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already； for the locks fell lightly over the splendid shoulders that
thus attracted attention。 The long brown curls half hid her queenly
throat； though where the light fell upon it； the delicacy of its fine
outlines was revealed。 Her warm and vivid coloring was set off by the
dead white of her complexion。 Bold and ardent glances came from under
the long eyelashes； the damp； red； half…open lips challenged a kiss。
Her frame was strong but compliant； with a bust and arms strongly
developed； as in figures drawn by the Caracci； she yet seemed active
and elastic； with a panther's strength and suppleness； and in the same
way the energetic grace of her figure suggested fierce pleasures。
But though she might romp perhaps and laugh； there was something
terrible in her eyes and her smile。 Like a pythoness possessed by the
demon； she inspired awe rather than pleasure。 All changes； one after
another； flashed like lightning over every mobile feature of her face。
She might captivate a jaded fancy； but a young man would have feared
her。 She was like some colossal statue fallen from the height of a
Greek temple； so grand when seen afar； too roughly hewn to be seen
anear。 And yet； in spite of all； her terrible beauty could have
stimulated exhaustion； her voice might charm the deaf； her glances
might put life into the bones of the dead； and therefore Emile was
vaguely reminded of one of Shakespeare's tragediesa wonderful maze；
in which joy groans； and there is something wild even about love； and
the magic of forgiveness and the warmth of happiness succeed to cruel
storms of rage。 She was a siren that can both kiss and devour； laugh
like a devil； or weep as angels can。 She could concentrate in one
instant all a woman's powers of attraction in a single effort （the
sighs of melancholy and the charms of maiden's shyness alone
excepted）； then in a moment rise in fury like a nation in revolt； and
tear herself； her passion； and her lover； in pieces。
Dressed in red velvet； she trampled under her reckless feet the stray
flowers fallen from other heads； and held out a salver to the two
friends； with careless hands。 The white arms stood out in bold relief
against the velvet。 Proud of her beauty； proud （who knows？） of her
corruption； she stood like a queen of pleasure； like an incarnation of
enjoyment； the enjoyment that comes of squandering the accumulations
of three generations； that scoffs at its progenitors； and makes merry
over a corpse； that will dissolve pearls and wreck thrones； turn old
men into boys； and make young men prematurely old； enjoyment only
possible to giants weary of their power； tormented by reflection； or
for whom strife has become a plaything。
〃What is your name？〃 asked Raphael。
〃Aquilina。〃
〃Out of Venice Preserved！〃 exclaimed Emile。
〃Yes；〃 she answered。 〃Just as a pope takes a new name when he is
exalted above all other men； I； too； took another name when I raised
myself above women's level。〃
〃Then have you； like your patron saint； a terrible and noble lover； a
conspirator； who would die for you？〃 cried Emile eagerlythis gleam
of poetry had aroused his interest。
〃Once I had；〃 she answered。 〃But I had a rival too in La Guillotine。 I
have worn something red about me ever since； lest any happiness should
carry me away。〃
〃Oh； if you are going to get her on to the story of those four lads of
La Rochelle； she will never get to the end of it。 That's enough；
Aquilina。 As if every woman could not bewail some lover or other；
though not every one has the luck to lose him on the scaffold； as you
have done。 I would a great deal sooner see a lover of mine in a trench
at the back of Clamart than in a rival's arms。〃
All this in the gentlest and most melodious accents； and pronounced by
the prettiest； gentlest； and most innocent…looking little person that
a fairy wand ever drew from an enchanted eggshell。 She had come up
noiselessly； and they became aware of a slender； dainty figure；
charmingly timid blue eyes； and white transparent brows。 No ingenue
among the naiads； a truant from her river spring； could have been
shyer； whiter； more ingenuous than this young girl； seemingly about
sixteen years old； ignorant of evil and of the storms of life； and
fresh from some church in which she must have prayed the angels to
call her to heaven before the time。 Only in Paris are such natures as
this to be found； concealing depths of depravity behind a fair mask；
and the most artificial vices beneath a brow as young and fair as an
opening flower。
At first the angelic promise of those soft lineaments misled the
friends。 Raphael and Emile took the coffee which she poured into the
cups brought by Aquilina； and began to talk with her。 In the eyes of
the two poets she soon became transformed into some sombre allegory；
of I know not what aspect of human life。 She opposed to the vigorous
and ardent expression of her commanding acquaintance a revelation of
heartless corruption and voluptuous cruelty。 Heedless enough to
perpetrate a crime； hardy enough to feel no misgivings； a pitiless
demon that wrings larger and kinder natures with torments that it is
incapable of knowing； that simpers over a traffic in love； sheds tears
over a victim's funeral； and beams with joy over the reading of the
will。 A poet might have admired the magnificent Aquilina； but the
winning Euphrasia must be repulsive to every onethe first was the
soul of sin； the second； sin without a soul in it。
〃I should dearly like to know；〃 Emile remarked to this pleasing being；
〃if you ever reflect upon your future？〃
〃My future！〃 she answered with a laugh。 〃What do you mean by my
future？ Why should I think about something that does not exist as yet？
I never look before or behind。 Isn't one day at a time more than I can
concern myself with as it is？ And besides； the future； as we know；
means the hospital。〃
〃How can you forsee a future in the hospital； and make no effort to
avert it？〃
〃What is there so alarming about the hospital？〃 asked the terrific
Aquilina。 〃When we are neither wives nor mothers； when old age draws
black stockings over our limbs； sets wrinkles on our brows； withers up
the woman in us； and darkens the light in our lover's eyes； what could
we need when that comes to pass？ You would look on us then as mere
human clay； we with our habiliments shall be for you like so much mud
worthless； lifeless； crumbling to pieces； going about with the
rustle of dead leaves。 Rags or the daintiest finery will be as one to
us then； the ambergris of the boudoir will breathe an odor of death
and dry bones； and suppose there is a heart there in that mud； not one
of you but would make mock of it； not so much as a memory will you
spare to us。 Is not our existence precisely the same whether we live
in a fine mansion with lap…dogs to tend； or sort rags in a workhouse？
Does it make much difference whether we shall hide our gray heads
beneath lace or