“By heavens, Annesley!” whispered Rene Deacon, “what eyes that woman
has!” His companion, following the direction of Deacon's glance, nodded
rather grimly.
“The eyes of a Circe, or at times the eyes of a tigress.”
“She is magnificent!” murmured Deacon rapturously. “I have never seen so
beautiful a woman.”
His glance followed the tall figure as it passed into a smaller salon on
the left; nor was he alone in his regard. Fashionable society was
well represented in the gallery--where a collection of pictures by a
celebrated artist was being shown; and prior to the entrance of the lady
in the strangely fashioned tiger-skin cloak, the somewhat extraordinary
works of art had engaged the interest even of the most fickle, but,
from the moment the tiger-lady made her appearance, even the most daring
canvases were forgotten.
“She wears tiger-skin shoes!” whispered one.
“She is like a design for a poster!” laughed another.
“I have never seen anything so flashy in my life,” was the acrid comment
of a third.
“What a dazzlingly beautiful woman!” remarked another--this one a man.
While:
“Who is she?” arose upon all sides.
Judging from the isolation of the barbaric figure, it would seem that
society did not know the tiger-lady, but Deacon, seizing his companion
by the arm and almost dragging him into the small salon which the lady
had entered, turned in the doorway and looked into Annesley's eyes.
Annesley palpably sought to evade the glance.
“You know everybody,” whispered Deacon. “You must be acquainted with
her.”
A great number of people were now thronging into the room, not so
much because of the pictures it contained, but rather out of curiosity
respecting the beautiful unknown. Annesley tried to withdraw; his
uneasiness grew momentarily greater.
“I scarcely know her well enough,” he protested, “to present you.
Moreover------”
“But she's smiling at you!” interrupted Deacon eagerly.
His handsome but rather weak face was flushed; he was, as an old clubman
had recently said of him, “so very young.” He lacked the restraint usual
in cultured Englishmen, and had the frankly passionate manner which one
associates with the South. His uncle, Colonel Deacon, a mordant wit,
would say apologetically:
“Reggie” (Deacon's father) “married a Gascon woman. She was delightfully
pretty. Poor Reggie!”
Certainly Rene was impetuous to an embarrassing degree, nor lightly to
be thwarted. Boldly meeting the glance of the woman of the amber eyes,
he pushed Annesley forward, not troubling to disguise his anxiety to be
presented to the tiger-lady. She turned her head languidly, with that
wild-animal grace of hers, and unsmiling now, regarded Annesley.
“So you forget me so soon, Mr. Annesley,” she murmured, “or is it that
you play the good shepherd?”
“My dear Madame,” said Annesley, recovering with an effort his wonted
sang-froid, “I was merely endeavouring to calm the rhapsodies of
my friend, who seemed disposed to throw himself at your feet in
knight-errant fashion.”
“He is a very handsome boy,” murmured Madame; and as the great eyes
were turned upon Deacon the carmine lips curved again in the Cleopatrian
smile.
She was indeed wonderful, for while she spoke as the woman of the world
to the boy, there was nothing maternal in her patronage, and her eyes
were twin flambeaux, luring--luring, and her sweet voice was a siren's
song.
“May I beg leave to present my friend, Mr. Rene Deacon, Madame de
Medici?” said Annesley; and as the two exchanged glances--the boy's
a glance of undisguised passionate admiration, the woman's a glance
unfathomable--he slightly shrugged his shoulders and stood aside.
There were others in the salon, who, perceiving that the unknown beauty
was acquainted with Annesley, began to move from canvas to canvas toward
that end of the room where the trio stood. But Madame did not appear
anxious to make new acquaintances.
“I have seen quite enough of this very entertaining exhibition,” she
said languidly, toying with a great unset emerald which swung by a thin
gold chain about her neck. “Might I entreat you to take pity upon a very
lonely woman and return with me to tea?”
Annesley seemed on the point of refusing, when:
“I have acquired a reputed Leonardo,” continued Madame, “and I wish you
to see it.”
There was something so like a command in the words that Deacon stared at
his companion in frank surprise. The latter avoided his glance, and:
“Come!” said Madame de Medici.
As of old the great Catherine of her name might have withdrawn with her
suite, so now the lady of the tiger skins withdrew from the gallery, the
two men following obediently, and one of them at least a happy courtier.