I am not French in the least. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Why not? Quite willing. There was no answer. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. . ” “Never for a second. That is why I called myself Anna.
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