I--" He jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful
of all save his astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.
CHAPTER IX
NOTHING MORE SERIOUS THAN A HOUSE PARTY
Standing just within the door, smiling and rubbing the gray
bristles on his lip, was the Colonel. In the center of the room
stood a woman dressed in gray. Maurice recognized the dress; it
belonged to Mademoiselle of the Veil, who was now sans veil,
sans hat. A marvelous face was revealed to Maurice, a face of
that peculiar beauty which poets and artists are often minded to
deny, but for the love of which men die, become great or
terrible, overturn empires and change the map of the world.
Her luxuriant hair, which lay in careless masses about the
shapely head and intelligent brow, was a mixture of red and
brown and gold, a variety which never ceases to charm; skin the
pallor of ancient marble, with the shadow of rose lying below
the eyes, the large, gray chatoyant eyes, which answered every
impulse of the brain which ruled them. The irregularity of her
features was never noticeable after a glance into those eyes.
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