It was more than sixteen months since she had separated from her husband. She had certainly changed very much, and did not notice it herself until she had made alterations in her old dresses, which, as a matter of economy, she still wished to wear. Slighter, she appeared to be like those stems, which add grace to a flower, as they grow longer. Her limbs, a little long in proportion to her figure, had gained, by her habit of walking, a greater ease, a freer gait. Her long neck, very white, which she generally left bare, carried her head more gracefully. It might be said that she had let her overweight, which had made her body heavy and weak, fall from her like a garment. The friends of her family, for the most part, regretted it, thinking she was pining away, and that it was so sad for such a pretty woman. The open air and her natural good health fortunately counteracted the slow results of the mental anguish which was undermining her. But even these assets could not prevent the imprint of suffering on her youthful face. Two creases had stamped themselves at each corner of her little mouth. The outline of her face was finer. A little wrinkle showed between the eyebrows. Her dark eyes, outlined by the bluish circle around them, reflected a deeper life. Sometimes languid, sometimes ardent, their expression always revealed to those who understood, a little fright and homesickness, like the tender look of those tame deer, who as they eat from your hand, are always afraid of being ill-treated, and are thinking of their broad native woods. The play of color on her cheeks was also quicker; it came and went at almost the same moment. And even her voice had taken on a more serious intonation, and seemed to have a deeper tone. Thus changed, with her flimsy gowns and big summer hats, she looked more and more like those English portraits which give to women so much charm and dignity. But it was one of those portraits which one comes back to see again, because of not gaining at one glance a full sense of its beauty. The new peace she found at Les Mélèzes, made her mother happy. But Elizabeth heard and disliked the echo of gossip which, as in all watering places, was making the rounds at Uriage. What did it matter to her that Mme. de Vimelle could no longer seriously ignore her husband's liaison, or that Mme. Passerat had promoted Counselor Prémereux to the degree of chief steward of her kitchen? One day they told her of the coming marriage of Philippe Lagier, who had been living for some time at the Park Hotel. "To whom?" she asked, interestedly. "To Mlle. Berthe Rivière." She recalled the girl who had played tennis with a grace intended to attract the spectators. Before going home to Saint Martin, she went out of her way to go to the tennis-court. Mlle. Rivière, chuckling with laughter which sang the joy of life, was scoring, while her partner, Philippe Lagier, transformed into a faithful knight, was disrespectfully devouring her with his eyes.