THE PARISIANS

By Edward Bulwer-Lytton


BOOK II.


CHAPTER I.

It is several weeks after the date of the last chapter; the lime-trees in
the Tuileries are clothed in green.

In a somewhat spacious apartment on the ground-floor in the quiet
locality of the Rue d'Anjou, a man was seated, very still and evidently
absorbed in deep thought, before a writing-table placed close to the
window.

Seen thus, there was an expression of great power both of intellect and
of character in a face which, in ordinary social commune, might rather be
noticeable for an aspect of hardy frankness, suiting well with the clear-
cut, handsome profile, and the rich dark auburn hair, waving carelessly
over one of those broad open foreheads, which, according to an old
writer, seem the "frontispiece of a temple dedicated to Honour."

The forehead, indeed, was the man's most remarkable feature. It could
not but prepossess the beholder. When, in private theatricals, he had
need to alter the character of his countenance, he did it effectually,
merely by forcing down his hair till it reached his eyebrows. He no
longer then looked like the same man.