On the second day, being duly equipped, they repaired at the accustomed hour of promenade to the Thuilleries, where the transcendant charms of Miss Jones soon attracted such a swarm of admirers, that their way was absolutely impeded by the flutter around them.
"What exquisite beauty!" cried one.
"Who is she?" cried another.
"Does no one know the name of this divine creature?" cried a third.
"I'm sure she's English;" said a fourth.
"She's certainly a foreigner," said a fifth—in short the aristocratic crowd was in commotion.
"What's the matter?" said the Duc de Rochechouart, who at that moment came out of the palace.
"The most incomparable beauty has just appeared," replied the Comte d'Armagnac; "and we cannot make out who she is."
"Where is she?" inquired the Duke.
"There, just before," answered De L'Orme. "The man that accompanies her has the air of a fanfaron."
"Elle sent le province," said Rochechouart, eyeing her figure through his glass.
"C'est vrai qu'elle est sans tournure," answered D'Armagnac. "But her face is divine."
