They bought some flowers, and Mae sat pulling them to pieces,
when they caught sight, down the pathway, of two approaching Piedmontese
officers.
"O," cried Mae, and dropped her flowers, and clasped her hands, and
sprang to her feet, "O, Eric, are they gods or men?"
The Piedmontese officer is godlike. He must be of a certain imposing
height to obtain his position, and his luxurious yellow moustaches and
blue black eyes, enriched and intensified by southern blood, give him a
strange fascination. The cold, manly beauty and strength of a northern
blonde meet with the heat and lithe grace of the more supple southerner
to produce this paragon. There is a combination of half-indolent
elegance and sensuous langour, with a fire, a verve, a nobility, that
puts him at the very head of masculine beauty. Add to the charms of
his physique, the jauntiest, most bewitching of uniforms, the clinking
spurs, the shining buttons, the jacket following every line of his
figure, and no wonder maidens' hearts seek him out always and young
pulses beat quicker at his approach.
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