She hurried along, indeed, with her cloak flying out at either side, like red wings in the south wind, but not from eagerness to see her lover.

She was in constant dread lest she meet Burr on the road; but she gained Lot's house without seeing him or knowing that his miserable, jealous eyes watched her from an opposite window.
Burr was up in his chamber when Madelon went into his cousin's house.
Presently he went down-stairs, where his mother was, with a face so full of the helpless appeal of agony that she looked at him as she used to do when he came in hurt from play.
"What is the matter, Burr, are you sick ?" she said, in her quiet voice.

She was sitting in a rocking-chair in the sun with her knitting-work.

She swayed on gently as she spoke, and her long, delicate fingers still slipped the yarn over the needle.
"Yes, I am sick, mother; I am sick to death," Burr groaned out.

Then he went down on the floor at his mother's feet, and hid his face in her lap, as he had used to do when he was a child in trouble.