THE DREAM

(LE REVE)

By Emile Zola

Translated by Eliza E. Chase

CHAPTER I

During the severe winter of 1860 the river Oise was frozen over and theplains of Lower Picardy were covered with deep snow. On Christmas Day, especially, a heavy squall from the north-east had almost buried thelittle city of Beaumont. The snow, which began to fall early in themorning, increased towards evening and accumulated during the night;in the upper town, in the Rue des Orfevres, at the end of which, as ifenclosed therein, is the northern front of the cathedral transept, this was blown with great force by the wind against the portal of SaintAgnes, the old Romanesque portal, where traces of Early Gothic could beseen, contrasting its florid ornamentation with the bare simplicity ofthe transept gable. 

The inhabitants still slept, wearied by the festive rejoicings of theprevious day. The town-clock struck six. In the darkness, which wasslightly lightened by the slow, persistent fall of flakes, a vagueliving form alone was visible: that of a little girl, nine years of age, who, having taken refuge under the archway of the portal, had passed thenight there, shivering, and sheltering herself as well as possible. Shewore a thin woollen dress, ragged from long use, her head was coveredwith a torn silk handkerchief, and on her bare feet were heavy shoesmuch too large for her. Without doubt she had only gone there afterhaving well wandered through the town, for she had fallen down fromsheer exhaustion. For her it was the end of the world; there was nolonger anything to interest her. It was the last surrender; the hungerthat gnaws, the cold which kills; and in her weakness, stifled by theheavy weight at her heart, she ceased to struggle, and nothing wasleft to her but the instinctive movement of preservation, the desire ofchanging place, of sinking still deeper into these old stones, whenevera sudden gust made the snow whirl about her. 

Hour after hour passed. For a long time, between the divisions of thisdouble door, she leaned her back against the abutting pier, on whosecolumn was a statue of Saint Agnes, the martyr of but thirteen years ofage, a little girl like herself, who carried a branch of palm, and atwhose feet was a lamb. And in the tympanum, above the lintel, the wholelegend of the Virgin Child betrothed to Jesus could be seen in highrelief, set forth with a charming simplicity of faith. Her hair, whichgrew long and covered her like a garment when the Governor, whose sonshe had refused to marry, gave her up to the soldiers; the flames ofthe funeral pile, destined to destroy her, turning aside and burning herexecutioners as soon as they lighted the wood; the miracles performedby her relics; Constance, daughter of the Emperor, cured of leprosy; andthe quaint story of one of her painted images, which, when the priestPaulinus offered it a very valuable emerald ring, held out its finger, then withdrew it, keeping the ring, which can be seen at this presentday. At the top of the tympanum, in a halo of glory, Agnes is at lastreceived into heaven, where her betrothed, Jesus, marries her, so youngand so little, giving her the kiss of eternal happiness. 

But when the wind rushed through the street, the snow was blown in thechild's face, and the threshold was almost barred by the white masses;then she moved away to the side, against the virgins placed above thebase of the arch. These are the companions of Agnes, the saints whoserved as her escort: three at her right--Dorothea, who was fed inprison by miraculous bread; Barbe, who lived in a tower; and Genevieve, whose heroism saved Paris: and three at her left--Agatha, whose breastwas torn; Christina, who was put to torture by her father; and Cecilia, beloved by the angels. Above these were statues and statues; threeclose ranks mounting with the curves of the arches, decorating them withchaste triumphant figures, who, after the suffering and martyrdomof their earthly life, were welcomed by a host of winged cherubim, transported with ecstasy into the Celestial Kingdom. 

There had been no shelter for the little waif for a long time, when atlast the clock struck eight and daylight came. The snow, had she nottrampled it down, would have come up to her shoulders. The old doorbehind her was covered with it, as if hung with ermine, and it lookedas white as an altar, beneath the grey front of the church, so bare andsmooth that not even a single flake had clung to it. The great saints, those of the sloping surface especially, were clothed in it, and wereglistening in purity from their feet to their white beards. Stillhigher, in the scenes of the tympanum, the outlines of the little saintsof the arches were designed most clearly on a dark background, and thismagic sect continued until the final rapture at the marriage of Agnes, which the archangels appeared to be celebrating under a shower of whiteroses. Standing upon her pillar, with her white branch of palm and herwhite lamp, the Virgin Child had such purity in the lines of her body ofimmaculate snow, that the motionless stiffness of cold seemed to congealaround her the mystic transports of victorious youth. And at her feetthe other child, so miserable, white with snow--she also grew so stiffand pale that it seemed as if she were turning to stone, and couldscarcely be distinguished from the great images above her. 

