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_Her glossy hoar was cluster'd o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth; Her eyebrows' shape was like th' aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning_. DON JUAN, I, 61.
"How am I to prove to Mademoiselle de Zohiloff, by deeds and not by vain words, that the pleasure of seeing my father's fortune multiplied fourfold has not absolutely turned my head?" The search for an answer to this question was Octave's sole occupation during the next twenty-four hours. For the first time in his life, he had lost his heart without knowing it.