An Excerpt: "There is a little village on the Seine. An old grey church nestles among the
huddling houses. A platoon of poplars guards the river, and little pink almond
bushes spring out of patches of violets. Miss Wilcox, calling herself Mrs.
Demarest, lives in a charming old house surrounded by box hedges, paved paths
lead through beds of old-fashioned sweet-scented flowers, stocks and wall
flowers and mignonette and moss roses, lavender, myrtle, thyme and sweet
geranium. Mr. Demarest, it appears, could not bear the wonderful new varieties
of huge, smell-less blooms.
Miss Wilcox has never gone out of mourning, though she sometimes wears grey and
mauve. Her gracious sweetness has made her much beloved in the village where her
gentle presence is loved and honoured. She can often be seen bringing soup to
some old invalid, or taking flowers to the church she loves to decorate. Her
charity and her piety are revered by all. Sometimes in the evening she plays a
game of cards with her neighbours or chess with the curé. It is known that a
rich man from the adjoining town proposed marriage to her, but she continues to
mourn her late husband with profound devoted fidelity. She is too unselfish to
force her grief on to others, but every one knows that her heart is broken."