She rose, crossed the room barefooted, half-opened the shutters.

The day had broke, gray and lowering; the clouds were heavy with rain, the wind blew tempestuously, and drove the rain in gusts before it.
Bettina did not go back to bed, she felt it would be quite impossible to sleep again.

She put on a dressing-gown, and remained at the window; she watched the falling rain.

Since he positively must go, she would have liked the weather to be fine; she would have liked bright sunshine to have cheered his first day's march.
When she came to Longueval a month ago, Bettina did not know what this meant.

But she knew it now.