For myself, I was indebted to Monsieur Gustave for an introduction to a very charming young lady whose name was Josephine, and with whom I fell over head and ears in love without a moment's warning.
She was somewhat under the middle height, slender, supple, rosy-lipped, and coquettish to distraction.

Her pretty mouth dimpled round with smiles at every word it uttered.

Her very eyes laughed.

Her hair, which was more adorned than concealed by a tiny muslin cap that clung by some unseen agency to the back of her head, was of a soft, warm, wavy brown, with a woof of gold threading it here and there.

Her voice was perhaps a little loud; her conversation rather childish; her accent such as would scarcely have passed current in the Faubourg St.Germain--but what of that?
One would be worse than foolish to expect style and cultivation in a grisette; and had I not had enough to disgust me with both in Madame de Marignan?
What more charming, after all, than youth, beauty, and lightheartedness?
Were Noel and Chapsal of any importance to a mouth that could not speak without such a smile as Hebe might have envied?
I was, at all events, in no mood to take exception to these little defects.