Beneath the outer garment so rudely treated, the princess wore a black robe, with short sleeves, thus revealing arms, shoulders, and bust, worthy of the classic beauty of a Diana. Her countenance, so proud, chill, and imperturbable, while conversing with M. de Morville, was now agitated by a whirlwind of the most stormy passions. Her somewhat hollow eyes glittered like dark diamonds. Standing erect before the large glass which surmounted the chimney-piece, she appeared as though desirous of crushing the marble mantel-piece with the convulsive pressure of her clenched hands. Wholly absorbed by the stormy passions which raged within her, she perceived not the return of her companion. And a more singular person could not be seen. A deep brown, resembling the hue of Florentine bronze, tinged her colourless cheek, and displayed more strikingly the pearly whiteness of the eyeball with the clear blue of the pupil; her thick chestnut hair was cut short, curled, and parted on the forehead, after the fashion of many of the male sex, who in the present day wear their hair of an almost feminine length. Her well-formed and regular features had an undaunted and almost masculine expression, and when she unclosed her red thin lips, she displayed a set of teeth, white enough, indeed, to have disarmed all criticism, but standing at wide distances from each other. This singular female was nearly as tall as Madame de Hansfeld, but considerably thinner. She wore a high dress of black silk, with a small handkerchief of the same material tied around her throat, to confine her closely plaited collar. Dressed in a large flapped hat, and wrapped in a cloak, the female we are describing might easily pass for one of the opposite sex, and as such accompany Madame de Hansfeld, who feared to return alone during the night, in so lonely a place, and almost entirely at the mercy of a coachman. During the interview at the Opera-ball, the young girl had awaited the princess in a _fiacre_, and afterwards accompanied her home. Perceiving the deep reverie into which Madame de Hansfeld had fallen, she said,-- "Godmother, it is very late, you must go to bed." "I have seen him!" exclaimed the princess, impetuously. "He may be my ruin!" continued she, turning with flashing eyes towards her god-daughter (whom we shall style Iris, entreating the reader's pardon for this little mythological fancy). "Whom have you seen, godmother?" inquired the girl, terrified at the wildness and desperation of Madame de Hansfeld's manner. "Charles de Brévannes!" "He here?" "I tell you I saw him--just now--at the opera! oh, it was he too surely! and as surely does the presence of this man portend some fresh misfortune to me." "I do not know this man, godmother, or why you hate him so inveterately; but I, too, hate him with my bitterest scorn, because you have already told me that he formerly occasioned you great sorrow."