spoken of before, was coming down the stairs, and my first
sensation was that of profound astonishment at this evidence that
she did really exist. And even then the visual impression was more
of colour in a picture than of the forms of actual life. She was
wearing a wrapper, a sort of dressing-gown of pale blue silk
embroidered with black and gold designs round the neck and down the
front, lapped round her and held together by a broad belt of the
same material. Her slippers were of the same colour, with black
bows at the instep. The white stairs, the deep crimson of the
carpet, and the light blue of the dress made an effective
combination of colour to set off the delicate carnation of that
face, which, after the first glance given to the whole person, drew
irresistibly your gaze to itself by an indefinable quality of charm
beyond all analysis and made you think of remote races, of strange
generations, of the faces of women sculptured on immemorial
monuments and of those lying unsung in their tombs. While she
moved downwards from step to step with slightly lowered eyes there
flashed upon me suddenly the recollection of words heard at night,
of Allegre's words about her, of there being in her "something of
the women of all time."

At the last step she raised her eyelids, treated us to an
exhibition of teeth as dazzling as Mr. Blunt's and looking even
stronger; and indeed, as she approached us she brought home to our
hearts (but after all I am speaking only for myself) a vivid sense
of her physical perfection in beauty of limb and balance of nerves,
and not so much of grace, probably, as of absolute harmony.

She said to us, "I am sorry I kept you waiting." Her voice was low
pitched, penetrating, and of the most seductive gentleness. She