Across the gallery and down the stair--it might have been the Golden Stair linking Near with Far--came a score of exquisite women in all the glory of their youth, of perfect physical beauty and splendid strength and fullness of life; and the wonder was not their beauty more than a kind of dryad delicacy of that beauty, which was yet not frailty but a look of angelic strength.

But they were not remote--they were gloriously human, almost, one would say, divinely human, all gentle movement and warmth and tender breath.
They were not remote, save as one's own soul would be remote by its very excess of intimacy with life, Little maids, so shy that their actuality was certain, came before them carrying flowers, and these were followed by youths scattering fragrant burning powder whose fallen flames were instantly pounced upon and extinguished by small furry lemurs trained to lay silver discs upon the flames.

And as they all ranged themselves about the throne a little figure appeared at the top of the stairway alone, beneath the lifted curtain.
She was veiled; but the elastic step, the girlish grace, the poise and youthful dignity were not to be mistaken.

The room whirled round St.George, and then closed in about him and grew dark.

For this was the woman advancing to her betrothal; from the manner of her entrance there could be no doubt of that.