She remembered that she was at a big dinner-party. The guests ranged before and around her; the footmen waiting behind; the light of the candles gleaming on the silver and touching the glass with all the hues of the rainbow; on the table prone mirrors, like sheets of water surrounded by flowers, little lakes amidst moss-roses and lilies of the valley. She sat silent a moment, still smiling, looking at her hand, a pretty hand, like a white precious thing upon the tulle of her gown: one of the fingers bore several rings, scintillating sparks of blue and white.
The general turned to her again; they exchanged a few words; the general was delighted that Mrs. van Even’s right-hand neighbour was keeping her entertained and enabling him to get on quietly with his dinner. Quaerts turned to the lady on his right.
Both of them were glad when they were able to resume their conversation:
“What were we talking about just now?” she asked.
“I know!” he replied, mischievously.
“The general interrupted us.”
“You were not angry with me!” he jested.
“Oh, of course,” she replied, laughing softly, “it was about your idea of me, was it not? Why could you no longer picture me returning to society?”
“I thought that you had become a person apart.”
“But why?”