, an admiration at which she
felt much flattered. She was closely wrapped in her soft, snow-white
peignoir, bordered with red, above which rose her lovely neck and head.
She was trying to catch, on the point of one little foot, one of her
bathing shoes, which had slipped from her. The foot which, when well
shod, M. de Talbrun, through his eyeglass, had so much admired, was still
prettier without shoe or stocking. It was so perfectly formed, so white,
with a little pink tinge here and there, and it was set upon so delicate
an ankle! M. de Cymier looked first at the foot, and then his glance
passed upward over all the rest of the young figure, which could be seen
clearly under the clinging folds of the wet drapery. Her form could be
discerned from head to foot, though nothing was uncovered but the pretty
little arm which held together with a careless grace the folds of her
raiment. The eye of the experienced observer ran rapidly over the outline
of her figure, till it reached the dark head and the brown hair, which
rippled in little curls over her forehead. Her complexion, slightly
golden, was not protected by one of those absurd hats which many bathers
place on top of oiled silk caps which fit them closely. Neither was the
precaution of oiled silk wanted to protect the thick and curling hair,
now sprinkled with great drops that shone like pearls and diamonds. The
water, instead of plastering her hair upon her temples, had made it more
curly and more fleecy, as it hung over her dark eyebrows, which, very
near together at the nose, gave to her eyes a peculiar, slightly oblique
expression. Her teeth were dazzling, and were displayed by the smile
which parted her lips--lips which were, if anything, too red for her pale
complexion. She closed her eyelids now and then to shade her eyes from
the too blinding sunlight. Those eyes were not black, but that hazel
which has golden streaks. Though only half open, they had quickly taken
in the fact that the young man sitting beside Madame de Villegry was very
handsome.

As she went on with a swift step to her bathing-house, she drew out two
long pins from her back hair, shaking it and letting it fall down her
back with a slightly impatient and imperious gesture; she wished,
probably, that it might dry more quickly.

"The devil!" said M. de Cymier, watching her till she disappeared into
the bathing-house. "I never should have thought that it was all her own!
There is nothing wanting i