"If I were a model governess, such as one read of long before
you were born," Mademoiselle Valle continued, "I should feel it
my duty to tell you that beauty counts for nothing. But that is
nonsense. It counts a great deal--with some women it counts for
everything. Such women are not lucky. One should thank Heaven
for it and make the best of it, without exaggerated anxiety. Both
Dowie and I, who love you, are GRATEFUL to le bon Dieu that you
are pretty."
"I have sometimes thought I was pretty, when I saw myself in the
glass," said Robin, with unexcited interest. "It seemed to me that
I LOOKED pretty. But, at the same time, I couldn't help knowing
that everything is a matter of taste and that it might be because
I was conceited."
"You are not conceited," answered the Frenchwoman.
"I don't want to be," said Robin. "I want to be--a serious person
with--with a strong character."
Mademoiselle's smile was touched with affectionate doubt. It had
not occurred to her to view this lovely thing in the light of a
"strong" character. Though, after all, what exactly was strength?
She was a warm, intensely loving, love compelling, tender being.
Having seen much of the world, and of humanity and inhumanity,
Mademoiselle Valle had had moments of being afraid for
her--particularly when, by chance, she recalled the story Dowson
had told her of the bits of crushed and broken leaves.
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