the hands of Adrian Baker himself.

Berta's father and the housekeeper saw in this house a constant menace; it
came to be for them the shadow, so to say, of Adrian Baker; but for all
that, time passed and the traveller did not return.

Spring came, and nature bloomed again with all the richness of vegetation
which she displays in southern climes; and it is in the heart of the South
that the scene of our story is laid. Everything put on its fairest and
most smiling aspect, and the soul felt the vague happiness of a hope that
is about to be realized.

Berta shared in this beautiful awakening of nature, and it might be said
that her every beauty had acquired a new charm; her eyes seemed larger,
her glance gentler, calmer, more profound; her cheeks fresher, softer, and
rosier; and her smile more tender, innocent, and enchanting. Her figure
had acquired a majestic ease, which gave to her movements voluptuousness
and firmness. It seemed as if youth had made a supreme effort, and in
giving the last touch to her beauty had obtained a masterpiece. She was in
the full splendor of her loveliness.

In exchange, Adrian Baker's palace one morning appeared as gloomy as a
sepulchre; the drawn blinds and the closed hall-door gave it the aspect of
a deserted house; profound silence reigned within it, and yet the palace
of Adrian Baker was still inhabited.

In the hall the figure of the porter appeared like a shade; he was dressed
entirely in black, and all the other servants of the house were also clad
in mourning, and in their faces were to be observed signs of sadness.