They had been laboring since five o'clock that morning superintending the construction of a wharf.
In truth, they were well worth looking at: the boyishness of one and the sober manliness of the other, the clear eyes, tanned skin, the quick, strong limbs.

The poet's eye was always roving, and he quickly saw the two women in the window above.
"Paul, is not that a woman to be loved ?" he said; with a gaiety which was not spontaneous.
"Which one ?" asked the Chevalier, diplomatically.
"The one with hair like the haze in the morning." "The simile is good," confessed the Chevalier.

"But there is something in the eye which should warn a man." "Eye?
Can you tell the color of an eye from this distance?
It's more than I can do." The Chevalier's tan became a shade darker.

"Perhaps it was the reflection of the sun." Victor swung his hat from his head gallantly.

The Chevalier bowed stiffly; the pain in his heart stopped the smile which would have stirred his lips.