"Not but what I think your beauty sufficient to challenge
improvement-indeed, I prefer you as you used to be-but you are
lovely enough to cause heart aches as it is."

After some further conversation, Villani, saying it was time for
Teresa to prepare for the opera, left her. No sooner did the door
close, than loosening the rich masses of jetty hair which formed a
veil around her and descended far below her waist, Teresa advanced
to a large mirror, and without a shadow of vanity or a smile, gazed
steadily at her reflection. Never had a glass shown a fairer face or
form to the gazer.

The image that met Teresa's glance was majestic, with a regal
expression of countenance. A broad, but not too high brow, eyes dark
as a raven's wing-no, they are only deep, golden brown, yet the long
lashes and eyebrows of jet, together with the ever dilating pupil,
give the impression that they are darker, a complexion of sunny
olive, and locks which are certainly the hue of night; a form richly
moulded and of perfect symmetry, from the exquisite head to the
slippered foot, stood before her. Surely it was not a vision from
which my lady had cause to turn in vexation, yet with an expression
of scorn, and a bright flush apparently of shame, mounting to her
cheek, she impatiently moved away, and commenced braiding up the
rich tresses. Throwing a mantle on her shoulders, she descended to
the carriage and was soon at the opera house.

During the evening, in the midst of the performance, Teresa's eye
lit for the first time on the nearest stage box. A mist overspread
her eyes, her breath came hot and thick, a dizzy sense of
overpowering fulness stole upon her, and when the time came for her