Meydieux, and the child of whom he was godfather, and around whom all
this particular little world revolved.

Esperance Darbois, the only daughter of the philosopher, was fifteen
years old. She was long and slim without being angular. The flower
head that crowned this slender stem was exquisitely fair, with the
fairness of a little child, soft pale-gold, fair. Her face had,
indeed, no strictly sculptural beauty; her long flax-coloured eyes
were not large, her nose had no special character; only her sensitive
and clear-cut nostrils gave the pretty face its suggestion of ancient
lineage. Her mouth was a little large, and her full red lips opened on
singularly white teeth as even as almonds; while a low Grecian
forehead and a neck graceful in every curve gave Esperance a total
effect of aristocratic distinction that was beyond dispute. Her low
vibrant voice produced an impression that was almost physical on those
who heard it. Quite without intention, she introduced into every word
she spoke several inflections which made her manner of pronounciation
peculiarly her own.

Esperance was kneeling on a chair, leaning upon her arms on the table.
Her blue dress, cut like a blouse, was held in at the waist by a
narrow girdle knotted loosely. Although the child was arguing
vigorously, with intense animation, there was such grace in her
gestures, such charming vibrations in her voice, that it was
impossible to resent her combative attitude.

"Papa, my dear papa," she was asserting to Francois Darbois, "You are
saying to-day just the opposite of what you were saying the other day
to mother at dinner."