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312 at the contrast; her hair was dishevelled, and pushed from the forehead in tangled masses, while the wreath added to the unseemliness by the contrast of finery; her face was wan, and the eyes red and heavy with watching, to say nothing of tears; while the parched lip had not a vestige of colour. Her dress, too, had lost its freshness, and its gaiety, the bare neck and arms, were strangely at variance with the broad daylight and quiet morning. The very first glance suggested the propriety of going to bed. Leaning for a few minutes at the open casement, she breathed the pure and sweet air, which at once revived and soothed her; then, closing the curtains, she retired to rest, and, thoroughly worn out, body and mind, was soon asleep.

There are few but must recollect the first awakening after any event; the unconscious rousing, the gradual remembrance that something unusual has occurred, the half reluctance to recall it, till suddenly it flashes full upon your mind, and you start up in astonishment at even your momentary oblivion. One part was indeed disagreeable to Francesca—the necessity which existed of telling Madame de Mercœur: not but what she was certain of the most affectionate sympathy; but it was painful to be the herald of