of the opera-glass in a case such as this, even had I been so fortunate as to have one with me—but I had not—and was thus in despair.
At length I bethought me of applying to my companion.
“Talbot,” I said, “ you have an opera-glass. Let me have it.”
“An opera-glass!—no!—what do you suppose I would be doing with an opera-glass?” Here he turned impatiently toward the stage.
“But, Talbot,” I continued, pulling him by the shoulder, “listen to me will you? Do you see the stage-box?—there!—no, the next.—Did you ever behold as lovely a woman?”
“She is very beautiful, no doubt,” he said.
“I wonder who she can be?”
“Why, in the name of all that is angelic, don’t you know who she is? ‘Not to know her argues yourself unknown.’ She is the celebrated Madame Lalande—the beauty of the day par excellence , and the talk of the whole town. Immensely wealthy too—a widow, and a great match—has just arrived from Paris.”