the woman noted for her piety and for her intellect of whom he had
heard speak, he could not restrain a gesture of amazement. Veronique
had now reached the third phase of her life, that in which she was to
rise into grandeur by the exercise of the highest virtues,--a phase in
which she became another woman. To the Little Virgin of Titian, hidden
at eleven years of age beneath a spotted mantle of small-pox, had
succeeded a beautiful woman, noble and passionate; and from that
woman, now wrung by inward sorrows, came forth a saint.

Her skin bore the yellow tinge which colors the austere faces of
abbesses who have been famous for their macerations. The attenuated
temples were almost golden. The lips had paled, the red of an opened
pomegranate was no longer on them, their color had changed to the pale
pink of a Bengal rose. At the corners of the eyes, close to the nose,
sorrows had made two shining tracks like mother-of-pearl, where tears
had flowed; tears which effaced the marks of small-pox and glazed the
skin. Curiosity was invincibly attracted to that pearly spot, where
the blue threads of the little veins throbbed precipitately, as though
they were swelled by an influx of blood brought there, as it were, to
feed the tears. The circle round the eyes was now a dark-brown that
was almost black above the eyelids, which were horribly wrinkled. The
cheeks were hollow; in their folds lay the sign of solemn thoughts.
The chin, which in youth was full and round, the flesh covering the
muscles, was now shrunken, to the injury of its expression, which told
of an implacable religious severity exercised by this woman upon
herself.

At twenty-nine years of age Veronique's hair was scanty and already
whitening. Her thinness was alarming. In spite of her doctor's advice
she insisted on suckling her son. The doctor triumphed in the result;