At last, in one of the long line of houses in which all seemed to besleeping, the noise from the drawing up of a blind made her raise hereyes. It was at her right hand, in the second story of a house at theside of the Cathedral. A very handsome woman, a brunette about fortyyears of age, with a placid expression of serenity, was just looking outfrom there, and in spite of the terrible frost she kept her uncoveredarm in the air for a moment, having seen the child move. Her calm facegrew sad with pity and astonishment. Then, shivering, she hastily closedthe window. She carried with her the rapid vision of a fair littlecreature with violet-coloured eyes under a head-covering of an old silkhandkerchief. The face was oval, the neck long and slender as a lily, and the shoulders drooping; but she was blue from cold, her little handsand feet were half dead, and the only thing about her that still showedlife was the slight vapour of her breath. 

The child remained with her eyes upturned, looking at the housemechanically. It was a narrow one, two stories in height, very old, andevidently built towards the end of the fifteenth century. It was almostsealed to the side of the Cathedral, between two buttresses, like a wartwhich had pushed itself between the two toes of a Colossus. And thussupported on each side, it was admirably preserved, with its stonebasement, its second story in wooden panels, ornamented with bricks, its roof, of which the framework advanced at least three feet beyond thegable, its turret for the projecting stairway at the left corner, wherecould still be seen in the little window the leaden setting of long ago. At times repairs had been made on account of its age. The tile-roofingdated from the reign of Louis XIV, for one easily recognised the workof that epoch; a dormer window pierced in the side of the turret, littlewooden frames replacing everywhere those of the primitive panes; thethree united openings of the second story had been reduced to two, thatof the middle being closed up with bricks, thus giving to the front thesymmetry of the other buildings on the street of a more recent date. 

In the basement the changes were equally visible, an oaken door withmouldings having taken the place of the old one with iron trimmings thatwas under the stairway; and the great central arcade, of which the lowerpart, the sides, and the point had been plastered over, so as to leaveonly one rectangular opening, was now a species of large window, insteadof the triple-pointed one which formerly came out on to the street. 

Without thinking, the child still looked at this venerable dwelling of amaster-builder, so well preserved, and as she read upon a little yellowplate nailed at the left of the door these words, "Hubert, chasublemaker, " printed in black letters, she was again attracted by the soundof the opening of a shutter. This time it was the blind of the squarewindow of the ground floor. A man in his turn looked out; his face wasfull, his nose aquiline, his forehead projecting, and his thick shorthair already white, although he was scarcely yet five-and-forty. He, too, forgot the air for a moment as he examined her with a sad wrinkleon his great tender mouth. Then she saw him, as he remained standingbehind the little greenish-looking panes. He turned, beckoned tosomeone, and his wife reappeared. How handsome she was! They both stoodside by side, looking at her earnestly and sadly. 

For four hundred years, the line of Huberts, embroiderers from fatherto son, had lived in this house. A noted maker of chasubles had built itunder Louis XI, another had repaired it under Louis XIV, and the Hubertwho now occupied it still embroidered church vestments, as his ancestorshad always done. At twenty years of age he had fallen in love with ayoung girl of sixteen, Hubertine, and so deep was their affection foreach other, that when her mother, widow of a magistrate, refused to giveher consent to their union, they ran away together and were married. Shewas remarkably beautiful, and that was their whole romance, their joy, and their misfortune. 

When, a year later, she went to the deathbed of her mother, the latterdisinherited her and gave her her curse. So affected was she by theterrible scene, that her infant, born soon after, died, and since thenit seemed as if, even in her coffin in the cemetery, the willfulwoman had never pardoned her daughter, for it was, alas! a childlesshousehold. After twenty-four years they still mourned the little onethey had lost. 

