someone down, till I saw calmly everyone sat; and then again I
fancied we had come to a theatre by mistake; but happily I did not
speak, and, without interrupting the declamation, chairs were given
us, and exchanging a mute salutation with a lady of a noble cast of
beauty, who guided us to seats, we quietly took our places. She was
Julie d'Argennes, the daughter of Madame de Rambouillet. A gentlemen
followed her closely, the Duke of Montausier, who adored her, but
whom she could not yet decide on accepting.

I found it difficult to fit from laughing as the gestures of the
Abbe, especially when I thought of my brother and how they would mock
them; but I knew that this would be unpardonable bad taste, and as I
had come in too late to have the clue to the discourse, I amused
myself with looking about me.

Perhaps the most striking figure was that of the hostess, with her
stately figure, and face, not only full of intellect, but of
something that went far beyond it, and came out of some other higher
world, to which she was trying to raise this one.

Next I observed a lady, no longer in her first youth, but still
wonderfully fair and graceful. She was enthroned in a large arm-
chair, and on a stool beside her sat her daughter, a girl of my own
age, the most lovely creature I had ever seen, with a profusion of
light flaxen hair, and deep blue eyes, and one moment full of grave
thought, at another of merry mischief. A young sat by, whose cast of
features reminded me of the Prince of Wales, but his nose was more
aquiline, his dark blue eyes far more intensely bright and flashing,
and whereas Prince Charles would have made fun of all the flourishes
of our poet, they seemed to inspire in this youth an ardour he could