However, outside the lively whirl, near the fireplace, there was a solitary figure.
Countess Mary de Dagu sat there, her attire still magnificent, her skirt trailing on the floor, pearl earrings shimmering faintly under the lights.
Yet a circle of emptiness surrounded her, as if even the air instinctively kept its distance.
People would see her, offer a vague nod and smile, but no one truly wanted to stop and engage her in conversation.
The corners of her eyes drooped slightly, and she gently closed the fan in her hand; her demeanor carried a hint of forced smile, anyone could see her isolated plight.
Although no one brought the matter out into the open, everyone was tacitly aware; ever since the news of her elopement with Liszt spread in Paris two years ago, her former standing in various social salons had shattered like a mirror.