Disturbed by their looks, the stranger tried to hide herself behind thepillar of Saint Agnes. She was also annoyed by the movement which nowcommenced in the street, as the shops were being opened and people beganto go out. The Rue des Orfevres, which terminates at the side front ofthe church, would be almost impassable, blocked in as it is on one sideby the house of the Huberts, if the Rue du Soleil, a narrow lane, didnot relieve it on the other side by running the whole length of theCathedral to the great front on the Place du Cloitre. At this hour therewere few passers, excepting one or two persons who were on their way toearly service, and they looked with surprise at the poor little girl, whom they did not recognise as ever having seen at Beaumont. The slow, persistent fall of snow continued. The cold seemed to increase with thewan daylight, and in the dull thickness of the great white shroud whichcovered the town one heard, as if from a distance, the sound of voices. But timid, ashamed of her abandonment, as if it were a fault, thechild drew still farther back, when suddenly she recognised before herHubertine, who, having no servant, had gone out to buy bread. 

"What are you doing there, little one? Who are you?"

She did not answer, but hid her face. Then she was no longer consciousof suffering; her whole being seemed to have faded away, as if herheart, turned to ice, had stopped beating. When the good lady turnedaway with a pitying look, she sank down upon her knees completelyexhausted, and slipped listlessly into the snow, whose flakes quicklycovered her. 

And the woman, as she returned with her fresh rolls, seeing that she hadfallen, again approached her. 

"Look up, my child! You cannot remain here on this doorstep. "

Then Hubert, who had also come out, and was standing near the threshold, took the bread from his wife, and said:

"Take her up and bring her into the house. "

Hubertine did not reply, but, stooping, lifted her in her strong arms. And the child shrank back no longer, but was carried as if inanimate;her teeth closely set, her eyes shut, chilled through and through, andwith the lightness of a little bird that had just fallen from its nest. 

They went in. Hubert shut the door, while Hubertine, bearing her burden, passed through the front room, which served as a parlour, and wheresome embroidered bands were spread out for show before the greatsquare window. Then she went into the kitchen, the old servants' hall, preserved almost intact, with its heavy beams, its flagstone floormended in a dozen places, and its great fireplace with its stonemantelpiece. On shelves were the utensils, the pots, kettles, andsaucepans, that dated back one or two centuries; and the dishes wereof old stone, or earthenware, and of pewter. But on the middle of thehearth was a modern cooking-stove, a large cast-iron one, whose coppertrimmings were wondrously bright. It was red from heat, and thewater was bubbling away in its boiler. A large porringer, filled withcoffee-and-milk, was on one corner of it. 

"Oh! how much more comfortable it is here than outside, " said Hubert, ashe put the bread down on a heavy table of the style of Louis XIII, whichwas in the centre of the room. "Now, seat this poor little creature nearthe stove that she may be thawed out!"

Hubertine had already placed the child close to the fire, and they bothlooked at her as she slowly regained consciousness. As the snow thatcovered her clothes melted it fell in heavy drops. Through the holes ofher great shoes they could see her little bruised feet, whilst the thinwoollen dress designed the rigidity of her limbs and her poor body, wornby misery and pain. She had a long attack of nervous trembling, and thenopened her frightened eyes with the start of an animal which suddenlyawakes from sleep to find itself caught in a snare. Her face seemed tosink away under the silken rag which was tied under her chin. Herright arm appeared to be helpless, for she pressed it so closely to herbreast. 

"Do not be alarmed, for we will not hurt you. Where did you come from?Who are you?"

But the more she was spoken to the more frightened she became, turningher head as if someone were behind her who would beat her. She examinedthe kitchen furtively, the flaggings, the beams, and the shiningutensils; then her glance passed through the irregular windows whichwere left in the ancient opening, and she saw the garden clear to thetrees by the Bishop's house, whose white shadows towered above the wallat the end, while at the left, as if astonished at finding itself there, stretched along the whole length of the alley the Cathedral, with itsRomanesque windows in the chapels of its apses. And again, from theheat of the stove which began to penetrate her, she had a long attackof shivering, after which she turned her eyes to the floor and remainedquiet. 

"Do you belong to Beaumont? Who is your father?"

She was so entirely silent that Hubert thought her throat must be toodry to allow her to speak. 

