She belonged to the class of old women whose dress recalls the style of the last century.

They wear puce-colored gowns with flat sleeves, the cut of which can be seen in the portraits of Madame Lebrun; they all have black lace mantles and bonnets of a shape gone by, in keeping with their slow and dignified deportment; one might almost fancy that they still wore paniers under their petticoats or felt them there, as persons who have lost a leg are said to fancy that the foot is moving.

They swathe their heads in old lace which declines to drape gracefully about their cheeks.
Their wan and elongated faces, their haggard eyes and faded brows, are not without a certain melancholy grace, in spite of the false fronts with flattened curls to which they cling,--and yet these ruins are all subordinate to an unspeakable dignity of look and manner.
The red and wrinkled eyes of this old lady showed plainly that she had been crying during the service.

She walked like a person in trouble, seemed to be expecting some one, and looked behind her from time to time.

Now, the fact of Madame de Portenduere looking behind her was really as remarkable in its way as the conversion of Doctor Minoret.
"Who can Madame de Portenduere be looking for ?" said Madame Massin, rejoining the other heirs, who were for the moment struck dumb by the doctor's answer.
"For the cure," said Dionis, the notary, suddenly striking his forehead as if some forgotten thought or memory had occurred to him.