"Oh, she's famous for everything," cried the old woman, in a sort of ecstasy; "dear blessed Saint! she cured me once of the toothache!"
"You're a bit of a heretic, I fear," said Lenora gravely. "You have been too long at Geneva."
"Well, certainly, this saint of yours seems to have rather an incredible legend. Your mother tells me, she was a famous opera-dancer some thousand years or so ago, and was so persecuted by the admiration her personal charms called forth, that she prayed she might be made less attractive. On which, rather to her dismay, a beard began to sprout from her chin, accompanied by a very bushy moustache over her upper lip, which effectually extinguished the ardour of her lovers; and though she has been dead so many years, the beard continues to grow to this day!"
"Well, and what of that?" cried the old woman.
Karl smiled; but the entrance of Franz caused a change in the subject of conversation.
