“Stole all noises from the feet.”
Shadow flecked with gleams of splendor; silence softly moved by the sighing of an invisible Eolian harp; cool air just slightly fragrant with the delicate breath of fresh, living flowers.
A pleasing awe, as of entering a chapel of the olden time, of incense and artistic decoration, crept over Lilith.
As her eyes became accustomed to the religious gloom, she saw the figure of a lady rise slowly from one of the reclining chairs and stand waiting to receive her—a lady of majestic beauty and grace, whose perfect form was clothed from head to foot in a closely fitting, rich black velvet trained dress, without trimming or ornament of any kind; and whose beautiful head was crowned with an aureole of golden hair, which her widow’s cap but half concealed.
Lilith approached and courtesied involuntarily as to a queen, so much did the grand beauty of this lady impress her imagination.
“Madame, I have the honor to bring you mademoiselle,” said the old gentleman, bowing.
Lilith courtesied again, and glanced up at the lady’s face—a beautiful face—somehow suggestive of the surroundings, shadow and splendor—perfect features, a brilliant blonde complexion, dark, glorious eyes, and golden-hued hair, the radiant beauty of the whole enhanced by the dead black of the mourning robe.
“Le Grange, you may retire,” said the lady.
And the old gentleman, with another bow, withdrew.
The lady resumed her seat, and by a courteous motion of her hand invited Lilith to take another near her.