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Halima was living in a London suburb—the district now known as Earl's Court. A Lord Hartford, a strong supporter of the French Royalists, and a friend and great admirer of the dark-eyed beauty, had placed a house he had there at her disposal. It was a roomy, old-fashioned red-brick structure standing in its own grounds, which were of considerable extent.
It was one o'clock in the morning. In a large room to the right of the hall, a room with long French windows that gave in to the well-kept garden, a merry party sat at supper; the men numbered about thirty, while the ladies did not exceed a dozen; all were dressed in the height of the prevailing fashion, and each wore a white rosette pinned to coat or gown, the emblem of the cause they were supporting. The meal was practically over, and many of the guests had drawn their chairs back from the table and were sitting about in groups engaged in animated conversation, interspersed with occasional bursts of merriment and ringing laughter from the lips of some fair woman; for they had supped well, and the wine had passed round freely, warming hearts, sharpening wits and unlocking lips.
One person alone sat moodily apart, seeming to take no interest in the doings of the merry crew; a thin, sallow complexioned man with a nervous manner; his eyes moved uneasily about the room, and, more from restlessness, to judge from his appearance, than that he took much pleasure in it, he kept taking sips from a glass of wine that stood in front of him. When anyone addressed him, it was as Mons. de Guichard, but his real name was Querel. He had been a surgeon in the Royalist army and had joined in the plot to reinstate the Bourbons, and affected to be one of the most ardent supporters of the cause.
Suddenly there was a lull in the laughter and conversation, and all eyes were turned to the most beautiful and most extravagantly dressed woman present. She was robed in a gown of white satin, cut, with an audacity that bordered on immodesty, so as to display as much as she durst of the voluptuous charms with which Nature had endowed her—her beautifully rounded arms, which were bare to the shoulder, where a narrow band, gem-studded, crossed them, and the exquisite curves of her neck and swelling bosom, on which a diamond necklace reflected a thousand sparkles from the wax-lights about the room. Her blue black eyes were like two gleaming stars as she flashed them round the company; her face was flushed with excitement, in part due to wine, and her expression and whole bearing testified to a feeling of triumphant joy at the consciousness of her rare outward gifts and their power to sway the other sex and mold all men to her will.
The eyes of the man with the sallow face, de Guichard, no longer roved about the room, but fixed themselves on her with a hungry lust that was almost brutal.
Halima sprang quickly to her feet and raised aloft a glass filled almost to the brim with foaming wine. Instantly the talk and laughter, that had been lessening, in expectation of her action, became completely hushed. Not only so, but all sat immovable.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," she began, "before we part, I have a toast to give you. Most of you were present at our meeting before supper, and know what was resolved on, but, for the information of those who were not in time for it, I will repeat that our plans are at last complete for restoring to France her rightful King. A messenger goes to-night to make them known to our faithful friends in Paris, and to encourage them to keep up their hearts. Courage, my friends, for the blow will soon be struck that shall hurl the bragging upstart from the height he has had the temerity to mount. This is the toast I ask you to join me in: 'Success to the White Rosette and the cause it typifies, our King's.' Also to our next meeting in Paris, fixed for the 25th of March. Vive le Roi!"
She swung the glass about her head, sprinkling, unintentionally, drops of wine on those about her; then she brought it to her lips and emptied it at a draught; then flung it down, and it splintered into fragments on the floor.
Instantly all present sprang to their feet, and the cry went up "Success to the White Rosette! Vive le Roi!" the shriller notes of the women mingling with the rougher tones of the men. The glasses were clinked together then drained to the bottom and, finally like Halima's shattered to atoms on the ground. Employed in a cause deemed almost sacred, they should be put to no common use again. Then deafening shouts and cheers went up, and the enthusiasm became intense, the gentlemen drawing and brandishing their swords, and the ladies waving their pocket-handkerchiefs, and fluttering their fans. "Vive le Roi! Vive Louis XVIII" again and again they cried.