There, in a formal salon, with gilt chairs, oval, polished tables, faded rugs and shining mirrors, sat a purple china dog with his tail curled over his back sternly staring into vacancy. His expression and his attitude were autocratic and determined, betokening a tyrannical nature, and Domini peeped at him with precaution, holding herself very still lest he should become aware of her presence and resent it.
“Monsieur the Count paid much money for the dog,” murmured Smain. “He is very valuable.”
“How long has he been there?”
“For many years. He was there when I was born, and I have been married twice and divorced twice.”
Domini turned from the window and looked at Smain with astonishment. He was smelling his rose like a dreamy child.
“You have been divorced twice?”
“Yes. Now I will show Madame the smoking-room.”
They followed another of the innumerable alleys of the garden. This one was very narrow and less densely roofed with trees than those they had already traversed. Tall shrubs bent forward on either side of it, and their small leaves almost meeting, were transformed by the radiant sunbeams into tongues of pale fire, quivering, well nigh transparent. As she approached them Domini could not resist the fancy that they would burn her. A brown butterfly flitted forward between them and vanished into the golden dream beyond.
“Oh, Smain, how you must love this garden!” she said.
A sort of ecstasy was waking within her. The pure air, the caressing warmth, the enchanted stillness and privacy of this domain touched her soul and body like the hands of a saint with power to bless her.