'Tis the devil we all love; I owe many a conquest to my mole'-- he touched it as he spoke with a smile, and his eyes glittered;--'we are all hunchbacks, and beauty is only that kind of deformity that I happen to admire.

But come! Because you are chaste, for which I am sure I pay you my respects, that is no reason why you should be blind.

Look at her, look at the delicious nose of her, look at her cheek, look at her ear, look at her hand and wrist--look at the whole baggage from heels to crown, and tell me if she wouldn't melt on a man's tongue.' As Ballantrae spoke, half jesting, half enthusiastic, Balmile was constrained to do as he was bidden.

He looked at the woman, admired her excellences, and was at the same time ashamed for himself and his companion.

So it befell that when Marie-Madeleine raised her eyes, she met those of the subject of her contemplations fixed directly on herself with a look that is unmistakable, the look of a person measuring and valuing another--and, to clench the false impression, that his glance was instantly and guiltily withdrawn.