As she had early been left motherless, her
father had sent her over in her fifteenth year to her aunt in Paris.
This latter was married to an old monstrosity of a Spaniard, religious
to the verge of insanity, who would seem to have committed some crime in
his youth and now spent his whole day in the church, which was next door
to his house, imploring forgiveness for his sins. He was only at home at
mealtimes, when he ate an alarming amount, and he associated only with
priests. The aunt herself, however, in spite of her age, was a pleasure-
seeking woman, rarely allowed her niece to stay at home and occupy
herself as she liked, but dragged her everywhere about with her to
parties and balls. In her aunt's company she sometimes felt depressed,
but alone she was cheerful and without a care. At the Pagellas' she was
like a child of the house. She had the Spanish love of ceremony and
magnificence, the ready repartee of the Parisian, and, like a well-
brought-up girl, knew how to preserve the balance between friendliness
and mirth. She was not in the least prudish, and she understood
everything; but there was a certain sublimity in her manner.
While Mademoiselle Louise, the little Parisian, had been brought up in a
convent, kept from all free, intelligent, mundane conversation, and all
free artistic impressions, the young Spaniard, at the same age, had the
education and the style of a woman of the world in her manner.
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