Low-pitched it was, with
subtle inflections, and with a hoarseness in the lower notes such as
one hears in the voices of Jewish women.
A woman, whose vocal notes were of that enchanting _timbre_, was likely
to prove interesting.
He advanced a few steps nearer, saying in French, "I speak the
language. Can I be of any use?"
The girl turned, giving him a comprehensive glance, and bowed slightly
in acknowledgment.
"Many thanks, _Monsieur_! I know scarcely any Spanish. Perhaps you
would tell me where one could get lodgings. It seems rather hopeless
for this man and myself to continue arguing in different languages, so
if you would not mind--"
When they were both in the _fiacre_ she did not speak, but leaned back,
her hands in her lap, her feet crossed, looking straight in front of
her with hazel-green eyes, expressionless as those of the Sphinx.
Count Poleski congratulated himself in silence over his discovery.
Here was a woman so unique that she asked no questions, did not
volunteer after the manner of most women a flood of voluble
information, apparently took everything for granted, and was in no way
embarrassed by himself or his company.
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