The table was covered with a fine linen in the color of unripe pistachio, embroidered with beautiful sharp patterns – cypress green and white were the threads once chosen to embroider it. Resting on it – reverently, it seemed – was a magnificent Sevres porcelain tea set, dazzlingly white, with green and gold finishes, and a small vase made of perfectly clear crystal, holding tiny mountain lilies that scattered a subtle fragrance. As soon as the woman with wrinkled hands and age spots served the steaming tea, the scent of the lilies vanished, overshadowed by the aroma of the tea. – Sugar? she asked, holding the saucer and cup suspended in her hands. – Three spoons, thank you, said the other, twisting in her armchair. They drank a few hot sips in silence. In the room, nothing else could be heard except small clicks and clacks as the porcelain pieces touched each other whenever the cup was returned to its saucer after touching their lips. Lips dry, unsmiling, tight. And unpainted.
The hostess wore a simple black dress. She was tall and thin, almost gaunt, and her face – a face of aristocratic beauty, with blue eyes and fine features – was adorned with very fine wrinkles around the eyes and at the corners of the lips. Her hair was cut short – beautiful blonde hair, sprinkled with millions of silver strands – which she often smoothed back behind her ears with her hand, while on her hands she wore her wedding ring and a small gold ring with a bright red square stone. The other woman, sitting opposite her, about the same age – they wouldn’t have reached sixty; and if they had, not long ago – was the exact opposite: short and plump, with a round face, without a trace of wrinkles, brunette, with long hair gathered in a loose bun.