Beside the
counter, at the farther extremity of the shop, stood a young and
elegantly formed woman. Her face was turned from N N. He entered.
With a plausible excuse, and seeming indifference, he gracefully
opened conversation with the mantuamaker as only a Parisian can.
But he had to deal with a Parisian. His attempts to view the
features of the fair stranger by the counter were deftly combated
by the shop-woman. He was obliged to retire.
N N. went home and lost his appetite. He was haunted by the
elegant basque and graceful shoulders of the fair unknown, during
the whole night.
The next day he sauntered by the mantuamaker. Ah! Heavens! A
thrill ran through his frame, and his fingers tingled with a
delicious electricity. The fair inconnue was there! He raised his
hat gracefully. He was not certain, but he thought that a slight
motion of her faultless bonnet betrayed recognition. He would have
wildly darted into the shop, but just then the figure of the
mantuamaker appeared in the doorway.
--Did Monsieur wish anything?
Misfortune! Desperation. N N. purchased a bottle of Prussic acid,
a sack of charcoal, and a quire of pink note-paper, and returned
home.
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