I hung about the
Louvre and Notre Dame. I went to Versailles. I spent hours in
parading the Rue de Rivoli, in the neighborhood of Meurice's
corner, where foreigners pass and repass from morning till night.
At last I received an invitation to a reception at the English
Embassy. I went, and I found what I had sought so long.
There she was, sitting by an old lady in gray satin and diamonds,
who had a wrinkled but kindly face and keen gray eyes that seemed
to take in everything they saw, with very little inclination to
give much in return. But I did not notice the chaperon. I saw
only the face that had haunted me for months, and in the excitement
of the moment I walked quickly toward the pair, forgetting such a
trifle as the necessity for an introduction.
She was far more beautiful than I had thought, but I never doubted
that it was she herself and no other. Vision or no vision before,
this was the reality, and I knew it. Twice her hair had been
covered, now at last I saw it, and the added beauty of its
magnificence glorified the whole woman. It was rich hair, fine and
abundant, golden, with deep ruddy tints in it like red bronze spun
fine.
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