But if I felt inclined to pity Frosine the feeling vanished on looking into her face. It was so brave, so frank, so cheerful. There was no beauty, but a piquant quality that almost made up for its lack. Character, variety, appeal she had, and a peculiar fascinating quality of redemption. Thus the beautiful teeth redeemed the rather large mouth; the wide-set hazel eyes redeemed the short, irregular nose; the broad well-shaped brow redeemed the somewhat soft chin. Her skin was of a fine delicacy, one of those skins that seem to be too tightly stretched; and constant smiling had made fine wrinkles round her mouth and eyes.
“A female with an active sense of humour,” I thought. Anastasia’s sense of humour was passive, Rougette’s somewhat atrophied. So Mademoiselle Frosine smiled, and her smile was irresistible. It brought into play all these fine wrinkles; it was so whole-hearted, so free from reservations. That tonic smile would have made a pessimist burn his Schopenhauer, and take to reading Elbert Hubbard.
“Mademoiselle,” I began in my fumbling French, “I have come to beg a favour of you. You would be a thousand times amiable if you could spare Solonge for an hour or two in the afternoon, to go with us to the Luxembourg Gardens. There she may play in the sunshine, and it will give my wife infinite gladness to watch her.”
Frosine almost dropped her needle with pleasure. “Oh, you are so good. It will be such a joy for my little one, and will make me so happy. Madame loves children, does she not?”
“It is truly foolish how she loves them. She will be ravished if you will permit us to have your treasure for a little while.”
“Ah, monsieur, you are entirely too amiable.”
“Not at all. It is well heard, then?”
“But, yes, certainly. You make me too happy.”
“Ah, well! this afternoon at three o’clock?”
“At three o’clock.”