The common light of lamps, and the every-day life of ordinary men and women busy over their evening meal, astonished him, as if he had come from another state of existence.

He lingered awhile, looking on as at some extraordinary spectacle.

Then he went on to the hotel standing a little out of and above the village.
The place, so crowded in the summer, was quiet enough now.

A bright light, however, streamed through the window of the salon, which was uncurtained.

He stopped and looked in at Felicita, who was sitting alone by the log fire, with her white forehead resting on her small hand, which partly hid her face.