There are two kinds of neatness,--one is too evident, and makes everything about it seem trite and cold and stiff; and another kind of neatness disappears from our sight in a satisfied sense of completeness,--like some exquisite, simple, finished style of writing, an Addison’s or a St. Pierre’s. This last sort of neatness belonged to Isaura, and brought to mind the well-known line of Catullus when on recrossing his threshold he invokes its welcome,--a line thus not inelegantly translated by Leigh Hunt, “Smile every dimple on the cheek of Home.” I entreat the reader’s pardon for this long descriptive digression; but Isaura is one of those characters which are called many-sided, and therefore not very easy to comprehend. She gives us one side of her character in her correspondence with Madame de Grantmesnil, and another side of it in her own home with her Italian companion,--half nurse, half chaperon. “Monsieur Louvier is indeed very courteous,” said Isaura, looking up from the flowers with the dimpled smile we have noticed. “But I think, Madre, that we should do well to stay at home on Saturday,--not peacefully, for I owe you your revenge at Euchre.” “You can’t mean it, Piecola!” exclaimed the Signora, in evident consternation. “Stay at home!--why stay at home? Euchre is very well when there is nothing else to do: but change is pleasant; le bon Dieu likes it, “‘Ne caldo ne gelo Resta mai in cielo.’ “And such beautiful ices one gets at M. Louvier’s! Did you taste the pistachio ice? What fine rooms, and so well lit up! I adore light. And the ladies so beautifully dressed: one sees the fashions. Stay at home! play at Euchre indeed! Piccola, you cannot be so cruel to yourself: you are young.” “But, dear Madre, just consider; we are invited because we are considered professional singers: your reputation as such is of course established,--mine is not; but still I shall be asked to sing, as I was asked before; and you know Dr. C. forbids me to do so except to a very small audience; and it is so ungracious always to say ‘No;’ and besides, did you not yourself say, when we came away last time from M. Louvier’s, that it was very dull, that you knew nobody, and that the ladies had such superb toilets that you felt mortified--and--” “Zitto! zitto! you talk idly, Piccola,--very idly. I was mortified then in my old black Lyons silk; but have I not bought since then my beautiful Greek jacket,--scarlet and gold lace? and why should I buy it if I am not to show it?” “But, dear Madre, the jacket is certainly very handsome, and will make an effect in a little dinner at the Savarins or Mrs. Morley’s; but in a great formal reception like M. Louvier’s will it not look--” “Splendid!” interrupted the Signora. “But singolare.” “So much the better; did not that great English Lady wear such a jacket, and did not every one admire her, piu tosto invidia the compassione?”