She looked perfectly regal, and as nearly beautiful as she had ever done; and to the admiring eyes of Francis Markrute, she seemed to outshine all the rest.
Then, their names called as they entered, came Enid and Elaine, each fair and sweet; and Vivien and Ettarre; then Lynette walking alone, with her saucy nose in the air and her flaxen curls spread out over her cream robe, a most bewitching sight.
Several paces behind her came the _Three Fair Queens_, all in wonderfully contrived garments, and misty, floating veils; and lastly, quite ten paces in the rear, walked _Isolt_, followed by her _Brangaine_.

And when the group by the fireplace caught sight of her, they one and all drew in their breath.
For Zara had surpassed all expectations.

The intense and blatant blue of her long clinging robe, which would have killed the charms of nine women out of ten, seemed to enhance the beauty of her pure white skin and marvelous hair.

It fell like a red shining cloak all round her, kept in only by a thin fillet of gold, while her dark eyes gleamed with a new excitement.

She had relaxed her dominion of herself, and was allowing the natural triumphant woman in her to have its day.