Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. They were properly brought up, and sat still and straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. No girl with a face like that…. ‘No.
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