The young man blushed on recognizing my companion, and saluted him with a very humble air; I had scarcely time, however, to catch a single pathognomic line of his face. The female was very handsome; the elegance of her neck, the regularity of her features, gave her a certain air of distinction, contradicted, however, by something provoking in her appearance.
When they had passed on some distance, my friend said to me:
“Well, what judgment do you pass on our two persons?”
“Well,” replied I, positively, “the young man is your confectioner, who is about to marry his head shop-girl;” but reading a sign of negation on the countenance of my interrogator—“or a successful merchant’s clerk, with a countess without prejudices.”
“You are wrong.”
I asked for a moment’s reflection, and, to render my work of observation perfect, I looked after them.
They had reached, near the place where we were, the side of a spring, called, in the country, the “Priest’s Fountain.” The young female had already seated herself upon the grass, and drawing forth a napkin spread it near her, whilst the young man drew a paté and some other provisions carefully from his basket.
“Certainly,” I said to myself, “there are, evidently, in the face of this beautiful person, traits both of the great lady and the grisette; but, on thinking of her rolling fashion of walking, and especially judging of her by the appearance of her companion, then stooping to uncork a bottle, and whose unstrapped pantaloons, riding half way up his leg, revealed his quarter boots, the grisette type prevailed in my opinion.”
“The lady,” I replied, but with less assurance than at first, “is a figurante at one of our theatres, or a female equestrian at the Olympic circus.”
“There is some truth in what you say.”