Clélie favored me with one of her rapid side glances. The study of character is her grand passion, and her special weakness is a fancy for the singular and incongruous. I have seen her stand in silence, and regard with positive interest one of her former patronesses who was overwhelming her with contumelious violence, seeming entirely unconscious of all else but that the woman was of a species novel to her, and therefore worthy of delicate observation. “It is as I said,” she whispered. “They are Americans, but of an order entirely new.” Almost the next instant she touched my arm. “Here is the mother!” she exclaimed. “She is coming this way. See!” A woman advanced rapidly toward our part of the gallery,--a small, angry woman, with an un graceful figure, and a keen brown eye. She began to speak aloud while still several feet distant from the waiting couple. “Come along,” she said. “I've found a place at last, though I've been all the morning at it,--and the woman who keeps the door speaks English. “They call 'em,” remarked the husband, meekly rising, “_con-ser-ges_. I wonder why.” The girl rose also, still with her hopeless, abstracted air, and followed the mother, who led the way to the door. Seeing her move forward, my wife uttered an admiring exclamation. “She is more beautiful than I thought,” she said. “She holds herself marvelously. She moves with the freedom of some fine wild creature.” And, as the party disappeared from view, her regret at losing them drew from her a sigh. She discussed them with characteristic enthusiasm all the way home. She even concocted a very probable little romance. One would always imagine so many things concerning Americans. They were so extraordinary a people; they acquired wealth by such peculiar means; their country was so immense; their resources were so remarkable. These persons, for instance, were evidently persons of wealth, and as plainly had risen from the people. The mother was not quite so wholly untaught as the other two, but she was more objectionable. “One can bear with the large simplicity of utter ignorance,” said my fair philosopher. “One frequently finds it gentle and unworldly, but the other is odious because it is always aggressive and narrow.” She had taken a strong feminine dislike to Madame la Mère. “She makes her family miserable,” she said. “She drags them from place to place. Possibly there is a lover,--more possibly than not. The girl's eyes wore a peculiar look,--as if they searched for something far away.” She had scarcely concluded her charming little harangue when we reached our destination; but, as we passed through the entrance, she paused to speak to the curly-headed child of the _concierge_ whose mother held him by the hand.