This notion gave her fresh courage. She opened the bookcase, and found a book in which was written, in letters of gold: 'Ask for anything you wish: you are mistress of all here.' 'Alas!' she said with a sigh, 'my only wish is to see my poor father, and to know what he is doing.' As she said this to herself she glanced at a large mirror. Imagine her astonishment when she perceived her home reflected in it, and saw her father just approaching. Sorrow was written on his face; but when her sisters came to meet him it was impossible not to detect, despite the grimaces with which they tried to simulate grief, the satisfaction they felt at the loss of their sister. In a moment the vision faded away, yet Beauty could not but think that the Beast was very kind, and that she had nothing much to fear from him. At midday she found the table laid, and during her meal she enjoyed an excellent concert, though the performers were invisible. But in the evening, as she was about to sit down at the table, she heard the noise made by the Beast, and quaked in spite of herself. 'Beauty,' said the monster to her, 'may I watch you have your supper?' 'You are master here,' said the trembling Beauty. 'Not so,' replied the Beast; 'it is you who are mistress; you have only to tell me to go, if my presence annoys you, and I will go immediately. Tell me, now, do you not consider me very ugly?' 'I do,' said Beauty, 'since I must speak the truth; but I think you are also very kind.' 'It is as you say,' said the monster; 'and in addition to being ugly, I lack intelligence. As I am well aware, I am a mere beast.' 'It is not the way with stupid people,' answered Beauty, 'to admit a lack of intelligence. Fools never realise it.' 'Sup well, Beauty,' said the monster, 'and try to banish dulness from your home--for all about you is yours, and I should be sorry to think you were not happy.' 'You are indeed kind,' said Beauty. 'With one thing, I must own, I am well pleased, and that is your kind heart. When I think of that you no longer seem to be ugly.' 'Oh yes,' answered the Beast, 'I have a good heart, right enough, but I am a monster.' 'There are many men,' said Beauty, 'who make worse monsters than you, and I prefer you, notwithstanding your looks, to those who under the semblance of men hide false, corrupt, and ungrateful hearts.' The Beast replied that if only he had a grain of wit he would compliment her in the grand style by way of thanks; but that being so stupid he could only say he was much obliged. Beauty ate with a good appetite, for she now had scarcely any fear of the Beast. But she nearly died of fright when he put this question to her: 'Beauty, will you be my wife?' For some time she did not answer, fearing lest she might anger the monster by her refusal. She summoned up courage at last to say, rather fearfully, 'No, Beast!'