--that is to say,
she should unite the grace and innocence of childhood with the
splendor and fascination of the fully-developed woman. This is most
often found at seventeen--therefore she should be just seventeen."

Belle-bouche was scarcely more than seventeen, as we know. The
cunning Jacques went on.

"She should be a blonde, with light golden hair, eyes as azure as the
heavens, and, as one great poet said of another, 'with a charming
archness' in them."

"Yes," murmured Belle-bouche, whom this description suited perfectly.

"Her voice should not be loud and bold, her manner careless," Jacques
went on; "but a delicious gentleness, and even at times a languor,
should be diffused through it--diffused through voice and manner, as a
perfume is diffused through an apartment, invisible, imperceptible
almost, filling us with quiet pleasure."

"Quite a poetical description," said Belle-bouche, trying to laugh.

"She should be soft and tender--full of wondrous thoughts, and ever
standing like a gracious angel," sighed the rapturous Jacques, "to
bless, console, and comfort me."

"Still prettier," said Belle-bouche, blushing.

"Now let me sum up," said Jacques. "Golden hair, blue eyes, a rosy
face full of childlike innocence, at times steeped in dewy languor,
and those melting smiles which sway us poor men so powerfully; and
lastly, with a heart and soul attuned to all exalted feelings and
emotions. There is what I look for--ah, to find her! Better still to
dream she could love me."

"Well, can you not find your Chloe?" Belle-bouche murmured, almost
inaudibly.

"Never, I fear," said Jacques; "or else," he continued with a sigh,
"when we do find her, we always find that some other discoverer claims
possession."

Belle-bouche blushed.

"Suppose it is without the consent of the aborigines," she said,
attempting to laugh.

Jacques looked at her; then shook his head.

"'Tis the strong hand, not the true heart, which conquers."

"Oh no, it is not!" said Belle-bouche.

"What then?"

"The good, kind heart, faithful and sincere."

Jacques fixed his eyes upon her blushing face, which leaned upon one
of her fair hands--the other hand meanwhile being an object of deep
interest to her eyes, cast down toward it.

"And should such a heart be wounded?" he said.

"Oh, no!" murmured Belle-bouche, blushing.

"Then do not wound mine!" cried Jacques; "dearest Belle-bouche! light
of my heart--that was your portrait! List