"In whose orb a shadow lies, Like the dusk in evening skies!" Eyes lit from within, large, clear, lustrous, with a meaning in them so profound and serious that it was almost sorrowful,--like the eyes of Giotto's saints and Cimabue's Madonnas. But I cannot describe her-- "For oh, her looks had something excellent That wants a name!" I can only look back upon her with "my mind's eye," trying to see her as I saw her then for the first time, and striving to recall my first impressions. Madame Bouïsse, meanwhile, searched in all the corners of her ample pockets, turned out her table-drawer, dived into the recesses of her husband's empty garments, and peeped into every ornament upon the chimney-piece; but in vain. There was no such thing as a ten-sous piece to be found. "Pray, M'sieur Basil," said she, "have you one?" "One what?" I ejaculated, startled out of my reverie. "Why, a ten-sous piece, to be sure. Don't you see that Mam'selle Hortense is waiting in her wet shoes, and that I have been hunting for the last five minutes, and can't find one anywhere?" Blushing like a school-boy, and stammering some unintelligible excuse, I pulled out a handful of francs and half-francs, and produced the coin required. "_Dame_!" said the _concierge_. "This comes of using one's eyes too well, my young Monsieur. Hem! I'm not so blind but that I can see as far as my neighbors." Mademoiselle Hortense had fortunately gone back to settle with the porter, so this observation passed unheard. The man being dismissed, she came back, carrying the parcel. It was evidently heavy, and she put it down on the nearest chair. "I fear, Madame Bouïsse," she said, "that I must ask you to help me with this. I am not strong enough to carry it upstairs." More alert this time, I took a step in advance, and offered my services. "Will Mademoiselle permit me to take it?" I said. "I am going upstairs." She hesitated. "Many thanks," she said, reluctantly, "but...." "But Madame Bouïsse is busy," I urged, "and the _pot au feu_ will spoil if she leaves it on the fire." The fat _concierge_ nodded, and patted me on the shoulder. "Let him carry the parcel, Mam'selle Hortense," she chuckled. "Let him carry it. M'sieur is your neighbor, and neighbors should be neighborly. Besides," she added, in an audible aside, "he is a _bon garçon_--an Englishman--and a book-student like yourself." The young lady bent her head, civilly, but proudly. Compelled, as it seemed, to accept my help, she evidently wished to show me that I must nevertheless put forward no claim to further intercourse--not even on the plea of neighborhood. I understood her, and taking up the parcel, followed her in silence to her door on the third story. Here she paused and thanked me. "Pray let me carry it in for you," I said. Again she hesitated; but only for an instant. Too well-bred not to see that a refusal would now be a discourtesy, she unlocked the door, and held it open.