--due, perhaps, to the Moorish blood which vivified and colored it.
Her hair, raised to the top of her head, fell thence with black
reflections round the delicate transparent ears and defined the
outlines of a blue-veined throat. These luxuriant locks brought into
strong relief the dazzling eyes and the scarlet lips of a well-arched
mouth. The bodice of the country set off the lines of a figure that
swayed as easily as a branch of willow. She was not the Virgin of
Italy, but the Virgin of Spain, of Murillo, the only artist daring
enough to have painted the Mother of God intoxicated with the joy of
conceiving the Christ,--the glowing imagination of the boldest and
also the warmest of painters.

In this young girl three things were united, a single one of which
would have sufficed for the glory of a woman: the purity of the pearl
in the depths of ocean; the sublime exaltation of the Spanish Saint
Teresa; and a passion of love which was ignorant of itself. The
presence of such a woman has the virtue of a talisman. Montefiore no
longer felt worn and jaded. That young girl brought back his youthful
freshness.

But, though the apparition was delightful, it did not last. The girl
was taken back to the secret chamber, where the servant-woman carried
to her openly both light and food.

"You do right to hide her," said Montefiore in Italian. "I will keep
your secret. The devil! we have generals in our army who are capable
of abducting her."

Montefiore's infatuation went so far as to suggest to him the idea of
marrying her. He accordingly asked her history, and Perez very