The choice saloon was
hung with rose-coloured silk, which diffused a delicate tint over the
inlaid and costly cabinets. It was crowded with tables covered with
_bijouterie_. Apparently, however, a road had been cut through the
furniture, by which you might wind your way up to the divinity of the
temple. A ravishing perfume, which was ever changing, wandered through
the apartment. Now a violet breeze made you poetical; now a rosy gale
called you to love. And ever and anon the strange but thrilling breath
of some rare exotic summoned you, like an angel, to opening Eden. All
was still and sweet, save that a fountain made you, as it were, more
conscious of silence; save that the song of birds made you, as it were,
more sensible of sweetness.
Upon a couch, her small head resting upon an arm covered with bracelets,
which blazed like a Sol-dan's treasure, reclined Mrs. Dallington Vere.
She is in thought. Is her abstracted eye fixed in admiration upon that
twinkling foot which, clothed in its Russian slipper, looks like a
serpent's tongue, small, red, and pointed; or does a more serious
feeling than self-admiration inspire this musing? Ah! a cloud courses
over that pellucid brow.
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