Was it his gout, perhaps?
Or was it possible that she was again losing her hold upon him?
Surely it could not be that! She turned upon her couch and faced the mirror which flanked the door.
The candles had just been lit in her chamber, two score of them, each with silver backs which reflected their light until the room was as bright as day.

There in the mirror was the brilliant chamber, the deep red ottoman, and the single figure in its gauzy dress of white and silver.

She leaned upon her elbow, admiring the deep tint of her own eyes with their long dark lashes, the white curve of her throat, and the perfect oval of her face.

She examined it all carefully, keenly, as though it were her rival that lay before her, but nowhere could she see a scratch of Time's malicious nails.

She still had her beauty, then.
And if it had once won the king, why should it not suffice to hold him?
Of course it would do so.