And the scenes in the tympanum, the little virgins in the arches, looked as if they had been there for centuries, behind the glass and jewels of the shrine of a saint.

Agnes herself let trail behind her her court mantle, threaded with light and embroidered with stars.

Her lamb had a fleece of diamonds, and her palm-branch had become the colour of heaven.

The whole door was resplendent in the purity of intense cold.
Angelique recollected the night she had passed there under the protection of these saints.

She raised her head and smiled upon them..