The man's eyes met hers instantly, opened a little wider,
then narrowed.
She looked at him steadily...interested...something...somewhere...stirring.
The match burnt her fingers and was hastily extinguished. At the same time
she became aware of a fuller effulgence just beyond the pillars and that
people were moving on, some retreating toward the hall. She was carried
forward and a little later turned her head, forgetting for a moment the
humorous face that still had seemed to beckon above the white disks that
inspired her with no interest whatever.
Against the central pillar stood the King, and on either side of him two
officers of his suite, as rigid as men in armor, held aloft each a great
candelabra taken from the wall. All the candles in the branches had been
lit and shone down on the composed and somewhat expressionless face of the
King. The strange group looked like a picture in some old cathedral window.
The scene lasted only a moment. Then the King, bowing courteously, left the
room, still between the candelabra; and, followed by his ambassador, whose
face was far paler than his, ascended the staircase.
VI
A Frenchman beside Alexina cursed softly and she learned the meaning of the
dramatic finale to a superb but rather dull function. There had been no
attempt at assassination. A lead fuse had melted; the ambassador, who had
taxed his imagination to honor his King, had forgotten to give the order
that electricians remain on guard to avert just such a calamity as this.
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