rose-color which once gave it so rich a glow. A few straggling locks of
black hair, straightened out by the damp night air, enhanced its dead
whiteness, and all its life and sparkle seemed to be torpid. Yet her
eyes glittered with preternatural brightness in spite of the violet
shadows under the lashes upon her wan cheeks.

She looked out with indifferent eyes over the fields towards the Cher,
at the islands in the river, at the line of the crags of Vouvray
stretching along the Loire towards Tours; then she sank back as soon
as possible into her seat in the caleche. She did not care to give a
glance to the enchanting valley of the Cise.

"Yes, it is wonderful," she said, and out in the open air her voice
sounded weak and faint to the last degree. Evidently she had had her
way with her father, to her misfortune.

"Would you not like to live here, Julie?"

"Yes; here or anywhere," she answered listlessly.

"Do you feel ill?" asked Colonel d'Aiglemont.

"No, not at all," she answered with momentary energy; and, smiling at
her husband, she added, "I should like to go to sleep."

Suddenly there came a sound of a horse galloping towards them. Victor
d'Aiglemont dropped his wife's hand and turned to watch the bend in
the road. No sooner had he taken his eyes from Julie's pale face than
all the assumed gaiety died out of it; it was as if a light had been
extinguished. She felt no wish to look at the landscape, no curiosity