The picture that I looked at most often was a pastel after Raphael of a virgin in white, blue and rose color.

The rays of the setting sun always fell upon this picture (I have already said the hour of sunset was the time I preferred most to be in this room).

This virgin was very much like my aunt Bertha; in spite of the great difference in their ages, one was struck with the resemblance between the straight lines and regularity of their profiles.
On this same floor, but upon the street side, lived my other grandmother (the one who always dressed in black) and her daughter, my aunt Claire, the person in the house who petted me most.
Upon winter evenings, after I had been to my aunt Bertha's room to see the sunset, it was my custom to go to them.

I usually found them together in my grandmother's room and I would seat myself near the fire in a little chair placed there for me.

But the twilight hour spent with them was always a disturbing one.