Free Iron Butterflies by Andre Norton Page B

back to an indecorous degree (such display of breast and shoulder as was no more than common with the Gräfin), I fastened the necklace. The chain showed very black against my skin, the filagree butterflies leaping to the eye as if they were real insects poised to fly at any moment. On the warmth of my breast and throat the metal felt cold and harsh, yet I did not remove it.
    Rather I examined what I saw with an intent survey quite unlike my usual checking upon my clothing to make sure I was neat and properly attired. The sleeves of my dress ballooned properly, if not to the exaggerated width of the fashions I had seen this afternoon. My waist was small, my bell-shaped skirt flared. Perhapsthis dull color did not become me—I might have looked better in rose or green—but that did not greatly matter.
    Why—I saw my dark brows draw together in such a frown as a governess might turn upon some flighty miss in her charge—why was I now so conscious of my appearance? Was it that black chain about my throat, the pendant well down between the beginning curves of my breasts, which made me more aware of my shortcomings of person? I did not envy the Gräfin in the least—but I wished—
    There was a flush rising on my too-pale cheeks. I would not allow myself to face what had caused that flicker of thought.
    A scratching at the door startled me. I swung away from the mirror forgetting my disarray of clothing. At my call Truda came in. She dropped a curtsy as she said:
    “Will the gracious lady be pleased to receive a visitor? He urges that it is very necessary that he speak with the Countess at once—”
    She was plainly flustered, even a little apprehensive, as if she expected some blame in the matter. Nor did I need to be told the name of who waited me. Perhaps I had unconsciously been prepared for this ever since I returned to the house. I hurriedly rebuttoned my muslin collar, and stowed the packet away into hiding, I would wear the necklace, even in hiding. It seemed to me to be as much a pledge of identity as the parchment. Yes, I would wear it now, not only to bolster my pride, but to build my courage. Head high, I went swiftly through corridors, down the stairs to the yellow room.
    Colonel Fenwick did not stand by the window this time, and he was much more dramatic figure in his regimentals—still wearing the crimson and gold of his court uniform. However, above the stiff collar of his jacket his face was as grim as it had been when I had caught that sight of him in the palace. I wondered briefly if the Colonel ever did smile and what he wouldlook like if he were not always prepared to berate some unfortunate mortal for an error of judgment, behavior, or both.
    “You have a message for me?” It could be that what he brought was the summons I had so ardently expected since my arrival in Axelburg.
    “Whose idea was it for you to appear at the palace today?” He ignored my question, demanded an answer to one of his own. As if all which mattered in the world was his own affairs.
    “Does it matter? There is no reason for my identity to be known here at present.” I summoned my coolest tone. As usual his effect upon me was disturbing. My hand actually twitched. I realized, with amazement at my own feelings, that my first desire had been to slap his flint-hard face, make him aware of me—me, a person—not just a piece to be played in some royal intrigue. That realization of my wholly alien reaction shook me so I must have missed some of his reply.
    “—your presence here is already known—where it may do the most harm! We do not know who is responsible for loosing that information, but this is a delicate business and must not be bungled. As long as the Elector remains so helpless and dependent upon others we have to take the greatest care.” Now the Colonel went striding back and forth across the flower garden of the carpet, not regarding me at all.
    I seated myself with what composure I was able to summon. Now that