Her wavy, brown hair, simply parted in front, fell in rebellious curls from under the border of her cap, of which the only decoration was a bow of black ribbon; the end floating gracefully over her shoulders.

The sharp November air had imparted a delicate rose tint to her pale complexion, and additional vivacity to her luminous, dark eyes.
"Good-morning, Monsieur de Buxieres," said she, in her clear, pleasantly modulated voice; "I think you may remember me?
It is not so long since we saw each other at the farm." "Mademoiselle Vincart!" exclaimed Julien.

"Why, certainly I remember you!" He drew a chair toward the fire, and offered it to her.

This charming apparition of his cordial hostess at La Thuiliere evoked the one pleasant remembrance in his mind since his arrival in Vivey.

It shot, like a ray of sunlight, across the heavy fog of despair which had enveloped the new master of the chateau.