On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. They’re all wonderful cooks. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. ” She laughed. And when she learned that she had been doubly cheated, what then? His thoughts began to fall on her side of the scales, and his own misery grew lighter as he anticipated hers.
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