Meantime Ina Klosking snatched a few minutes' sleep, as most artists can
in the afternoon, and was awakened by the servant bringing in her frugal
repast, a cutlet and a pint of Bordeaux.
On her plate he brought her a large card, on which was printed "Miss Zoe
Vizard." This led to inquiries, and he told her a lady of superlative
beauty had called and left that card. Ina asked for a description.
"Ah, madame," said Karl, "do not expect details from me. I was too
dazzled, and struck by lightning, to make an inventory of her charms."
"At least you can tell me was she dark or fair."
"Madame, she was dark as night; but glorious as the sun. Her earthly
abode is the Russie, at Frankfort; blest hotel!"
"Did she tell you so?"
"Indirectly. She wrote on the card with the smallest pencil I have
hitherto witnessed: the letters are faint, the pencil being inferior to
the case, which was golden. Nevertheless, as one is naturally curious to
learn whence a bright vision has emerged, I permitted myself to
decipher."
"Your curiosity was natural," said Ina, dryly. "I will detain you with no
more questions."
She put the card carefully away, and eat her modest repast.
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