Thick masses of hair framed her sad but splendid brow; and she was badly, or rather poorly dressed, never condescending to wear the cast-off clothes of her relatives, but preferring gowns of simplest material made by her own hands.

These draperies gave her the appearance of an antique statue.
Her Tonnelier cousins nicknamed her "the goddess." They hated her; she despised them.

The name they gave her, however, was marvellously suitable.
When she walked, you would have imagined she had descended from a pedestal; the pose of her head was like that of the Greek Venus; her delicate, dilating nostrils seemed carved by a cunning chisel from transparent ivory.

She had a startled, wild air, such as one sees in pictures of huntress nymphs.

She used a naturally fine voice with great effect; and had already cultivated, so far as she could, a taste for art.
She was naturally so taciturn one was compelled to guess her thoughts; and long since Camors had reflected as to what was passing in that self-centred soul.