Then it would be a trial of skill between them! She nodded to the zither player to begin, striking the strings with loud full-blooded notes that vibrated and thrilled through the little theatre and came back to aid the growing clamour of the music. It was grace and grace, suppleness and suppleness at first; then by degrees something fiercely beautiful, profoundly, almost overwhelmingly, appealing to the senses. The audience sat spellbound, while to those two there grew an absorbing forgetfulness of all save that they two, man and woman, were playing each with the other. Suddenly, when that reckless forgetfulness seemed to have reached its climax, the woman faltered for a second, turned to her companion.
"Don't you know the rest?" he whispered softly. "Come on, I'll teach it you."
Half-hypnotised by his look, his manner, she followed his lead. The music, bewildered, ignorant, failed, came to a full stop. But it was not needed. Those two danced to the music of the spheres. The coarse sensuality of this earth had passed. This was the refined super-sensuality of a world of art, of sentiment. It was self-renunciation divorced from its real meaning, and when finally, with La Fantine's heart pressed to his, he laid his burning lips to hers, a great silence like a sigh came to the whole audience. It was broken by Lord Drummuir's stentorian voice--
"You--you d----d young scoundrel! This is too much----"
Marmaduke looked up jubilant.
"It's in the original dance, isn't it, Mademoiselle Le Grand?"
"I--I believe it is," she faltered uncertainly. She had met with her match, and that she knew.
"A most remarkable performance," said Sir John, with unction. "I'll tell you what it is, young man. You two would be the talk of London if you could persuade Mdlle. Fantine----" he paused again, coughed, and added precipitately, "Really, my dear Drum, you are to be congratulated on such a son, and such a future wife! Inimitable, quite inimitable! You'll never feel the least dull in the long winter evenings. Ah, Mdlle. Fantine, mes compliments! I have not seen you for years; not since----" here once more he pulled himself up short, and Lord Drummuir, beguiled from wrath by his ever-ready sense of humour, burst in a loud guffaw.
"Look here, Johnnie," he cried, "hold your tongue and don't splay that old foot of yours about any more. Winter evenings be dashed! Marmaduke is going back to his Cuban partners, and little Fanny here is going to make my gruel, aren't you, Fan? Meanwhile, let's come and have some supper."
So they supped outrageously, and the noise of their laughter echoed out over the quadrangle, where Marrion Paul sat at her door listening for Marmaduke's step. She had promised to call Andrew Fraser the moment she heard it; Andrew, who for two hours had been shivering and shaking with ague under the spare-room blankets, and had now apparently fallen asleep, secure in Marrion's promise to rouse him on his master's appearance.