I was sent to school. A classmate said to me one day:
"Of course, a prince will marry you, for you are the prettiest girl here."
I carried the words home to the maid, who nodded her approval.
"That's true enough," she said. "A pretty face is worth a pocketful of gold."
"Can one sell a pretty face, then?" I asked.
"Yes, child, to the highest bidder," she replied, laughing.
From that moment I entered upon the accursed cult of my person which absorbed the rest of my childhood and all my first youth. To become rich was henceforth my one and only aim in life. I believed I possessed the means of attaining my ends, and the thought of money was like a poison working in my blood.
At school I was diligent and obedient, for I soon saw it paid best in the long run. I was delighted to see that I attracted the attention of the masters and mistresses, simply because of my good looks. I took in and pondered over every word of praise that concerned my appearance. But I put on airs of modesty, and no one guessed what went on within me.
I avoided the sun lest I should get freckles. I collected rain-water for washing. I slept in gloves; and though I adored sweets, I refrained from eating them on account of my teeth. I spent hours brushing my hair.
At home there was only one looking-glass. It was in my father's room, which I seldom entered, and was hung too high for me to use. In my pocket-mirror I could only see one eye at a time. But I had so much self-control that I resisted the temptation to stop and look at my reflection in the shop windows on my way to and from school.