Thus it came to pass that they looked to marriage as soon as they saw anything of life and were able to compare a few ideas.

Of their own tender graces and their personal value they were absolutely ignorant.

They were ignorant, too, of their own innocence; how, then, could they know life?
Without weapons to meet misfortune, without experience to appreciate happiness, they found no comfort in the maternal jail, all their joys were in each other.

Their tender confidences at night in whispers, or a few short sentences exchanged if their mother left them for a moment, contained more ideas than the words themselves expressed.

Often a glance, concealed from other eyes, by which they conveyed to each other their emotions, was like a poem of bitter melancholy.