"In heaven's name what do you see?"
"A lady!"
"A lady?"
"Yes; the face of a lady, young, and very gentle. It is pale; her eyes are dark, her hair thick and jetty—it seems almost blue in this purple shell. Her eyebrows and lashes are thick," he continued, speaking very fast. "She has an expression of intense sadness—ban Dieu!—she is like a sorrowing angel."
"Her nose is aquiline?" I suggested.
"On the contrary, it is neat and small, but not quite retroussé. She moves—merveilleuse!—tears—she is weeping! On her breast there is a silver crescent; and now—now—the whole thing fades away!"
I was springing forward, when the hakim waved me imperiously back with his bronze rod, and instantly poured the contents of the shell on the tiled floor, from which a strange mephitic odour rose.
This was not the case on the previous unsuccessful occasion. Jules, who had become quite grave, now turned eagerly, and full of interest, to me.
"Is this the lady whose face you saw?" I asked, showing him the miniature of Louisa.
"No, monsieur; there is not the least resemblance."