He stopped and stood looking at me with his modest, perplexed young face.
I thought he was going to exclaim--"The analogy be hanged!"--but he said
after a moment--

"Well, what does it prove?"

"I can't say it proves anything; but it suggests a great many things."

"Be so good as to mention a few," he said, as we walked on.

"You are not sure of her yourself," I began.

"Never mind that--go on with your analogy."

"That's a part of it. You _are_ very much in love with her."

"That's a part of it too, I suppose?"

"Yes, as I have told you before. You are in love with her, and yet you
can't make her out; that's just where I was with regard to Madame de
Salvi."

"And she too was an enchantress, an actress, an artist, and all the rest
of it?"

"She was the most perfect coquette I ever knew, and the most dangerous,
because the most finished."

"What you mean, then, is that her daughter is a finished coquette?"