anos, to whom the climate of the
equator had given the color and stature we expect to see in Othello on
the stage, had an alarming look of gloom, but it was a merely pictorial
illusion; for, sweet and affectionate by nature, he was predestined
to be the victim that a strong man often is to a weak woman. The scorn
expressed in his countenance, the muscular strength of his stalwart
frame, all his physical powers were shown only to his fellow-men; a form
of flattery which women appreciate, nay, which so intoxicates them, that
every man with his mistress on his arm assumes a matador swagger that
provokes a smile. Very well set up, in a closely fitting blue coat with
solid gold buttons, in black trousers, spotless patent evening boots,
and gloves of a fashionable hue, the only Brazilian touch in the Baron's
costume was a large diamond, worth about a hundred thousand francs,
which blazed like a star on a handsome blue silk cravat, tucked into a
white waistcoat in such a way as to show corners of a fabulously fine
shirt front.

His brow, bossy like that of a satyr, a sign of tenacity in his
passions, was crowned by thick jet-black hair like a virgin forest, and
under it flashed a pair of hazel eyes, so wild looking as to suggest
that before his birth his mother must have been scared by a jaguar.

This fine specimen of the Portuguese race in Brazil took his stand with
his back to the fire, in an attitude that showed familiarity with
Paris manners; holding his hat in one hand, his elbow resting on the
velvet-covered shelf, he bent over Madame Marneffe, talking to her in an
undertone, and troubling himself very little about the dreadful people
who, in his opinion, were so very much in the way.

This fashion of taking the stage, with the Brazilian's attitude and
expression, gave, alike to Crevel and to the baron, an identical shock
of curiosity and anxiety. Both were struck by the same impression and
the same surmise. And the manoeuvre suggested in each by their very
genuine passion was so comical in its simultaneous results, that it
made everybody smile who was sharp enough to read its meaning. Crevel,
a tradesman and shopkeeper to the backbone, though a mayor of Paris,
unluckily, was a little slower to move than his rival partner, and
this enabled the Baron to read at a glance Crevel's involuntary
self-betrayal. This was a fresh arrow to rankle in the very amorous old
man's heart, and he resolved to have an explanation from Va