ink held to the heat, I beheld her again; but vividly, as she must have
been when she was sitting to the artist. The hair was naturally crisped,
waving thrice over the forehead and brushed clean from the temples,
showing the small ears, and tied in a knot loosely behind. Her eyebrows
were thick and dark, but soft; flowing eyebrows; far lovelier, to my
thinking, than any pencilled arch. Dark eyes, and full, not prominent. I
find little expression of inward sentiment in very prominent eyes. On the
contrary they seem to have a fish-like dependency of gaze on what is
without, and show fishy depths, if any. For instance, my eyes are rather
prominent, and I am just the little fool--but the French lady is my
theme. Madame la Marquise, your eyes are sweeter to me than celestial. I
never saw such candour and unaffected innocence in eyes before. Accept
the compliment of the pauvre Anglaise. Did you do mischief with them? Did
Vidal's delicate sketch do justice to you? Your lips and chin and your
throat all repose in such girlish grace, that if ever it is my good
fortune to see you, you will not be aged to me!

I slept and dreamed of her.

In the morning, I felt certain that she had often said: 'Mon cher
Gilbert,' to Mr. Pollingray. Had he ever said: 'Ma chere Louise?' He
might have said: 'Ma bien aimee!' for it was a face to be loved.

My change of feeling towards him dates from that morning. He had
previously seemed to me a man so much older. I perceived in him now a
youthfulness beyond mere vigour of frame. I could not detach him from my
dreams of the night. He insists upon addressing me by the terms of our
'official' relationship, as if he made it a principle of our intercourse.

'Well, and is your godpapa to congratulate you on your having had a quiet
rest?' was his greeting.

I answered stupidly: 'Oh, yes, thank you,' and would have given worlds
for the courage to reply in French, but I distrusted my accent. At
breakfast, the opportunity or rather the excuse for an attempt, was
offered. His French valet, Francois, waits on him at breakfast. Mr.
Pollingray and his sister asked for things in the French tongue, and, as
if fearing some breach of civility, Mr. Pollingray asked me if I knew
French.

Yes, I know it; that is, I understand it,' I stuttered. Allons, nous
parlerons francais,' said he. But I shook my head, and remained like a
silly mute.

I was induced towards the close of the meal to come out with a few French