"'Have you settled in London?'
"'Yes, will you not come to see me?'
"'To-morrow the Historical Society is giving us a reception, and in the evening we are to be at the French Embassy.'
"'I am invited to the Embassy. Well, until to-morrow then! I leave you now to your admirers.'
"She left me with that easy step which was characteristic of her, even in our little mountain tramps when I never saw her fatigued. Her hat, trimmed with a black feather, did not cast sufficient shadow to hide the glowing color of her light chestnut hair."
"May 4th: I was not able to see her until rather late in the evening. I scarcely belonged to myself. At table I saw her from a distance flirting with her neighbor, whose clean-shaven face appeared insignificant to me, despite the reflected honor of aristocratic family.
"She was wearing a mauve dress, that pinky mauve which recalls the shade of fading hydrangea. As when she walked, all the lines of her body seemed to enjoy their freedom. A strap which passed over the shoulder left its curve bare. I believed her to be slighter. Her complexion, a delicate flesh-color, slightly bronzed, as if caressed by the heat of the sun, harmonized perfectly with the delicate mauve of her gown.
"Yesterday, although I had recognized her directly—she is so individual—it was from a motive of politeness that I said she looked as she did ten years ago. This evening she is as young as at the time of my visits to the Castle of Saint Ismier. It is true that at Saint Ismier, I scarcely noticed her. With what was I then occupied? How interesting to find on another's face, after ten years, lines of having lived, and how consoling to recognize thereon the power of youth! However, she has changed. Down there she passed for an independent, bold young girl, eager for all extremes of feeling and thought—Now, I find in her more reserve, a feminine grace, and that indefinable expression seen in those for whom life has its depths—and whose confidence must be slowly gained—For her narrow eyes have long lashes to shield their vague expression: those eyes in which Philippe Lagier (who was mad about them) believed he saw golden flashes.
"About us were some of those Englishwomen, who, living in a country of extreme cold and heat, have complexions only comparable to snow aglow with the light of the setting sun. She was not the most beautiful woman present, far from it, and it can scarcely be said that she was beautiful at all. I know another woman who could much better bear comparison—with the contrast of her black eyes and childlike hair. But one discovers her charm gradually. She is like those waters, whose clearness is at first doubted, because one cannot see to the depths. Her face, for instance, which is less youthful than her body, has a very mobile expression. In repose it shows the thirty years which she must have reached. Then the drooping corners of the lips, the bluish circle which accentuates the sad look in her eyes, the little wrinkles at the meeting of the eyebrows tell of years of struggle, of cares, of years of which I know nothing, but yet can imagine. When she is animated—she was talking to me of my 'Life of Beethoven'—those indications of despair smooth out and are forgotten. The amber complexion colors lightly, and in her eyes I too see golden points, little lights which are not the reflection of the lamp light—but come from a fire within. Finally, her voice, with its deep tone, to which a slight English accent has given a more singing inflection and which lingers delicately on the French words, as if, not having used them for some time, she hesitates to say them, that unusual voice accompanies the words like soft music, and leaves a greater impression on the memory.
"Official receptions give opportunity to be alone in the noise of the crowd, as in the silence of a wood.