Her
eyes, after wandering over the vast moving picture, were suddenly caught
by this figure, which seemed to have been placed on purpose in one
corner of the canvas, and in the best light, like a person out of all
proportion with the rest.

The stranger, alone and absorbed in thought, leaned lightly against one
of the columns that supported the roof; his arms were folded, and he
leaned slightly on one side as though he had placed himself there to
have his portrait taken by a painter. His attitude, though full of
elegance and dignity, was devoid of affectation. Nothing suggested that
he had half turned his head, and bent it a little to the right like
Alexander, or Lord Byron, and some other great men, for the sole purpose
of attracting attention. His fixed gaze followed a girl who was dancing,
and betrayed some strong feeling. His slender, easy frame recalled the
noble proportions of the Apollo. Fine black hair curled naturally over
a high forehead. At a glance Mademoiselle de Fontaine observed that his
linen was fine, his gloves fresh, and evidently bought of a good maker,
and his feet were small and well shod in boots of Irish kid. He had none
of the vulgar trinkets displayed by the dandies of the National Guard
or the Lovelaces of the counting-house. A black ribbon, to which an
eye-glass was attached, hung over a waistcoat of the most fashionable
cut. Never had the fastidious Emilie seen a man's eyes shaded by such
long, curled lashes. Melancholy and passion were expressed in this face,
and the complexion was of a manly olive hue. His mouth seemed ready
to smile, unbending the corners of eloquent lips; but this, far from
hinting at gaiety, revealed on the contrary a sort of pathetic grace.
There was too much promise in that head, too much distinction in his
whole person, to allow of one's saying, "What a handsome man!" or "What
a fine man!" One wanted to know him. The most clear-sighted observer, on
seeing this stranger, could not have helped taking him for a clever man
attracted to this rural festivity by some powerful motive.

All these observations cost Emilie only a minute's attention, during
which the privileged gentleman under her severe scrutiny became the
object of her secret admiration. She did not say to herself, "He must
be a peer of France!" but "Oh, if only he is noble, and he surely must
be----" Without finishing her thought, she suddenly rose, and followed
by her brother the General, she made her way