what may
be found in any English Keepsake. Clara's beauty rests mainly upon her
calm expression, the blue eyes, and that transparent complexion so
often met with in German women; but for her art, which surrounds her
as with a nimbus, she could only be called a handsome woman. Aniela
is not only an artistic production of an exceedingly noble style as
regards her features, but there is something individual in her that
cannot be measured by any standard. Maybe her individuality rests upon
the fact that, being neither dark nor fair, she gives the physical
impression of a brunette and the spiritual one of a blonde. The cause
of this is perhaps the great abundance of hair on a comparatively
small head; enough that she is unique in her kind. She excels even
Mrs. Davis in this regard, whose beauty was without a flaw, but it was
the beauty of a statue. Mrs. Davis only excited the admiration of my
senses, while Aniela rouses in me the idealist, who goes in rapture
over the poetry of her expression.

But I will not even compare these two so utterly different beings.
I yielded to these reflections during lunch, because the topic in
question had brought me on that track; besides, the analysis of
Aniela's beauty always gives me a keen delight. My aunt interrupted
the discussion, deeming it proper, as lady of the house, to say
something about Clara's last concert. She spoke much and very well;
I never supposed she had such knowledge of music; she paid her some
graceful compliments with the air of a _grande dame_, in that flowing,
winning style only people of the older generation are capable of. In
short, I observed that my downright, outspoken aunt was still able to
recall the times of powder and patches. Clara seemed quite charmed,
and did not remain behind-hand in graceful acknowledgment.

"I shall always be able to play well at Warsaw," she said, "because
I am in touch with my audience, but I play best in small circles of
friends where I feel in sympathy with everybody,--and if you will
permit, I will give you a proof of it after lunch."

My aunt, who was very anxious that Pani Celina should hear her, yet
had misgivings whether it would be right to ask her to play, was much
pleased by the proposal. I began to speak of Clara's performances at
Paris and her triumphs at Erard's concerts; Sniatynski gave an account
of what was said at Warsaw; and so the time passed until we rose from
lunch. Clara herself got hold of Paul Celina's i