A couple of chairs were by the hearth, and all seemed to speak of poverty and bareness.

Yet the woman whom we saw was richly dressed, though her silks and velvets were disordered.

I saw a jewel gleam in her hair, and others on her hands.
When she turned her face towards us--a wild, beautiful face, perplexed and tear-stained--I knew her instantly for a gentlewoman, and when she walked hastily to the door, and laid her hand upon it, and seemed to listen--when she shook the latch and dropped her hands in despair and went back to the hearth, I made another discovery I knew at once, seeing her there, that we were likely but to change one prison for another.

Was every house in Paris then a dungeon?
And did each roof cover its tragedy?
"Madame!" I said, speaking softly, to attract her attention.

"Madame!" She started violently, not knowing whence the sound came, and looked round, at the door first.