"I have
never made any claims upon you, even in my thoughts. But I owe you the
happiest month of my life."
VI.
This was about the state of affairs between Mademoiselle Louise and me,
when one evening, at Pagella's, where there were Southerners of various
races present, I was introduced to a young lady, Mademoiselle Mathilde
M., who at first sight made a powerful impression upon me.
She was a young Spanish Brazilian, tall of stature, a proud and dazzling
racial beauty. The contours of her head were so impeccably perfect that
one scarcely understood how Nature could have made such a being
inadvertently, without design. The rosy hue of her complexion made the
carnation even of a beautiful woman's face look chalky or crimson by the
side of hers. At the same time there was a something in the colour of
her skin that made me understand better the womanish appearance of
Zurbaran and Ribera, a warm glow which I had never seen in Nature
before. Her heavy, bluish-black hair hung down, after the fashion of the
day, in little curls over her forehead and fell in thick ringlets upon
her shoulders. Her eyebrows were exquisitely pencilled, arched and
almost met over her delicate nose, her eyes were burning and a deep
brown; they conquered, and smiled; her mouth was a little too small,
with white teeth that were a little too large, her bust slender and
full.
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