Never was any scene more simple in appearance, nor more portentous in reality.
When they entered the room, ushered in by old David, they found Seraphita standing by a table on which were served the various dishes which compose a "tea"; a form of collation which in the North takes the place of wine and its pleasures,--reserved more exclusively for Southern climes.

Certainly nothing proclaimed in her, or in him, a being with the strange power of appearing under two distinct forms; nothing about her betrayed the manifold powers which she wielded.

Like a careful housewife attending to the comfort of her guests, she ordered David to put more wood into the stove.
"Good evening, my neighbors," she said.

"Dear Monsieur Becker, you do right to come; you see me living for the last time, perhaps.

This winter has killed me.