Then she returned to Noires-Fontaines, a road she had taken twice every day for the last two months, once at noon on her way to the prison, once in the evening on returning to the chateau.
Every night she found Amelie in the same place, sitting at the window which, in happier days, had given admittance to her beloved Charles.
Since the day she had fainted in the courtroom she had shed no tears, and, we may almost add, had uttered no word.

Unlike the marble of antiquity awakening into life, she might have been compared to a living woman petrifying into stone.

Every day she grew paler.
Charlotte watched her with astonishment.

Common minds, always impressed by noisy demonstrations, that is to say, by cries and tears, are unable to understand a mute sorrow.

Dumbness to them means indifference.