Mercédès and Albert were in that room.
Mercédès was much changed within the last few days; not that, even in her days of fortune, she had ever made that magnificent display which makes us no longer able to recognize a woman when she appears in a plain and simple attire; nor, indeed, had she fallen into that state of depression where it is impossible to conceal the garb of misery; no, the change in Mercédès was, that her eye no longer sparkled, her lips no longer smiled, and there was now a hesitation in uttering the words which formerly fell so fluently from her ready wit. It was not poverty which had broken her spirit; it was not a want of courage which rendered her poverty burdensome. Mercédès, stepping down from the exalted position she had occupied, lost in the sphere she had now chosen, like a person passing from a room splendidly lighted into utter darkness. Mercédès appeared like a queen, fallen from her palace to a hovel, and who, reduced to strict necessity, could neither become reconciled to the earthern vessels she was herself forced to place upon the table, nor to the humble pallet which succeeded her bed.
The beautiful Catalan or noble countess had lost both her proud glance and charming smile, because she saw nothing but misery around her; the walls were hung with one of those gray papers which economical landlords choose as not likely to show the dirt; the floor was uncarpeted; the furniture attracted the attention and forced it to rest on the poor attempt at luxury; indeed, everything with its loud tones broke the harmony so necessary to the eyes accustomed to refinement and elegance.
Madame de Morcerf had lived there since leaving her home; she felt dizzy at the continual silence of the spot, as the traveler feels dizzy at the edge of an abyss; still, seeing that Albert continually watched her countenance, to judge the state of her feelings, she constrained herself to assume a monotonous smile of the lips alone, which, contrasted with the sweet and beaming expression that usually shone from her eyes, seemed like a simple reflection of light, yielding light without warmth.
Albert, too, was ill at ease; annoyed by a remnant of luxury prevented his sinking into his actual position. If he wished to go out without gloves, his hands appeared too white; if he wished to walk through the town, his boots seemed too highly polished. Yet these two noble and intelligent creatures, united by the indissoluble ties of maternal and filial love, had succeeded in tacitly understanding one another, and economizing their stores; and Albert had been able to tell his mother without extorting a change of countenance:
"Mother, we have no more money."
