blue silk gown and muslin guimpe, over which fell a collaret made of
lawn with a deep hem. Her hair was simply worn in two smooth bandeaus,
gathered into a Grecian knot at the back of her head. She was seated
on a tapestried chair beside her mother, who occupied a fine armchair
with a carved back, covered with red velvet (evidently the relic of
some old chateau), which stood beside the fireplace. A bright fire
blazed on the hearth. On the chimney-piece, at either side of an
antique clock, the value of which was wholly unknown to the Sauviats,
six wax candles in two brass sconces twisted like vine-shoots, lighted
the dark room and Veronique in all her budding prime. The old mother
was wearing her best gown.

From the silent street, at that tranquil hour, through the soft
shadows of the ancient stairway, Graslin appeared to the modest,
artless Veronique, her mind still dwelling on the sweet ideas which
Bernadin de Saint-Pierre had given her of love.

Graslin, who was short and thin, had thick black hair like the
bristles of a brush, which brought into vigorous relief a face as red
as that of a drunkard emeritus, and covered with suppurating pimples,
either bleeding or about to burst. Without being caused by eczema or
scrofula, these signs of a blood overheated by continual toil,
anxiety, and the lust of business, by wakeful nights, poor food, and a
sober life, seemed to partake of both these diseases. In spite of the
advice of his partners, his clerks, and his physician, the banker
would never compel himself to take the healthful precautions which
might have prevented, or would at least modify, this malady, which was
slight at first, but had greatly increased from year to year. He
wanted to cure it, and would sometimes take baths or drink some
prescribed potion; but, hurried along on the current of his business,