en carefully examined; her smile at times
might be false, but it was rarely ironical, never cynical. Her gestures,
though graceful, were unrestrained and frequent. You could see she was a
daughter of the South. Her companion, on the contrary, preserved on the
fair, smooth face, to which years had given scarcely a line or wrinkle,
something that might have passed, at first glance, for the levity and
thoughtlessness of a gay and youthful nature; but the smile, though
exquisitely polished, took at times the derision of a sneer. In his
manners he was as composed and as free from gesture as an Englishman.
His hair was of that red brown with which the Italian painters produce
such marvellous effects of colour; and if here and there a silver thread
gleamed through the locks, it was lost at once amidst their luxuriance.
His eyes were light, and his complexion, though without much colour,
was singularly transparent. His beauty, indeed, would have been rather
womanly than masculine, but for the height and sinewy spareness of a
frame in which muscular strength was rather adorned than concealed by an
admirable elegance of proportion. You would never have guessed this man
to be an Italian; more likely you would have supposed him a Parisian.
He conversed in French, his dress was of French fashion, his mode of
thought seemed French. Not that he was like the Frenchman of the present
day,--an animal, either rude or reserved; but your ideal of the marquis
of the old regime, the roue of the Regency.

Italian, however, he was, and of a race renowned in Italian history.
But, as if ashamed of his country and his birth, he affected to be
a citizen of the world. Heaven help the world if it hold only such
citizens!

"But, Giulio," said Beatrice di Negra, speaking in Italian, "even
granting that you discover this girl, can you suppose that her father
will ever consent to your alliance? Surely you know too well the nature
of your kinsman?"

"Tu to trompes, ma soeur," replied Giulio Franzini, Count di Peschiera,
in French as usual,--"tu to trompes; I knew it before he had gone
through exile and penury. How can I know it now? But comfort yourself,
my too anxious Beatrice, I shall not care for his consent, till I 've
made sure of his daughter's."

"But how win that in despite of the father?"

"Eh, mordieu!" interrupted the count, with true French gayety; "what
would become of all the comedies ever written, if marriages were not
made in despite