phrases so laboriously prepared.

This momentary hesitation gave the lady's husband time to come
forward. Thoughts by the myriad flitted through my brain. To give
myself a countenance, I got out a few sufficiently feeble
inquiries, asking whether the persons present were really M. le
Comte and Mme. la Comtesse de Montpersan. These imbecilities gave
me time to form my own conclusions at a glance, and, with a
perspicacity rare at that age, to analyze the husband and wife
whose solitude was about to be so rudely disturbed.

The husband seemed to be a specimen of a certain type of
nobleman, the fairest ornaments of the provinces of our day. He
wore big shoes with stout soles to them. I put the shoes first
advisedly, for they made an even deeper impression upon me than a
seedy black coat, a pair of threadbare trousers, a flabby cravat,
or a crumpled shirt collar. There was a touch of the magistrate
in the man, a good deal more of the Councillor of the Prefecture,
all the self-importance of the mayor of the arrondissement, the
local autocrat, and the soured temper of the unsuccessful
candidate who has never been returned since the year 1816. As to
countenance--a wizened, wrinkled, sunburned face, and long, sleek
locks of scanty gray hair; as to character--an incredible mixture
of homely sense and sheer silliness; of a rich man's overbearing
ways, and a total lack of manners; just the kind of husband who
is almost entirely led by his wife, yet imagines himself to be
the master; apt to domineer in trifles, and to let more important
things slip past unheeded--there you have the man!

But the Countess! Ah, how sharp and startling the contrast