Madame Julie Roubere was expecting her elder sister, Madame Henriette
Letore, who had just returned from a trip to Switzerland.

The Letore household had left nearly five weeks before. Madame Henriette
had allowed her husband to return alone to their estate in Calvados,
where some business required his attention, and had come to spend a few
days in Paris with her sister. Night came on. In the quiet parlor Madame
Roubere was reading in the twilight in an absent-minded way, raising her,
eyes whenever she heard a sound.

At last, she heard a ring at the door, and her sister appeared, wrapped
in a travelling cloak. And without any formal greeting, they clasped each
other in an affectionate embrace, only desisting for a moment to give
each other another hug. Then they talked about their health, about their
respective families, and a thousand other things, gossiping, jerking out
hurried, broken sentences as they followed each other about, while Madame
Henriette was removing her hat and veil.

It was now quite dark. Madame Roubere rang for a lamp, and as soon as it
was brought in, she scanned her sister's face, and was on the point of
embracing her once more. But she held back, scared and astonished at the
other's appearance.

On her temples Madame Letore had two large locks of white hair. All the
rest of her hair was of a glossy, raven-black hue; but there alone, at
each side of her head, ran, as it were, two silvery streams which were
immediately lost in the black mass surrounding them. She was,
nevertheless, only twenty-four years old, and this change had come on
suddenly since her departure for Switzerland.