The Lamp of Fate Part 23

"_Oui, mademoiselle_!" Virginie nodded eloquently. "He smokes a cigarette--to steady the nerves, I suppose."

Magda went swiftly out of the room. She reached the hall by way of an unfrequented pa.s.sage and slipped into the library closing the door behind her.

"Antoine!"

At the sound of her voice Davilof, who had been standing by the fire, wheeled round.

"You!" he exclaimed violently. "You!" And then remained silent, staring at her.

"You knew I was dancing here to-night," she said chidingly. "Why are you so startled? We were bound to meet, weren't we?"

"No, we were not. I proposed leaving the house the moment my solo was over."

Magda laughed a little.

"So afraid of me, Antoine?" she mocked gently.

He made no answer, but his hands, hanging at his sides, clenched suddenly.

Magda advanced a few steps towards him and paused.

"Davilof," she said quietly. "Will you play for me to-night?"

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Play for you?" he repeated. "But you have Mrs. Grey."

"No. She can't accompany me this evening."

"And you ask me?" His voice held blank amazement.

"Yes. Will you do it?"

"Do you remember what I told you the last time we met? That I would never play for you again?"

Magda drew her breath slowly. It was hurting her pride far more than Gillian knew or could imagine to ask a favour of this man. And he wasn't going to make it easy for her, either--that was evident. But she must ask it, nevertheless. For Gillian's sake; for the sake of poor little Coppertop fighting for breath and with no "mummie" at hand to help and comfort him; and for the sake of Lady Arabella, too. After promising to dance for her she couldn't let her G.o.dmother down by crying off at the last moment, when all the world and his wife had come crowding to her house on the strength of that promise.

So she bent her head in response to Davilof's contemptuous question.

"Yes, I remember," she said quietly.

"And you still ask me to play for you?"

"I still ask you."

Davilof laughed.

"You amaze me! And supposing I reply by saying I refuse?"

"But you won't," dared Magda.

Davilof's eyes held something of cruelty in their hazel depths as he answered quietly:

"On the contrary--I do refuse."

Her hand went up to her throat. It was going to be more difficult than she had antic.i.p.ated!

"There is no one else who can play for me as you do," she suggested.

"No," fiercely. "Because no one loves you as I do."

"What is the use of saying you love me when you won't do the one little thing I ask?" she retorted. "It is not often that I ask favours.

And--and no one has ever refused me a request before."

Davilof could hear the note of proud resentment in her voice, and he realised to the full that, in view of all that had pa.s.sed between them in the Mirror Room, it must have been a difficult matter for a woman of Magda's temperament to bring herself to ask his help.

But he had no intention of sparing her. None but himself knew how bitterly she had hurt him, how cruelly she had stung his pride, when she had flung him that contemptuous command: "I shall want you to-morrow, Davilof!--same time." He had unveiled his very soul before her--and in return she had tossed him an order as though he were a lackey who had taken a liberty. All his pain and brooding resentment came boiling up to the surface.

"If I meant anything to you," he said slowly, "if you had even looked upon me as a friend, you could have asked what you liked of me. But you showed me once--very clearly--that in your eyes I was nothing more than your paid accompanist. Very well, then! Pay me--and I'll play for you to-night."

"Pay you?"

"Oh, not in money"--with a short laugh.

"Then--then what do you mean?" Her face had whitened a little.

"It's quite simple. Later on there is a dance. Give me a dance with you!"

Magda hesitated. In other circ.u.mstances she would have refused point-blank. Davilof had offended her--and more than that, the revelation of the upsettingly vehement order of his pa.s.sion for her that day in the Mirror Room had frightened her not a little. There was something stormy and elemental about it. To the caloric Pole, love was love, and the fulfilment of his pa.s.sion for the adored woman the supreme necessity of life.

Realising that she had to withstand an ardour essentially unEnglish in its violently inflammable quality, Magda was loth to add fuel to the flame. And if she promised to dance with Davilof she must let him hold her in his arms, risk that dangerous proximity which, she knew now, would set the man's wild pulses racing unsteadily and probably serve as the preliminary to another tempestuous scene.

"Well?" Davilof broke in upon her self-communings. "Have I asked too high a price?"

Time was flying. She must decide, and decide quickly. She took her courage in both hands.

"No," she returned quickly. "I will dance with you, Antoine."

He bowed.

"Our bargain is complete, then," he said ironically. "I shall be charmed to play for you, mademoiselle."

An hour or so later the last burst of applause had died away, and the well-dressed crowd which had sat in enthralled silence while the Wielitzska danced emerged chattering and laughing from the great ballroom.

Their place was immediately taken by deft, felt-slippered men, who proceeded swiftly to clear away the seats and the drugget which had been laid to protect the surface of the dancing floor. In the twinkling of an eye, as it were, they transformed what had been to all intents and purposes a concert-hall into a flower-decked ballroom, while the members of the band engaged for the dance began climbing agilely into their allotted places on the raised platform preparatory to tuning up for the evening's work.