Now the sight of the bony hand which grasped the cane brought a half-sorrowful, half-scornful, smile to her lips.

Her arm had been plump and round, but was now little larger than a stick.

Pretty Kuni, the ropedancer, no longer existed; she must become accustomed to have the world regard her as a different and far less important personage, whom Lienhard, too--and this was fortunate--would not have deemed worthy of a glance.
And yet, if the inner self is the true one, there was little change in her.

Her soul was moved by the same feelings, only there was now a touch of bitterness.

One great advantage of her temperament, it is true, had vanished with her physical beauty and strength--the capacity to hope for happiness and joy.