On this night, thick, heavy clouds, driven by the winds, obscured the sky; hardly one star could be seen through the increasing gloom. The house, with its irregular gables, was completely buried in darkness, except the two windows of the ground-floor, from which streamed a red light, reflected like long trains of fire on the troubled waters near the landing-place, close to the house. The chains of the boats moored there mingled their rattling with the mournful sighing of the wind through the poplars, and the heavy splashing of the water on the shore. Part of the family was assembled in the kitchen, a large, low room; opposite the door were two windows, between which was a large dresser; on the left, a high fireplace; to the right, a staircase which led to the upper story; at the side of this, the entrance to a large room, furnished with several tables, destined for the guests. The light of a lamp, joined to the flames of the hearth, shone on a number of saucepans and other cooking utensils of copper, hung on the walls, or arranged on shelves with crockery; a large table stood in the center of the kitchen. The widow was seated by the fire with her three children. Tall and thin, she appeared to be about forty-five years of age. She was dressed in black; a mourning kerchief, tied round her head with two loose ear-like ends, concealed her hair, and almost covered her pale, wrinkled forehead; her nose was long, straight, and pointed; her cheek-bones prominent, and cheeks fallen in; her yellow, sickly-looking skin was deeply marked with the small-pox; the corner of her mouth, always drawn down, rendered still harsher the expression of her cold, stern, sinister-looking face, immovable as a mask of marble. Her dull blue eyes were surmounted by gray brows. She and her two daughters were occupied with some sewing. The eldest resembled her mother--the same cold, calm, wicked look; her thin nose, mouth, and pale look. Only her earthy skin, yellow as saffron, gave her the nickname of Calabash. She wore no mourning: her dress was brown; her black lace cap displayed two bands of uncommonly light flaxen hair, with no luster. Francois, the youngest son, was seated on a bench, mending a small mesh, a very destructive sort of fishing net, strictly forbidden use on the Seine. Notwithstanding his sunburned appearance, his skin was fair; red hair covered his head; his features were well turned, his lips thick, his forehead projecting, his eyes sharp and piercing: there was no resemblance to his mother or eldest sister. His expression was timid yet cunning; from time to time, through, the kind of mane which fell over his face, he cast obliquely on his mother a look of defiance, or exchanged with his sister Amandine a glance of intelligence and affection.