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 manypeople there," she said.
He frowned at her, but his look was quizzical. "But everyone will knowthat 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 suddenlyflashed him her swift smile--"let it be as you wish!" she said.
He flicked her cheek in his careless, caressing way. "Shall I tell yousomething, _mignonne_? We are going--very soon."
Her eyes shone, more blue than the frock she wore She stooped impulsivelyand touched his hand with her lips, then, as though she feared to angerhim, drew quickly away.
"Shall we go on the yacht?" she asked, eagerness half-suppressedin her voice.
"Yes," said Saltash, and he spoke with finality, even with a certaingrimness.
Toby's face lighted up for a second, and then clouded again. She glancedat 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 haveput 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 afterhim with the wide eyes of one who sees at last a vision long desired. Shestretched out both her arms as the door closed upon him and her lipsrepeated 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, herface was flushed and her smile ready, though she glanced about her in ashy, half-furtive fashion as they entered. They found a secluded tablereserved for them in a corner, and her eyes expressed relief. She shrankinto it as if she would make herself as small as possible. Again no oneaccosted them though a good many looked in their direction. Saltash wasfar too well known a figure to pass unnoticed in any fashionable crowd.But the general attention did not centre upon them. That was absorbed bya far greater attraction that night.
She sat at the end of the room like a queen holding her court, and besideher sat the Viking, stern-faced and remote of mien, as supremely isolatedas though he sat with her on a desert island. He spoke but seldom, andthen to her exclusively. But when he spoke, she turned to him the radiantface of the woman who holds within her grasp her heart's desire.
She was superbly dressed in many-shaded blue, and jewels sparkled withevery breath she drew. Above her forehead, there nestled in the gold ofher hair a single splendid diamond that burned like a multi-colouredflame. She was at the acme of her triumph that night. Of all who knewher, there was not one who had seen her thus. They watched her almostwith bated breath. She was like a being from another world. Shetranscended every expectation of her.
The band played only dance-music, by her desire, it was said; but suchmusic as wrought irresistibly upon the senses and emotions. She waspreparing her audience for what should follow. Throughout the meal,excitement was steadily rising. There was almost a feeling of delirium inthe air.
Before the bulk of diners had finished, she rose to go. Her cavalier rosewith her, flinging her gauzy wrap of blue and gold over his arm. It wasthe signal for a demonstration. In a moment a youth with eyes ablazewith adoration sprang on to a table in the centre of the vast room with aglass of red wine held high.
"A Rozelle! A Rozelle!"
The cry went up to the domed roof in a great crescendo of sound, andinstantly the place was a pandemonium of shouting, excited figures. Theycrowded towards the table at which the _danseuse_ still stood. And justfor a second--one fleeting second--her eyes showed a curious fear. Shestood 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 herlaughter rang silvery through the tumult. She made a dainty gesture ofacceptance, of acknowledgment, of friendly appreciation; then lightly sheturned to go.
Her companion made a path for her. He looked as if he could have hewn hisway through a wall of rock at that moment, and his uncompromising bearinggained him respect. No one attempted to gainsay him.
They were gone almost before they realized that their idol had not spokena word to them. The moment was past, and the excitement died down to abuzz of talk.
"An amazing woman!" said Saltash.
Toby glanced at him, and said nothing. She had watched the whole episodefrom her corner with eyes that missed nothing; but she had not spoken aword.
He bent suddenly towards her. "Drink some wine, _cherie_! You are pale."
She started a little at the quick peremptoriness of his speech. Shelifted her glass to drink, and splashed some of the wine over. He leanedfarther forward, screening her from observation.
"Go on! Drink!" he said, with insistence, and in a moment his hand closedupon hers, guiding the wine to her lips.
She drank obediently, not meeting his look, and he took the glass fromher, and set it down.
"Now we will go. Are you ready?"
