xaggerated on
the score of romance, he was quite lucky if he escaped some absurdities.
Nothing could be more patient than his manner, under it all; but as soon
as he very well could, he got into a corner, where I went to speak to
him. He said, laughingly, that he spoke French with so much difficulty,
he was embarrassed to answer the compliments. "I am as good a lion as
needs be, allowing my mane to be stroked as familiarly as they please,
but I can't growl for them, in French. How is it with you?" Disclaiming
the necessity of being either a good or a bad lion, being very little
troubled in that way, for his amusement I related to him an anecdote.
Pointing out to him a Comtesse de ----, who was present, I told him, I
had met this lady once a week for several months, and at every _soiree_
she invariably sailed up to me to say--"Oh, Monsieur ----, quelles
livres!--vos charmans livres--que vos livres sont charmans!" and I had
just made up my mind that she was, at least, a woman of taste, when she
approached me with the utmost _sang-froid_, and cried-- "Bon soir,
Monsieur ----; je viens d'acheter tous vos livres, et je compte profiter
de la premiere occasion pour les lire!"

I took leave of him in the ante-chamber, as he went away, for he was to
quit Paris the following evening.

Sir Walter Scott's person and manner have been so often described, that
you will not ask much of me in this way, especially as I saw so little
of him. His frame is large and muscular, his walk difficult, in
appearance, though be boasted himself a vigorous mountaineer, and his
action, in general, measured and heavy. His features and countenance
were very Scottish, with the short thick nose, heavy lips, and massive
cheeks. The superior or intellectual part of his head was neither deep
nor broad, but perhaps the reverse, though singularly high. Indeed, it
is quite uncommon to see a scull so round and tower-like in the
formation, though I have met with them in individuals not at all
distinguished for talents. I do not think a casual observer would find
anything unusual in the exterior of Sir Walter Scott, beyond his
physical force, which is great, without being at all extraordinary. His
eye, however, is certainly remarkable. Grey, small, and without lustre,
in his graver moments it appears to look inward, instead of regarding
external objects, in a way, though the expression, more or less, belongs
to abstraction, that I have never seen equalled. His sm