The countess had beautiful eyes and she could smile beautifully with them, too.

The countess had an extremely pretty mouth, and when she spoke it was prettier still, for she had a witty way with her.

The danger of the situation was very appreciable.
"My dear, good Szilard," began the countess, with that light, natural _naivete_ which so easily disarms the strongest of us, "do not take it ill of me if I speak to you confidentially.

The world will very soon be saying that you are in love with me and I with you.

I shall not believe the former and you will not believe the latter.