XXXVMarie had grown more subtle. When I left her, she was as she came to me, a lovely blossom from Nature's hand. A flower is beautiful, it cannot help being beautiful, but it does not know its own charm. Joyfully it unfolds its petals when the sun smiles upon it, but at any touch of the cold wind it shrinks up frightened and makes itself as tiny as it can. Marie was a girl who loved without knowing the art of love.
What is the wonderful magic wand which changes the wild rose into a gorgeous La France? Marie, found again, had developed into a clever woman, who fully understood her own beauty, who knew how to express her personality in many a subtle variation. Was it really you, my shy little ignorant girl, who now entered my room radiant and triumphant, like a princess clothed in rustling silks, bringing with you a heavy hothouse perfume?
Marie, you were lovely in all this splendour. But loveliest because behind all the subtle and piquant manners gleamed the one simple tint of my wild rose, through the scented hothouse atmosphere waved the sweet cool fragrance of your own nature.
XXXVIMy gorgeous Marie! Forgive me, but I cannot help smiling when I think of what a gorgeous lady you were, and how sure you were of yourself. You were even, I think, just a little bit overawed by your own splendour. I smile
