The colours were almost lost, but the face stood clearly enough.
It was the face of a young girl, long and narrow, with the hair drawn straight up and dressed high and simply on the head without ornament.
"It is she," said one and another.

"C'est bien elle." "It was painted when she was newly a queen," commented the Vicomte de Castel Aunet.

"I have seen others like it, but not that one before." Barebone stood apart and no one offered to approach him.

Dormer Colville had gone toward the great fireplace, and was standing by himself there with his back toward the room.

He was surreptitiously wiping from his face the perspiration which had suddenly run down it, as one may see the rain running down the face of a statue.
Things had taken an unexpected turn.