They crossed the courtyard and dismounted.

The grooms led their horses away, and, as the big double doors opened, they went in, one of them, standing aside for the younger of his companions but entering before the other.
In the great hall whose walls were adorned with horns and heads and tusks, and whose floor was almost completely carpeted with skins, they gave their weapons to a couple of footmen; and as they did so he saw the slim and yet stately figure of a woman coming down the winding stair which led into the hall from a broad gallery running round it.

As she reached the bottom of the stairway she threw her head back a little, and held out both her hands towards the man who had come in second.

As the light of a great swinging lamp above the stairway fell upon her upturned face, he recognised the Countess Hermia von Zastrow, the reigning European beauty whose portrait in the illustrated papers, and in the great photographer's windows, was almost as familiar as that of Queen Alexandra.
The Count--for the handsome young hunter who now took her hands could now be no other than the Prince of Boravia-Trelitz--raised her right hand in courtly fashion to his lips.

The other two bowed low before her, and then she led the way up the stairs.
He saw all this as distinctly as though he had been actually present, and yet none of the party seemed to take the slightest notice of him.
But he was getting quite accustomed to miracle-working now, and so he accepted the extraordinary conditions of his visions, or whatever it was, with more interest than astonishment.