pretentious than the rest, I at once recognized to be Rose Cottage. I rang the bell and was so quickly admitted, I concluded the tidy looking little maid had been posted at the door on the lookout for me. I gave her my card and inquired for Mrs. Le Grande; a formality quite unnecessary, as she assured me she knew who I was and that the lady was already waiting for me. "Just come this way. She has a parlor upstairs; and my! but its a stunner." I received the information in perplexed silence. But the little maid apparently did not look for encouragement, for she continued chattering until the door of the "stunning" apartment was closed behind her. A bright fire was burning in the grate at my left. In the swift glance with which I took in all the appointments of the room I acknowledged that the girl's description was correct. The walls were lined with pictures which I could see were gems; rich Turkish rugs concealed the common wood floor; while on brackets and stands were ornaments of rarest design and workmanship. I had only a few moments, however, to gratify my curiosity; for a _portiere_ at the farther end of the room was lifted, and a vision of female loveliness met my view such as I had never seen before. Probably the surroundings, and the unexpected appearance of this beautiful woman, heightened the effect. She paused and looked at me intently. Instinctively I shrank into myself. She seemed to be in some swift, clear-sighted way taking my measure, and labeling the visible marks of my personality. Then she came graciously forward, her step reminding me, in its smooth, gliding motion, of some graceful animal of the jungle that might both fascinate and slay you. Her eyes were of that dark, velvety blue, that under strong emotion turns to purple, and when she chose could melt and appeal like a dumb creature's, whose only means of communicating their wants is through their eyes. The lashes were long and curved; her complexion delicate as a rose leaf, with a fitful color vanishing and re-appearing in the peachy cheek apparently as she willed it. Her hair, a rare tint of golden auburn was wreathed around her head in heavy coils that reminded me of the aureoles the old masters painted about the beautiful Madonna faces. Her mouth, I concluded, was the one defect in the otherwise perfect face. The teeth were natural and purely white, but long, and sharp, reminding one in a disagreeable way of the fangs of an animal of prey; the lips, a rich scarlet, were too thin, and tightly drawn for a judge of faces to admire; the chin was clear-cut and firm--a face on the whole, I decided, that might drive a man, snared by its beauty, to desperation. There was passion and power both lurking behind the pearl-tinted mask.