of dampness, even in fine
weather. She also saw her mother, who was ever an invalid, and who
kissed her with pale lips, without speaking. No gleam of the sun
penetrated into her little room. Hard work went on around her; only by
dint of toil did her father gain a workingman's competency. That
summed up her early life, and till her marriage nothing intervened to
break the monotony of days ever the same. One morning, returning from
market with her mother, a basketful of vegetables on her arm, she
jostled against young Grandjean. Charles turned round and followed
them. The love-romance of her life was in this incident. For three
months she was always meeting him, while he, bashful and awkward,
could not pluck up courage to speak to her. She was sixteen years of
age, and a little proud of her lover, who, she knew, belonged to a
wealthy family. But she deemed him bad-looking, and often laughed at
him, and no thought of him disturbed her sleep in the large, gloomy,
damp house. In the end they were married, and this marriage yet filled
her with surprise. Charles worshipped her, and would fling himself on
the floor to kiss her bare feet. She beamed on him, her smile full of
kindness, as she rebuked him for such childishness. Then another dull
life began. During twelve years no event of sufficient interest had
occurred for her to bear in mind. She was very quiet and very happy,
tormented by no fever either of body or heart; her whole attention
being given to the daily cares of a poor household. Charles was still
wont to kiss her fair white feet, while she showed herself indulgent
and motherly towards him. But other feeling she had none. Then there
abruptly came before her the room in the Hotel du Var, her husband in
his coffin, and her widow's robe hanging over a chair. She had wept
that day as on the winter's night when her mother died. Then once more
the days glided on; for two months with her daughter she had again
enjoyed peace and happiness. Heaven! did that sum up everything? What,
then, did that book mean when it spoke of transcendent loves which
illumine one's existence?

While she thus reflected prolonged quivers were darting over the
sleeping lake of mist on the horizon. Suddenly it seemed to burst,
gaps appeared, a rending sped from end to end, betokening a complete
break-up. The sun, ascending higher and higher, scattering its rays in
glorious triumph, was victoriously attacking the mist. Little by
little the great