But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. ‘You are not the only one to seek them out,’ he said. He relayed many details of the location and the beautiful rivers of her home, a subject she never tired of. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette.
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