oudly sustained her small,
exquisitely poised head. Her hair, clustering in sunny ringlets round
her brow, was like living gold, it made a glory round her head, and the
whole audience was enraptured with her beauty, though an envious mask
concealed so much of it; all, indeed, save the snow-white forehead, the
round dimpled chin, the ripe red lips, whose tint was rendered yet
more vivid by the contrast with the black velvet that shaded them,
the perfect oval of the face, and a dainty little ear, pink as a
sea-shell--a combination of charms worthy of a goddess, and which made
every one impatient to see the radiant, beauteous whole. They were soon
gratified; for the young deity, either incommoded by the heat, or else
wishing to show a queenly generosity to the gazing throng, took off the
odious mask, and disclosed to view a pair of brilliant eyes, dark
and blue as lapis lazuli, shaded with rich golden fringes, a piquant,
perfectly cut little nose, half Grecian, half aquiline, and cheeks
tinged with a delicate flush that would have put a rose-leaf to shame.
In fine, it was Yolande de Foix, more radiantly beautiful than ever,
who, leaning forward in a negligent, graceful pose, looked nonchalantly
about the house, not in the least discomposed by the many eyes fixed
boldly and admiringly upon her. A loud burst of applause, that greeted
the first appearance of the favourite actor, drew attention from her
for a moment, as de Sigognac stalked forward upon the stage in the
character of Captain Fracasse. As he paused, to wait until his admirers
would allow him to begin his first tirade, he looked negligently round
the eager audience, and when his eyes fell upon Yolande de Foix, sitting
tranquil and radiant in her box, calmly surveying him with her glorious
eyes, he suddenly turned dizzy and faint; the lights appeared first
to blaze like suns, and then sink into darkness; the heads of the
spectators seemed sinking into a dense fog; a cold perspiration started
out on him from head to foot; he trembled violently, and felt as if his
legs were giving way under him; composure, memory, courage, all seemed
to have failed him, as utterly as if he had been struck by lightning.

Oh, shame! oh, rage! oh, too cruel stroke of fate! for him, a de
Sigognac, to be seen by her--the haughty beauty that he used to worship
from afar--in this grotesque array, filling so unworthy, so ridiculous
a part, for the amusement of the gaping multitude! and he cou