Marguerite herself, released for a moment from her constant duties near her royal guests, had strolled through the smaller rooms, accompanied by Juliette, in order to search for Mademoiselle Candeille and to suggest the commencement of the improvised concert.
Desiree Candeille had kept herself very much aloof throughout the evening, only talking to the one or two gentlemen whom her hostess had presented to her on her arrival, and with M. Chauvelin always in close attendance upon her every movement.
Presently, when dancing began, she retired to a small boudoir, and there sat down, demurely waiting, until Lady Blakeney should require her services.
When Marguerite and Juliette Marny entered the little room, she rose and came forward a few steps.
“I am ready, Madame,” she said pleasantly, “whenever you wish me to begin. I have thought out a short programme,—shall I start with the gay or the sentimental songs?”
But before Marguerite had time to utter a reply, she felt her arm nervously clutched by a hot and trembling hand.
“Who... who is this woman?” murmured Juliette Marny close to her ear.
The young girl looked pale and very agitated, and her large eyes were fixed in unmistakable wrath upon the French actress before her. A little startled, not understanding Juliette's attitude, Marguerite tried to reply lightly:
“This is Mademoiselle Candeille, Juliette dear,” she said, affecting the usual formal introduction, “of the Varietes Theatre of Paris—Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille, who will sing some charming French ditties for us to-night.”
While she spoke she kept a restraining hand on Juliette's quivering arm. Already, with the keen intuition which had been on the qui-vive the whole evening, she scented some mystery in this sudden outburst on the part of her young protegee.