pyramid of bandboxes. There was a virgin forest of boot-trees. And
rustling quickly hither and thither, in and out of this profusion,
with armfuls of finery, was an obviously French maid. Alert, unerring,
like a swallow she dipped and darted. Nothing escaped her, and she
never rested. She had the air of the born unpacker--swift and firm,
yet withal tender. Scarce had her arms been laden but their loads were
lying lightly between shelves or tightly in drawers. To calculate,
catch, distribute, seemed in her but a single process. She was one of
those who are born to make chaos cosmic.

Insomuch that ere the loud chapel-clock tolled another hour all the
trunks had been sent empty away. The carpet was unflecked by any scrap
of silver-paper. From the mantelpiece, photographs of Zuleika surveyed
the room with a possessive air. Zuleika's pincushion, a-bristle with
new pins, lay on the dimity-flounced toilet-table, and round it stood
a multitude of multiform glass vessels, domed, all of them, with dull
gold, on which Z. D., in zianites and diamonds, was encrusted. On a
small table stood a great casket of malachite, initialled in like
fashion. On another small table stood Zuleika's library. Both books
were in covers of dull gold. On the back of one cover BRADSHAW, in
beryls, was encrusted; on the back of the other, A.B.C. GUIDE, in
amethysts, beryls, chrysoprases, and garnets. And Zuleika's great
cheval-glass stood ready to reflect her. Always it travelled with her,
in a great case specially made for it. It was framed in ivory, and of
fluted ivory were the slim columns it swung between. Of gold were its
twin sconces, and four tall tapers stood in each of them.

The door opened, and the Warden, with hospitable words, left his
grand-daughter at the threshold.