If you had seen her,--the "poor dear girl" you sigh to speak of,--with the doleful outlook on her fortunes: "portionless, unattractive!" Chillon, she was magical! You cannot ever have seen her irradiated with happiness.

Her pleasure in the happiness of all around her was part of the charm.

One should be a poet to describe her.

It would task an artist to paint the rose-crystal she became when threading her way through the groups to be presented.
This is not meant to say that she looked beautiful.

It was the something above beauty--more unique and impressive--like the Alpine snow-cloak towering up from the flowery slopes you know so well and I a little.
'You choose to think, is it Riette who noticed my simple sister so closely before...?
for I suppose you to be reading this letter a second time and reflecting as you read.