She had never been so attractive as now, and she had always been infinitely so.

Her person, reposed in the peace of her mourning, had then the bright lustre of a fine fruit, ripe and fresh.

Her black eyes full of timid tenderness, her pure brow crowned with splendid and life-like braids, her shoulders of rosy marble, her particular grace of a young matron, at once handsome, loving, and chaste--all that, joined to a spotless reputation and to sixty thousand francs a year, could not fail to bring forward more than one pretender.

And indeed they sprang up in legions.

Reason, and public opinion itself, which had done full justice to her husband and to herself, were both urging her to a second wedding.
Her own private feelings, whatever might be their natural delicacy, did not seem likely to prove an obstacle, for there was nothing in her heart that was not true.