She wasn't really wearing stockings, she was dressed in a silk nightgown. When they took her foot in hand and began to massage it, she ended up laying back and relaxing deeply... That is until they brought Darius up. She tensed a little, not in a bad way, but it was as if that name put a spark of life into her. "Ah, Darius," she said, almost as a purr. "He does such a wonderful job painting," she murmured. "He will do justice to your portrait." She closed her eyes and a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips.

The woman was obviously harboring affection for the artist, perhaps even love. But she did not speak of that aspect of her strange relationship with the brother of her dead husband. She sighed as they hit a particularly tender spot in her poor, swollen foot, her toes curling. "That feels lovely, mon petite," she sighed again.

A knock was on the door and the mute girl came in with a tray of tea and scones, though there was only one cup. Sonia lazily glanced over to the girl and said in her accented English, "Please, Maggie, will you bring another cup? Write this down for the chef: Onion soup and some extra bread." She would not be eating scones, her stomach sort of churned at the thought. Sonia looked at Chéri and said, "Is there anything you would like?"