She opened
and shut her eyelids quickly to make her eyes brighter, and held up her
hands so that the blood should leave the raised network of the purple
veins less swollen and apparent. The patient tire-woman gave one last
scrutinising glance and adjusted the rich folds of the silk gown with
considerable art, although such taste as she possessed was outraged at
the effect of the pale straw colour when worn by such an aged beauty.
Another look into the tall mirror, and Clara von Greifenstein was
satisfied. She had done what she could do to beautify herself, to
revive in her own eyes some faint memory of that prettiness she had
once seen reflected in her glass, and she believed that she had not
altogether failed. She even smiled contentedly at her maid, before she
left the chamber to go to the drawing-room. It was a satisfaction to
show herself to some one, it was a relief from the thoughts that had
tormented her so long, it was a respite from her husband's perpetual
effort to amuse her by reading aloud. For a few hours at least she was
to hear the sound of an unfamiliar voice, to enjoy the refreshing
effect of a slight motion in the stagnant pool of worn-out ideas that
surrounded her little island of life.
She drew herself up and walked delicately, as she went into the
drawing-room. She had judged that her entrance would be effective, and
had timed her coming so as to be sure that her husband and Herr Brandt
should be there before her. The room looked just as it usually did; it
was luxurious, large, warm and softly lighted.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213