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This was a modest toilet, suited, surely to the taste to
the English, which he remembered to have heard of as sober.
He stood long before the mirror when he was ready, and had poured over
his handkerchief a libation of "Rose d'amour."
Certainly he was a fine-looking fellow--his natural sincerity obliged
him to acknowledge it. Possibly his nose stuck out too much to balance
perfectly the low forehead and the rather square chin. Possibly his
cheek-bones were too prominent. But what of that? Women always looked
at a man's figure, his eyes, his teeth, his mustaches. And he had a
splendid figure, enormous gray eyes, large and perfectly even white
teeth between lips that were very full and very red, and blond
mustaches whose turned-up points were like a cry of victory.
He drew himself up from the hips, enlarged his eyes by opening them
exaggeratedly, stretched his lips till his teeth were well exposed,
and vehemently twisted the ends of his mustaches.
Yes, he was a very handsome fellow, and boyish-looking, too--but not
too boyish.


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