dy who stood in the centre of a group at the back of the
drawing-room--a lofty apartment in white and gold, the panels painted by
Baudry, the furniture purest Empire. She noted the height and majestic
bearing of this cousin of kings, noted the aquiline nose drooped over a
contracted mouth--which could assume most winning curves, withal shaded
by suspicious down, that echoed in hue her inky eyebrows. The eyes of
the princess were small and green and her glance penetrating. Her white
hair rolled imperially from a high, narrow forehead.
Ermentrude bore herself with the utmost composure. She adored the Old
World, adored genius, but after all she was an Adams of New Hampshire,
her sister the wife of a former ambassador. It was more curiosity than
_gaucherie_ that prompted her to hold the hand offered her and
scrutinize the features as if to evoke from the significant, etched
wrinkles the tremendous past of this hostess. The princess was pleased.
"Ah, Miss Adams," she said, in idiomatic English, "you have candid eyes.
You make me feel like telling stories when you gaze at me so
appealingly. Don't be shocked"--the girl had coloured--"perhaps I shall,
after a while."
Mr. Sheldam had slipped into a corner behind a very broad table and
under the shaded lamps examined some engravings. Mrs. Sheldam talked in
hesitating French to the Marquis de Potachre, an old fellow of venerable
and burlesque appearance. His fierce little white mustaches were curled
ceilingward, but his voice was as timid as honey. He flourished his
wizened hand toward Miss Adams.
"Charming! Delightful! She has something English in her _insouciant_
pose, and is wholly American in her cerebral quality. And what
colouring, what gorgeous brown hair! What a race, madame, is yours!"
Mrs. Sheldam began to explain that the Adams stock was famous, but the
marquis did not heed her. He peered at her niece through a gold-rimmed
monocle. The princess had left the group near the table and with two
young men slowly moved down the salon. Miss Adams was immediately
surrounded by some antiquated gentlemen wearing orders, who paid her
compliments in the manner of the eighteenth century. She answered them
with composure, for she was sure of her French, sure of herself--the
princess had not annihilated her. Her aunt, accompanied by the marquis,
crossed to her, and the old nobleman amused her with his saturnine
remarks.
"Time was," he said, "when one met here the cream of
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