the black eyes beneath heavy gray eyebrows, while his luxuriant
moustache--the moustache of an old soldier--had remained quite dark, and
it gave to his countenance a rare characteristic of energy and pride.

Standing before the mirror, with heels together and body erect, he went
through the usual movements with the two iron balls, which he held out
at the end of his muscular arm, watching with a complacent expression
its evidence of quiet power.

But suddenly, in the glass, which reflected the whole studio, he saw
one of the portieres move; then appeared a woman's head--only a head,
peeping in. A voice behind him asked:

"Anyone here?"

"Present!" he responded promptly, turning around. Then, throwing his
dumb-bell on the floor, he hastened toward the door with an appearance
of youthful agility that was slightly affected.

A woman entered attired in a light summer costume. They shook hands.

"You were exercising, I see," said the lady.

"Yes," he replied; "I was playing peacock, and allowed myself to be
surprised."

The lady laughed, and continued:

"Your concierge's lodge was vacant, and as I know you are always alone
at this hour I came up without being announced."