He started, and held up his hands, and a pained, puzzled expression troubled his face.

Then a flush, which seemed to make him look older than the whiteness; and then, with a shrill, feeble cry of "Victoire, ma belle!" he tottered towards me so hastily that I thought he must have fallen; but, like a vision, a little figure flitted from the French window of the drawing-room, and in a moment my great-grandmother was supporting him, and soothing him with gentle words in French.

I could see now how helpless he was.

For a bit he seemed still puzzled and confused; but he clung to her and kissed her hand, and suffered himself to be led indoors.

Then I followed them, through the window, into the room where the candles were not yet lighted for economy's sake--the glare of the red sunset bars making everything dark to me--with a strange sense of gloom.
It would be hard to imagine a stronger contrast than that between my life in my new home and my life in my home upon the moors.