"No," she said. "I think he resembles Juliana most."
"At present," I interrupted, "he resembles no one. He is horrible."
"Horrible? How can you say so? He is perfectly beautiful. Look at that mass of hair."
With her fingers she gently raised the cap, disclosing the still soft skull, on which were seen several brown hairs.
"Let me touch them, grandmamma," begged Maria, stretching out her hand toward her brother's head.
"No, no. Do you wish to wake him?"
The skull had the appearance of wax somewhat softened by heat, and it seemed as if the slightest touch would leave a mark on it. My mother covered it again, and then bent over to kiss the forehead with infinite gentleness.
"Me, too, grandmother!" begged Maria.
"Yes, but gently."
The cradle was too high.