He was therefore pleasantly surprised and puzzled by
the room which welcomed him. The floor was tiled in curious blocks,
strangely hieroglyphed, as if they had been taken from old tombs.
Over the fireplace was set a panel of the same stone, which, by the
thickness of the tiles, formed a low shelf. On this shelf and on
tables and in a high window was the strangest array of objects that
St. George had ever seen. There were small busts of soft rose stone,
like blocks of coral. There was a statue or two of some indefinable
white material, glistening like marble and yet so soft that it had
been indented in several places by accidental pressure. There were
fans of strangely-woven silk, with sticks of carven rock-crystal,
and hand mirrors of polished copper set in frames of gems that he
did not recognize. Upon the wall were mended bits of purple
tapestry, embroidered or painted or woven in singular patterns of
flora and birds that St. George could not name. There were rolls of
parchment, and vases of rock-crystal, and a little apparatus, most
delicately poised, for weighing unknown, delicate things; and jars
and cups without handles, all baked of a soft pottery having a nap
like the down of a peach.
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