and saw that there was a
faint flush in each of her cheeks. She was waving her little fan to
and fro. Instead of looking at me she fixed her eyes upon the other
portfolio, which was leaning against the table.

"Won't you show me that?" she asked, with a little tremor in her voice.
I could almost have believed she was agitated.

"With pleasure," I answered, "if you are not tired."

"No, I am not tired," she affirmed. "I like it--I love it."

And as I took up the other portfolio she laid her hand upon it, rubbing
it softly.

"And have you been here too?" she asked.

On my opening the portfolio it appeared that I had been there. One of
the first photographs was a large view of the Castle of Chillon, on the
Lake of Geneva.

"Here," I said, "I have been many a time. Is it not beautiful?" And I
pointed to the perfect reflection of the rugged rocks and pointed towers
in the clear still water. She did not say, "Oh, enchanting!" and push it
away to see the next picture. She looked awhile, and then she asked
if it was not where Bonnivard, about whom Byron wrote, was confined. I
assented, and tried to quote some of Byron's verses, but in this attempt
I succeeded imperfectly.

She fanned herself a moment, and then repeated the lines correctly, in
a soft, flat, and yet agreeable voice. By the time she had finished she
was blushing. I complimented her and told her she was perfectly equipped
for visiting Switzerland and Italy. She looked at me askance again, to
see whether I was serious, and I added, that if she wished to recognize
Byron's descriptions she must go abroad speedily; Europe was getting
sadly dis-Byronized.

"How soon must I go?" she asked.

"Oh, I will give you ten years."

"I think I can go within ten years," she answered very soberly.

"Well," I said, "you will enjoy it immensely; you will find it very
charming." And just then I came upon a photograph of some nook in a
foreign city which I had been very fond of, and which recalled tender
memories. I discoursed (as I suppose) with a certain eloquence; my
companion sat listening, breathless.

"Have you been _very_ long in foreign lands?" she asked, some time after
I had ceased.

"Many years," I said.

"And have you travelled everywhere?"

"I have travelled a great deal. I am very fond of it; and, happily, I
have been able."

Again she gave me her sidelong gaze. "And do you know the foreign
languages?"

"After a fashion."

"Is it hard to speak t