rather masculine, had nothing vulgar in her look; the shade of her hair was not of the sickly hue of heckled hemp; the golden reflexion of her silken tresses was in perfect harmony with the tender azure of her eyes; her nose was not ill formed, in the angular curve of its aquiline prominence. There was something of Messalina about her mouth, but yet it was kind and frank; and, besides, Magdelaine only carried on her business: she never wrote[1]; and, amongst all the police, only knew the city serjeants, or the night guards whom she paid to leave her in quiet.
The pleasure I have, after a lapse of more than twenty years, in tracing the portrait of Magdelaine, has made me for an instant forget Dufailli.
It is very difficult to eradicate an idea from a brain troubled with the fumes of wine. Dufailli had resolved on finishing the day in female society, and nothing could turn him from it. Scarcely had we taken half-a-dozen steps, than, looking back, "He has disappeared," said he; "come along, this way;" and, leaving my arm, he advanced towards a door, at which he knocked; and which, after a few minutes, was half opened, and an old woman's head appeared. "What do you want?"—"What do we want," answered Dufailli; "don't you know me! Do not you recognize friends?"—"Ah! ah! is it you, father Dufailli; there is no room for you." "No room for friends! You're joking, mother; you are playing off some trick upon us."—"No, on the word of an honest woman, you know, my old lad, that no one is more welcome than yourself; but my eldest daughter is engaged, and so is Pauline; but we shall be glad to see you bye and bye."—"Well, if it must be so, mother Thomas," said Dufailli, putting a piece of money on his eye, "it cannot be helped, but you must get us something to drink meanwhile; you have some little spare corner to put us into."—"Aye, aye, always a wag, always a wag, father Dufailli; it is
- ↑ This alludes to a work recently published in Paris, called 'Mémoires d'une Cotemporaine.'—Translator.
