visage.

He was undersized, and of a feeble slender frame. In the eyes of women
and artists the defects of his frame were redeemed by the extraordinary
beauty of the face. His black hair, carefully parted in the centre, and
worn long and flowing, contrasted the whiteness of a high though narrow
forehead, and the delicate pallor of his cheeks. His feature, were very
regular, his eyes singularly bright; but the expression of the face
spoke of fatigue and exhaustion; the silky locks were already thin,
and interspersed with threads of silver; the bright eyes shone out from
sunken orbits; the lines round the mouth were marked as they are in the
middle age of one who has lived too fast.

It was a countenance that might have excited a compassionate and
tender interest but for something arrogant and supercilious in the
expression,-something that demanded not tender pity but enthusiastic
admiration. Yet that expression was displeasing rather to men than
to women; and one could well conceive that, among the latter, the
enthusiastic admiration it challenged would be largely conceded.

The conversation at dinner was in complete contrast to that at the
Americans' the day before. There the talk, though animated, had been
chiefly earnest and serious; here it was all touch and go, sally and
repartee. The subjects were the light on lots and lively anecdotes of
the day, not free from literature and politics, but both treated as
matters of persiflage, hovered round with a jest and quitted with an
epigram. The two French lady authors, the Count de Passy, the physician,
and the host far outspoke all the other guests. Now and then, however,
the German Count struck in with an ironical remark condensing a great
deal of grave wisdom, and the young author with ruder and more biting
sarcasm. If the sarcasm told, he showed his triumph by a low-pitched
laugh; if it failed, he evinced his displeasure by a contemptuous sneer
or a grim scowl.

Isaura and Graham were not seated near each other, and were for the most
part contented to be listeners.

On adjourning to the salon after dinner, Graham, however, was
approaching the chair in which Isaura had placed herself, when the young
author, forestalling him, dropped into the seat next to her, and began a
conversation in a voice so low that it might have passed for a whisper.
The Englishman drew back and observed them. He soon perceived, with
a pang of jealousy not unmingled with scorn, that the auth