Stephanie - The Passions of Spring [antikvár]

Chapter OneStephanie de Boisnaudouin gave little promise of becoming one of those coldly perfect classical beauties. She was going to be something better. In this year 1845 she was just thirteen years old, with a budding femininity beginning to soften the contours of her body. Her shoulders were growing plumper and her waist more slender, and she had acquired coquettish little gestures which gave a sudden glimpse of the girl and woman to come. A sudden toss of the head, perhaps, or a stately descent of the great staircase, head high and eyes front, quite unlike her usual tomboyish swoop down the polished banisters, followed by a cat-like spring to the ground.These fleeting impulses to play at being a grown-up lady surprised and amused Stephanie herself. But she did not take them seriously. She could never keep up the make-believe for more than a minute or two. She would tell herself, very rapidly: "One day I shall be a lady, like Mamma, pretty like her. I shall be calm and dignified and I'll speak softly and I won't crumple my dresses. When I give orders everyone will obey me, like they do Mamma . . ." But this "one day" in the future was promptly forgotten, and she was back in the present, envying and admiring her brother. She envied him being a boy because boys had all the rights and privileges, they could do as they pleased, decide on their own careers, and go to war. Really, Charles was terribly lucky to have been bom a boy.Charles was already somewhat taller than his father. Physically, he resembled him: handsome, clear-cut, regular features, broad shoulders and sturdy legs. His eyes looked black under their thick lashes, but they were really brown, sparkling with tawny lights and glints that softened a gaze which might otherwise have seemed hard and wilful.Stephanie had inherited her mother's high, headstrong forehead, wonderful mane of silky, ash-blonde hair, and brilliant