The sad end was, if you'll believe me, that all
the eight maidens died unmarried, martyrs to their own incomparable
charms."
"I can quite believe it," I answered, "and it wasn't at all sad, because
I'm sure any girl who had once had this place for her home would have
pined in grief at being taken away, even by the most glorious knight of
the world."
"Come in and see their boudoir," said the knight who worked, if he did
not fight, for me.
So we went in, without the trouble of using battering rams; for alas,
the family of the eight nymphs grew tired of their chateau and the gorge
in the dreadful days of the religious wars, and now it is an hotel. It
would not receive paying guests until summer, but a good-natured
caretaker opened the door for us, and we saw a number of stone-paved
corridors, and the nymphs' boudoir.
Their adoring father had ordered their portraits to be painted on the
ceiling; and there they remain to this day, simpering sweetly down upon
the few bits of ancient furniture made to match the room and suit their
taste.
They smiled amiably at us, too, the eight little faces framed in
Henrietta Maria curls; and their eyes said to me, "If you want to be
happy, _m'amie_, it is better not to be too beautiful; or else not to
have any sisters.
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