Could I make a tiny, tiny copy of
that likeness in my drawing! Would I only be so obliging as to
approach for one little moment, and see if such a thing were
possible?
I obeyed unwillingly enough, expecting, from mademoiselle's
expression, to see a commonplace portrait of some unfortunate
admirer whom she had treated with unmerited severity in the days
of her youth. To my astonishment, I found that the miniature,
which was very beautifully painted, represented a woman's face--a
young woman with kind, sad eyes, pale, delicate cheeks, light
hair, and such a pure, tender, lovely expressions that I thought
of Raphael's Madonnas the moment I looked at her portrait.
The old lady observed the impression which the miniature produced
on me, and nodded her head in silence. "What a beautiful,
innocent, pure face!" I said.
Mademoiselle Clairfait gently brushed a particle of dust from the
miniature with her handkerchief, and kissed it. "I have three
angels still left," she said, looking at her pupils. "They
console me for the fourth, who has gone to heaven."
She patted the face on the miniature gently with her little,
withered, white fingers, as if it had been a living thing.
_"Sister Rose!"_ she sighed to herself; then, looking up again at
me, said, "I should like it put into my portrait, sir, because I
have always worn it since I was a young woman, for 'Sister
Rose's' sake.
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