blonde with blue eyes that gazed from under black lashes with pathetic tenderness.
'Euh! euh!' murmured one impertinent. 'Oh, oh!' murmured another. 'Ouiche !' said a third under his breath.
The sovereign smiled ironically :
'Ah, my dear Duchesse! all that died out
with the poets of 1830. It belongs to the time when women wore muslin gowns, looked at the moon, and played the harp.'
'If I might venture on a definition in the
langue verte,' suggested a handsome man, seated at the feet of the queen, 'though I fear I should be turned out of Court as Eabelais and Scarron are turned out of the drawing-room———'
'We can imagine what it would be, and
will not give you the trouble to say any more. If the definition of Love be, on the contrary, left to me, I shall include it all in one word— Illusion.'
'That is a cruel statement!' 'It is a fact. We have our own ideal,
which we temporarily place in the person, and clothe with the likeness, of whoever is fortunate enough to resemble it superficially enough to