Samuel, was writing in a small register, whilst Bathsheba, his wife, was
dictating to him from an account. Samuel was about eighty two years old,
and, notwithstanding his advanced age, a mass of gray curling hair
covered his head. He was short, thin, nervous, and the involuntary
petulance of his movements proved that years had not weakened his energy
and activity; though, out of doors, where, however, he made his
appearance very seldom, he affected a sort of second childhood, as had
been remarked by Rodin to Father d'Aigrigny. An old dressing-gown, of
maroon-colored camlet, with large sleeves, completely enveloped the old
man, and reached to his feet.

Samuel's features were cast in the pure, Eastern mould of his race. His
complexion was of a dead yellow, his nose aquiline, his chin shaded by a
little tuft of white beard, while projecting cheek-bones threw a harsh
shadow upon the hollow and wrinkled cheeks. His countenance was full of
intelligence, fine sharpness, and sagacity. On his broad, high forehead
one might read frankness, honesty, and firmness; his eyes, black and
brilliant as an Arab's, were at once mild and piercing.

His wife, Bathsheba, some fifteen years younger than himself, was of tall
stature, and dressed entirely in black. A low cap, of starched lawn,
which reminded one of the grave head-dresses of Dutch matrons, encircled
a pale and austere countenance, formerly of a rare and haughty beauty,
and impressed with the Scriptural character. Some lines in the forehead,
caused by the almost continual knitting of her gray brows, showed that
this woman had often suffered from the pressure of intense grief.

At this very moment her countenance betrayed inexpressible sorrow. Her
look was fixed, her head resting on her bosom. She had let her right
hand, which held a small account-book, fall upon her lap, while the other