gs of the sofa and chairs, and went out
to do her bedroom. There, on a chair, lay her best dress, the one she
had put on yesterday for her guests.

She considered the dress: that, too, was frayed in places; here and
there even drawn together and sewn over. The bodice was beyond ironing
out again--and this was her best dress. She opened the wardrobe, for she
wanted to make a general survey of her belongings. It was such a light
day, one could see even in the back rooms. She took down one dress after
another, and laid them out on the made beds, observing each with a
critical eye. Her sense of depression increased the while, and she felt
as though stone on stone were being piled upon her heart.

She began to put the clothes back into the wardrobe, and she hung up
every one of them with a sigh. When she had finished with the bedroom,
she went into the dining-room, and stood by the sideboard on which were
set out her best china service and colored plates. She looked them over.
One little gold-rimmed cup had lost its handle, a bowl had a piece glued
in at the side. On the top shelf stood the statuette of a little god
with a broken bow and arrow in his hand, and here there was one little
goblet missing out of a whole service.

As soon as everything was in order, Rosalie washed her face and hands,
combed up her hair, and began to look at herself in a little
hand-glass, but the bath-room, to which she had retired, was dark, and
she betook herself back into the front parlor, towel in hand, where she
could see herself in the big looking-glass on the wall. Time, which had
left traces on the furniture, on the contents of the wardrobe, and on
the china, had not spared the woman, though she had been married only
eight years. She looked at the crow's-feet by her eyes, and the lines in
her forehead, which the worrying thoughts of this day had imprinted
there even more sharply than usual. She tried to smile, but the smile in
the glass looked no more attractive than if she had given her mouth a
twist. She remembered that the only way to remain young is to keep free
from care. But how is one to set about it? She threw on a scarlet
Japanese kimono, and stuck an artificial flower into her hair, after
which she lightly powdered her face and neck. The scarlet kimono lent a
little color to her cheeks, and another critical glance at the mirror
convinced her that she was still a comely woman, only no more a young
one.

The bloom of youth had