"What would it be if fairly let out!" she said. "But we will not waste the precious moments, but turn our eyes about us in quest of the _belles_. Grace, you who are so much at home, must be our cicerone, and tell us which are the idols we are to worship." "_Dîtes moi premierement; que veut dire une belle à New-York?_" demanded Mademoiselle Viefville. "_Apparemment, tout le monde est joli._" "A _belle_, Mademoiselle," returned John Effingham, "is not necessarily beautiful, the qualifications for the character, being various and a little contradictory. One may be a _belle_ by means of money, a tongue, an eye, a foot, teeth, a laugh, or any other separate feature, or grace; though no woman was ever yet a _belle_, I believe, by means of the head, considered collectively. But why deal in description, when the thing itself confronts us? The young lady standing directly before us, is a _belle_ of the most approved stamp and silvery tone. Is it not Miss Ring, Grace?" The answer was in the affirmative, and the eyes of the whole party turned towards the subject of this remark. The young lady in question was about twenty, rather tall for an American woman, not conspicuously handsome, but like most around her of delicate features and frame, and with such a _physique_, as, under proper training, would have rendered her the _beau idéal_ of feminine delicacy and gentleness. She had natural spirit, likewise, as appeared in her clear blue eye, and moreover she had the spirit to be a _belle_. Around this young creature were clustered no less than five young men, dressed in the height of the fashion, all of whom seemed to be entranced with the words that fell from her lips, and each of whom appeared anxious to say something clever in return. They all laughed, the lady most, and sometimes all spoke at once. Notwithstanding these outbreakings, Miss Ring did most of the talking, and once or twice, as a young man would gape after a most exhilarating show of merriment, and discover an inclination to retreat, she managed to recall him to his allegiance, by some remark particularly pertinent to himself, or his feelings. "_Qui est cette dame?_" asked Mademoiselle Viefville, very much as one would put a similar question, on seeing a man enter a church during service with his hat on. "_Elle est demoiselle_," returned Eve. "_Quelle horreur!_" "Nay, nay, Mademoiselle, I shall not allow you to set up France as immaculate on this point, neither--" said John Effingham, looking at the last speaker with an affected frown--"A young lady may have a tongue, and she may even speak to a young gentleman, and not be guilty of felony; although I will admit that five tongues are unnecessary, and that five listeners are more than sufficient, for the wisdom of twenty in petticoats." "_C'est une horreur!_"