"With those charming little hands."
"Oh! monsieur is recovering from his surprise I perceive."
"And they are named—"
"The forbidden fruit," said she, laughing merrily; "so I have tempted you as our common ancestor was tempted. 'Tis like a drama at the Porte St. Martin, a serpent in the first act—the fruit in the second—thunder and lightning throughout;" and sinking back on the down sofa, she burst into a merry fit of laughter. As she did so, I perceived that she had beautiful teeth; but in all the charms of her person, she was perfect. Again I took her hands in mine.
"Ah, madame, your story—I am full of curiosity: What time so fitting as the present, when we are quite alone and undisturbed? All is silent, too; for even the storm has lulled, and is passing away. Yet—yet, I still hear something."
"What is it?"
"The beating of my heart."
"Hush. We must not speak thus. Well, attendez, mon soldat, and you shall learn how I came to be seated by your side to-night in this lonely villa, in the island of Barbadoes."
Still permitting me to retain her hands in mine—for she was full of little coquetries—she cast down her fine eyelids, and after a few moments' reflection, began, as nearly as I can remember, in the following words, a narrative sufficiently full of incident to have made a three-volume novel.