On the threshold stood Theodora.
Silent, rigid, she gazed into the hall.
Like a sudden snow on a summer meadow, a white silence fell from her imagination across that glittering, gleaming tinselled atmosphere. Everywhere the dead seemed to sit around her, watching, as in a trance, strange antics of the grimacing dead.
A vision of beauty she appeared, radiantly attired, a jewelled diadem upon her brow. By her side appeared Basil, the Grand Chamberlain.
When her gaze fell upon the motley crowd, a disgust, such as she had never known, seized her.
She seated herself on the dais, reserved for her, and with queenly dignity bade her guests welcome.
Basil occupied the seat of honor at her right, Roger de Laval at her left.
Had any one watched the countenances of Theodora and of Basil he would have surprised thereon an expression of ravening anxiety. To themselves they appeared like two players, neither knowing the next move of his opponent, yet filled with the dire assurance that upon this move depended the fate of the house of cards each has built upon a foundation of sand.
At last the Count de Laval arose and whirled his glass about his head.
"Twine a wreath about your cups," he shouted, "and drink to the glory of the most beautiful woman in the world—the Lady Theodora."