teeth of dazzling whiteness. She was a little over medium height
and slender in figure, and carried herself with that unmistakable
air of well-bred independence that bespeaks birth and culture. She
dressed stylishly, and while her gowns were of rich material, and
of a cut suggesting expensive modistes, she was always so quietly
attired and in such perfect taste, that after leaving her one
could never recall what she had on.

At the special request of Shirley, who wanted to get a glimpse of
the Latin Quarter, the driver took a course down the Avenue de
l'Opéra, that magnificent thoroughfare which starts at the Opéra
and ends at the Théâtre Français, and which, like many others that
go to the beautifying of the capital, the Parisians owe to the
much-despised Napoleon III. The cab, Jefferson told her, would
skirt the Palais Royal and follow the Rue de Rivoli until it came
to the Châtelet, when it would cross the Seine and drive up the
Boulevard St. Michel--the students' boulevard--until it reached
the Luxembourg Gardens. Like most of his kind, the _cocher_ knew
less than nothing of the art of driving, and he ran a reckless,
zig-zag flight, in and out, forcing his way through a confusing
maze of vehicles of every description, pulling first to the right,
then to the left, for no good purpose that was apparent, and
averting only by the narrowest of margins half a dozen bad
collisions. At times the _fiacre_ lurched in such alarming fashion
that Shirley was visibly perturbed, but when Jefferson assured her
that all Paris cabs travelled in this crazy fashion and nothing
ever happened, she was comforted.

"Tell me," he repeated, "what do the papers say about the book?"