A young artist meets 50 something English spinster in a small country lodging house on the northern coast of France. They share an unrequited moment. “She was called Miss Harriet. Seeking out a secluded village in which to pass the summer, she had been attracted to Benouville some six months before and did not seem disposed to leave it. She never spoke at table, ate rapidly, reading all the while a small book of the Protestant propaganda”...... “She said nothing, but stood for a long time, motionless, looking at it, and suddenly she burst into tears” ...... “I recognized that tremor, for I had felt it, and I could not be deceived. Ah! the love tremor of a woman, whether she be fifteen or fifty years of age” ...
