Sound and Silence

Lupin looked up the long flight of wide steps that ran to the imposing arch of the chateau's entrance. People in colorful garb were wending their way up the wide and shallow ranks of steps, looking as if they floated in the flickering light cast by the many flambeaux. A low rush of sound emanated from the house; as if a large river were hitting so many rocks and tumbling about inside. It was nothing so comforting. The entirety of Paris - or those with any say in the running of the place - were within those walls.
She lowered her chin for a moment, as if gathering herself, then raised it. It was as if she were caught there for a moment, gazing up the stone steps at the looming facade of the chateau, her vision filled by the sight of it. She couldn't move for a moment, her hands catching up the hem of her swirling skirts. Then, forcing her spine straight she dropped her hands and stepped forward, rising upon the first of the stairs.
Her skirts billowed out in a mass of pewter. Behind her she felt Lord Maximilien's hand - small, graceful - at the small of her back. For some reason, the touch of him was hard to bear this evening. She straightened her spine away from his touch, but let its presence pace her steps as she seemed to glide towards the large doorway.

Within, all was starred by the thousands of fine wax candles lit about the room. Lupin's mind began whirring through the figures as she remembered the dark day of candle stubs and tallow in London. It was too much to take in - as the gleaming marble, gilt, and crystal overwhelmed her eye and senses. The ceiling rose like a dome above her, the whole heavens mapped out in amazing detail. The marble of the floors, cut and polished in an intricate circular patter, fanned below her silken slippers, though she could not hear her heels for the rush of sound and music that encompassed her. Everywhere the silks, satins, laces, and paints of France were put on their best display. It was not the fete of the week or the year, she realized almost unerringly. The drunken excitement told her it was, for some reason, the fete of the decade. Her eyes were very grave as she surveyed the mass. Something was expected. And when a hush fell over the room, she realized with a cold, clear knowledge, just what that was.

It was she.