Minister. "Every revolution has a
word of its own which epitomizes and depicts it."

"You are right," said the Russian, who had come to make a literary
reputation in Paris. "The explanation of certain words added from time
to time to your beautiful language would make a magnificent history.
_Organize_, for instance, is the word of the Empire, and sums up
Napoleon completely."

"But all that does not explain what is meant by a lady!" the young Pole
exclaimed, with some impatience.

"Well, I will tell you," said Emile Blondet to Count Adam. "One fine
morning you go for a saunter in Paris. It is past two, but five has not
yet struck. You see a woman coming towards you; your first glance at her
is like the preface to a good book, it leads you to expect a world
of elegance and refinement. Like a botanist over hill and dale in his
pursuit of plants, among the vulgarities of Paris life you have at
last found a rare flower. This woman is attended by two very
distinguished-looking men, of whom one, at any rate, wears an order; or
else a servant out of livery follows her at a distance of ten yards. She
displays no gaudy colors, no open-worked stockings, no over-elaborate
waist-buckle, no embroidered frills to her drawers fussing round her
ankles. You will see that she is shod with prunella shoes, with sandals
crossed over extremely fine cotton stockings, or plain gray silk
stockings; or perhaps she wears boots of the most exquisite simplicity.
You notice that her gown is made of a neat and inexpensive material, but
made in a way that surprises more than one woman of the middle class;
it is almost always a long pelisse, with bows to fasten it, and neatly
bound with fine cord or an imperceptible braid. The Unknown has a way of
her own in wrapping herself in her shawl or mantilla; she knows how to
draw it round her from her hips to her neck, outlining a carapace, as it
were, which would make an ordinary woman look like a turtle, but which
in her sets off the most beautiful forms while concealing them. How does
she do it? This secret she keeps, though unguarded by any patent.

"As she walks she gives herself a little concentric and harmonious
twist, which makes her supple or dangerous slenderness writhe under the
stuff, as a snake does under the green gauze of trembling grass. Is it
to an angel or a devil that she owes the graceful undulation which plays
under her long black silk cape, stirs its lace frill, sheds an airy
balm, an