A loud bell rang for morning-school.

She got up; as she passed a dressing-table with a glass upon it, she looked at her reflected image.

One single white hair streaked her nut-brown tresses; she plucked it out with a shudder.

In the full summer daylight, her face, though it still had the colour, could plainly be seen to have lost the texture of youth; and then, where were youth's contours?
Ah, Madame! wise as you were, even _you_ knew weakness.

Never had I pitied Madame before, but my heart softened towards her, when she turned darkly from the glass.