How white your hand is! Mine looks like a monkey's paw beside it--and your hair is as fine and soft as silk, while mine is all rough and tangled.

Oh! I am so horribly ugly--you must think so too." "No, my dear child," Isabelle replied, touched by her naive expressions of affection and admiration, "I do not think so.

You have beauty too--you only need to make yourself neat and clean to be as pretty a little girl as one would wish to see." "Do you really think so?
Are you telling me true?
I would steal fine clothes if they would make me pretty, for then Agostino would love me." This idea brought a little flush of colour to her thin brown cheeks, and for a few minutes she seemed lost in a pleasant reverie.
"Do you know where we are ?" asked Isabelle, when Chiquita looked up at her again.
"In a chateau that belongs to the great seignior who has so much money, and who wanted to carry you off at Poitiers.

I had only to draw the bolt and it would have been done then.

But you gave me the pearl necklace, and I love you, and I would not do anything you did not like." "Yet you have helped to carry me off this time," said Isabelle reproachfully.