Instead of questioning her he said: "We would do much better to give hera cup of coffee as hot as she can drink it. "

That was so reasonable that Hubertine immediately handed her the cupshe herself held. Whilst she cut two large slices of bread and butteredthem, the child, still mistrustful, continued to shrink back; but herhunger was too great, and soon she ate and drank ravenously. That thereneed not be a restraint upon her, the husband and wife were silent, andwere touched to tears on seeing her little hand tremble to such a degreethat at times it was difficult for her to reach her mouth. She made useonly of her left hand, for her right arm seemed to be fastened to herchest. When she had finished, she almost broke the cup, which she caughtagain by an awkward movement of her elbow. 

"Have you hurt your arm badly?" Hubertine asked. "Do not be afraid, mydear, but show it to me. "

But as she was about to touch it the child rose up hastily, tryingto prevent her, and as in the struggle she moved her arm, a littlepasteboard-covered book, which she had hidden under her dress, slippedthrough a large tear in her waist. She tried to take it, and when shesaw her unknown hosts open and begin to read it, she clenched her fistin anger. 

It was an official certificate, given by the Administration des EnfantsAssistes in the Department of the Seine. On the first page, under amedallion containing a likeness of Saint Vincent de Paul, were theprinted prescribed forms. For the family name, a simple black linefilled the allotted space. Then for the Christian names were those ofAngelique Marie; for the dates, born January 22, 1851, admitted the 23rdof the same month under the registered number of 1, 634. So there wasneither father nor mother; there were no papers; not even a statement ofwhere she was born; nothing but this little book of official coldness, with its cover of pale red pasteboard. No relative in the world! andeven her abandonment numbered and classed!

"Oh! then she is a foundling!" exclaimed Hubertine. 

In a paroxysm of rage the child replied: "I am much better than allthe others--yes--yes! I am better, better, better. I have never takenanything that did not belong to me, and yet they stole all I had. Giveme back, now, that which you also have stolen from me!"

Such powerless passion, such pride to be above the others in goodness, so shook the body of the little girl, that the Huberts were startled. They no longer recognised the blonde creature, with violet eyes andgraceful figure. Now her eyes were black, her face dark, and her neckseemed swollen by a rush of blood to it. Since she had become warm, sheraised her head and hissed like a serpent that had been picked up on thesnow. 

"Are you then really so naughty?" asked Hubert gently. "If we wish toknow all about you, it is because we wish to help you. "

And looking over the shoulders of his wife he read as the latter turnedthe leaves of the little book. On the second page was the name of thenurse. "The child, Angelique Marie, had been given, on January 25, 1851, to the nurse, Francoise, sister of Mr. Hamelin, a farmer by profession, living in the parish of Soulanges, an arrondissement of Nevers. Theaforesaid nurse had received on her departure the pay for the firstmonth of her care, in addition to her clothing. " Then there was acertificate of her baptism, signed by the chaplain of the Asylum forAbandoned Children; also that of the physician on the arrival and onthe departure of the infant. The monthly accounts, paid in quarterlyinstallments, filled farther on the columns of four pages, and each timethere was the illegible signature of the receiver or collector. 

"What! Nevers!" asked Hubertine. "You were brought up near Nevers?"

Angelique, red with anger that she could not prevent them from reading, had fallen into a sullen silence. But at last she opened her mouth tospeak of her nurse. 

"Ah! you may be sure that Maman Nini would have beaten you. She alwaystook my part against others, she did, although sometimes she struck meherself. Ah! it is true I was not so unhappy over there, with the cattleand all!"

Her voice choked her and she continued, in broken, incoherent sentences, to speak of the meadow where she drove the great red cow, of the broadroad where she played, of the cakes they cooked, and of a pet house-dogthat had once bitten her. 

Hubert interrupted her as he read aloud: "In case of illness, or of badtreatment, the superintendent is authorised to change the nurses of thechildren. " Below it was written that the child Angelique Marie had beengiven on June 20 to the care of Theresa, wife of Louis Franchomme, bothof them makers of artificial flowers in Paris. 

"Ah! I understand, " said Hubertine. "You were ill, and so they took youback to Paris. "

But no, that was not the case, and the Huberts did not know the wholehistory until they had drawn it, little by little from Angelique. LouisFranchomme, who was a cousin of Maman Nini, went to pass a month in hisnative village when recovering from a fever. It was then that his wife, Theresa, became very fond of the child, and obtained permission to takeher to Paris, where she could be taught the trade of making flowers. Three months later her husband died, and she herself, being delicate inhealth, was obliged to leave the city and to go to her brother's, thetanner Rabier, who was settled at Beaumont. She, alas! died in the earlydays of December, and confided to her sister-in-law the little girl, who since that time had been injured, beaten, and, in short, sufferedmartyrdom. 

