a coward that there is no virtue I
admire more than courage. If I were a man, I would, I could"----

There she stopped short, and left me to guess the rest. I often noticed
that when her thoughts were about to come to the surface, she would get
alarmed at her own boldness, and take refuge in some commonplace remark,
or relapse into silence, leaving your curiosity ungratified as to what
was really going on in her mind.

With Claude she was more at her ease than with any of the other young
men that came to the house. This was not to be wondered at, for Claude,
as I have said, was the sort of man who would inspire even little street
girls with confidence. I don't think he ever made any comments on her
hair, but perhaps his eye too sometimes rested unconsciously on the
stubbles, and thus exercised its influence; certain it is that an
influence was at work. The little refractory hairs that had been a
source of so much trouble, were allowed to follow their natural bent,
and began to wave and frizz. That was a symptom: others were to follow.
One evening conversation had turned on skulls and brains, and the doctor
had given us some interesting facts relating to the comparative sizes
of the brains in man and in the inferior animals. Claude, who had made
quite a special study of anatomy, took up the subject from the artistic
point of view, and showed the relationship between brains and beauty.

"The great artists," he said, "have ever given due predominance to the
cranium over the eyes, nose, and mouth. The receptacle of the brains
must lord it over the representatives of the senses. That is, too, why
they have made so much of the hair, using it to give full development to
the upper part of the head. It's a most fascinating art, that of the
hairdresser," he wound up, "and I sometimes feel that _Anch'io_ might
have been _Parruchiere_! I think I missed my vocation!"

These observations of Claude's had a remarkable effect. The coils were
loosened, a little at first, then by degrees more; and the material at
hand, one could not help noticing, was being reconstructed after the
style adopted by the immortal Venus of Milo. At that time Claude was but
moderately interested in Jeanne, but, much as a gardener looks with
satisfaction at the fresh shoots of a plant that seemed doomed, so he
looked with pleasure on the rising waves which he knew had come at his
bidding. His eyes had a way of indicating a little in advance what his
lips wer