She rose, and he stood aside for her. As she passed him, his hand closedfor an instant upon her bare arm in a grasp that was close and vital. Shethrew him a quick, upward glance; but still she said no word.
They passed out through the throng of diners almost unobserved, but inthe corridor Spentoli leaned against a pillar smoking a long, blackcigar. He made no movement to intercept them, but his eyes with theirrestless fire dwelt upon the girl in a fashion that drew her ownirresistibly. She saw him and slightly paused.
It was the pause of the hunted animal that sees its retreat cut off, butin an instant Saltash's voice, very cool, arrogantly self-assured,checked the impulse to panic.
"Straight on to the lift, _ma chere_! See! It is there in front of you.There will be no one in the gallery. Go straight on!"
She obeyed him instinctively as her habit was, but in the lift shetrembled so much that he made her sit down. He stood beside her insilence, but once lightly his hand touched her cheek. She moved thenswiftly, convulsively, and caught it in both her own. But the next momenthe had gently drawn it free.
The gallery that ran round three sides of the great _salon_ was deserted.There was only one point at the far end whence a view of the stage thathad been erected for the dancer could be obtained. Towards this Saltashturned.
"We shall see her from here," he said.
The place was but dimly illumined by the flare of the many lightsbelow--two great crystal candelabra that hung at each end being leftunlighted. Under one of these was a settee which Saltash drew forward tothe balcony.
"No one will disturb us here," he said. "We can smoke in peace."
He offered her his cigarette-case, but she refused it nervously, sittingdown in a corner of the settee in the crouched attitude of a frightenedcreature seeking cover. The band was playing in the _salon_ now, andpeople were beginning to crowd in.
Saltash leaned back in his corner and smoked. His eyes went to and froceaselessly, yet the girl beside him was aware of a scrutiny aspersistent as if they never left her. She sat in silence, clasping andunclasping her hands, staring downwards at the shining stage.
Very soon the _salon_ was full of people, and the lights were loweredthere while on the stage only a single shaft of blinding violet lightremained, shooting downwards from the centre. Toby's eyes became fixedupon that shaft of light. She seemed to have forgotten to breathe.
The band had ceased to play. There fell a potent silence. The multitudebelow sat motionless, as if beneath a spell. And then she came.
No one saw her coming. She arrived quite suddenly as though she had sliddown that shaft of light. And she was there be
fore them dancing, dancing,like a winged thing in the violet radiance. Not a sound broke thestillness save a single, wandering thread of melody that might have comefrom the throat of a bird, soft, fitful, but half-awake in the dawning.
The violet light was merging imperceptibly into rose--the unutterablerose of the early morning. It caught the dancing figure, and she liftedher beautiful face to it and laughed. The gauzy scarf streamed out fromher shoulders like a flame, curving, mounting, sinking, now envelopingthe white arms, now flung wide in a circle of glittering splendour.
A vast breath went up from the audience. She held them as by magic--allsave one who leaned back in his corner with no quickening of the pulsesand watched the girl beside him sitting motionless with her blue eyeswide and fixed as though they gazed upon some horror from which there wasno escape.
The rose light deepened to crimson. She was dancing now in giddy circleslike a many-coloured moth dazzled by the dawn. The melody was growing.Other bird-voices were swelling into sound--a wild and flute-like musicof cadences that came and went--elusive as the laughter of wood-nymphs inan enchanted glade. And every one of that silent crowd of watchers sawthe red light of dawn breaking through the trees of a dream-forest thatno human foot had ever trod.
Slowly the crimson lightened. The day was coming, and the silent-flittingmoth of night was turning into a butterfly of purest gold. The scarfstill floated about her like a gold-edged cloud. The giddy whirl wasover. She came to rest, poised, quivering in the light of the newly-risensun, every line of her exquisite body in the accord of a perfectsymmetry. Yes, she was amazing; she was unique. Wherever she went, thespell still held. But to-night she was as one inspired. She did not seeher spellbound audience. She was dancing for one alone. She was as awoman who waits for her lover.
