reminding me, even in this his moment of triumph, of that inquisitive
restlessness, that absence of what I considered desirable self-control,
which were amongst his faults. He should not have cared just then to
ask what I thought, or what anybody thought, but he _did_ care, and he
was too natural to conceal, too impulsive to repress his wish. Well! if
I blamed his over-eagerness, I liked his _naivete_. I would have
praised him: I had plenty of praise in my heart; but, alas! no words on
my lips. Who _has_ words at the right moment? I stammered some lame
expressions; but was truly glad when other people, coming up with
profuse congratulations, covered my deficiency by their redundancy.

A gentleman introduced him to M. de Bassompierre; and the Count, who
had likewise been highly gratified, asked him to join his friends (for
the most part M. Emanuel's likewise), and to dine with them at the
Hotel Crecy. He declined dinner, for he was a man always somewhat shy
at meeting the advances of the wealthy: there was a strength of sturdy
independence in the stringing of his sinews--not obtrusive, but
pleasant enough to discover as one advanced in knowledge of his
character; he promised, however, to step in with his friend, M. A----,
a French Academician, in the course of the evening.

At dinner that day, Ginevra and Paulina each looked, in her own way,
very beautiful; the former, perhaps, boasted the advantage in material
charms, but the latter shone pre-eminent for attractions more subtle
and spiritual: for light and eloquence of eye, for grace of mien, for
winning variety of expression. Ginevra's dress of deep crimson relieved
well her light curls, and harmonized with her rose-like bloom.
Paulina's attire--in fashion close, though faultlessly neat, but in
texture clear and white--made the eye grateful for the delicate life of
her complexion, for the soft animation of her countenance, for the
tender depth of her eyes, for the brown shadow and bounteous flow of
her hair--darker than that of her Saxon cousin, as were also her
eyebrows, her eyelashes, her full irids, and large mobile pupils.
Nature having traced all these details slightly, and with a careless
hand, in Miss Fanshawe's case; and in Miss de Bassompierre's, wrought
them to a high and delicate finish.

Paulina was awed by the savants, but not quite to mutism: she conversed
modestly, diffidently; not without effort, but with so true a
sweetness, so fine and penetrating a