nstep and ankle than for the more ordinary merit of slenderness;
her gloved hands, too, were shapely. There were flitting patches of deep
red in a pale face, which must have been fresh and softly colored once.
Premature wrinkles had withered the delicately modeled forehead beneath
the coronet of soft, well-set chestnut hair, invariably wound about her
head in two plaits, a girlish coiffure which suited the melancholy face.
There was a deceptive look of calm in the dark eyes, with the hollow,
shadowy circles about them; sometimes, when she was off her guard, their
expression told of secret anguish. The oval of her face was somewhat
long; but happiness and health had perhaps filled and perfected the
outlines. A forced smile, full of quiet sadness, hovered continually on
her pale lips; but when the children, who were always with her, looked
up at their mother, or asked one of the incessant idle questions which
convey so much to a mother's ears, then the smile brightened, and
expressed the joys of a mother's love. Her gait was slow and dignified.
Her dress never varied; evidently she had made up her mind to think no
more of her toilette, and to forget a world by which she meant no doubt
to be forgotten. She wore a long, black gown, confined at the waist by
a watered-silk ribbon, and by way of scarf a lawn handkerchief with a
broad hem, the two ends passed carelessly through her waistband. The
instinct of dress showed itself in that she was daintily shod, and gray
silk stockings carried out the suggestion of mourning in this unvarying
costume. Lastly, she always wore a bonnet after the English fashion,
always of the same shape and the same gray material, and a black veil.
Her health apparently was extremely weak; she looked very ill. On fine
evenings she would take her only walk, down to the bridge of Tours,
bringing the two children with her to breathe the fresh, cool air along
the Loire, and to watch the sunset effects on a landscape as wide as the
Bay of Naples or the Lake of Geneva.

During the whole time of her stay at La Grenadiere she went but twice
into Tours; once to call on the headmaster of the school, to ask him
to give her the names of the best masters of Latin, drawing, and
mathematics; and a second time to make arrangements for the children's
lessons. But her appearance on the bridge of an evening, once or twice
a week, was quite enough to excite the interest of almost all the
inhabitants of Tours, who make a r