Charles Rex, Ethel May Dell [find a book to read txt] 📗

after a moment. "I will present you--some day, Spentoli, but it may not be yet."
"This is her first visit to Paris?" questioned Spentoli.
"Not her first. But she does not know Paris well." Saltash spoke carelessly. "I am not showing her everything at once. I think that is a mistake."
"That is true," agreed Spentoli. "The freshness of youth is gone all too soon. But she will be superbly beautiful in a few years' time. Will you permit me to congratulate you on the excellence of your choice?"
Saltash grimaced. "Do we ever choose?" he said. "Do we not rather receive such gifts as the gods send us in more or less of a grudging spirit?"
Spentoli smiled. "I did not think you would marry one so young," he said. "She has the athletic look of a boy. She reminds me--"
"Of a picture called 'The Victim' by one--Spentoli!" Saltash's voice was suave. "A cruel picture, _mon ami_, but of an amazing merit. I have seen the likeness also. Where did you get it?"
The Italian was still smiling, but his eyes were wary.
"From a little circus-rider in California," he said. "A child--an imp of a child--astonishingly clever--a wisp of inspiration. Yes, a girl of course; but she had all the lines of a boy--the perfect limbs of an athlete. I took her from her circus. I should have paid her well had she remained with me. But before the picture was finished, she was tired. She was a little serpent--wily and wicked. One day we had a small discussion in my studio--oh, quite a small discussion. And she stuck her poison-fang into me--and fled." Spentoli's teeth gleamed through his black moustache. "I do not like these serpent-women," he said. "When I meet her again--it will be my turn to strike."
"Our turn so seldom comes," said Saltash lazily, his eyes wandering to the door. "Mademoiselle Rozelle for instance would hold her own against any of us."
"Ah! Rozelle!" Spentoli's face changed magically. "But she is beautiful--and without venom--a rose without a thorn!"
Saltash's mouth twitched mockingly. "And without a heart also?" he suggested.
"She is all heart!" cried Spentoli, with flashing eyes.
Saltash laughed aloud. "That also is sometimes a drawback, _mon ami_. I gather she is the attraction who has drawn you here."
"She draws all the world," said Spentoli.
And with that he sprang to his feet, for there was a general stir in the vestibule, such as might herald the coming of a queen. In a moment the buzz of voices died down, and a great silence fell. Saltash remained seated, a certain arrogance in his pose, though his eyes also watched the door.
There came the sound of a laugh--a clear, ringing laugh, childishly, irresistibly gay--and a figure in blue came in through the marble pillars. As a queen they had prepared for her, and as a queen she entered--a being so exquisite, so goddess-like, that every breath was drawn in wonder.
She looked around her with eyes that shone like sapphires. Her red lips were parted. She had the expectant look of girlhood, yet her beauty had a quality unknown to youth. And it was to that quality, almost unknown to himself, that Saltash did homage as he rose.
Her look flashed across to him, comprehended his action, and laughed open triumph. Then with a suddenness almost too swift to follow, she turned to a man who had entered behind her and softly spoke.
Saltash's eyes went to the man, and he drew a low whistle between his teeth. It was well known that Rozelle Daubeni never travelled without an escort; but this man--this man--He was tall and broad, and he carried himself with a supreme contempt for his fellow-men. He did not look at Saltash, did not apparently even see the hushed crowd that hung upon every movement of that wonderful woman-creature who took the world by storm wherever she went.
He was superbly indifferent to his surroundings, gazing straight before him with the eyes of a Viking who searches the far horizon. He walked with the free swing of a pirate. And as the woman turned her dazzling face towards him, it was plain to all that she saw none but him in that vast and crowded place.
He was by her side as they moved forward, and they saw her lightly touch his arm, with an intimate gesture, as though they were alone. Then the whole throng broke into acclamations, and the spell was broken. She saw them all again, and laughed her gracious thanks. The great hall rang with their greeting as she passed through, but no one sought to detain her and she did not pause.
Later, she would give them all they desired, but her moment had not arrived. So she went on to the great curving staircase, side by side with her fair-bearded Viking, still laughing like a happy child who looks for the morrow.
As she rounded the curve of the stair, she snatched a red rose from her breast and threw it down to her worshippers below. It was aimed at Saltash, but it fell before Spentoli, and he caught and held it with wild adoration leaping in his eyes. As he pressed it to his lips, he was sobbing.
"_Mon ami_," said Saltash's voice behind him, maliciously humorous, "you have stolen my property. But--since I have no use for it--you may keep it."
Spentoli looked at him with burning eyes. "Ah! You may laugh!" he said, in a fierce undertone. "You are--without a soul."
"Isn't it better to laugh?" queried Saltash. "Did you expect a blow in the face?"
Spentoli glared for a moment, and recovered himself. "Do you know what they are saying of her?" he said. "They say that she is dying. But it is not true--not true! Such beauty as that--such loveliness--could never die!"
The cynical lines in Saltash's face deepened very perceptibly. He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
"Who is the man with her?" demanded Spentoli. "I have never seen him before--the man with the face of a Dane. Do you know him?"
"Yes, I know him," said Saltash.
"Then who is he? Some new lover?" There was suppressed eagerness in the question. Spentoli's eyes were smouldering again.
Saltash was looking supremely ironical. "Perhaps new," he said. "More likely--very old. His name is Larpent, and he is the captain of my yacht."


