She closed the door after them, and waited in the room, alone and barricaded.

There was no servant to be seen about the rooms, but everything was prepared as though some invisible genius had divined the wishes and desires of an expected guest.

The fire was laid, candles in the candelabra, refreshments upon the table, books scattered about, fresh-cut flowers in the vases.

One might almost have imagined it an enchanted house.
The marquise lighted the candles, inhaled the perfume of the flowers, sat down, and was soon plunged in profound thought.

Her deep musings, melancholy though they were, were not untinged with a certain vague joy.
Spread out before her was a treasure, a million wrung from her fortune as a gleaner plucks the blue corn-flower from her crown of flowers.