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, chérie! 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 farther forward, screening her from observation.