There was a thoughtful cast to his countenance, and he puffed away, blissfully unconscious of, or indifferent to, the close proximity of the velvet curtains.

A thrifty housewife, could she have seen the smoke rise and curl and lose itself in the folds above, would have experienced the ecstasy of anxiety and perturbation.

But there was no thrifty housewife at the Red Chateau, nothing but dreams of conquest and revenge.
Twilight was gathering about, soft-footed and shadowful.

Long reaches of violet and vermilion clouds pressed thickly on the western line of hills.

The mists began to rise, changing from opal to sapphire.