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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Who who is it from?" Larpent's far-seeing eyes came gravely to meet her own. "From Rozelle Daubeni," he said. "Ah!" A quick shiver went through Toby. She averted her look. "I don't want to hear it," she said. "I've got to deliver it," said Larpent, with a hint of doggedness. "And you've got to listen. But you needn't be afraid. It isn't going to make any difference to you.
She was watching a small boat rowing steadily towards them through the dark water, with eyes that were grave and fixed. Saltash's look followed hers, and he grimaced to himself, oddly, wryly, as a man who accomplishes a task for which he has no liking. Then in a moment he turned the conversation. "Did you ever meet Rozelle Daubeni, the enchantress?"
Very late that night when all the crowds who had assembled to watch Rozelle Daubeni had dispersed with awe-struck whisperings, two men came down the great staircase into the empty vestibule and paused at the foot. "You are leaving Paris again?" said Saltash. The other nodded, his face perfectly emotionless, his eyes the eyes of a sailor who searches the far horizon.
"Rozelle Daubeni is expected," said Saltash. "Who?" Toby stopped short in the act of descending. Her face shone white in the glare. A moment before she had been laughing but the laugh went into her question with a little choked sound. "Who did you say?" she questioned more coherently. "Mademoiselle Daubeni the idol of Paris. Never heard of her?" Saltash handed her lightly down.
It was well known that Rozelle Daubeni never travelled without an escort; but this man this man He was tall and broad, and he carried himself with a supreme contempt for his fellow-men. He did not look at Saltash, did not apparently even see the hushed crowd that hung upon every movement of that wonderful woman-creature who took the world by storm wherever she went.
They seemed to look upon a death-struggle the wild fight of a creature endowed with a fiery vitality against an enemy unseen but wholly ruthless and from the first invincible. Those who saw that dance of Rozelle Daubeni never forgot it, and there was hardly a woman in the audience who was not destined to shudder whenever the memory of it arose.
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