There was a small company of people gathered at a table which stood in
the cool shadows of the château's eastern wing. Towards these people
my companion directed her steps; I saw her bend close to the ear of a
young girl who had already turned to look at me. At the same instant a
heavily built, handsome man pushed back his chair and stood up,
regarding me steadily through his spectacles, one hand grasping the
back of the seat from which he had risen.
Presently the young girl to whom my companion of the morning had
whispered rose gracefully and came toward me.
Slender, yet with that charming outline of body which youth wears as a
promise, she moved across the terrace in her flowing robe of crape,
and welcomed me with a gesture and a pleasant word, which I scarcely
heard, so stupidly I stood, silenced by the absolute loveliness of the
girl. Did I say loveliness? No, not that, but something newer,
something far more fresh, far sweeter, that made mere physical beauty
a thing less vital than the colorless shadow of a crystal.
She was not only beautiful, she was Beauty itself, incarnate, alive,
soul and body. Later I noticed that she was badly sun-burned under the
eyes, that her delicate nose was adorned by an adorable freckle, and
that she had red hair.... Could this be the Countess de Vassart? What
a change!