And in one little distant corner of the long room a gray-haired gentleman and two young ladies sat round a small plain table, on which burned a solitary candle; and a little way apart in this candle's twilight an old lady sat in an easy-chair, thinking of the past, scarce daring to inquire the future.

Josephine and Rose were working: not fancy-work but needle-work; Dr.Aubertin writing.

Every now and then he put the one candle nearer the girls.

They raised no objection: only a few minutes after a white hand would glide from one or other of them like a serpent, and smoothly convey the light nearer to the doctor's manuscript.
"Is it not supper-time ?" he inquired.

"I have an inward monitor; and I think our dinner was more ethereal than usual." "Hush!" said Josephine, and looked uneasily towards her mother.