ced were the family features common to them all.
The furniture of the room was not unworthy of these proud defunct ones.
High-backed chairs and enormous armchairs, dating from the time of Louis
XIII; more modern sofas, which had been made to harmonize with the older
furniture, filled the room. They were covered with flowered tapestry in
thousands of shades, which must have busied the white hands of the ladies
of the house for two or three generations past.

The row of portraits was interrupted on one side by a large fireplace of
grayish granite, which was too high for one to hang a mirror above or to
place ornaments upon its mantel. Opposite was an ebony console inlaid
with ivory, upon which was placed one of those elegant clocks whose
delicate and original chased work has not been eclipsed by any modern
workmanship. Two large Japanese vases accompanied it; the whole was
reflected in an antique mirror which hung above the console; its edges
were bevelled, doubtless in order to cause one to admire the thickness of
the glass.

It would be impossible to imagine a stronger contrast than that of this
Gothic room with the lady in the rose-colored gown who had just entered
it so precipitately. The fire upon the hearth threw a warm light over the
old portraits, and it was heightened by the heavy, red damask curtains
which hung by the windows. The light sometimes softened, sometimes
revivified by some sudden flash of the flames, glanced over the scowling
faces and red beards, enlivening the eyes and giving a supernatural
animation to those lifeless canvases. One would have said that the cold,
grave faces looked with curiosity at the young woman with graceful
movements and cool garments, whom Aladdin's genii seemed to have
transported from the most elegant boudoir on the Chaussee d'Antin, and
thrown, still frightened, into the midst of this strange assembly.

"You are crazy, Clemence, to leave that window open!" said at this moment
an old voice issuing from an armchair placed in a corner near the
fireplace.

The person who broke the charm of this silent scene was a woman of sixty
or seventy years of age, according to the gallantry of the calculator. It
was easy to judge that she was tall and thin as she lay, rather than sat,
in her chair with its back lowered down. She was dressed in a
yellowish-brown gown. A false front as black as jet, surmounted by a cap
with poppy-colored ribbons, framed her face. She had sharp, withered