most delightful vision--a lady whose beauty and symmetry took him
by the eyes; another look: "It can't be! Yes, it is!" Miss Haythorn!
(not that he knew her name), but what an apotheosis!

The duck had become a peahen--radiant, dazzling; she looked twice
as beautiful and almost twice as large as before. He lost sight of
her; he found her again. She was so lovely she made him ill, and
he alone must not dance with her, speak to her. If he had been
content to begin her acquaintance the usual way it might have ended
in kissing; it must end in nothing. As she danced sparks of beauty
fell from her on all around but him; she did not see him; it
was clear she never would see him. One gentleman was particularly
assiduous; she smiled on his assiduity; he was ugly, but she smiled
on him. Dolignan was surprised at his success, his ill taste, his
ugliness, his impertinence. Dolignan at last found himself injured;
who was this man? and what right had he to go on so? "He never
kissed her, I suppose," said Dolle. Dolignan could not prove it,
but he felt that somehow the rights of property were invaded. He
went home and dreamed of Miss Haythorn, and hated all the ugly
successful. He spent a fortnight trying to find out who his beauty
was; he never could encounter her again. At last he heard of her
in this way: a lawyer's clerk paid him a little visit and commenced
a little action against him in the name of Miss Haythorn for
insulting her in a railway-train.

The young gentleman was shocked, endeavoured to soften the lawyer's
clerk; that machine did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of
the term. The lady's name, however, was at last revealed by this
untoward incident; from her name to her address was but a short
step, and the same day our crestfallen hero lay in wait at her door,