In front stood a tree of silver, springing from a pedestal of four lions whose mouths poured streams of wine, syrup, and mead into basins, which were emptied by a host of slaves, the cup-bearers of the assembly.
There were two thrones side by side, on one of which sat a figure so motionless that it might have been wrought of jasper.

Weighted with a massive head-dress of pearls and a robe of gold brocade, the little grandchild of Prester John seemed like a doll on which some princess had lavished wealth and fancy.

The black eyelashes lay quiet on her olive cheeks, and her breathing did not stir her stiff, jewelled bodice.
"I have seen death in life," thought Aimery as he shivered and looked aside.
Houlagou, her husband, was a tall man compared with the others.

His face was hairless, and his mouth fine and cruel.

His eyes were hard like agates, with no light in them.