blood coming in flushes with every passing emotion. In spite of her philosophy, Manon sometimes critically surveyed her nose in the glass, and heaved an involuntary sigh at its tip being too clumsy. Her mouth also, like that of all born speakers, was large for the strict rules of beauty, but showed fair white teeth when she talked or smiled. The strength and energy of her character revealed itself in the bold turn of her prominent chin, while her richly modulated voice, changing with every variation of feeling, resembled one of those subtly-stringed instruments whose vibrations are capable of expressing all moods, from the faintest suggestions of tenderness to the most fervid accents of indignation or daring.

Such being her appearance, she could not walk abroad with impunity; certainly not in the streets of Paris, where, from the ouvrier in his blouse to the flâneur on the Boulevards, every man looks upon a handsome woman as fair game for his flattering comments. Of course, in French fashion, Manon never went out unaccompanied. But when on a Sunday her father took her to the Tuileries gardens, or to the picture galleries, which he delighted to frequent with her, there would often come about her the buzz of admiring remarks not altogether unpleasant in her ears.

But these very harmless diversions were not without their after-effects. They left behind them a certain elation of vanity and an increased desire to please. On the other hand, these mundane thoughts but ill accorded with her philosophical tenets and religious principles. These and other promptings of, an "unregenerate" heart began to trouble her considerably; shocked at certain unaccountable stirrings in her nature, she used to leap out of bed in the middle of