She straightened herself up and examined the beautiful weapon with some curiosity, retaining it in her hand while Andrea talked about the new novel, insinuating into his remarks general arguments upon love; and her fingers wandered absently over the chasing of the weapon, her polished nails seeming a repetition of the delicate gems that sparkled in her rings.
Presently, after a pause, Elena said without looking at him: 'You are very young--have you often been in love ?' He answered by another question--'Which do you consider the truest, noblest way of love--to imagine you have discovered every aspect of the eternal Feminine combined in one woman, or to run rapidly over the lips of woman as you run your fingers over the keys of a piano, till, at last, you find the sublime chord of harmony ?' 'I really cannot say--and you ?' 'Nor I either--I am unable to solve the great problem of sentiment.
However, by personal instinct, I have followed the latter plan and have now, I fear, struck the grand chord--judging, at least, by an inward premonition.' 'You fear ?' '_Je crains ce que j'espere._' He instinctively employed this language of affected sentiment to cloak his really strong emotion, and Elena felt herself caught by his voice as in a golden net and drawn forcibly out of the life surrounding them.
'Her Excellency the Princess di Micigliano!' announced a footman.
'Count di Gissi!' 'Madame Chrysoloras!' 'The Marchese and the Marchesa Massa d'Alba!' The rooms began to fill rapidly.

Long shimmering trains swept over the deep red carpet, white shoulders emerged from bodices starred with diamonds, embroidered with pearls, covered with flowers, and in nearly every coiffure glittered those marvellous hereditary gems for which the Roman nobility are so much envied.
'Her Excellency the Princess of Ferentino!' 'His Excellency the Duke of Grimiti!' The guests formed themselves in various groups, the rallying points of gossip and of flirtation.

The chief group, composed exclusively of men, was in the vicinity of the piano, gathered round the Duchess of Scerni, who had risen to her feet, the better to hold her own against her besiegers.

The Princess of Ferentino came over to greet her friend with a reproach.
'Why did you not come to Nini Santamarta's to-day?
We all expected you.' She was tall and thin with extraordinary green eyes sunk deep in their shadowy sockets.

Her dress was black, the bodice open in a point back and front, and in her hair, which was _blond cendre_, she wore a great diamond crescent like Diana.