The
wood-work of all the rooms was of dark oak, so that each appeared with
its brilliantly dressed company to be a flashing gem set in a rich
casket. A shadow of music wandered through the air, sometimes blended
with the sound of the falling fountain in the green-house, sometimes
almost absorbed in the fragrance of the flowers.
For two hours the carriages had been steadily streaming under the
archway, and pouring their fair occupants, gauzy as summer, into the
blazing saloons. The flashing candelabra drew the poor little moths from
the outermost corners into the central vortex of light. Dazzled by the
hot radiance, they strove to retreat again into the cool conservatories
and side-rooms; but at that moment threads of music that had been
carelessly winding through the crowd were caught up by an unseen hand
and knotted,--and behold! already the moths found themselves imprisoned
in a strong net-work of sound, whose intricate meshes entangled the
rooms and the company, and the very light itself. The light, however,
was too subtile for long confinement; it slipped along the melodious
mazes, and melted into the rich odor that exhaled from the roses and
jessamines in the conservatory. The light was a welcome visitor to the
hyacinths and roses, obliged to hide in torturing silence in the still
green-house, pouring out their passionate dumb life in intensity of
fragrance.
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