Being left alone, Paulina and I kept silence for some time; we both took out some work, and plied a mute and diligent task. The whitewood workbox of old days was now replaced by one inlaid with precious mosaic, and furnished with implements of gold; the tiny and trembling fingers that could scarce guide the needle, though tiny still, were now swift and skilful: but there was the same busy knitting of the brow, the same little dainty mannerisms, the same quick turns and movements⁠—now to replace a stray tress, and anon to shake from the silken skirt some imaginary atom of dust⁠—some clinging fibre of thread.