Paul did not reach Nice in a particularly pleasant mood. He knew that the task of finding the lady was much less simple than it had been at Langres. But he made a thorough search through the visitors' lists of all the hotels.
His persistence, however, found no reward. He could find no trace of Mademoiselle Vseslavitch whatever.
He had been in Nice two days, and his unsuccessful search began to tell upon his nerves. Realizing the need of relaxation of some sort--some diversion which might for the time being, turn his mind upon trivial things--he decided to spend an evening at Monte Carlo.
Paul was no great gambler--it was a sport in which he had never taken more than a passing interest, but just then he thought it would serve his purpose.
He found himself after dinner therefore in the Casino at Monte Carlo, in a room flooded with light and with many people present--a quiet room for all that, for there was little sound except the monotonous cry of _croupiers_ and the sharp rattle of a ricochetting roulette ball.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he stepped forward into the room, only to stand still again and remain motionless, as though turned to stone.
For there, at a long table in the centre of the room, with piles of gold and notes before her, heavily veiled, sat--Mademoiselle Vseslavitch.
A little cry which Paul could not prevent breaking from his lips drew the eyes of all upon him. Mademoiselle herself glanced up and saw his gaze upon her.
She started and instantly Paul turned away and endeavoured to hide himself amid the odd jumble of men who stood round the table watching the play.
"What was she doing here?" Paul thought. A thousand bewildering conjectures flashed into his brain, only to prove inadequate.
Try as he might he could not reconcile the so obvious fact that she was a lady with the peculiar incidents which trod hard upon each other's heels. He recalled the meeting with the strange Frenchman, which still remained a most baffling mystery.
Unconsciously, Paul took note of the men who hemmed the table in. Every type of face presented itself--the fleshy cheeks of middle-aged Jews, of pale clerks and salesmen, prosperous-looking men who might have been commercial travellers, and here and there a more refined-looking man in evening-dress.