At last she came prancing along--all plumed and in riding-habit--on the finest English steed,--a tall, majestic figure, who, indifferent to her court-retinue, although freighted with relatives, would much rather have looked a welcome to the blue morning sun behind a rearing horse's and swan's neck. She gave the Bridegroom's-coat with propriety greeting and kiss, but neither with emotion nor dissimulation nor embarrassment, but freely and frankly and cordially, too far exalted above the ridiculousness of her genealogical disproportion to do otherwise; yes, even above every thought of that disproportion which necessity or tyranny created. In her otherwise fairly built--rather than finely drawn--face, her nose alone was not so, but angularly cut and presenting more bones than cartilage in contrast to the commonplace character of regents. With women, marked, irregular noses, e. g. with deep indenture of the bridge, or with concave or convex archings, or with _facettes_ at the knob, &c., signify far more for talent than with men; and--except in the case of a few whom I myself have seen--beauty must always sacrifice something to genius, although not so much as afterward the genius of others sacrifices to beauty, as we men in general have, unfortunately perhaps, done. The Count was presented to the Princess; she had not known him,--although she had heard of him and seen his father so long,--but had rather fancied him to resemble the Bridegroom's-coat. The coat could not--or should not--have failed to be flattered by this blooming likeness. The likeness entirely explains the beautiful interest which she now must needs take in both, because it always takes a couple of people to make a resemblance.