“ Mon cousin ,” began Madame, “I want your opinion. We know your skill in physiognomy; use it now. Read that countenance.”

The little man fixed on me his spectacles: A resolute compression of the lips, and gathering of the brow, seemed to say that he meant to see through me, and that a veil would be no veil for him.

“I read it,” he pronounced.

“ Et qu’en dites vous? ”

“ Mais⁠—bien des choses ,” 7 was the oracular answer.

“Bad or good?”