The existence of Paulina Durski was one which might well excite
curiosity in the minds of the few neighbours who had the opportunity of
observing her mode of life.
This beautiful widow had no female acquaintances, save a humble friend
who lived with her, an Englishwoman, who subsisted upon the charity of
the lovely Paulina.
This person never quitted her benefactress. She was constant as her
shadow; a faithful watch-dog, always at hand, yet never obtrusive. She
was a creature who seemed to have been born without eyes and without
ears; so careless was the widow of her presence, so reckless what
secrets were disclosed in her hearing.
By daylight the life of Madame Durski and her companion, Miss Brewer,
seemed the dullest existence ever endured by womankind. Paulina rarely
left her own apartment until six in the evening; at which hour, she and
Miss Brewer dined together in her boudoir.
They always dined alone. After dinner Paulina returned to her apartment
to dress for the evening, while Miss Brewer retired to her own bedroom
on the upper story, where she arrayed herself invariably in black
velvet.
She had never been seen by the visitors at Hilton House in any other
costume than this lustreless velvet. Her age was between thirty and
forty. She might once have had some pretensions to beauty; but her face
was pinched and careworn, and there was a sharp, greedy look in the
small eyes, whose colour was that neutral, undecided tint, that seems
sometimes a pale yellowish brown, anon a blueish green.
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