"The grapes—the grapes are sour!" scoffed the girl.
"I wonder at nothing you have done," said the boy sternly, "since you have told me whence you come. Of the thorn—thorns; of the nettle—stings; of the thistle—thistles—all after their kind. No! God be praised!" The boy took off his cap and looked up. "The Gros Guillem and my father, Ogier del' Peyra, are not to be spoken of in one sentence here, nor will be from the White Throne on the Day of Doom."
Looking steadily at the girl seething with anger, with mortified pride, and with desire to exasperate him, he said—
"I should never have thought that you sprang from the Gros Guillem. The likeness must be in the heart, it is not in the face."
"Have you seen my father?" asked the girl.
"I have never seen him, but I have heard of him."
"That he is very tall and spider-like in build; they call him 'le gros' in jest, for he is not stout, but very meagre. He has long hands and feet, and a long head with red hair, and pale face with sunspots, and very faint blue eyes, under thick red brows. That is what I am told Le Gros Guillem is like. But you——"
"Describe me—go on!"
"No!" answered Jean. "There is no need. You see yourself every day in the glass. When there is no glass you look at yourself in the water; when no water, you look at yourself in your nails."