She carried her little bag and a small Japanese fan.
Walking in a strange, flat-footed way that was peculiar to her, and
glancing narrowly about her, yet keeping her hand almost still, she
advanced towards the band-stand. As she came opposite to Artois the
orchestra of women struck up the "Valse Noir," and the old woman stood
still, impeded by the now dense crowd of listeners. While the demurely
sinister music ran its course, she remained absolutely immobile.
Artois watched her with a keen interest.
It had come into his mind that she was the aunt of Peppina, the
disfigured girl, who perhaps to-night was sleeping in the Casa del
Mare with Vere.
Presently, attracted, no doubt, by his gaze, the old woman looked
across at Artois and met his eyes. Instantly a sour and malignant
expression came into her long, pale face, and she drew up a corner of
her upper lip, as a dog sometimes does, showing a tooth that was like
a menace.
She was secretly cursing Artois.
He knew why. Encouraged by his former observation of her, she had
scented a client in him and had been deceived, and this deception had
bred within her an acrid hatred of him.
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