Poor Dorothy felt as if the
black eyes of this self-important dwarf were reading her
inmost thoughts. She became sick with apprehension, and
her eyes fell before his, In another minute the oracle
spoke.
"No, _ma mere_,
the whole; her hair, her figure, and her skin are good,
but her nose stops short too soon, and is inclined to be
saucy. Though her ways are sleek like a cotton-tail's,
I see devilry lurking away back in her eyes. Moreover,
her ways are those of a _grande dame_, and not our
ways--she would expect too much of us. She is a good girl
enough, but she will not do. _Voila tout!_" And with a
not unkindly bow the _petit maitre_ turned his attention
to Antoine, who, during the examination, had taken the
opportunity of seizing its master's cudgel and breaking
it into innumerable little bits.
Dorothy breathed again, but, true to the nature of her
sex, she resented the disparaging allusions to her nose
and eyes--even from Pepin. What a conceited little freak
he was, to be sure! And to tell her that she _would not
do!_ At the same time she felt vastly relieved to think
that the dwarf had resolved not to annex her. The only
danger was that he might change his mind. His mother had
taken his decision with praiseworthy resignation, and
tried in a kindly fashion to lighten what she considered
must be the girl's disappointment. Meanwhile Lagrange,
judging by his lugubrious countenance, was evidently
pondering over the pleasant prospect Pepin had predicted
for him.
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