“What a dazzlingly beautiful woman!” remarked another—­this one a man.  While: 

“Who is she?” arose upon all sides.

Judging from the isolation of the barbaric figure, it would seem that society did not know the tiger-lady, but Deacon, seizing his companion by the arm and almost dragging him into the small salon which the lady had entered, turned in the doorway and looked into Annesley’s eyes.  Annesley palpably sought to evade the glance.

“You know everybody,” whispered Deacon.  “You must be acquainted with her.”

A great number of people were now thronging into the room, not so much because of the pictures it contained, but rather out of curiosity respecting the beautiful unknown.  Annesley tried to withdraw; his uneasiness grew momentarily greater.

“I scarcely know her well enough,” he protested, “to present you. 
Moreover------”

“But she’s smiling at you!” interrupted Deacon eagerly.

His handsome but rather weak face was flushed; he was, as an old clubman had recently said of him, “so very young.”  He lacked the restraint usual in cultured Englishmen, and had the frankly passionate manner which one associates with the South.  His uncle, Colonel Deacon, a mordant wit, would say apologetically: 

“Reggie” (Deacon’s father) “married a Gascon woman.  She was delightfully pretty.  Poor Reggie!”

Certainly Rene was impetuous to an embarrassing degree, nor lightly to be thwarted.  Boldly meeting the glance of the woman of the amber eyes, he pushed Annesley forward, not troubling to disguise his anxiety to be presented to the tiger-lady.  She turned her head languidly, with that wild-animal grace of hers, and unsmiling now, regarded Annesley.

“So you forget me so soon, Mr. Annesley,” she murmured, “or is it that you play the good shepherd?”

“My dear Madame,” said Annesley, recovering with an effort his wonted sang-froid, “I was merely endeavouring to calm the rhapsodies of my friend, who seemed disposed to throw himself at your feet in knight-errant fashion.”

“He is a very handsome boy,” murmured Madame; and as the great eyes were turned upon Deacon the carmine lips curved again in the Cleopatrian smile.

She was indeed wonderful, for while she spoke as the woman of the world to the boy, there was nothing maternal in her patronage, and her eyes were twin flambeaux, luring—­luring, and her sweet voice was a siren’s song.

“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.