She is very pale and dark, and is dressed always in black." "Like her I saw." "You shall see her again.

I will send for her." Unorna pressed an ivory key in the silver ball which lay beside her, attached to a thick cord of white silk.

"Ask Sletchna Axenia to come to me," she said to the servant who opened the door in the distance, out of sight behind the forest of plants.
Amid less unusual surroundings the Wanderer would have rejected with contempt the last remnants of his belief in the identity of Unorna's companion, with Beatrice.

But, being where he was, he felt unable to decide between the possible and the impossible, between what he might reasonably expect and what lay beyond the bounds of reason itself.
The air he breathed was so loaded with rich exotic perfumes, the woman before him was so little like other women, her strangely mismatched eyes had for his own such a disquieting attraction, all that he saw and felt and heard was so far removed from the commonplaces of daily life as to make him feel that he himself was becoming a part of some other person's existence, that he was being gradually drawn away from his identity, and was losing the power of thinking his own thoughts.

He reasoned as the shadows reason in dreamland, the boundaries of common probability receded to an immeasurable distance, and he almost ceased to know where reality ended and where imagination took up the sequence of events.
Who was this woman, who called herself Unorna?
He tried to consider the question, and to bring his intelligence to bear upon it.