The distant rumbling of the thunder announced the end of the storm; but a few flashes still traversed the horizon.
"Aunt," said she, after a moment's silence, "come and look at the Montigny rocks; when the lightning strikes them they look like a file of silver columns or a procession of ghosts." "What a romantic speech," growled the old lady, never taking her eyes from her paper.
"I assure you I am not romantic the least in the world," replied Clemence.

"I simply find the storm a distraction, and here, you know, there is no great choice of pleasures." "Then you find it dull ?" "Oh, aunt, horribly so!" At these words, pronounced with a heartfelt accent, the young woman dropped into an armchair.
Mademoiselle de Corandeuil took off her eye-glasses, put the paper upon the table and gazed for several moments at her pretty niece's face, which was tinged with a look of deep melancholy.

She then straightened herself up in her chair, and, leaning forward, asked in a low tone: "Have you had any trouble with your husband ?" "If so, I should not be so bored," replied Clemence, in a gay tone, which she repented immediately, for she continued more calmly: "No, aunt; Christian is kind, very kind; he is very much attached to me, and full of good-humor and attentions.

You have seen how he has allowed me to arrange my apartments to suit myself, even taking down the partition and enlarging the windows; and yet, you know how much he clings to everything that is old about the house.

He tries to do everything for my pleasure.