Landscape gardeners had constructed a cascade, grottos, a torrent, a lake, and an island, on its northern slope.

From this side one could see the whole town with its streets, its boulevards, its squares, the multitude of its roofs and domes, its air-passages, and its crowds of men, covered with a veil of silence, and seemingly enchanted by the distance.

This square was the healthiest place in the capital; here no smoke obscured the sky, and children were brought here to play.
In summer some employees from the neighbouring offices and laboratories used to resort to it for a moment after their luncheons, but they did not disturb its solitude and peace.
It was owing to this custom that, one day in June, about mid-day, a telegraph clerk, Caroline Meslier, came and sat down on a bench at the end of a terrace.

In order to refresh her eyes by the sight of a little green, she turned her back to the town.

Dark, with brown eyes, robust and placid, Caroline appeared to be from twenty-five to twenty-eight years of age.