Adelaide, whilst amusing herself with Mrs. Temple's account of the company, by degrees herself became an object of general admiration. Although there were some women present of greater personal beauty than Miss Wildenheim, yet in her "_La gr‚ce, plus belle encore que la beautÈ_[12]," won the eye from the contemplation of more perfect loveliness. "Who is she?" was repeated from mouth to mouth, as she crossed the vestibule; and when nobody could answer the question, it was asked with increased earnestness. All agreed she was foreign, and that there was something not English in her countenance, her manner of wearing her dress, but above all in her walk. As an epidemical mania for every thing continental once more reigns in England, the idea that Adelaide was a foreigner, above all things, stamped her the belle of the night; she was followed from room to room, and wherever she turned innumerable eye-glasses were levelled at her. The attention she excited at last becoming perceptible even to herself, with a look of anxious inquiry she said to Mrs. Temple, "Is there any thing remarkable in my appearance, that those people stare so?" "Yes, my dear, something very remarkable." "Then pray, pray tell me what it is." "Your ignorance of it is one of your greatest charms, and I am not envious enough to wish to deprive you of any of them." This reply covered Adelaide with blushes, and adorned her with a hue, which was the only beauty her fine countenance did not usually possess. For sorrow had breathed witheringly on the roses, that once had bloomed on her soft cheek.--Will the voice of joy ever recal them from their exile? [Footnote 12: Grace more lovely than beauty.]