Those eyes were large, and of that hue which modern poets term
"violet."
These splendid melancholy eyes were turned upon me from the glass, with
a haughty stare, and hastily the lady lowered her black veil, and turned
about.
I fancied that she hoped I had not seen her. I was watching every look
and movement, the minutest, with an attention as intense as if an ordeal
involving my life depended on them.
Chapter II
THE INN-YARD OF THE BELLE ETOILE
The face was, indeed, one to fall in love with at first sight. Those
sentiments that take such sudden possession of young men were now
dominating my curiosity. My audacity faltered before her; and I felt
that my presence in this room was probably an impertinence. This point
she quickly settled, for the same very sweet voice I had heard before,
now said coldly, and this time in French, "Monsieur cannot be aware that
this apartment is not public."
I bowed very low, faltered some apologies, and backed to the door.
I suppose I looked penitent, and embarrassed. I certainly felt so; for
the lady said, by way it seemed of softening matters, "I am happy,
however, to have an opportunity of again thanking Monsieur for the
assistance, so prompt and effectual, which he had the goodness to render
us today.
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