filigree gold; large Flemish boots of like material and
ornamented with the same style of button, which extend the length of the
thigh, being met by a belt of orange silk, in which is stuck a poignard
richly chased; and, finally, long leggings of white kid embroidered in
many colored silks after the Mexican style, show a leg of the finest
outline.

Nothing could be more striking or pretty than the contrast between James
and Angela thus grouped. On the one hand, blond tresses, alabaster
tints, rosy cheeks, infantile grace and elegance; on the other, the
bronze tint, ebony locks, and manner at once assured and manly.

Angela's white dress is outlined on the somber colors of James'
vestments; and thus the fine and supple figure of Blue Beard is
accentuated.

Fixing her great blue eyes on the black eyes of the mulatto, the young
woman amuses herself by turning back the embroidered collar of James'
shirt, in order to admire the better his sunburned neck, which in color
and shape rivals the most beautiful Florentine bronze.

After prolonging this unconventional performance, Angela gives the
mulatto a noisy kiss under his ear, takes his head between her two
hands, mischievously rumples up his black locks, gives him a little blow
on the cheek, and says, "That is how I love you, Monsieur Hurricane."

A slight sound is heard behind the tapestry forming the _portiere_, and
Angela calls, "Is it you, Mirette? what do you wish?"

"Madame, I am coming with the flowers and will arrange them in the
stand."

"She hears us!" said Angela, making a mysterious signal to the mulatto;
then she amuses herself laughing madly at and rumpling her lover's hair.
He takes her little caprices with complaisance, and contemplates her
with love. Then he says, smilingly,

"Child! because you look only sixteen, you think everything is permitted
you." Then he adds in a tone of gentle raillery, "and who would think,
seeing this little rosy, ingenuous face that I hold on my knees the most
notable scamp of the Antilles?"

"And who would think that this man, who speaks in so sweet a voice, is
the ferocious Captain Hurricane, the terror of England and Spain?" cried
Angela, breaking into a laugh. The mulatto and the widow express
themselves in the purest French, and without the slightest foreign
accent.

"What matters it," she cries, smilingly, "it is not _I_ whom they call
Blue Beard."

At these words which appear to call up sad memories, the litt