The face, mediocre, spoiled by too big a nose, but the lips incandescent, the teeth superb, her complexion ever so faint a rose in the slightly bluish milk white of rice water a little troubled.
Then her real charm, the really deceptive enigma of her, was in her eyes; ash-grey eyes which seemed uncertain, myopic, and which conveyed an expression of resigned boredom.

At certain moments the pupils glowed like a gem of grey water and sparks of silver twinkled to the surface.
By turns they were dolent, forsaken, languorous, and haughty.

He remembered that those eyes had often brought his heart into his throat! In spite of circumstantial evidence, he reflected that those impassioned letters did not correspond in any way to this woman in the flesh.

Never was woman more controlled, more adept in the lies of good breeding.

He remembered the Chantelouve at-homes.