Yet even so, besotted and immersed in gaming, she could never lose entirely that joy and pride which came from an awareness of her beauty. Sometimes she even cried that crows’ feet must encroach on the smooth magnolia surface of her skin and that the firm ivory contour of her neck must sag and wrinkle.
At other times the kindly glow of candlelight and a sudden spring within her blood would create for her the illusion that she was incomparably glorious again as she had been in her youth.
Tonight she felt that lilt and gladness within her that was an echo of the swift-receding past. Her mirror told her that she was young and beautiful and she could pretend for the moment that she was also desired and adored.
There came a knock at the door and the Marchioness called out,
“Come in.”
Madam
