With that frankness which ever marked her character, she
describes the strange fluttering of her heart, the embarrassment, the
attraction, and the instinctive diffidence she experienced when in the
presence of a young man who had, all unconsciously, interested her
affections. It seems that there was a youthful painter named Taboral,
of pale, and pensive, and intellectual countenance--an artist with
soul-inspired enthusiasm beaming from his eye--who occasionally called
upon her father. Jane had just been reading the Heloise of Rousseau,
that gushing fountain of sentimentality. Her young heart took fire.
His features mingled insensibly in her dreamings and her visions, and
dwelt, a welcome guest, in her castles in the air. The diffident young
man, with all the sensitiveness of genius, could not speak to the
daughter, of whose accomplishments the father was so justly proud,
without blushing like a girl. When Jane heard him in the shop, she
always contrived to make some errand to go in. There was a pencil or
something else to be sought for. But the moment she was in the
presence of Taboral, instinctive embarrassment drove her away, and she
retired more rapidly than she entered, and with a palpitating heart
ran to hide herself in her little chamber.

This emotion, however, was fleeting and transient, and soon forgotten.
Indeed, highly imaginative as was Jane, her imagination was vigorous
and intellectual, and her tastes led her far away from those
enervating love-dreams in which a weaker mind would have indulged. A
young lady so fascinating in mind and person could not but attract
much attention. Many suitors began to appear, one after another, but
she manifested no interest in any of them. The customs of society in
France were such at that time, that it was difficult for any one who
sought the hand of Jane to obtain an introduction to her.
Consequently, the expedient was usually adopted of writing first to
her parents. These letters were always immediately shown to Jane. She
judged of the character of the writer by the character of the
epistles. Her father, knowing her intellectual superiority, looked to
her as his secretary to reply to all these letters. She consequently
wrote the answers, which her father carefully copied, and sent in his
own name. She was often amused with the gravity with which she, as the
father of herself, with parental prudence discussed her own interests.
In subsequent years she wrote to kings and