. . Laurent, you are
hurting me! After breakfast, Paul, we will go to the Tuileries and see
the adorable girl with the golden eyes."
When, after making an excellent meal, the two young men had traversed
the Terrasse de Feuillants and the broad walk of the Tuileries, they
nowhere discovered the sublime Paquita Valdes, on whose account some
fifty of the most elegant young men in Paris where to be seen, all
scented, with their high scarfs, spurred and booted, riding, walking,
talking, laughing, and damning themselves mightily.
"It's a white Mass," said Henri; "but I have the most excellent idea
in the world. This girl receives letters from London. The postman must
be bought or made drunk, a letter opened, read of course, and a
love-letter slipped in before it is sealed up again. The old tyrant,
_crudel tirano_, is certain to know the person who writes the letters
from London, and has ceased to be suspicious of them."
The day after, De Marsay came again to walk on the Terrasse des
Feuillants, and saw Paquita Valdes; already passion had embellished
her for him. Seriously, he was wild for those eyes, whose rays seemed
akin to those which the sun emits, and whose ardor set the seal upon
that of her perfect body, in which all was delight. De Marsay was on
fire to brush the dress of this enchanting girl as they passed one
another in their walk; but his attempts were always vain. But at one
moment, when he had repassed Paquita and the duenna, in order to find
himself on the same side as the girl of the golden eyes, when he
returned, Paquita, no less impatient, came forward hurriedly, and De
Marsay felt his hand pressed by her in a fashion at once so swift and
so passionately significant that it was as though he had received the
emotions surged up in his heart.
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