There is in some women an artificial grandeur, attached to the movement of their eyes, the look of their face, to the way that they walk, and which goes no further; it is like a dazzling and imposing wit who one only esteems because one hasn't seen deeply into it. There is in some others a simple, natural grandeur, independent of their gestures and gait, whose source is in their heart, and which seems like a result of their high birth; a peaceful but solid merit accompanied by a thousand virtues that they cannot cover with all of their modesty, which escape and are seen by anyone who has eyes.