Villette

ago. It is strange; I had lost the just reckoning of her age. I thought of her as twelve – fourteen – an indefinite date; but she seemed a child.«
    »She is about eighteen,« I repeated. »She is grown up; she will be no taller.«
    »My little jewel!« said M. de Bassompierre, in a tone which penetrated like some of his daughter's accents.
    He sat very thoughtful.
    »Sir, don't grieve,« I said; for I knew his feelings, utterly unspoken as they were.
    »She is the only pearl I have,« he said; »and now others will find out that she is pure and of price; they will covet her.«
    I made no answer. Graham Bretton had dined with us that day; he had shone both in converse and looks: I know not what pride of bloom embellished his aspect and mellowed his intercourse. Under the stimulus of a high hope, something had unfolded in his whole manner which compelled attention. I think he had purposed on that day to indicate the origin of his endeavours, and the aim of his ambition. M. de Bassompierre had found himself forced, in a manner, to descry the direction and catch the character of his homage. Slow in remarking, he was logical in reasoning; having once seized the thread, it had guided him through a long labyrinth.
    »Where is she?« he asked.
    »She is up-stairs.«
    »What is she doing?«
    »She is writing.«
    »She writes, does she? Does she receive letters?«
    »None but such as she can show me. And – sir – she –
they
have long wanted to consult you.«
    »Pshaw! They don't think of me – an old father! I am in the way.«
    »Ah, M. de Bassompierre – not so – that can't be! But Paulina must speak for herself; and Dr. Bretton, too, must be his own advocate.«
    »It is a little late. Matters are advanced, it seems.«
    »Sir, till you approve, nothing is done – only they love each other.«
    »Only!« he echoed.
    Invested by fate with the part of confidante and mediator, I was obliged to go on: –
    »Hundreds of times has Dr. Bretton been on the point of appealing to you, sir; but, with all his high courage, he fears you mortally.«
    »He may well – he may well fear me. He has touched the best thing I have. Had he but let her alone, she would have remained a child for years yet. So. Are they engaged?«
    »They could not become engaged without your permission.«
    »It is well for you, Miss Snowe, to talk and think with that propriety which always characterizes you; but this matter is a grief to me; my little girl was all I had; I have no more daughters and no son; Bretton might as well have looked elsewhere; there are scores of rich and pretty women who would not, I daresay, dislike him; he has looks, and conduct, and connection. Would nothing serve him but my Polly?«
    »If he had never seen your ›Polly,‹ others might and would have pleased him – your niece, Miss Fanshawe, for instance.«
    »Ah! I would have given him Ginevra with all my heart; but Polly! –– I can't let him have her. No – I can't. He is not her equal,« he affirmed, rather gruffly. »In what particular is he her match? They talk of fortune! I am not an avaricious or interested man, but the world thinks of these things – and Polly will be rich.«
    »Yes, that is known,« said I: »all Villette knows her as an heiress.«
    »Do they talk of my little girl in that light?«
    »They do, sir.«
    He fell into deep thought. I ventured to say: –
    »Would you, sir, think any one Paulina's match? Would you prefer any other to Dr. Bretton? Do you think higher rank or more wealth would make much difference in your feelings towards a future son-in-law?«
    »You touch me there,« said he.
    »Look at the aristocracy of Villette – you would not like them, sir?«
    »I should not – never a duc, baron, or vicomte of the lot.«
    »I am told many of these persons think about her, sir,« I went on, gaining courage on finding that I met attention rather than repulse. »Other suitors will come, therefore, if Dr. Bretton is refused. Wherever you go, I suppose, aspirants will not be wanting. Independent of heiress-ship, it appears to me that Paulina charms most of those who see her.«
    »Does she? How? My little girl is not thought a beauty.«
    »Sir, Miss de Bassompierre is very beautiful.«
    »Nonsense! – begging your pardon, Miss Snowe, but I think you are too partial.
I
like Polly: I like all her ways and all her looks – but then I am her father; and even
I
never thought about beauty. She is amusing, fairy-like, interesting to me; – you