though a little bourgeoise; as bourgeoise, indeed, she was. I know not what
of harmony pervaded her whole person; and yet her face offered contrast,
too: its features were by no means such as are usually seen in conjunction
with a complexion of such blended freshness and repose: their outline was
stern: her forehead was high but narrow; it expressed capacity and some
benevolence, but no expanse; nor did her peaceful yet watchful eye ever
know the fire which is kindled in the heart or the softness which flows
thence. Her mouth was hard: it could be a little grim; her lips were thin. For
sensibility and genius, with all their tenderness and temerity, I felt somehow
that Madame would be the right sort of Minos in petticoats.
In the long run, I found she was something else in petticoats too. Her
name was Modeste Maria Beck, née Kint: it ought to have been Ignacia.