of crimson to a delicate pink. At the extreme end of the
glittering vista of pale-green, transparent columns, a door
suddenly opened, and a flock of doves came speeding forth, their
white, spread wings colored softly in the clear rose-radiance,--
they circled round and round the dome three times, then fluttered
in a palpitating arch over Lysia's head, and finally sped straight
across the hall to the other end, where they streamed snowily
through another aperture and disappeared. Still nearer rippled the
sound of singing, . . and all at once a troop of girls came dancing
noiselessly as fire-flies into the full, quivering pinkness of the
jewel-like light that floated about them, . . girls as lovely, as
delicate, as dainty as cyclamens that wave in the woods in the
early days of an Italian spring. Their garments were so white, so
transparent, so filmy and clinging, that they looked like elves
robed in mountain-vapor rather than human creatures, . . there were
fifty of them in all, and as they tripped forward, they, like the
doves that had heralded their approach, surrounded Lysia
flutteringly, saluting her with gestures of exquisite grace and
devout humility, while she, enthroned in supreme fairness, with
her tigress crouched beside her, looked down on them like a
goddess calmly surveying a crowd of vestal worshippers. Their
salutations done, they rushed pell-mell, like a shower of white
rose-leaves drifting before a gale, into the exact centre of the
hall, and there poising bird-like, with their snowy arms upraised
as though about to fly, they waited, . . their lovely faces radiant
with laughter, their eyes flashing dangerous allurement, their
limbs glistening like polished alabaster through the gauzy attire
that betrayed rather than concealed their exquisite forms. Then
came the soft pizzicato of pulled strings, ... and a tinkling
jangle of silver bells beating out a measured, languorous rhythm,