Nor are there curtains at the window, but a pair of smiling faces, of friendly women's faces.

One is mild and maternal, with that kind of tender anxiety which softens beauty instead of hardening it.
It has that look which, after she is dead, every affectionate son thinks he remembers to have seen in his mother's face; and the other is younger, brighter--a face of rosy cheeks, and clustering hair, and blue eyes--a beaming, loyal, loving, girlish face.
They both smile welcome to Gabriel, and the younger face, disappearing from the window, reappears at the door.

Gabriel naturally kisses those blooming lips, and then goes into the parlor and kisses his mother.

Those sympathetic friends ask him what has happened during the day.

They see if he looks unusually fatigued; and if so, why so?
they ask.