Pictures were on the walls, a soft carpet on the
floor; the colours of carpet and furniture were dark and rich;
books and trinkets and engravings in profusion gave the look
of cultivated life and the ease of plenty. It was not what I
had expected; nor was Mme. Ricard, who came in noiselessly and
stood before us while I was considering the wonderful
moustache of the music teacher. I saw a rather short, grave
person, very plainly dressed, — but indeed I never thought of
the dress she wore. The quiet composure of the figure, was
what attracted me, and the peculiar expression of the face. It
was sad, almost severe; so I thought it at first; till a smile
once for an instant broke upon the lips, like a flitting
sunbeam out of a cloudy sky; then I saw that kindliness was
quite at home there, and sympathy and a sense of merriment
were not wanting; but the clouds closed again, and the look of
care, or sorrow, I could not quite tell what it was, only that
it was unrest, retook its place on brow and lip. The eye I
think never lost it.
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