A stranger would have laughed to see the careless manner
in which she thrust back the needle without the slightest fear of
wounding herself. She was straight as a steeple. Her erect and
imposing carriage might pass for one of those coquetries of old age
which prove that pride is a necessary passion of life. Her smile was
gay. She, too, had done her duty.
As soon as the baroness saw that her husband was asleep she stopped
reading. A ray of sunshine, stretching from one window to the other,
divided by a golden band the atmosphere of that old room and burnished
the now black furniture. The light touched the carvings of the
ceiling, danced on the time-worn chests, spread its shining cloth on
the old oak table, enlivening the still, brown room, as Fanny's voice
cast into the heart of her octogenarian blind sister a music as
luminous and as cheerful as that ray of sunlight. Soon the ray took on
the ruddy colors which, by insensible gradations, sank into the
melancholy tones of twilight. The baroness also sank into a deep
meditation, one of those total silences which her sister-in-law had
noticed for the last two weeks, trying to explain them to herself, but
making no inquiry.
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