She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies. She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction. The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. Uncle Tom's Cabin - Harriet Beecher Stowe.The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett.
The Red Badge of Courage - Stephen Crane.The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne.
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