In some fashion this fact communicated itself to her worshippers. Theyguessed that somewhere near that dazzling figure the stranger whom no oneknew was watching. Insensibly, through the medium of the dancer, hispresence made itself felt. When that wonderful dance of the dawn was overand the thunder of applause had died away, they looked around, asking whoand where he was. But no one knew, and though curiosity was rife itseemed unlikely that it would be satisfied that night.
Up in the gallery Toby drew a deep breath as of one coming out of atrance, and turned towards the man beside her. The light had been turnedon in the _salon_ below, and it struck upwards on her face, showing itwhite and weary.
"So she has found another victim!" she said.
"It seems so," said Saltash.
She looked at him in the dimness. "Did you know that--that CaptainLarpent was with her?"
"No," said Saltash. He leaned forward abruptly, meeting her look with asudden challenge. "Did you?"
She drew back sharply. "Of course not! Of course not! What--what should Iknow about her?"
He leaned back again without comment, and lighted another cigarette.
At the end of several seconds of silence, Toby spoke again, her lockedfingers pulling against each other nervously.
"I wonder--do you mind--if I go soon? I--I am rather tired."
The lights went out as she spoke, and Saltash's face became invisible. Hespoke quite kindly, but with decision, out of the darkness.
"After this dance, _ma chere_--if you desire it."
The music began--weird and mournful--and a murmur went round among theeager watchers. It was her most famous dance--the dance of Death, themost gruesome spectacle, so it was said, that any dancer had everconceived. She came on to the stage like the flash of an arrow, dressedin black that glittered and scintillated with every amazing movement. Andthen it began--that most wonderful dance of hers that all the world wasmad to see.
It was almost too rapid for the eye to follow in its first stages--afever of movement--a delirium indescribable--a fantasy painful to watch,but from which no watcher could turn away. Even Saltash, who had takensmall interest in the previous dance, leaned forward and gave his fullattention to this, as it were in spite of himself. The very horror of itwas magnetic. They seemed to look upon a death-struggle--the wild fightof a creature endowed with a fiery vitality against an enemy unseen butwholly ruthless and from the first invincible.
Those who saw that dance of Rozelle Daubeni never forgot it, and therewas hardly a woman in the audience who was not destined to shudderwhenever the memory of it arose. It was arresting, revolting, terrible;it must have compelled in any case. A good many began to sob with thesheer nervous horror of it, yearning for the end upon which they wereforced to look, though with a dread that made the blood run cold.
But the end was such as no one in that assembly looked for. Just as theawful ecstasy of the dance was at its height, just as the dreaded crisisapproached, and they saw with a gasping horror the inevitable finalclutch of the unseen enemy upon his vanquished victim; just as she liftedher face in the last anguish of supplication, yielding the last hope,sinking in nerveless surrender before the implacable destroyer, therecame a sudden flare of light in the _salon_, and the great crystalcandelabra that hung over the end of the gallery where the man and thegirl were seated watching became a dazzling sparkle of overwhelminglight.
Everyone turned towards it instinctively, and Toby, hardly knowing whatshe did, but with the instinct to escape strong upon her, leapt to herfeet.
In that moment--as she stood in the full light--the dancer's eyes alsoshot upwards and saw the sum young figure. It was only for a moment, butinstantly a wild cry rang through the great _salon_--a cry of agony sopiercing that women shrieked and trembled, hiding their faces from whatthey knew not what.
In the flash of a second the light was gone, the gallery again indarkness. But on the stage a woman's voice cried thrice: "Toinette!Toinette! Toinette!" in the anguished accents of a mother who cries forher dead child, and then fell into a tragic silence more poignant thanany sound--a silence that was as the silence of Death.
And in that silence a man's figure, moving with the free, athletic swingof a sailor, crossed the stage to where the dancer lay huddled in thedimness like a broken thing, lifted her--bore her away.