Little Poems in Prose

Strange vision! Surely, said I to myself, this kind of poverty, if poverty there be, would not tolerate sordid economy; so noble a counte- nance is the guarantee of that. Why then does she remain willingly in a set of surroundings where she makes so startling a stain? But my curiosity leading me to pass close to her, I thought that I could guess the reason. The tall widow held by the hand a child, clothed like herself in black. However moderate might be the charge of admission, it might perhaps be sufficient to pay for one of the ne- cessities of that tiny being, or better still, a su- perfluity, perhaps a toy. And no doubt she went home on foot ever meditating, ever dreaming, alone, always alone; for a child is troublesome, selfish, with- out sweetness or patience; and could not even, as a dog or a cat could, serve her as the confi- dant of her solitary sorrows.