f
wonderful beauty; and never, perhaps, did a vision of more dazzling
loveliness step forth from beneath the dark convent portal into the
light of the free and open world. She was rather tall, but admirably
proportioned, with a figure full of native grace and dignity: her
hands, arms, and shoulders were models of pure sculptural beauty. An
expression of singular gentleness and serenity characterized her fair,
oval countenance and regular features. Her open forehead, dark and
well-arched eyebrows, and eyes of a gray so deep that it was often
mistaken for blue, added to her natural grave and meditative appearance;
her nose was straight and well formed, her mouth serious but exquisitely
beautiful.

On leaving the convent in which she had been educated, Charlotte Corday
went to reside with her aunt, Madame Coutellier de Bretteville Gouville,
an old royalist lady, who inhabited an ancient-looking house in one of
the principal streets of Caen. There the young girl, who had inherited a
little property, spent several years, chiefly engaged in watching the
progress of the Revolution.

A silent reserve characterized this epoch of Charlotte Corday's life;
her enthusiasm was not external but inward; she listened to the
discussions which were carried on around her without taking a part in
them herself. She seemed to feel instinctively that great thoughts are
always better nursed in the heart's solitude: that they can only lose
their native depth and intensity by being revealed too freely before the
indifferent gaze of the world. Those with whom she then occasionally
conversed took little heed of the substance of her discourse, and could
remember nothing of it when she afterward became celebrated; but all
recollected well her voice, and spoke with strange enthusiasm of its
pure, silvery sound.

The fall of the Girondists, on the 31st of May, first suggested to
Charlotte Corday the possibility of giving an active shape to her
hitherto passive feelings. She watched with intense, though still silent
interest, the progress of events, concealing her secret indignation and
thoughts of vengeance under her habitually calm aspect. Those feelings
were heightened in her soul by the presence of the fugitive Girondists,
who had found a refuge in Caen, and were urging the Normans to raise an
army to march on Paris. She found a pretense to call upon Barbaroux,
then with his friends at the Intendance. She came twice, accompanied by
an old servan