“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As of old the great Catherine of her name might have withdrawn with her suite, so now the lady of the tiger skins withdrew from the gallery, the two men following obediently, and one of them at least a happy courtier.