Yet around Madame de Santos a web of intrigue is woven, which even
her own keen eyes do not ferret out.
Strange woman-heart. Lonely and defiant, yet blind, she thinks she
guards her control of the budding heiress, "Isabel Valois." Waiting?
In the studio, handsome Raoul Dauvray bends glowing eyes on the
clay which models the classic beauty of Isabel Valois. The sabre
scar on his bronzed face burns red as he directs the changes
of his lovely model. Neither a Phryne nor an Aphrodite, but "the
Unawakened Venus."
A dreamy light flickers in her eyes, as she meets the burning gaze
of an artist lover.
Fighting hard against the current, the heiress of millions affects
not to understand.
It is "Monsieur Raoul," "Mademoiselle Isabel;" and all the while,
their hearts beat in unison.
Raoul, soldier-artist, Frenchman, and lover, dissembles when Villa
Rocca is present. There is a strange constraint in the girl's dark
eyes, as her idle hands cross themselves, in unconscious pose, when
they are alone.
"Lift your eyes a little, mademoiselle. Look steadily at me," is
his gentle request. He can hear the clock tick as if its beat was
the fail of a trip hammer.
When even his fastidious task can no longer delay, he says, as
the afternoon sun gilds the dome of the Invalides, throwing down
his graver, "Je n'en puis plus, mademoiselle.
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