At first it was difficult to discern more than a gorgeous maze of swaying light and color as though a great field of tulips in full bloom should be seen waving to and fro in the breath of a soft wind; but gradually this bewildering dazzle of gold and green, violet and crimson, resolved itself into definite form and substance; and Theos, standing beside his two companions on the elevated threshold of the partition through which they had entered, was able to look down and survey with tolerable composure the wondrous details of the glittering picture—­a picture that looked like a fairy-fantasy poised in a haze of jewel-like radiance as of vaporized sapphire.

He saw beneath him a vast circular hall or amphitheatre, roofed in by a lofty dome of richest malachite, from the centre of which was suspended a huge globe of fire, that revolved with incredible swiftness, flinging vivid, blood-red rays on the amber-colored silken carpets and embroideries that strewed the floor below.  The dome was supported by rows upon rows of tall, tapering crystal columns, clear as translucent water and green as the grass in spring, . . and between and beyond these columns on the left-hand side there were large, oval-shaped casements set wide open to the night, through which the gleam of a broad lake laden with water-lilies could be seen shimmering in the yellow moon.  The middle of the hall was occupied by a round table covered with draperies of gold, white, and green, and heaped with all the costly accessories of a sumptuous banquet such as might have been spread before the gods of Olympus in the full height of their legendary prime.  Here were the lovely hues of heaped-up fruit,—­the tender bloom of scattered flowers,—­the glisten of jewelled flagons and goblets, the flash of massive golden dishes carried aloft by black slaves attired in white and crimson,—­the red glow of poured-out wine; and here, in the drowsy warmth, lounging on divans of velvet and embroidered satin, eating, drinking, idly gossiping, loudly laughing, and occasionally bursting into wild snatches of song, were a company of brilliant-looking personages,—­all men, all young, all handsome, all richly clad, and all evidently bent on enjoying the pleasures offered by the immediate hour.  Suddenly, however, their noisy voices ceased—­with one accord, as though drawn by some magnetic spell, they all turned their heads toward the platform where Lysia had just silently made her appearance,—­ and springing from their seats they broke into a boisterous shout of acclamation and welcome.  One young man whose flushed face had all the joyous, wanton, effeminate beauty of a pictured Dionysius, reeled forward, goblet in hand, and tossing the wine in air so that it splashed down again at his feet, staining his white garments as it fell with a stain as of blood, he cried, tipsily: