There is a look in this dear girl's face, a smile, an I-know-not-what,
which every now and then recalls your own bright countenance. You will
say this is mere fancy--and that is what I told myself at the first; but
I found afterwards that it is no fancy, but really one of those vague,
indefinable, accidental likenesses which one perceives so often. To me it
seems a very happy accident; for my first glance at my daughter's face
told me that I should love her for your sake.
We went to the convent the day before yesterday. It is a curious old
place, and was once a stately chateau, the habitation of a noble family.
A little portress, in the black robes of a lay sister, admitted us, and
conducted us to the parlour, a fine old room, decorated with pictures of
a religious character, painted by members of the sisterhood. Here Gustave
and I were received by the superioress, an elderly woman, with a mild
holy face, and a quiet grace of manner which might become a duchess. She
sent for the demoiselles Lenoble, and after a delay of a quarter of an
hour--you remember the toilet the girls at Hyde Lodge were obliged to
make before they went to the drawing-room, Lotta--Mademoiselle Lenoble
came, a tall, slim, lovely and lovable girl, who reminded me of the
dearest friend I have in this world. She ran to her papa first, and
saluted him with an enthusiastic hug; and then she stood for a moment
looking shyly at me, confused and doubtful.
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