Price drew near to the table they saw that many of the people were laughing, and several at the back were pushing those in front to get a clearer view. The croupier was arguing with someone, talking in broken English, and a woman was trying to shout him down, first in French and then in English.
"But, madame," the croupier was saying, "do you want me to call a gendarme? I cannot have these constant interruptions."
The woman was talking at the top of her voice.
"It's an outrage, the whole place ought to be broken up," she said. "The management are taking my money through trickery. I've caught you at it, time and time again. In my country they'd shoot you in the back for it, and a damned good riddance too. I'll show you up; I have influence at home, I know people in Parliament, my cousin is the Earl of Mundy…"
There was a shout of laughter as she threw her muff and her gloves at the croupier's head. A man in uniform came to her, and seized her arm.
"Let me go," she cried; "how dare you touch me?"
The shiny velvet cape, the cloud of white hair, the arrogant tilt of the head, all were familiar. As the commissionaire thrust Fanny-Rosa forward she stumbled, scattering her bag, her chips, her few coins on the ground in front of her.
"You clumsy fool," she shouted. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"
And she came face to face with her son.
For a moment they stood staring at one another. Then Henry turned to the commissionaire.
"This lady is my mother," he said. "I will be responsible for her."
The man let go of Fanny-Rosa's arm. The crowd around the table was whispering and staring. The croupier shrugged his shoulders, and set the ball in action again.
"Faites vos jeux." The game went on.
Henry bent down and picked up the bag and the coins from the floor, and gave them to his mother.
"It's all right," he said quietly, "don't worry. Mrs. Price and I are going to take you home."
She did not seem to realise what had happened.
"But I don't want to go home yet," she said, glancing from one to the other. "I haven't tried my luck at the other tables. It will be different if we go into another room."
"No," said Henry, "it's getting late. And I've had a long journey today. I want my bed."
He took his mother's arm and began walking towards the door. She kept looking back over her shoulder towards the table.
"I always detest that particular croupier," she said. "I'm sure he has a secret understanding with the management, and they have some means of controlling the ball. I wish you'd write to the papers about it, Henry. You're so clever, you would know what to say."
She never ceased talking all the way to the casino steps, abusing the management, telling Henry and Mrs. Price that she was certain the casino staff had been given their orders to prevent her winning.
They were so afraid that once her luck was in she would break the bank.
"It's nearly happened several times," she said, as they drove away in tile fiacre. "I've had the most amazing run of luck, simply couldn't make a mistake, and then suddenly the whole thing would go against me. Of course it's done deliberately.
They are terrified of anyone making a big win. But I'm determined to beat them. It's a matter of principle. Henry darling, how lovely to see you!
So stupid of me to forget the time of your train. I hope you found everything all right? I hadn't realised you knew Mrs. Price. We must all three go to the casino tomorrow and try our luck. Mrs. Price has a lucky face, I expect we shall make a fortune."
She rattled on, asking questions and never waiting for a reply.
Henry stared out of the window, holding his mother's hand.
Mrs. Price did not say anything. He knew now in bitterness and sorrow the story of the last ten years. He could see the life that had been hers, the pretended gaiety, the shabby flag of courage she had flaunted. And day by day, month by month, year by year, this thing taking its hold upon her, so that now she was possessed body and soul, mind and reason gone, nothing remaining but a queer patchwork of memories that served no purpose but to distract her more. Whose fault? Why had it happened? Who was to blame?
No answer came to him, and his heart was torn with pity and anguish. The fiacre drew up in front of the villa. Fanny-Rosa fumbled with the gate. The dogs set up their barking from inside the house.
"All right, sweets," called Fanny-Rosa, "mother is coming, and your brother Henry too."
She began to walk up the garden-path. Henry turned to Adeline Price.
"I'm so sorry," he began, "so terribly sorry…?
"Oh, please don't apologise," she said; "much more of a shock for you than for me. If there's anything I can do in the morning don't hesitate to come round. Personally, I feel the right thing to do would be to get her into a Home. She'd be well looked after, you know. What I mean to say is, she can't very well go on like this, can she?"
"No," said Henry, "no."
"Well, you'd better go to bed and get a good night's rest, and think it over in the morning.
Anyway, I enjoyed our dinner. Goodnight."
She turned away to her own villa. Henry walked slowly up the path. He found Fanny-Rosa kneeling on the floor, playing with the dogs.
"Did the silly boys miss their old mother then?" she was saying "But mother left a nicey dins for the boys, and the dins has been taken away. That damn fool of a servant, I suppose. And I always tell her not to tidy the sitting-room. Henry Iamb, you look worried. Is anything the matter?"
"No, darling, but I want you to go to bed."
"I'm going. I always have to kiss the boys goodnight, though. Did the servant make up your bed? I laid out the clean sheets, but I have a frightful feeling I forgot to air them."
"Yes, everything was all right."
She stood in the doorway of her room. Mrs.
Price's maid had swept and tidied here, as well as downstairs. The clothes were put away, the bed was turned back neatly. His mother did not seem to notice that anything had been done. She was staring in front of her, biting the end of her nail. Henry wondered if some flash of memory had come to disturb her wandering mind, she looked suddenly so lost and strange. He put his arms round her, and held her close.