Tall, lithe, and slender, without being thin, and a decided brunette in colouring,--she had beautiful eyes, full of fire, and black as her long, luxuriant hair, and rich scarlet lips, shaded by the slightest suspicion of down, while her thin nostrils, which quivered and dilated with the slightest emotion, the excessive mobility of her features, her animated gestures, and even the rather virile timbre of her contralto voice, all indicated that she was the possessor of an ardent and impassioned nature. She had first met Florence at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, where they had become very intimate. Valentine had left the convent to be married a year before her friend, and though she afterwards came to see Florence several times at the convent, for several months prior to her marriage with M. de Luceval, Florence, to her great surprise, had seen nothing of her friend, and since that time their intercourse had been confined to a correspondence which had been very irregular on the part of Madame d'Infreville, who was, she declared, absorbed with household cares; so the two friends had not seen each other for more than six months. Madame de Luceval, after having tenderly embraced her friend, noticed her unusual pallor as well as her extreme agitation, and asked, anxiously: "Valentine, what is the matter? My maid told me first that you wished to see me, but that you did not want to come in." "I seem to have lost my head completely, Florence. I am nearly mad, I believe." "You frighten me. Explain, for pity's sake!" "Florence, will you save me from a terrible misfortune?" "Speak, speak! Am I not your friend, though you have deserted me for the last six months?" "I did very wrong. I have been unkind and ungrateful, I know, and yet I appeal to you now." "It is the only way to gain my forgiveness." "Always the same generous Florence!" "But now tell me, quick, what can I do for you?" "Have you writing materials here?" "Over there on that table." "Then write what I dictate, I beg of you. It may save me." "This paper has my initials on it. Does that make any difference?" "On the contrary, it is all the better, as you are the person who is supposed to be writing to me." "Go on, then, Valentine. I am ready." So Madame d'Infreville dictated the following in a strangely altered voice, pausing now and then, so great was her emotion. "'The recollection of the pleasant hours we spent together yesterday is so delightful, my dear Valentine,--though I really can not say that it was in any respect a more charming day than last Wednesday,--that at the risk of seeming both selfish and importunate, I am going to ask you to give me Sunday.'" "Give me Sunday," repeated Florence, greatly surprised at this beginning. "'Our programme shall be the same,'" continued Madame d'Infreville. "Underline programme," she added, with a bitter smile, then resumed: