conversation with the woman in the Jardin des Plantes; and the singular
circumstance, that a man of so very aristocratic an appearance, should be
connected with Thornton, and only seen in such low scenes, and with such
low society, would not have been sufficient so strongly to occupy my
mind, had it not been for certain dim recollections, and undefinable
associations, that his appearance when present, and my thoughts of him
when absent, perpetually recalled.

As, engrossed with meditations of this nature, I was passing over the
Pont Neuf, I perceived the man Warburton had so earnestly watched in the
gambling house, and whom I identified with the "Tyrrell," who had formed
the subject of conversation in the Jardin des Plantes, pass slowly before
me. There was an appearance of great exhaustion in his swarthy and
strongly marked countenance. He walked carelessly on, neither looking to
the right nor the left, with that air of thought and abstraction which I
have remarked as common to all men in the habit of indulging any
engrossing and exciting passion.

We were just on the other side of the Seine, when I perceived the woman
of the Jardin des Plantes approach. Tyrrell (for that, I afterwards
discovered, was really his name) started as she came near, and asked her,
in a tone of some asperity, where she had been? As I was but a few paces
behind, I had a clear, full view of the woman's countenance. She was
about twenty-eight or thirty years of age. Her features were decidedly
handsome, though somewhat too sharp and aquiline for my individual taste.
Her eyes were light and rather sunken; and her complexion bespoke
somewhat of the paleness and languor of ill-health. On the whole, the
expression of her face, though decided, was not unpleasing, and when she
returned Tyrrell's rather rude salutation, it was with a smile, which
made her, for the moment, absolutely beautiful.