The Europeans | Page 4

ugliest thing she had ever seen.

She hated it, she despised it; it threw her into a state of irritation that
was quite out of proportion to any sensible motive. She had never
known herself to care so much about church-spires.
She was not pretty; but even when it expressed perplexed irritation her
face was most interesting and agreeable. Neither was she in her first
youth; yet, though slender, with a great deal of extremely
well-fashioned roundness of contour-- a suggestion both of maturity
and flexibility--she carried her three and thirty years as a light-wristed
Hebe might have carried a brimming wine-cup. Her complexion was
fatigued, as the French say; her mouth was large, her lips too full, her
teeth uneven, her chin rather commonly modeled; she had a thick nose,
and when she smiled--she was constantly smiling-- the lines beside it
rose too high, toward her eyes. But these eyes were charming: gray in
color, brilliant, quickly glancing, gently resting, full of intelligence. Her
forehead was very low--it was her only handsome feature; and she had
a great abundance of crisp dark hair, finely frizzled, which was always
braided in a manner that suggested some Southern or Eastern, some
remotely foreign, woman. She had a large collection of ear-rings, and
wore them in alternation; and they seemed to give a point to her
Oriental or exotic aspect. A compliment had once been paid her, which,
being repeated to her, gave her greater pleasure than anything she had
ever heard. "A pretty woman?" some one had said. "Why, her features
are very bad." "I don't know about her features," a very discerning
observer had answered; "but she carries her head like a pretty woman."
You may imagine whether, after this, she carried her head less
becomingly.
She turned away from the window at last, pressing her hands to her
eyes. "It 's too horrible!" she exclaimed. "I shall go back--I shall go
back!" And she flung herself into a chair before the fire.
"Wait a little, dear child," said the young man softly, sketching away at
his little scraps of paper.
The lady put out her foot; it was very small, and there was an immense
rosette on her slipper. She fixed her eyes for a while on this ornament,
and then she looked at the glowing bed of anthracite coal in the grate.

"Did you ever see anything so hideous as that fire?" she demanded.
"Did you ever see anything so--so affreux as--as everything?" She
spoke English with perfect purity; but she brought out this French
epithet in a manner that indicated that she was accustomed to using
French epithets.
"I think the fire is very pretty," said the young man, glancing at it a
moment. "Those little blue tongues, dancing on top of the crimson
embers, are extremely picturesque. They are like a fire in an alchemist's
laboratory."
"You are too good-natured, my dear," his companion declared.
The young man held out one of his drawings, with his head on one side.
His tongue was gently moving along his under-lip. "Good-natured--yes.
Too good-natured--no."
"You are irritating," said the lady, looking at her slipper.
He began to retouch his sketch. "I think you mean simply that you are
irritated."
"Ah, for that, yes!" said his companion, with a little bitter laugh. "It 's
the darkest day of my life--and you know what that means."
"Wait till to-morrow," rejoined the young man.
"Yes, we have made a great mistake. If there is any doubt about it
to-day, there certainly will be none to-morrow. Ce sera clair, au
moins!"
The young man was silent a few moments, driving his pencil. Then at
last, "There are no such things as mistakes," he affirmed.
"Very true--for those who are not clever enough to perceive them. Not
to recognize one's mistakes--that would be happiness in life," the lady
went on, still looking at her pretty foot.
"My dearest sister," said the young man, always intent upon his

drawing, "it 's the first time you have told me I am not clever."
"Well, by your own theory I can't call it a mistake," answered his sister,
pertinently enough.
The young man gave a clear, fresh laugh. "You, at least, are clever
enough, dearest sister," he said.
"I was not so when I proposed this."
"Was it you who proposed it?" asked her brother.
She turned her head and gave him a little stare. "Do you desire the
credit of it?"
"If you like, I will take the blame," he said, looking up with a smile.
"Yes," she rejoined in a moment, "you make no difference in these
things. You have no sense of property."
The young man gave his joyous laugh again. "If that means I have no
property, you are right!"
"Don't joke about your poverty," said