"Madame, I received the letter which you were so obliging as to write to me, requesting me to be here and masked, with a signal and words of recognition. Your letter appeared so serious, that, in spite of the uneasiness with which my mother's health fills me, I am here at your bidding."
M. de Morville could not continue. With a hand trembling from emotion, the domino unmasked herself with an effort.
"Madame de Hansfeld!" exclaimed M. de Morville, in extreme astonishment.
It was the princess.
CHAPTER IV
[PAULA MONTI]
M. de Morville could scarcely believe his eyes.
It was no illusion: he was really in the presence of Madame de Hansfeld.
It would require the pencil of some great artist to depict the firmness, the decision of that queenly visage, as pale and as stern as a statue of antiquity—to describe that look, as piercing and as fascinating as that of the evil spirit of some German legend.
It is but by invoking the resemblance of Cleopatra or Lady Macbeth (our readers must excuse the bold comparison), that an idea can be formed of the mixture of seductive loveliness and sombre majesty displayed in the countenance of the Venetian, Paula Monti, Princess de Hansfeld.