glorious beard of the Duc de Mersch, on his arm was an old lady to whom
he seemed to pay deferential attention. His head was bent on one side;
he was smiling frankly. A little behind them, on the stairway, there was
a space. Perhaps I was mistaken; perhaps there was no space--I don't
know. I was only conscious of a figure, an indescribably clear-cut
woman's figure, gliding down the way. It had a coldness, a
self-possession, a motion of its own. In that clear, transparent,
shimmering light, every little fold of the dress, every little shadow of
the white arms, the white shoulders, came up to me. The face turned up
to meet mine. I remember so well the light shining down on the face, not
a shadow anywhere, not a shadow beneath the eyebrows, the nostrils, the
waves of hair. It was a vision of light, theatening, sinister.

She smiled, her lips parted.

"You come to me to-morrow," she said. Did I hear the words, did her lips
merely form them? She was far, far down below me; the air was alive with
the rustling of feet, of garments, of laughter, full of sounds that made
themselves heard, full of sounds that would not be caught.

"You come to me ... to-morrow."

The old lady on the Duc de Mersch's arm was obviously my aunt. I did not
see why I should not go to them to-morrow. It struck me suddenly and
rather pleasantly that this was, after all, my family. This old lady
actually was a connection more close than anyone else in the world. As
for the girl, to all intents and, in everyone else's eyes, she was my
sister. I cannot say I disliked having her for my sister, either. I
stood looking down upon them and felt less alone than I had done for
many years.