The fragrant gloaming was giving way to night; there was promise of a bright moon, and the golden stars were peeping one by one.

The night-wind was laden with odors, a thousand flowers seemed to have given their sweet breath to fan it.

It would have been profanation to have lighted a cigar, so I went out on the Queen's Terrace and walked under the whispering lime trees, thinking of all that had passed in those few days.
Slowly but surely the conviction gained upon me that I did not like Coralie d'Aubergne.

I ought, according to all authentic romances, to have fallen in love with her on the spot, but I was far from doing so.
"Why ?" I asked myself.

She was very brilliant--very lovely; I had seen no one like her, yet the vague suspicion grew and grew.