noon
Domini sat on a low chair in the shadow cast by a great jamelon tree . At her feet was a bush of vivid scarlet geraniums , against which her white linen dress looked curiously blanched . There was a half-drowsy , yet imaginative light in her gipsy eyes , and her motionless figure , her quiet hands , covered with white gloves , lying loosely in her lap , looked attentive and yet languid , as if some spell began to bind her but had not completed its work of stilling all the pulses of life that throbbed within her . And in truth there was a spell upon her , the spell of the golden noon . By turns she gave herself to it consciously , then consciously strove to deny herself to its subtle summons . And each time she tried to withdraw it seemed to her that the spell was a little stronger , her power a little weaker . Then her lips curved in a smile that was neither joyous nor sad , that was perhaps rather part perplexed and part expectant .