beauty. She deemed Santerre's last creation, Anne-Marie, to be far too
material and degraded, because in one deplorable passage the author
remarked that Norbert's kisses had left their trace on the Countess's
brow. Santerre disputed the quotation, whereupon she rushed upon the
volume and sought the page to which she had referred.

"But I never degraded her," exclaimed the novelist in despair. "She never
has a child."

"Pooh! What of that?" exclaimed Valentine. "If Anne-Marie is to raise our
hearts she ought to be like spotless marble, and Norbert's kisses should
leave no mark upon her."

But she was interrupted, for Celeste, the maid, a tall dark girl with an
equine head, big features, and a pleasant air, now came in with the two
children. Gaston was at this time five years old, and Lucie was three.
Both were slight and delicate, pale like roses blooming in the shade.
Like their mother, they were fair. The lad's hair was inclined to be
carroty, while that of the girl suggested the color of oats. And they
also had their mother's blue eyes, but their faces were elongated like
that of their father. Dressed in white, with their locks curled, arrayed
indeed in the most coquettish style, they looked like big fragile dolls.
The parents were touched in their worldly pride at sight of them, and
insisted on their playing their parts with due propriety.

"Well, don't you wish anybody good evening?"

The children were not timid; they were already used to society and looked
visitors full in the face. If they made little haste, it was because they
were naturally indolent and did not care to obey. They at last made up