The face is not very young.

The body is swathed, and rigid, in a large cloak with wide sleeves, and the richly-jewelled sheath of a gown that betrays no feminine outline of figure.

She is upright, sexless, shapeless; her waist slight and bound with a girdle of cord, like a Franciscan Sister.
She stands looking, with her head slightly bent, attentive to one knows not what, seeing nothing.

Has she attained to the perfect negation of all things?
Is she living the life of Union with God beyond the worlds, where time is no more?
It might be thought so, since it is noteworthy that, in spite of her royal insignia and the magnificence of her costume, she has the self-centred look, the austere demeanour of a nun.
She seems more of the cloister than of the Court.

Then we wonder who can have placed her on guard by this door, and why, faithful to a charge known to none but herself, she watches, day and night, with her far-away gaze across the square, waiting motionless for some one who for seven hundred years has failed to come.
"She might be an embodiment of Advent, stooping a little to listen to the woeful supplications of man as they rise from earth; in that case, she must be an Old Testament queen, dead long before the birth of the Messiah she perhaps may have prophesied.
"As she holds a book, the Abbe Bulteau thinks it may be a full-length statue of Saint Radegonde.