The aperture disclosed, instead of burning sky, a thick screen of horse-chestnut boughs.

The great fan-like leaves almost touched the window-glass, and tinted all the dim parallelogram of light.
Even Lucina's golden head and fair face acquired somewhat of this prevailing tone of green, being transposed into another key of color.
All her golden lights, and her roses, were lost in a delicate green pallor, which might have beseemed a sea-nymph.

Her aunt, sitting aloof in that same green shaft of day filtered through horse-chestnut leaves, and also changed thereby, kept glancing at her uneasily.

She knew that her brother and his wife had been anxious lately about Lucina.

She ventured a few more gently solicitous remarks, which Lucina met sweetly, still with a little impatience of weariness, scarcely lifting her face from her book; then she ventured no more.
"The child does not like to have us so anxious over her," she thought, with that unfailing courtesy and consideration which would spare others though she torment herself thereby.