"
At some distance behind the doctor and Ursula came Madame de
Portenduere, dragging herself along as if overcome with trouble. She
belonged to the class of old women whose dress recalls the style of
the last century. They wear puce-colored gowns with flat sleeves, the
cut of which can be seen in the portraits of Madame Lebrun; they all
have black lace mantles and bonnets of a shape gone by, in keeping
with their slow and dignified deportment; one might almost fancy that
they still wore paniers under their petticoats or felt them there, as
persons who have lost a leg are said to fancy that the foot is moving.
They swathe their heads in old lace which declines to drape gracefully
about their cheeks. Their wan and elongated faces, their haggard eyes
and faded brows, are not without a certain melancholy grace, in spite
of the false fronts with flattened curls to which they cling,--and yet
these ruins are all subordinate to an unspeakable dignity of look and
manner.
The red and wrinkled eyes of this old lady showed plainly that she had
been crying during the service. She walked like a person in trouble,
seemed to be expecting some one, and looked behind her from time to
time.
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