There had never been but the one child.

She was not less handsome than when Jean Jacques married her and brought her home, though the bloom of maiden youthfulness was no longer there; and she certainly was a cut far above the habitant women or even the others of a higher social class, in a circle which had an area equal to a principality in Europe.
The old cure, M.Langon, had had much influence over her, for few could resist the amazing personal influence which his rare pure soul secured over the worst.

It was a sad day to her when he went to his long home; and inwardly she felt a greater loss than she had ever felt, save that once when her Carvillho Gonzales went the way of the traitor.

Memories of her past life far behind in Madrid did not grow fainter; indeed, they grew more distinct as the years went on.

They seemed to vivify, as her discontent and restlessness grew.
Once, when there had come to St.Saviour's a middle-aged baron from Paris who had heard the fishing was good at St.Saviour's, and talked to her of Madrid and Barcelona, of Cordova and Toledo, as one who had seen and known and (he declared) loved them; who painted for her in splashing impressionist pictures the life that still eddied in the plazas and dreamed in the patios, she had been almost carried off her feet with longing; and she nearly gave that longing an expression which would have brought a tragedy, while still her Zoe was only eight years old.