Jeanne-Armande put on her spectacles, and held it frowningly at different distances from her eyes.
"It is odd," she said at last. "Ye—es, it is pretty too. But, for a child's face, remarkable."
"She is not a child."
"Not a child?"
"No; she is married," replied Anne, smiling.
Mademoiselle pursed up her lips, and examined the picture with one eye closed. "After all," she said, "I can believe it. The eyes are mature."
The little bride was represented standing; she leaned against a pillar nonchalantly, and outlined on a light background, the extreme smallness of her figure was clearly shown. Her eyes were half veiled by their large drooping lids and long lashes; her little oval face looked small, like that of a child. Her dress was long, and swept over the floor with the richness of silk: evidently Père Michaux had not stinted the lavish little hands when they made their first purchase of a full-grown woman's attire. For the priest had taken upon himself this outlay; the "money for close," of which Tita had written, was provided from his purse. He wrote to Anne that as he was partly responsible for the wedding, he was also responsible for the trousseau; and he returned the money which with great difficulty the elder sister had sent.
"She must be very small," said mademoiselle, musingly, as they still studied the picture.
"She is; she has the most slender little face I ever saw."
Tita's head was thrown back as she leaned against the pillar; there was a half-smile on her delicate lips; her thick hair was still braided childishly in two long braids which hung over her shoulders and down on the silken skirt behind; in her small ears were odd long hoops of gold, which Père Michaux had given her, selecting them himself on account of their adaptation to her half-Oriental, half-elfin beauty. Her cheeks showed no color; there were brown shadows under her eyes. On her slender brown hand shone the wedding ring. The picture was well executed, and had been carefully tinted under Père Michaux's eye: the old priest knew that it was Rast's best excuse.