Because of the fashionableness of fat, Count Selim Malagaski,
Governor-General of Morovenia, was very unhappy. He had two daughters.
One was fat; one was thin. To be more explicit, one was gloriously fat
and the other was distressingly thin.

Jeneka was the name of the one who had been blessed abundantly. Several
of the younger men in official circles, who had seen Jeneka at a
distance, when she waddled to her carriage or turned side-wise to enter
a shop-door, had written verses about her in which they compared her to
the blushing pomegranate, the ripe melon, the luscious grape, and other
vegetable luxuries more or less globular in form.

No one had dedicated any verses to Kalora. Kalora was the elder of the
two. She had come to the alarming age of nineteen and no one had started
in bidding for her.

In court circles, where there is much time for idle gossip, the most
intimate secrets of an important household are often bandied about when
the black coffee is being served. The marriageable young men of
Morovenia had learned of the calamity in Count Malagaski's family. They
knew that Kalora weighed less than one hundred and twenty pounds. She
was tall, lithe, slender, sinuous, willowy, hideous. The fact that poor
old Count Malagaski had made many unsuccessful attempts to fatten her
was a stock subject for jokes of an unrefined and Turkish character.

Whereas Jeneka would recline for hours at a time on a shaded veranda,
munching sugary confections that were loaded with nutritious nuts,
Kalora showed a far-western preference for pickles and olives, and had
been detected several times in the act of bribing servants to bring