birds. Huge bunches of apricot-coloured roses in silver vases made the
air heavy with their subtle perfume. Fans began to flutter. The string
band struck the preliminary cords of the gavotte.

At that moment the lacqueys at the foot of the stairs called out in
stentorian tones:

"Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille! and Monsieur Chauvelin!"

Marguerite's heart gave a slight flutter; she felt a sudden tightening of the
throat. She did not see Candeille at first, only the slight figure of
Chauvelin dressed all in black, as usual, with head bent and hands clasped
behind his back; he was slowly mounting the wide staircase, between a
double row of brilliantly attired men and women, who looked with no
small measure of curiosity at the ex-ambassador from revolutionary
France.

Demoiselle Candeille was leading the way up the stairs. She paused on
the landing in order to make before her hostess a most perfect and most
elaborate curtsey. She looked smiling and radiant, beautifully dressed, a
small wreath of wrought gold leaves in her hair, her only jewel an
absolutely regal one, a magnificent necklace of diamonds round her
shapely throat.





Chapter XI : The Challenge