Visions of Isabelle Read Online Free PDF Page B

appearance of her brothers and a fabulous confection ordered especially by them–a cake embellished with scallops of frosting and chips of candied fruit, her name emblazoned at an angle in an elaborate cursive script. Below it was a symbol of her life, an ax (for she was known in the family as the best of them at chopping wood) and a quill pen (since they knew she loved to read and longed to write). These two objects were crossed into an emblem, and the decorated piece was the one she devoured first. She was touched by this attention, and also by the way the boys included her in their talk, asking her opinion about politics and people, promising to introduce her to suitable young men. After tea they proceeded to a portion of Lake Geneva that had been cleared of snow and skated out among hundreds of young people, the three De Moerders clearing the way, mimicking trumpet flourishes and courtly bows as if introducing their younger sister to the grown-up world.
    Isabelle's skating was excellent, though more forceful than balletic. She had a special walk, a gait that would remain with her all her life. It was a strong, sliding stride, similar in ways to the famous desert pace of the foreign legionnaires of France. When applied to ice with bladed shoes, it allowed her to sweep about, hands behind her back, to glide with a swiftness that had more grace than all the coquettish pirouetting of the other girls who came to the lake in pairs to meet young men.
    With her brothers as a phalanx, on account of her special sense of herself at being seventeen, it was not long before she was a center of attention, and mobs of youths, students, soldiers, even young doctors and frivolous millionaires were trailing behind her, gliding at her side, trying, by various means such as racing ahead of her, sliding suddenly to a stop, then skating back past her, to catch her eye. She neither ignored them nor showed much interest. She set her face into a warm but abstracted smile and raced about as she saw fit, weaving in and out, cutting across their paths without much regard for their elaborate and mistimed attempts to intercept. Her brothers were delighted, cheered her on, took turns sweeping beside her, grasping her hand and leading her at racing speed far out to the edges where ice met snow. These mad dashes charged her body with a glow and filled her head with that special exhilaration obtained so easily by the limber and the young.
    Gliding back from one of these wild forays she spotted a familiar form sliding across the ice. She was struck at once by this person's graceful ease, the way he skated among the others with the superior air of a champion racehorse amidst a herd of mares. He wore a red sweater and a pair of elegant riding trousers with leather patches at the knees. A moment later he was joined by Nicolas, and the two of them slid along while deep in animated talk. Then Vladimir swooped down to them and they skated up to her three abreast.
    "Ah," Augustin whispered in her ear, "it's Rehid Bey."
    A moment later he stood before her and she was struck by the tiniest ridge of frost that clung to the tips of his arched eyelashes. He greeted her warmly, and while her brothers tried hard to conceal their smiles complimented her on her magnificent carriage.
    "You skate," he said without the slightest trace of irony, "like a Russian princess among Finnish serfs."
    She glowed with pleasure but felt weak-kneed. Suddenly her ankles gave way, she tried to recoup her balance, but fell awkwardly upon the ice. Augustin began to giggle, but Rebid Bey knelt to help her up. While Nicolas looked on amused and Vladimir gawked and Augustin turned his face away, Rehid Bey gravely placed one of her hands upon one of his, and with a nod of his head motioned for her to step out. She did, then he swooped forward himself and bore her away.
    It was as if wings had sprouted from her shoulder blades, as if they were two eagles glinting through the sky, as if they