She walked with him to the window. At last the sun had burst through the clouds and scattered the fog. Below them was all M. Raindal's Paris, the whole of the religious, studious and simple-minded Paris, stretching out its stiff endless stone buildings in a milky light. The tops of certain edifices rose high above the level of the others. To the right was the square tower of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas, then the immense dome of the Pantheon, then a thin, fine point--the spire of the Sorbonne. Further to the left rose the shining sphere of the cupola of the Missions and at the end a truncated pyramid upon which floated a tiny, discolored flag: the palace of the Louvre. Between these, the houses sketched in the air the irregular lines of their roofs. The thin-hooded chimneys bristled in compact ranks, like reversed bayonets. At the back was a deep hollow space, indicating avenues and a park; it was the Luxemburg, but it could not be seen. M. Raindal complacently commented upon this panorama. Mme. Chambannes gushed over it all, finding everything either charming or pretty. When he had finished, he pointed out the garden next to their house. "It is the garden of the _Visitandine_ Sisters of Notre-Dame-du-Saint-Rosaire.... See, there are two of our neighbors out for a walk!" Mme. Chambannes bent forward to look at them. They walked one behind the other around the enclosure of brown earth. They held chaplets in their hands that were red with cold, and let the beads slip one by one. Their bonnets were bent down and hid their faces. One of them, thin and light, seemed young; the other was stouter and appeared old. Both had the square, unshapely waist which the bands of their aprons mark on the corsetless flesh of nuns. Mme. Chambannes examined them in silence for a few seconds, but thought it wiser not to ask what it was these holy sisters were doing with their rosaries. She turned round and, perceiving a glass case set up against the wall, near the window, exclaimed. "Oh, the pretty things! what charming little mummies!... They seem to be asleep standing up...." She pointed out the middle shelf where peacock blue, pale green and white china statuettes stood in rows. All wore the Egyptian headdress that fell down on their shoulders like manes. Their eyes were black lines above squat noses which were in several cases worn out at the tip. There were inscriptions all down their bodies even to the feet, which were swollen like those of gouty people. Some had their arms crossed in front. Others showed only their hands as if they had bathing gowns on. The sand of the desert had stuck to many of them, leaving upon them the mark of its centuries-old atoms.