that of her perfect body, in which all was delight. De Marsay was on
fire to brush the dress of this enchanting girl as they passed one
another in their walk; but his attempts were always vain. But at one
moment, when he had repassed Paquita and the duenna, in order to find
himself on the same side as the girl of the golden eyes, when he
returned, Paquita, no less impatient, came forward hurriedly, and De
Marsay felt his hand pressed by her in a fashion at once so swift and
so passionately significant that it was as though he had received the
emotions surged up in his heart. When the two lovers glanced at one
another, Paquita seemed ashamed, she dropped her eyes lest she should
meet the eyes of Henri, but her gaze sank lower to fasten on the feet
and form of him whom women, before the Revolution, called _their
conqueror_.

"I am determined to make this girl my mistress," said Henri to
himself.

As he followed her along the terrace, in the direction of the Place
Louis XV., he caught sight of the aged Marquis de San-Real, who was
walking on the arm of his valet, stepping with all the precautions due
to gout and decrepitude. Dona Concha, who distrusted Henri, made
Paquita pass between herself and the old man.

"Oh, for you," said De Marsay to himself, casting a glance of disdain
upon the duenna, "if one cannot make you capitulate, with a little
opium one can make you sleep. We know mythology and the fable of
Argus."

Before entering the carriage, the golden-eyed girl exchanged certain
glances with her lover, of which the meaning was unmistakable and