rutiny of him.

Antoinette, rather weary, had retired early to her chamber. Mlle.
Moiseney repaired thither to see if she needed anything, and, as she was
about leaving her for the night, candle in hand, she suddenly inquired,
"Do not you think, as I do, that this stranger is a remarkable-looking
person?"

"Of whom do you speak?" rejoined Antoinette.

"Why, of the traveller who sat opposite me."

"I confess that I scarcely looked at him."

"Indeed! He has superb eyes, nearly green, with fawn-coloured tinting."

"Most astonishing! And his hair, is it green also?"

"Chestnut brown, almost hazel."

"Pray be more exact; is it hazel or not?"

"You need not laugh at me--his whole appearance is striking, his figure
singular, but full of character, full of expression, and as handsome as
singular."

"What enthusiasm! It seemed to me, so far as I noticed, that he was
inclined to stoop, and that his head was very badly poised."

"What do you say?" cried Mlle. Moiseney, greatly scandalized. "How came
you to think his head badly poised?"

"There--there! Don't let us quarrel about it; I am ready to retract.
Good-night, mademoiselle. Apropos, did you know that M. Camille Langis
had returned to Paris?"

"I did not know it, but I am not surprised. I had surmised it; in fact,
I was quite sure that he would be back about this time, perfectly sure.
And, of course, you think he has returned with the intention--"

"I think," interrupted Antoinette, "that it costs me more to pain M.
Langis than any other man in the world. I think, also, that he possesses
most tiresome fidelity; it is always the way, one never loses one's dog
when one wants to lose him; and I think, moreover, that a woman makes a
poor bargain when she marries a man for whom she feels friendship; for,
if she gains a husband, she is very sure to lose a friend."

"How true your words are!" exclaimed Mlle. Moiseney. "But you are always
right. Has M. Langis forgotten that you thought him too young--only
twenty-three?"

"He has so little forgotten it that he has managed, I don't know how, to
be at present twenty-five. How resist such a mark of affection? I shall
be compelled to marry him."

"That will never do. People do not marry for charity," replied Mlle.
Moiseney, deprecatingly.

"Adieu, my dear," said Antoinette, dismissing her. "Do not dream too
much about your unknown charmer. I assure you he had a decided stoop
in his shoulders. However, that makes sma