In spite of the melancholy which oppressed me, I could not help smiling at the playful imagination of Agnes: she had perfectly preserved dame Cunegonda’s resemblance, but had so much exaggerated every fault, and rendered every feature so irresistibly laughable, that I could easily conceive the duenna’s anger.

“The figure is admirable, my dear Agnes! I knew not that you possessed such talents for the ridiculous.”

“Stay a moment,” she replied; “I will show you a figure still more ridiculous than dame Cunegonda’s. If it pleases you, you may dispose of it as seems best to yourself.”

She rose, and went to a cabinet at some little distance. Unlocking a drawer, she took out a small case, which she opened, and presented to me.

“Do you know the resemblance?” said she smiling.

It was her own.