Elena seated herself in it, placing on the tea-table beside her her
right hand glove and her card-case, a fragile toy in polished silver
with a device and motto engraven on it. She then proceeded to remove her
veil, raising her arms high to unfasten the knot, her graceful attitude
throwing gleams of changeful light on the velvet of her coat, along the
sleeves and over the contour of her bust. The heat of the fire was very
strong, and with her bare hand, which shone transparent like rosy
alabaster, she screened her face from it. The rings on her fingers
glittered in the firelight.
'Please screen the fire,' she said, 'it is really too fierce.'
'What--have you lost your fondness for the flames?--and you used to be a
perfect salamander. This hearth is full of memories----'
'Let memory sleep,--do not stir the embers,' she interrupted him.
'Screen the fire and let us have some light. I will make the tea.'
'Won't you take off your coat?'
'No, I must go directly--it is late.'
'But you will be melted.'
She rose with a little gesture of impatience. 'Very well then--help me,
please.'
As he helped her off with the mantle, Andrea noticed that the scent was
not the same as the familiar one of old. However, it was so delicious
that it thrilled his every sense.
'You have a new scent,' he said with peculiar emphasis.
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