She had found much to please her in the young sculptor's fresh and happy artist nature, in his frank demeanor and his honest way of speech.

She felt convinced that Pollux, more readily than anybody else, would understand what it was that lent a charm to her face, which was in no way strictly beautiful, a charm which could not be disputed in spite of the coarse caricature which stood before her.
She felt herself the richer by a painful experience, indignant, and offended.

Accustomed as she was to give prompt utterance even to her displeasure, she exclaimed hotly, and with tears in her eyes: "It is shameful, it is base.

Give me my wraps Claudia.

I will not stay an instant longer to be the butt of this man's coarse and spiteful jesting." "It is unworthy," cried the matron, "so to insult a person of your position.