an the countenance you have just looked upon?"

"Yes," replied the nobleman, musing in his turn.

"I think I could show you a face that would make Mademoiselle de
Merrivale's sink into the most utter insignificance."

"Is your beauty a Washington belle?" inquired Gaston, half-scornfully.

"I do not know,--I do not know anything about her. I merely spoke
figuratively when I said _I could show you_,--for I certainly could
_not_, at this moment; but I allude to the most peerless being that ever
captivated the eyes of man. In her, indeed, one could realize the poet's
thought,--

"'All beauty compassed in a female form.'"

"And who is this incomparable divinity?" asked Gaston, still with a
touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Who is she? That is more than I know myself. We were thrown together by
an accident,--quite an every-day occurrence in this headlong-rushing,
pell-mell, neck-breaking land, where the people contemplate railroad
catastrophes and steamboat explosions with as cool indifference as
though they were a necessary part of a traveller's programme."

"You were thrown in contact with your beauty, then, by a railroad
collision, or were blown together through the bursting of a boiler?"
remarked Gaston interrogatively, and more because civility seemed to
demand the question than because he took any especial interest in the
narrative.

"Yes, quite a stirring incident. I felt alive for a month after. I was
travelling from New York to Washington, in such a listless and used-up
state that, in my desperation, I seriously pondered upon the amount of
emotion that could be derived from jumping off the train, at the risk of
one's neck. As I was glancing restlessly around, suddenly a face rose
before me that riveted my eyes. It was a countenance unlike any I had
ever seen. Though features and outline were faultless, in these the
least part of its beauty was embodied. There was an eloquence in the
rapid transitions of expression that melted one into another; there was
a dreamy thoughtfulness in the magnificent hazel eyes. They were not
exactly hazel either,--they reminded one of a topaz. I hardly know what
name to give to their hue. But it is useless to attempt to describe such
a face and form. I might heap epithet upon epithet, and then leave you
without the faintest conception of the bewildering loveliness of their
possessor."

"You succeeded in becoming acquainted with the lady?" inquired Gaston,
now really in