heeks beneath high-plumed hats as he squeezed his way through serried
waves of crumpled muslin; and sitting on little chairs at the base of
the great serious English trees, he observed a number of quiet-eyed
maidens who seemed only to remind him afresh that the magic of beauty
had gone out of the world with Madame de Cintre: to say nothing of other
damsels, whose eyes were not quiet, and who struck him still more as a
satire on possible consolation. He had been walking for some time, when,
directly in front of him, borne back by the summer breeze, he heard a
few words uttered in that bright Parisian idiom from which his ears had
begun to alienate themselves. The voice in which the words were spoken
made them seem even more like a thing with which he had once been
familiar, and as he bent his eyes it lent an identity to the commonplace
elegance of the back hair and shoulders of a young lady walking in the
same direction as himself. Mademoiselle Nioche, apparently, had come to
seek a more rapid advancement in London, and another glance led Newman
to suppose that she had found it. A gentleman was strolling beside her,
lending a most attentive ear to her conversation and too entranced to
open his lips. Newman did not hear his voice, but perceived that
he presented the dorsal expression of a well-dressed Englishman.
Mademoiselle Nioche was attracting attention: the ladies who passed her
turned round to survey the Parisian perfection of her toilet. A great
cataract of flounces rolled down from the young lady's waist to Newman's
feet; he had to step aside to avoid treading upon them. He stepped
aside, indeed, with a decision of movement which the occasion scarcely
demanded; for even this imperfect glimpse of Miss Noemie had excited
his displeasure. She seemed an odious blot upon the face of nature;
he wanted to put her out of his sight. He thought of Valentin de
Bellegarde, still green in the earth of his burial--his young life
clipped by this flourishing impudence. The perfume of the young lady's
finery sickened him; he turned his head and tried to deflect his course;
but the pressure of the crowd kept him near her a few minutes longer, so
that he heard what she was saying.

"Ah, I am sure he will miss me," she murmured. "It was very cruel in me
to leave him; I am afraid you will think me a very heartless creature.
He might perfectly well have come with us. I don't think he is very
well," she added; "it seemed to me to-day tha