He laughed in his careless fashion at her amazement.  “Now we shall drink out of one cup!” he said.

“Was that—­was that—­why you did it?” she stammered breathlessly.

He blew a cloud of smoke into the air with a gesture of royal indifference.  “Even so,—­madame!” he said.  “One does these things—­with a wife.  You see, a wife—­is different.”

“I—­I see,” said Toby.

CHAPTER IV

THE IDOL OF PARIS

It was dark when they returned to the hotel, but Paris shone with a million lights.  The hotel itself had a festive air.  There were flowers in all directions, and a red carpet had been laid upon the steps.

“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.  “She is coming to a dance in the great salon tonight.  You shall see her.  She is—­a thing to remember.”

Toby gave a quick shiver.  “Yes, I have heard of her too much—­too much—­I don’t want to see her.  Shall we dine upstairs?”

“Oh, I think not,” said Saltash with decision.  “You are too retiring, ma chere.  It doesn’t become—­a lady of your position.”

He followed her towards the lift.  The vestibule was full of people, laughing and talking, awaiting the coming of the favourite.  But as the girl in her blue cloak went through, a sudden hush fell.  Women lifted glasses to look at her, and men turned to watch.

Saltash sauntered behind her in his regal way, looking neither to right nor left, yet fully aware of all he passed.  No one accosted him.  There were times when even those who knew him well would have hesitated to do so.  He could surround himself with an atmosphere so suavely impersonal as to be quite impenetrable to all.

It surrounded him now.  He walked like a king through a crowd of courtiers, and the buzz of talk did not spring up again till he was out of sight.

“So you do not want to see le premiere danseuse du siecle!” he commented, as he entered the sitting-room of their suite behind Toby.

She turned, blue eyes wide with protest in her white face.  “Do you wish me to see her, my lord?  That—­woman!”

He frowned upon her suddenly.  “Call me Charles!  Do you hear?  We will play this game according to rule—­or not at all.”

“You are angry,” Toby said, and turned still whiter.

He came to her, thrust a quick arm about her.  “I am not angry, mignonne, at least not with you.  But you must take your proper place.  I can’t keep you in hiding here.  Those gaping fools downstairs—­they have got to understand.  You are not my latest whim, but a permanent institution.  You are—­my wife.”