Mme. Molay-Norrois, with charm, straightforwardness and a devotion to her daughter so complete as to be an annoyance, was withal not in any sense far-sighted. Quite well preserved for her fifty years, and very modest in appearance, except for too much powder on her face, she combined, as often happens, a great deal of physical energy with an undeveloped personality. She could read a book twice within a few weeks without recognizing it. Very docile and amenable to the influence of the moment, she readily confused values, and so a social call seemed to her as important as a decision affecting the future of her children. For the time being, she was entirely taken up with Elizabeth's law-suit, which she raised to the importance of a battle, implying a touching confidence in her daughter's victory. Somewhat astonished by the present social success, she could at least assist her daughter's triumph, and being very deferential to public opinion, she congratulated herself on having brought about this social acclaim. There was still justice in the world to laud the innocent and to brand the guilty. Transformed into a heroine, Mme. Derize blushed like a young girl. But women soon grow accustomed to ceremonies: this new importance was perhaps in keeping with divorce, just as it is customary to hurry to the vestry after a marriage, and as one, with a sorrowful air, shakes hands with the relatives upon leaving the church after a funeral. She conformed to this unexpected situation as well as she could, and society approved of her quietness. The "dear child" did not complain, did not blame anyone. Her beauty spoke for her. Rather tall, with a tendency to fullness of figure, which spoiled somewhat the graceful lines of her shoulder, of her bosom and of her hips, she was wearing a gown and a hat of dark violet, the fitness of the color being favorably commented upon as quite the proper thing for a woman, who, although not in mourning, has known care, sorrow and the cruelty of fate. Her small head was crowned with beautiful, silky blonde hair, naturally curly like a child's, but too tightly drawn back by the comb; her eyes were black, softened by the shade of her hair and contrasting with it, her nose well-shaped, somewhat thin and pointed, her complexion like that of an English woman, her features clear-cut, and with her appearance of good health, and passive virtue, she expressed nothing more than a contented, stunned youthfulness--contented with itself, and stunned by the unexpected complications of a life, which without doubt, she had expected to pass through peacefully, as over a flat road in a comfortable carriage. At twenty-seven, Mme. Derize looked only twenty and always gave the impression of just beginning life.