short, she felt herself rising in importance, but
the first thing that had made her feel so was Fred’s
choice of her to be his literary confidant. She
was greatly obliged to him, and did not know how she
could better prove to him that she was worthy of so
great an honor than by telling him quite frankly just
what she thought of his verses. They were very,
very pretty. He had talent—great talent.
Only, as in attending the classes of M. Regis she
had acquired some little knowledge of the laws of
versification, she would like to warn him against impairing
a thought for the benefit of a rhyme, and she pointed
out several such places in his compositions, ending
thus:
“Bravo! for sunsets, for twilights, for moonshine,
for deep silence, for starry nights, and silvery seas—in
such things you excel; one feels as if one were there,
and one envies you the fairy scenes of ocean.
But, I implore you, be not sentimental. That
is the feeble part of your poetry, to my thinking,
and spoils the rest. By the way, I should like
to ask you whose are those soft eyes, that silky hair,
that radiant smile, and all that assortment of amber,
jet, and coral occurring so often in your visions?
Is she—or rather, are they—black,
yellow, green, or tattooed, for, of course, you have
met everywhere beauties of all colors? Several
times when it appeared as if the lady of your dreams
were white, I fancied you were drawing a portrait
of Isabelle Ray. All the girls, your old friends,
to whom I have shown At Sea, send you their compliments,
to which I join my own. Each of them will beg
you to write her a sonnet; but first of all, in virtue
of our ancient friendship, I want one myself.
“Jacqueline.”
So! she had shown to others what was meant for her
alone; what profanation! And what was more abominable,
she had not recognized that he was speaking of herself.
Ah! there was nothing to be done now but to forget
her. Fred tried to do so conscientiously during
all his cruise in the Atlantic, but the moment he
got ashore and had seen Jacqueline, he fell again
a victim to her charms.
CHAPTER IX
BEAUTY AT THE FAIR
She was more beautiful than ever, and her first exclamation
on seeing him was intended to be flattering:
“Ah! Fred, how much you have improved!
But what a change! What an extraordinary change!
Why, look at him! He is still himself, but who
would have thought it was Fred!”
He was not disconcerted, for he had acquired aplomb
in his journeys round the globe, but he gave her a
glance of sad reproach, while Madame de Nailles said,
quietly:
“Yes, really—How are you, Fred?
The tan on your face is very becoming to you.
You have broadened at the shoulders, and are now a
man—something more than a man, an experienced
sailor, almost an old seadog.”
And she laughed, but only softly, because a frank
laugh would have shown little wrinkles under her eyes
and above her cheeks, which were getting too large.
