then, beyond these trees, on a
terrace lower still, was a large orange and citron grove covered with
fruit and flowers. In the daytime, seen thus from above, one would have
said it was a carpet of perfumed snow strewn with golden balls. At the
extreme horizon the slender stems of the banana and cocoanut trees,
formed a splendid retreat and overlooked the precipice at the bottom of
which was the subterranean passage of which we have spoken, and in which
Colonel Rutler was then imprisoned.

Meantime, let us enter one of the most remote portions of this mansion.
There we will find a young woman of from twenty to twenty-three years;
but her features are so infantile, her figure is so tiny, her freshness
so youthful, she would easily pass for sixteen. Robed in a muslin gown
with flowing sleeves, she is reclining on a sofa covered with Indian
silk, brown in color, embroidered with golden flowers; she leans her
white forehead on one hand, half-hidden by a wilderness of loose curls
of reddish blond tint, for the young woman's hair is dressed _a la
Titus_, a profusion of silky curls falls on her neck, her snowy
shoulders, and frames her charming little face, rounded, firm and rosy
as that of a child.

A large book, bound in red morocco, lies at the side of the divan on
which she is stretched, and is open before her. The young woman reads
attentively, by the light of three perfumed candles, which rest in a
little silver gilt candelabra, enriched by exquisite chasing.

The eyelashes of the pretty reader are so long that they threw a slight
shadow on her cheeks, where are to be seen two charming dimples. Her
nose is of a rare delicacy; her mouth curved and crimson, and her
beautiful blue eyes large and expressive; her whole face presents a
ravishing expression of innocence and candor. From the edge of her
muslin gown appear two feet like Cinderella's, shod in white silk hose
and Moorish slippers of cherry satin embroidered with silver, which one
could hold in the palm of one's hand. The attitude of this young woman
leaves to the imagination an exquisite whole, in spite of her slight
figure. Thanks to the width of her sleeve, which has fallen back, one
can admire the ravishing outline of a rounded arm, polished like ivory,
and having at the elbow a charming dimple. Her hand which turns the
leaves of her book is worthy of such an arm; the nails, very long and of
the transparency of agate. The tips of the fingers shade to a deep ros