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Jules Verne: balíček 12 elektronických knih (PDF+ePub)     za 528  238 Kč (-55%)

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13. Lady

Arcadia felt triumphant. How life had changed since Pelleas Anthor had stuck his silly face up against her window – and all because she had the vision and courage to do what needed to be done.

Here she was on Kalgan. She had been to the great Central Theater – the largest in the Galaxy – and seen in person some of the singing stars who were famous even in the distant Foundation. She had shopped all on her own along the Flowered Path, fashion center of the gayest world in Space. And she had made her own selections because Homir just didn't know anything about it at all. The saleswomen raised no objections at all to long, shiny dresses with those vertical sweeps that made her look so tall – and Foundation money went a long, long way. Homir had given her a ten-credit bill and when she changed it to Kalganian "Kalganids," it made a terribly thick sheaf.

She had even had her hair redone – sort of half-short in back, with two glistening curls over each temple. And it was treated so that it looked goldier than ever; it just shone.

But this, this was best of all. To be sure, the Palace of Lord Stettin wasn't as grand and lavish as the theaters, or as mysterious and historical as the old palace of the Mule – of which, so far they had only glimpsed the lonely towers in their air flight across the planet – but, imagine, a real Lord. She was rapt in the glory of it.

And not only that. She was actually face to face with his Mistress. Arcadia capitalized the word in her mind, because she knew the role such women had played in history; knew their glamour and power. In fact, she had often thought of being an all-powerful and glittering creature, herself, but somehow mistresses weren't in fashion at the Foundation just then and besides, her father probably wouldn't let her, if it came to that.

Of course, the Lady Callia didn't quite come up to Arcadia's notion of the part. For one thing, she was rather plump, and didn't look at all wicked and dangerous. just sort of faded and near-sighted. Her voice was high, too, instead of throaty, and–

Callia said, "Would you like more tea, child?"

"I'll have another cup, thank you, your grace," – or was it your highness?

Arcadia continued with a connoisseur's condescension, "Those are lovely pearls you are wearing, my lady." (On the whole, "my lady" seemed best.)

"Oh? Do you think so?" Callia seemed vaguely pleased. She removed them and let them swing milkily to and fro. "Would you like them? You can have them, if you like."

"Oh, my– You really mean–" She found them in her hand, then, repelling them mournfully, she said, "Father wouldn't like it."

"He wouldn't like the pearls? But they're quite nice pearls."

"He wouldn't like my taking them, I mean. You're not supposed to take expensive presents from other people, he says."

(...)

(Isaac Asimov, Second Foundation)

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