The face was more animated, the action quicker, the step lighter, the carriage more free.

She began to sing, and stopped; fell into a reverie, with the knife in her hand, and the herb half cut; again roused herself to finish her task; finally having slid the herbs from the platter to the pot, she stood in a second reverie, with her eyes fixed on the window.
He began to feel the falseness of his position.

It was too late to show himself, and if she discovered him what would she think of him?
Would she believe that in spying upon her he had some evil purpose, some low motive, such as Louis might have had?
His cheek grew hot.

And then--he forgot himself.
Her eyes had left the window and fallen to the window-seat.

It was the thing she did then which drew him out of himself.