repulsive to behold, in its eager, absorbing, selfish expression.  Another,—­the same person evidently:  the same clear breadth and development of brain, but a subdued and almost heavenly expression of the eyes, while the mouth was quite a secondary feature, scarcely disagreeable.  The third was the likeness of a young girl, beautiful, even to perfection.  What character, what firmness, what power to love could be read in those features!  What hate, what revulsion, what undying energy for the true and the right were there!  A fair, young creation,—­so fair and so young, it seemed impossible that her destiny should be an unhappy one:  yet her destiny was unhappy.  The shadow on the brow, the melancholy which softened the clear hazel eye, the slightest possible compression of the mouth, said,—­“Destined to misfortune!” Were these actual portraits of living persons, or at least of persons who had lived?  Was there any connection between the man with two faces and two lives and the maiden with an unhappy destiny?  After I became better acquainted with M—–­y, I asked him the question, and in reply he told me the following story, which I now give as nearly as possible in his own words.

* * * * *

Many years ago, in one of my excursions, I came to Baden-Baden.  It was a favorite resort for me, because I found there so many varieties of the human countenance, and I liked to study them.  One evening I was in the Conversation-Haus, looking at the players at rouge-et-noir.  At one end of the table I saw seated a man apparently past fifty; around him were three or four young fellows of twenty or twenty-five.  It is nothing unusual to see old men at the gaming-table,—­quite the contrary.  But this person’s head and forehead gave the lie to his countenance, and I stopped to regard him.  While I was doing so, his eyes met mine.  I suppose my gaze was earnest; for his eyes instantly fell, but, recovering, he returned my look with a stare so impudently defiant that I directed my attention at once elsewhere.  Ever and anon, however, I would steal a glance at this person,—­for there was something in his looks which fascinated me.  He entered with gusto into the game, won and lost with a good-natured air, yet so premeditated, so, in fact, youthfully-old, I felt a chill pass over me while I was looking at him.  Later in the evening I encountered him again.  It was in the public room of my own hotel, at supper.  He was drinking Rhine-wine with the same young men who were with him at rouge-et-noir.  The tone of the whole company was boisterous, and became more so as each fresh bottle was emptied.  The young fellows were very noisy, but impulsively so.  The man also was turbulent and inclined to be merry in the extreme; but as I watched his eye, I shuddered, for there enthroned was a permanent expression indicating a consciousness in every act which he committed.  Once again our eyes met, and I turned away and left