Ange drew her forward.
"See then, Marthe," she said, "our new niece is come, but alas, Jacques was not able to spare the time. Business of the Republic that could not wait."
Marthe Desaix turned her head with a sharp movement—a movement of restless pain.
"How do you do, my dear niece," she said, in a voice that distinctly indicated quotation marks. "As to seeing, it is too dark to see anything but the sky."
"Yes, truly," said Ange; "I will get the lamp. We are late to-night, but the tale was a long one, and I knew the market folk would be late on such a fine evening."
She went out quickly, and Aline, coming nearer to the window, uttered a little exclamation of pleasure.
"Ah, how lovely!" she said, just above her breath.
The window looked west through the open end of the hollow where Rancy lay, and a level wash of gold held the horizon. Wing-like clouds of grey and purple rested brooding above it, and between them shone the evening star. On either side the massed trees stood black against the glow, and the scent of the lavender came up like the incense of peace.
Marthe Desaix looked curiously at her, but all she could see was a slim form, in the dusk.
"You find that better than lamplight?" she asked.