This gracious English maiden, with her clinging robes, her amulets and girdles, with something quaint and angular in her step, her carriage something mediaeval and Gothic, in the details of her person and dress, this lovely Evelyn Vane (isn’t it a beautiful name?) is deeply, delightfully picturesque.  She is much a woman—­elle est bien femme, as they say here; simpler, softer, rounder, richer than the young girls I spoke of just now.  Not much talk—­a great, sweet silence.  Then the violet eye—­the very eye itself seems to blush; the great shadowy hat, making the brow so quiet; the strange, clinging, clutching, pictured raiment!  As I say, it is a very gracious, tender type.  She has her brother with her, who is a beautiful, fair-haired, gray-eyed young Englishman.  He is purely objective; and he, too, is very plastic.

CHAPTER V

FROM MIRANDA HOPE TO HER MOTHER.

September 26th.

You must not be frightened at not hearing from me oftener; it is not because I am in any trouble, but because I am getting on so well.  If I were in any trouble I don’t think I should write to you; I should just keep quiet and see it through myself.  But that is not the case at present and, if I don’t write to you, it is because I am so deeply interested over here that I don’t seem to find time.  It was a real providence that brought me to this house, where, in spite of all obstacles, I am able to do much good work.  I wonder how I find the time for all I do; but when I think that I have only got a year in Europe, I feel as if I wouldn’t sacrifice a single hour.

The obstacles I refer to are the disadvantages I have in learning French, there being so many persons around me speaking English, and that, as you may say, in the very bosom of a French family.  It seems as if you heard English everywhere; but I certainly didn’t expect to find it in a place like this.  I am not discouraged, however, and I talk French all I can, even with the other English boarders.  Then I have a lesson every day from Miss Maisonrouge (the elder daughter of the lady of the house), and French conversation every evening in the salon, from eight to eleven, with Madame herself, and some friends of hers that often come in.  Her cousin, Mr. Verdier, a young French gentleman, is fortunately staying with her, and I make a point of talking with him as much as possible.  I have extra private lessons from him, and I often go out to walk with him.  Some night, soon, he is to accompany me to the opera.  We have also a most interesting plan of visiting all the galleries in Paris together.  Like most of the French, he converses with great fluency, and I feel as if I should really gain from him.  He is remarkably handsome, and extremely polite—­paying a great many compliments, which, I am afraid, are not always sincere.  When I return to Bangor I will tell you some of the things he has said to me.  I think you will consider them extremely curious, and very beautiful in their way.