Charles Rex Part 63

At sight of the look that leaped to his eyes, her own were swiftly lowered. She drew back from him.

"I will do--whatever you wish," she said again nervously. "You know that."

"Yes, I know that," said Saltash with his quick grimace. "You have my sympathy, Nonette. Now go, _ma chere_, go!"

She went from his presence like a small hunted animal.

Saltash shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down again to the vestibule.

The crowd had grown. They were watching the great entrance-door expectantly for the coming of the celebrated dancer. Saltash called for a drink, and mingled with the throng.

The Italian, Spentoli, came up presently and joined him. "I am hoping,"

he said, "that you will presently give me the great honour of presenting me to your bride."

Saltash looked at him. Spentoli was one of the very few men for whom he entertained respect. The Italian's work had always held an immense attraction for his artistic soul, and he had never troubled to disguise the fact.

"My wife is young and shy," he said, 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 G.o.ds 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--astonis.h.i.+ngly 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.ddess-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 pa.s.sed 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed a red rose from her breast and threw it down to her wors.h.i.+ppers 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 grat.i.tude. "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!"