features, and the brilliancy of her primitive freshness had been
converted into a blotched and pimpled complexion which affected above all
her nose and cheek-bones, but whose ardor had been dimmed only a trifle
by age. There was something about the whole face as crabbed, sour, and
unkind as if she had daily bathed it in vinegar. One could read old maid
in every feature! Besides, a slight observation of her ways would have
destroyed all lingering doubt in this respect.

A large, coffee-colored pug-dog was lying before the fire. This
interesting animal served as a footstool for his mistress, stretched in
her easy-chair, and recalled to mind the lions which sleep at the foot of
chevaliers in their Gothic tombs. As a pug-dog and an old maid pertain to
each other, it was only necessary, in order to divine this venerable
lady's state, to read the name upon the golden circlet which served as a
collar for the dog: "Constance belongs to Mademoiselle de Corandeuil."

Before the younger lady, who was leaning upon the back of a chair,
seeming to breathe with difficulty, had time to reply, she received a
second injunction.

"But, aunt," said she, at last, "it was a horrible crash! Did you not
hear it?"

"I am not so deaf as that yet," replied the old maid. "Shut that window;
do you not know that currents of air attract lightning?"

Clemence obeyed, dropping the curtain to shut out the flashes of
lightning which continued to dart through the heavens; she then
approached the fireplace.

"Since you are so afraid of lightning," said her aunt; "which, by the
way, is perfectly ridiculous in a Corandeuil, what induced you to go out
upon the balcony? The sleeve of your gown is wet. That is the way one
gets cold; afterward, there is nothing but an endless array of syrups and
drugs. You ought to change your gown and put on something warmer. Who
would ever think of dressing like that in such weather as this?"

"I assure you, aunt, it is not cold. It is because you have a habit of
always being near the fire--"

"Ah! habit! when you are my age you will not hint at such a thing. Now,
everything goes wonderfully well; you never listen to my advice--you go
out in the wind and rain with that flighty Aline and your husband, who
has no more sense than his sister; you will pay for it later. Open the
curtains, I pray; the storm is over, and I wish to read the Gazette."

The young woman obeyed a second time and stood with her forehead pressed
a