He passed his hand tremblingly across his forehead, and turned away, when his eye fell upon the last comer.
It was she.

The moment he had longed for and dreaded had come.

She stood there, animated, handsome, filled with a hurtful consciousness in her new charms, her fresh finery, and the pitiable trinkets that had supplanted her scapulary, and which played under her foolish fingers.
The past had no place in her preoccupied mind; her bright eyes were full of eager anticipation of a substantial future.

The incarnation of a frivolous world, even as she extended one hand to him in half-coquettish embarrassment she arranged the folds of her dress with the other.

At the touch of her fingers, he felt himself growing old and cold.