Madame Sara | Page 6

voice
was sweet and low, with an extraordinary pathos in it. It was the sort of
voice that penetrates to the heart. There was an instant pause in the gay

chatter. She sang amidst perfect silence, and when the song had come
to an end there followed a furore of applause. I was just turning to say
something to my nearest neighbour when I observed Edith Dallas, who
was standing close by. Her eyes met mine; she laid her hand on my
sleeve.
"The room is hot," she said, half panting as she spoke. "Take me out on
the balcony."
I did so. The atmosphere of the reception-rooms was almost intolerable,
but it was comparatively cool in the open air.
"I must not lose sight of her," she said, suddenly.
"Of whom?" I asked, somewhat astonished at her words.
"Of Sara."
"She is there," I said. "You can see her from where you stand."
We happened to be alone. I came a little closer.
"Why are you afraid of her?" I asked.
"Are you sure that we shall not be heard?" was her answer.
"She terrifies me," were her next words.
"I will not betray your confidence, Miss Dallas. Will you not trust me?
You ought to give me a reason for your fears."
"I cannot--I dare not; I have said far too much already. Don't keep me,
Mr. Druce. She must not find us together."
As she spoke she pushed her way through the crowd, and before I could
stop her was standing by Madame Sara's side.
The reception in Portland Place was, I remember, on the 26th of July.
Two days later the Selbys were to give their final "At Home" before

leaving for the country. I was, of course, invited to be present, and
Madame was also there. She had never been dressed more splendidly,
nor had she ever before looked younger or more beautiful. Wherever
she went all eyes followed her. As a rule her dress was simple, almost
like what a girl would wear, but tonight she chose rich Oriental stuffs
made of many colours, and absolutely glittering with gems. Her golden
hair was studded with diamonds. Round her neck she wore turquoise
and diamonds mixed. There were many younger women in the room,
but not the youngest nor the fairest had a chance beside Madame. It
was not mere beauty of appearance, it was charm--charm which carries
all before it.
I saw Miss Dallas, looking slim and tall and pale, standing at a little
distance. I made my way to her side. Before I had time to speak she
bent towards me.
"Is she not divine?" she whispered. "She bewilders and delights
everyone. She is taking London by storm."
"Then you are not afraid of her tonight?" I said.
"I fear her more than ever. She has cast a spell over me. But listen, she
is going to sing again."
I had not forgotten the song that Madame had given us at the
Farringdons', and stood still to listen. There was a complete hush in the
room. Her voice floated over the heads of the assembled guests in a
dreamy Spanish song. Edith told me that it was a slumber song, and
that Madame boasted of her power of putting almost anyone to sleep
who listened to her rendering of it.
"She has many patients who suffer from insomnia," whispered the girl,
"and she generally cures them with that song, and that alone. Ah! we
must not talk; she will hear us."
Before I could reply Selby came hurrying up. He had not noticed Edith.
He caught me by the arm.

"Come just for a minute into this window, Dixon," he said. "I must
speak to you. I suppose you have no news with regard my
brother-in-law?"
"Not a word," I answered.
"To tell you the truth, I am getting terribly put out over the matter. We
cannot settle any of our money affairs just because this man chooses to
lose himself. My wife's lawyers wired to Brazil yesterday, but even his
bankers do not know anything about him."
"The whole thing is a question of time," was my answer. "When are
you off to Hampshire?"
"On Saturday."
As Selby said the last words he looked around him, then he dropped his
voice.
"I want to say something else. The more I see - " he nodded towards
Madame Sara--"the less I like her. Edith is getting into a very strange
state. Have you not noticed it? And the worst of it is my wife is also
infected. I suppose it is that dodge of the woman's for patching people
up and making them beautiful. Doubtless the temptation is
over-powering in the case of a plain woman, but Beatrice is beautiful
herself and young. What can she