In the long silences the howling of the wind and the beating of the rain were distinctly audible.
Newman sat perfectly still, watching the clock, determined to stay till the stroke of eleven, but not a moment longer.

Madame de Cintre had turned her back to the circle, and had been standing for some time within the uplifted curtain of a window, with her forehead against the pane, gazing out into the deluged darkness.

Suddenly she turned round toward her sister-in-law.
"For Heaven's sake," she said, with peculiar eagerness, "go to the piano and play something." Madame de Bellegarde held up her tapestry and pointed to a little white flower.

"Don't ask me to leave this.

I am in the midst of a masterpiece.
My flower is going to smell very sweet; I am putting in the smell with this gold-colored silk.