Have you ever met one of those women whose startling beauty defies the
assaults of time, and who seem at thirty-six more desirable than they
could have been fifteen years earlier? Their faces are impassioned
souls; they fairly sparkle; each feature gleams with intelligence;
each possesses a brilliancy of its own, especially in the light. Their
captivating eyes attract or repel, speak or are silent; their gait is
artlessly seductive; their voices unfold the melodious treasures of
the most coquettishly sweet and tender tones. Praise of their beauty,
based upon comparisons, flatters the most sensitive self-esteem. A
movement of their eyebrows, the slightest play of the eye, the curling
of the lip, instils a sort of terror in those whose lives and
happiness depend upon their favor. A maiden inexperienced in love and
easily moved by words may allow herself to be seduced; but in dealing
with women of this sort, a man must be able, like M. de Jaucourt, to
refrain from crying out when, in hiding him in a closet, the lady's
maid crushes two of his fingers in the crack of a door. To love one of
these omnipotent sirens is to stake one's life, is it not? And that,
perhaps, is why we love them so passionately! Such was the Comtesse de
Lanty.

Filippo, Marianina's brother, inherited, as did his sister, the
Countess' marvelous beauty. To tell the whole story in a word, that
young man was a living image of Antinous, with somewhat slighter
proportions. But how well such a slender and delicate figure accords
with youth, when an olive complexion, heavy eyebrows, and the gleam of
a velvety eye promise virile passions, noble ideas for the future! If
Filippo remained in the hearts of young women as a type of manly
beauty, he likewise remained in the memory of all mothers as the best
match in France.