The Duke of Rosecouleur glanced around him approvingly upon the
apartments. I believed that he had never seen anything more beautiful than
the _petite_ palace of Honoria, or more ravishing than herself. He said
little, in a low voice, and always to one person at a time. His answers
and remarks were simple and well-turned.
Dalton allowed the others to move on, and by a slight sign drew me to him.
"It is unexpected," he said, in a thoughtful manner, looking me full in
the eyes.
"You knew the Duke of Rosecouleur in Europe?"
"At Paris, yes,--and in Italy he was a travel friend; but we heard lately
that he had retired upon his estates in England; and certainly, he is the
last person we looked for here."
"Unannounced."
"That is a part of the singularity."
"His name was not in the published list of arrivals; but he may have left
England incognito. Is a mistake possible?"
"No! there is but one such man in Europe;--a handsomer or a richer does
not live."
"An eye of wonderful depth."
"Hands exquisite."
"Feet, ditto."
"And his dress and manner."
"Unapproachable!"
"Not a shadow of pretence;--the essence of good-breeding founded upon
extensive knowledge, and a thorough sense of position and its advantages;
--in fact, the Napoleon of the parlor."
"But, Dalton," said I, nervously, "no one attends him.
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