tresses of her hair, which were rolled up in a net. As for the rest, she
was a comical-looking young man, at once slender yet afflicted by an
unnatural plumpness, one of those beings who appear to us in dreams, and
in the delirium of fever, one of those creatures toward whom an unknown
power attracts us, and who resemble angels too nearly not to be demons.

"Well, Robert, of what are you thinking? Give me your hand and help me
to get into the water."

She dipped the toes of her arched foot into the pellucid stream.

"This always gives one a little shock, but the water ought to be
delightful to-day," said she. "But what is the matter with you?--your
hand shakes. You are a chilly mortal, cousin."

The fact is, I was not trembling either through fear or cold; but on
approaching the Marchioness, the sharp perfume which emanated from her
hair went to my head, and with my delicate nerves you will readily
understand that I was about to faint. I mastered this sensation,
however. She took a firm grip of my hand, as one would clasp the knob of
a cane or the banister of a stair, and we advanced into the stream side
by side.

As we advanced the stream became deeper. The Marchioness, as the water
rose higher, gave vent to low cries of fear resembling the hiss of a
serpent; then she broke out into ringing bursts of laughter, and drew
closer and closer to me. Finally, she stopped, and turning she looked
straight into my eyes. I felt then that moment was a solemn one. I
thought a hidden precipice was concealed at my feet, my heart throbbed as
if it would burst, and my head seemed to be on fire.