CHAPTER V
THE DANCE OF DEATH

"We will watch from the gallery," said Saltash.
Toby looked up at him with quick gratitude. "There won't be so many people there," she said.
He frowned at her, but his look was quizzical. "But everyone will know that Lady Saltash is present--with her husband," he said.
She slipped a persuasive hand on to his arm. "King Charles," she said, "let us leave Paris!"
"Bored?" said Saltash.
Her face was slightly drawn. "No--no! Only--" she paused; then suddenly flashed him her swift smile--"let it be as you wish!" she said.
He flicked her cheek in his careless, caressing way. "Shall I tell you something, _mignonne_? We are going--very soon."
Her eyes shone, more blue than the frock she wore She stooped impulsively and touched his hand with her lips, then, as though she feared to anger him, drew quickly away.
"Shall we go on the yacht?" she asked, eagerness half-suppressed in her voice.
"Yes," said Saltash, and he spoke with finality, even with a certain grimness.
Toby's face lighted up for a second, and then clouded again. She glanced at him doubtfully. "If Paris amuses you--" she ventured.
"Paris does not amuse me," said Saltash emphatically. "Have a cigarette, _ma chere_, while I go and dress."
"Can I help you dress?" said Toby, with a touch of wistfulness. "I have put everything ready."
His odd eyes flashed her a smile. "Not here, _cherie_, not now. Perhaps--when we get on a yacht again--"
He was gone, leaving the sentence unfinished, leaving Toby looking after him with the wide eyes of one who sees at last a vision long desired. She stretched out both her arms as the door closed upon him and her lips repeated very softly the words that he had last uttered.
"Perhaps--when we got on a yacht again--"
When they went down to the great _salle-a-manger_ a little later, her face was flushed and her smile ready, though she glanced about her in a shy, half-furtive fashion as they entered. They found a secluded table reserved for them in a corner, and her eyes expressed relief. She shrank into it as if she would make herself as small as possible. Again no one accosted them though a good many looked in their direction. Saltash was far too well known a figure to pass unnoticed in any fashionable crowd. But the general attention did not centre upon them. That was absorbed by a far greater attraction that night.
She sat at the end of the room like a queen holding her court, and beside her sat the Viking, stern-faced and remote of mien, as supremely isolated as though he sat with her on a desert island. He spoke but seldom, and then to her exclusively. But when he spoke, she turned to him the radiant face of the woman who holds within her grasp her heart's desire.
She was superbly dressed in many-shaded blue, and jewels sparkled with every breath she drew. Above her forehead, there nestled in the gold of her hair a single splendid diamond that burned like a multi-coloured flame. She was at the acme of her triumph that night. Of all who knew her, there was not one who had seen her thus. They watched her almost with bated breath. She was like a being from another world. She transcended every expectation of her.
The band played only dance-music, by her desire, it was said; but such music as wrought irresistibly upon the senses and emotions. She was preparing her audience for what should follow. Throughout the meal, excitement was steadily rising. There was almost a feeling of delirium in the air.
Before the bulk of diners had finished, she rose to go. Her cavalier rose with her, flinging her gauzy wrap of blue and gold over his arm. It was the signal for a demonstration. In a moment a youth with eyes ablaze with adoration sprang on to a table in the centre of the vast room with a glass of red wine held high.
"A Rozelle! A Rozelle!"
The cry went up to the domed roof in a great crescendo of sound, and instantly the place was a pandemonium of shouting, excited figures. They crowded towards the table at which the _danseuse_ still stood. And just for a second--one fleeting second--her eyes showed a curious fear. She stood almost as one at a loss. Then in a flash her irresolution was gone. Her beautiful face smiled its own inimitable smile. The music of her laughter rang silvery through the tumult. She made a dainty gesture of acceptance, of acknowledgment, of friendly appreciation; then lightly she turned to go.
Her companion made a path for her. He looked as if he could have hewn his way through a wall of rock at that moment, and his uncompromising bearing gained him respect. No one attempted to gainsay him.
They were gone almost before they realized that their idol had not spoken a word to them. The moment was past, and the excitement died down to a buzz of talk.
"An amazing woman!" said Saltash.
Toby glanced at him, and said nothing. She had watched the whole episode from her corner with eyes that missed nothing; but she had not spoken a word.
He bent suddenly towards her. "Drink some wine, _cherie_! You are pale."
She started a little at the quick peremptoriness of his speech. She lifted her glass to drink, and splashed some of the wine over. He leaned