The Marchesa and her husband occupied the
two ends of the table, which glittered with rare china, silver, crystal
and flowers.
Very few women could compete with the Marchesa d'Ateleta in the art of
dinner giving. She expended more care and forethought in the preparation
of a menu than of a toilette. Her exquisite taste was patent in every
detail, and her word was law in the matter of elegant conviviality. Her
fantasies and her fashions were imitated on every table of the Roman
upper ten. This winter, for instance, she had introduced the fashion of
hanging garlands of flowers from one end of the table to the other, on
the branches of great candelabras, and also that of placing in front of
each guest, among the group of wine glasses, a slender opalescent Murano
vase with a single orchid in it.
'What a diabolical flower!' said Elena Muti, taking up the vase and
examining the orchid which seemed all blood-stained.
Her voice was of such rich full _timbre_ that even her most trivial
remarks acquired a new significance, a mysterious grace, like that King
of Phrygia whose touch turned everything to gold.
'A symbolical flower--in your hands,' murmured Andrea, gazing at his
neighbour, whose beauty in that attitude was really amazing.
She was dressed in some delicate tissue of palest blue, spangled with
silver dots which glittered through antique Burano lace of an
indefinable tint of white inclining to yellow.
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