The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 355: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

308 REYNOLDS’ WORKS Let us now introduce this foreign nobleman to our readers. He was about twenty-eight years of age, remarkably hand- some, with a somewhat pensive and even melancholy ex- pression of countenance. ‘Tall and well formed, his figure combined dignity and elegance. He had dark hair, cluster- ing in natural waves above a forehead of noble height. His eyes were large and black, and with a peculiar softness of look. There was a very pleasing expression about his lips, and his teeth were white and faultlessly even. He spoke the English language with a perfect accent and fluency; his voice, naturally low, was full of a deep music that gave to its tones a wonderful fascination when breathing the language of love. : Such was the Marquis of Villebelle. His father, who had been dead some years, was a refugee during the period of the Empire, and having lived a considerable time in England, he for this and other reasons conceived such an affection for its hospitable shores that he had his son edueated at one of our public schools. Hence the intimate acquaintance which Etienne possessed in all things pertaining to the English language and literature; and in habits, tastes, and ideas, as well as in personal appearance, the Marquis of Villebelle was much more of an Englishman than a French- man. By the time he had finished his education in this country, his father died, and he was recalled to France to look after his affairs. For some years he remained on the Continent without revisiting England, but at length he returned to the land which he loved better than his own. This was about twelve months prior to the date when we now introduce him to our readers, and when we find him seeking a clandestine interview with the beautiful Constance Farefield in the garden of Saxondale House. Fond and affectionate was the meeting of the lovers. The marquis strained Constance to his breast, pouring the delicious.language of love in her ears, and she clung to him with all a maiden’s confiding affection, drinking in the low, melting harmony of his voice. She looked sweetly beautiful, did Constance Farefield, for she was dressed in evening costume, so that she might be in readiness for the dinner- table when the hour should come. Her long, fair hair flowed in thick clusters upon her white shoulders, and though there was no small contrast between her style of beauty and the Gomicbooks (E(0)