o are allowed by general consent to possess a peculiar capacity for
some one thing, be it for the direction of arts, or for the conduct
of an important mission. The admirable phrase, "A man with a special
subject," might have been invented on purpose for these acephalous
species in the domain of literature and politics.

Charles gazed longer than he intended. He was vexed with himself for
feeling so strongly interested; it is true, however, that the lady's
appearance was a refutation of the young man's ballroom generalizations.

The Marquise had reached her thirtieth year. She was beautiful in spite
of her fragile form and extremely delicate look. Her greatest charm lay
in her still face, revealing unfathomed depths of soul. Some haunting,
ever-present thought veiled, as it were, the full brilliance of eyes
which told of a fevered life and boundless resignation. So seldom
did she raise the eyelids soberly downcast, and so listless were her
glances, that it almost seemed as if the fire in her eyes were reserved
for some occult contemplation. Any man of genius and feeling must have
felt strangely attracted by her gentleness and silence. If the mind
sought to explain the mysterious problem of a constant inward turning
from the present to the past, the soul was no less interested in
initiating itself into the secrets of a heart proud in some sort of
its anguish. Everything about her, moreover, was in keeping with these
thoughts which she inspired. Like almost all women who have very long
hair, she was very pale and perfectly white. The marvelous fineness of
her skin (that almost unerring sign) indicated a quick sensibility which
could be seen yet more unmistakably in her features; there was the same
minute and wonderful delicacy of finish in them that the Chinese artist
gives to his fantastic figures. Perhaps her neck was rather too long,
but such necks belong to the most graceful type, and suggest vague
affinities between a woman's head and the magnetic curves of the
serpent. Leave not a single one of the thousand signs and tokens by
which the most inscrutable character betrays itself to an observer of
human nature, he has but to watch carefully the little movements of a
woman's head, the ever-varying expressive turns and curves of her neck
and throat, to read her nature.

Mme. d'Aiglemont's dress harmonized with the haunting thought that
informed the whole woman. Her hair was gathered up into a tall coronet
of broad pla