the nick of time, a great poet, who sat near her, murmured, "Divine." But at this point we may quote from the _Memoirs_ of Lady Julia Babington:-- _Mrs. Parflete's personal appearance caused an immediate furore. Many disagreed about her claims to perfect beauty, but these hostile feelings did not last longer than five minutes. She was an extremely pretty woman; rather tall for her slight proportions, but elegant to a surprising degree. The extraordinary charm of her acting, her voice, her countenance, and her accent were delightful. It would have been impossible to display more grace, simplicity, and ingenuousness than she did: she gave several touches of pathos in a manner to make one cry, and to quite enchant all who bad taste enough and mind to appreciate her inimitable talent._ And again in the Letters of Charlotte, Lady Pardwicke, we read:-- _If Mrs. Parflete can be called handsome, it is certainly a _figure de fantasie_. She has a clear complexion, is young, tall; her manners are _doucereuses_, for, besides being a beauty, she has pretensions, I understand, to _bel-esprit_. The majority of those present were undeniably captivated by her peculiar fascination._ Augustus Barfield has the following remarks in his famous Journal:-- _There were no two opinions about the success of the _débutante_. We had been led to expect a good deal, but fortunately every description proved inaccurate, so, while she utterly failed to realise any single preconceived idea, she had the great advantage of appearing as some one wholly new. Rumour had prepared me equally for a St. Elizabeth, a Mademoiselle Mars, a Marie-Antoinette, a Récamier, or a Sophie Arnould. She resembled none of these ladies--being far more tragic in her nature than the rather sensual Queen of France, and she is clearly an uncommon individual in her own right. The women will squabble about her looks; the men will have views about her figure: all must agree that her fortune on the stage is assured. A more pleasing performance I never saw. Love, innocence, tenderness, grief, joy, petulance, uncertainty, modesty, despair--every feminine attribute, in fact, showed to admiration in her expressive features. Voice, bewitching. Gestures, exquisite. All, in fact, was truly enjoyable. I would not have missed the evening on any account._ Orange, it is true, had not joined the general company. But Prince d'Alchingen for reasons of his own, however, had offered the young man a seat in the one small box which had a gilded _grille_ before it and was so made that it seemed part of the massive decoration. "You cannot be seen," said the Prince; "I won't tell her that you are present; and I give you my word of honour that I won't tell anybody--not even my wife."