delicate, and turned up, the least ornament of so lovely a face. In
fine, her air, her carriage, and the numberless graces dispersed over her
whole person, made the Chevalier de Grammont not doubt but that she was
possessed of every other qualification. Her mind was a proper companion
for such a form: she did not endeavour to shine in conversation by those
sprightly sallies which only puzzle; and with still greater care she
avoided that affected solemnity in her discourse, which produces
stupidity; but, without any eagerness to talk, she just said what she
ought, and no more. She had an admirable discernment in distinguishing
between solid and false wit; and far from making an ostentatious display
of her abilities, she was reserved, though very just in her decisions:
her sentiments were always noble, and even lofty to the highest extent,
when there was occasion; nevertheless, she was less prepossessed with her
own merit than is usually the case with those who have so much. Formed,
as we have described, she could not fail of commanding love; but so far
was she from courting it, that she was scrupulously nice with respect to
those whose merit might entitle them to form any pretensions to her.

The more the Chevalier de Grammont was convinced of these truths,
the more did he endeavour to please and engage her in his turn: his
entertaining wit, his conversation, lively, easy, and always
distinguished by novelty, constantly gained him attention; but he was
much embarrassed to find that presents, which so easily made their way in
his former method of courtship, were no longer proper in the mode which,
for the future, he was obliged to pursue.

He had an old valet-de-chambre, called Termes, a bold thief, and a still
more impudent liar: he used to send this man from London every week, on
the commissions we have before mentioned; but after the disgrace of Mrs.
Middleton, and the adventure of Miss Warmestre, Mr. Termes was only