Homely , though, is an ill-chosen word. What I see is not precisely homely. A girl of Villette stands there⁠—a girl fresh from her pensionnat . She is very comely, with the beauty indigenous to this country. She looks well-nourished, fair, and fat of flesh. Her cheeks are round, her eyes good; her hair is abundant. She is handsomely dressed. She is not alone; her escort consists of three persons⁠—two being elderly; these she addresses as “ Mon Oncle ” and “ Ma Tante .” She laughs, she chats; good-humoured, buxom, and blooming, she looks, at all points, the bourgeoise belle.

“So much for Justine Marie;” so much for ghosts and mystery: not that this last was solved⁠—this girl certainly is not my nun: what I saw in the garret and garden must have been taller by a span.