undecided in tone as other blond hair, sparkled to the light like a filagree of burnished gold.  The baroness always braided the short locks curling on the nape of her neck—­which are a sign of race.  This tiny braid, concealed in the mass of hair always carefully put up, allowed the eye to follow with delight the undulating line by which her neck was set upon her shoulders.  This little detail will show the care which she gave to her person; it was her pride to rejoice the eyes of the old baron.  What a charming, delicate attention!  When you see a woman displaying in her own home the coquetry which most women spend on a single sentiment, believe me, that woman is as noble a mother as she is a wife; she is the joy and the flower of the home; she knows her obligations as a woman; in her soul, in her tenderness, you will find her outward graces; she is doing good in secret; she worships, she adores without a calculation of return; she loves her fellows, as she loves God,—­for their own sakes.  And so one might fancy that the Virgin of paradise, under whose care she lived, had rewarded the chaste girlhood and the sacred life of the old man’s wife by surrounding her with a sort of halo which preserved her beauty from the wrongs of time.  The alterations of that beauty Plato would have glorified as the coming of new graces.  Her skin, so milk-white once, had taken the warm and pearly tones which painters adore.  Her broad and finely modelled brow caught lovingly the light which played on its polished surface.  Her eyes, of a turquoise blue, shone with unequalled sweetness; the soft lashes, and the slightly sunken temples inspired the spectator with I know now what mute melancholy.  The nose, which was aquiline and thin, recalled the royal origin of the high-born woman.  The pure lips, finely cut, wore happy smiles, brought there by loving-kindness inexhaustible.  Her teeth were small and white; she had gained of late a slight embonpoint, but her delicate hips and slender waist were none the worse for it.  The autumn of her beauty presented a few perennial flowers of her springtide among the richer blooms of summer.  Her arms became more nobly rounded, her lustrous skin took a finer grain; the outlines of her form gained plenitude.  Lastly and best of all, her open countenance, serene and slightly rosy, the purity of her blue eyes, that a look too eager might have wounded, expressed illimitable sympathy, the tenderness of angels.

At the other chimney-corner, in an arm-chair, the octogenarian sister, like in all points save clothes to her brother, sat listening to the reading of the newspaper and knitting stockings, a work for which sight is needless.  Both eyes had cataracts; but she obstinately refused to submit to an operation, in spite of the entreaties of her sister-in-law.  The secret reason of that obstinacy was known to herself only; she declared it was want of courage; but the truth was that she would not let her brother spend twenty-five louis for her benefit.  That sum would have been so much the less for the good of the household.