She was so greatly changed that when M. Wilkie's
eyes first fell on her, he asked himself if this were really the
same person whom he had met on the previous evening. Henceforth
she would be an old woman. You would have taken her for over
fifty, so terrible had been the sufferings caused her by the
shameful conduct of her son. In this sad-eyed, haggard-faced
woman, clad in black, no one would have recognized the notorious
Lia d'Argeles, who, only the evening before, had driven round the
lake, reclining on the cushions of her victoria, and eclipsing all
the women around her by the splendor of her toilette. Nothing now
remained of the gay worldling but the golden hair which she was
condemned to see always the same, since its tint had been fixed by
dyes as indelible as the stains upon her past.
She rose with difficulty when M. Wilkie entered, and in the
expressionless voice of those who are without hope, she asked:
"What do you wish of me?"
As usual, when the time came to carry out his happiest
conceptions, his courage failed him. "I came to talk about our
affairs, you know," he replied, "and I find you moving."
"I am not moving."
"Nonsense! you can't make me believe that! What's the meaning of
these carts in the courtyard?"
"They are here to convey all the furniture in the house to the
auction-rooms."
Wilkie was struck dumb for a moment, but eventually recovering
himself a little, he exclaimed: "What! you are going to sell
everything?"
"Yes.
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