It had never been her habit to fasten her door; but to-night, after advancing a few paces into the chamber, she hesitated, turned back, and drew the bolt.

Then, having hastily pulled down the curtains, she seemed for the first time to be free from a sensation of restraint.
She walked up to the dressing-table, which was covered with a disorderly medley of a young lady's toilet articles--comb and brush, a paper of pins, ribbons, a brooch, little vase for rings, an open purse, a soiled handkerchief--and began mechanically to undo her hair, and shake out the braids.

It was dark-brown hair, not soft and delicately fine like Sophie's, but vigorous and crisp, each hair seeming to be distinct, and yet harmonizing with the rest.

As it was loosened and fell voluminously spreading over her shoulders, she paused, resting against the table, and looked at her face in the glass with critical earnestness.

The candle, standing at one side of the mirror, cast soft and deep shadows beneath the darkly-defined eyebrows, and against the straight line of the nose, and around the clear, short curves of the mouth and upper lip.