They were talking of women; Orestes declaring himself a
woman-hater from that time forward, because of what he was pleased to
call the persecutions of his latest mistress, of whom he was thoroughly
tired--no new thing with him--but who would not submit to be thrown
aside, like a cast-off glove, without making a struggle to regain the
favour of her ci-devant admirer. He was anathematizing the vanity,
treachery, and deceitfulness of all women, without exception, from the
duchess down to the dairy-maid, and declaring that he should renounce
their society altogether for the future, when they reached the end of
the walk, at the house, and turned about to pace its length again.
As they did so he chanced to glance upward, and perceived Isabelle at
her window. He nudged his companion, to direct his attention to her,
as he said, "Just look up at that window! Do you see the delicious,
adorable creature there? She seems a goddess, rather than a mere mortal
woman--Aurora, looking forth from her chamber in the East--with her
golden brown hair, her heavenly countenance, and her sweet, soft eyes.
Only observe the exquisite grace of her attitude--leaning slightly
forward on one elbow, so as to bring into fine relief the shapely curves
of her beautiful form.
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