rene, untroubled eyes. Gazing at these, who
could guess the story of that most guilty woman and astute
conspirator--unbridled in sensuality--remorseless in statecraft--who
counted her lovers by legions, and saw, unmoved, her chief favorite torn
limb from limb on the rack?

But this is no singular instance. Marble and canvas are more discreet
than the mask of the best trained living features. Messalina and Julia
look cold and correct enough since they have been turned into stone.
Only by the magic of her smile and by the glory of her golden hair do we
recognize her who, if all tales are true, might have given a tongue to
the walls of the Vatican. We forget the Borgia, with her laboratory of
philtres and poisons--we only think that never a duke of all his royal
race brought home a lovelier bride than Alfonso of Ferrara.

Perhaps it is best so. Why should a mark be set upon those whom, it may
be, history has condemned unrighteously? Let us not be more uncharitable
than the painter or the sculptor, but pass on without pausing to
reflect--_Desinit in piscem_.

If one had wanted to find a fault in Constance Brandon's beauty, I
suppose it would have been that her forehead was too high, and her lips
too thin and decided in their expression, especially when compressed
under any strong feeling. But this defect it would have been hard to
discover on this first occasion of our meeting. She looked so bright and
joyous, and the light from her face seemed reflected on Guy's dark
features, softening their stern outline, and making them radiant with a
proud happiness. She received me very cordially, and I well remember the
pleasant impression left on my ear by the first sound of her voice, soft
and low as Cordelia's. In these two attributes it resembled that of
Flora Bellasys, yet their tones were essentially different--as different
as is to the taste a draft of pure sparkling water from one of strong
sweet wine. We had taken two or three turns, when a large party
approached us, in the centre of whom I recognized instantly Miss
Bellasys. If possible, she looked handsomer than ever as she swept by at
a sharp canter, sitting square and firmly, but yielding just enough to
the stride of the horse--perfectly erect, but inimitably lithe and
graceful.

Nothing in her demeanor betrayed the faintest shade of emotion; but I
remembered the old maxim of the fencing-school--"Watch your enemy's
eyes, not his blade;" and I caught Flora's, as she r