her, —­two causes for tyranny when the day came on which the marquise let him see that she was charitably assuming indifference to his unfaithfulness.  I analyze all this in order to explain her conduct.  Beatrix had the keenest admiration for me; there is but one step, however, from admiration to jealousy.  I have one of the most remarkable salons in Paris; she wished to make herself another; and in order to do so she attempted to draw away my circle.  I don’t know how to keep those who wish to leave me.  She obtained the superficial people who are friends with every one from mere want of occupation, and whose object is to get out of a salon as soon as they have entered it; but she did not have time to make herself a real society.  In those days I thought her consumed with a desire for celebrity of one kind or another.  Nevertheless, she has really much grandeur of soul, a regal pride, distinct ideas, and a marvellous facility for apprehending and understanding all things; she can talk metaphysics and music, theology and painting.  You will see her, as a mature woman, what the rest of us saw her as a bride.  And yet there is something of affectation about her in all this.  She has too much the air of knowing abstruse things, —­Chinese, Hebrew, hieroglyphics perhaps, or the papyrus that they wrapped round mummies.  Personally, Beatrix is one of those blondes beside whom Eve the fair would seem a Negress.  She is slender and straight and white as a church taper; her face is long and pointed; the skin is capricious, to-day like cambric, to-morrow darkened with little speckles beneath its surface, as if her blood had left a deposit of dust there during the night.  Her forehead is magnificent, though rather daring.  The pupils of her eyes are pale sea-green, floating on their white balls under thin lashes and lazy eyelids.  Her eyes have dark rings around them often; her nose, which describes one-quarter of a circle, is pinched about the nostrils; very shrewd and clever, but supercilious.  She has an Austrian mouth; the upper lip has more character than the lower, which drops disdainfully.  Her pale cheeks have no color unless some very keen emotion moves her.  Her chin is rather fat; mine is not thin, and perhaps I do wrong to tell you that women with fat chins are exacting in love.  She has one of the most exquisite waists I ever saw; the shoulders are beautiful, but the bust has not developed as well, and the arms are thin.  She has, however, an easy carriage and manner, which redeems all such defects and sets her beauties in full relief.  Nature has given her that princess air which can never be acquired; it becomes her, and reveals at sudden moments the woman of high birth.  Without being faultlessly beautiful, or prettily pretty, she produces, when she chooses, ineffaceable impressions.  She has only to put on a gown of cherry velvet with clouds of lace, and wreathe with roses that angelic hair of hers, which resembles floods of light, and she becomes