rted.

At that time Louis Lambert was about five feet five inches in height;
he grew no more. His countenance, which was full of expression, revealed
his sweet nature. Divine patience, developed by harsh usage, and the
constant concentration needed for his meditative life, had bereft his
eyes of the audacious pride which is so attractive in some faces, and
which had so shocked our masters. Peaceful mildness gave charm to his
face, an exquisite serenity that was never marred by a tinge of irony or
satire; for his natural kindliness tempered his conscious strength and
superiority. He had pretty hands, very slender, and almost always
moist. His frame was a marvel, a model for a sculptor; but our iron-gray
uniform, with gilt buttons and knee-breeches, gave us such an ungainly
appearance that Lambert's fine proportions and firm muscles could only
be appreciated in the bath. When we swam in our pool in the Loire,
Louis was conspicuous by the whiteness of his skin, which was unlike the
different shades of our schoolfellows' bodies mottled by the cold,
or blue from the water. Gracefully formed, elegant in his attitudes,
delicate in hue, never shivering after his bath, perhaps because he
avoided the shade and always ran into the sunshine, Louis was like one
of those cautious blossoms that close their petals to the blast and
refuse to open unless to a clear sky. He ate little, and drank water
only; either by instinct or by choice he was averse to any exertion that
made a demand on his strength; his movements were few and simple, like
those of Orientals or of savages, with whom gravity seems a condition of
nature.

As a rule, he disliked everything that resembled any special care for
his person. He commonly sat with his head a little inclined to the left,
and so constantly rested his elbows on the table, that the sleeves of
his coats were soon in holes.

To this slight picture of the outer man I must add a sketch of his moral
qualities, for I believe I can now judge him impartially.

Though naturally religious, Louis did not accept the minute practices of
the Roman ritual; his ideas were more intimately in sympathy with Saint
Theresa and Fenelon, and several Fathers and certain Saints, who, in our
day, would be regarded as heresiarchs or atheists. He was rigidly calm
during the services. His own prayers went up in gusts, in aspirations,
without any regular formality; in all things he gave himself up to
nature, and would not pr