"The Rabiers?" said Hubert. "The Rabiers? Yes, yes! They are tanners onthe banks of the Ligneul, in the lower town. The husband is lame, andthe wife is a noted scold. "

"They treated me as if I came from the gutter, " continued Angelique, revolted and enraged in her mortified pride. "They said the river wasthe best place for me. After she had beaten me nearly to death, thewoman would put something on the floor for me to eat, as if I were acat, and many a time I went to bed suffering from hunger. Oh! I couldhave killed myself, at last!" She made a gesture of furious despair. 

"Yesterday, Christmas morning, they had been drinking, and, to amusethemselves, they threatened to put out my eyes. Then, after a while, they began to fight with each other, and dealt such heavy blows that Ithought they were dead, as they both fell on the floor of their room. For a long time I had determined to run away. But I was anxious to havemy book. Maman Nini had often said, in showing it to me: 'Look, this isall that you own, and if you do not keep this you will not even have aname. ' And I know that since the death of Maman Theresa they had hidit in one of the bureau drawers. So stepping over them as quietly aspossible, while they were lying on the floor, I got the book, hid itunder my dress-waist, pressing it against me with my arm. It seemed solarge that I fancied everyone must see it, and that it would be takenfrom me. Oh! I ran, and ran, and ran, and when night came it was sodark! Oh! how cold I was under the poor shelter of that great door! Ohdear! I was so cold, it seemed as if I were dead. But never mind now, for I did not once let go of my book, and here it is. " And with a suddenmovement, as the Huberts closed it to give it back to her, she snatchedit from them. Then, sitting down, she put her head on the table, sobbingdeeply as she laid her cheek on the light red cover. Her pride seemedconquered by an intense humility. Her whole being appeared tobe softened by the sight of these few leaves with their rumpledcorners--her solitary possession, her one treasure, and the only tiewhich connected her with the life of this world. She could not relieveher heart of her great despair; her tears flowed continually, and underthis complete surrender of herself she regained her delicate looks andbecame again a pretty child. Her slightly oval face was pure in itsoutlines, her violet eyes were made a little paler from emotion, and thecurve of her neck and shoulders made her resemble a little virgin on achurch window. At length she seized the hand of Hubertine, pressed it toher lips most caressingly, and kissed it passionately. 

The Huberts were deeply touched, and could scarcely speak. Theystammered: "Dear, dear child!"

She was not, then, in reality bad! Perhaps with affectionate care shecould be corrected of this violence of temper which had so alarmed them. 

In a tone of entreaty the poor child exclaimed: "Do not send me back tothose dreadful people! Oh, do not send me back again!"

The husband and wife looked at each other for a few moments. In fact, since the autumn they had planned taking as an apprentice some younggirl who would live with them, and thus bring a little brightness intotheir house, which seemed so dull without children. And their decisionwas soon made. 

"Would you like it, my dear?" Hubert asked. 

Hubertine replied quietly, in her calm voice: "I would indeed. "

Immediately they occupied themselves with the necessary formalities. The husband went to the Justice of Peace of the northern district ofBeaumont, who was cousin to his wife, the only relative with whom shehad kept up an acquaintance, and told him all the facts of the case. Hetook charge of it, wrote to the Hospice of Abandoned Children--where, thanks to the registered number, Angelique was easily recognised--andobtained permission for her to remain as apprentice with the Huberts, who were well known for their honourable position. 

The Sub-Inspector of the Hospice, on coming to verify the little book, signed the new contract as witness for Hubert, by which the latterpromised to treat the child kindly, to keep her tidy, to send her toschool and to church, and to give her a good bed to herself. On theother side, the Administration agreed to pay him all indemnities, andto give the child certain stipulated articles of clothing, as was theircustom. 

In ten days all was arranged. Angelique slept upstairs in a room underthe roof, by the side of the garret, and the windows of which overlookedthe garden. She had already taken her first lessons in embroidery. Thefirst Sunday morning after she was in her new home, before going tomass, Hubertine opened before her the old chest in the working-room, where she kept the fine gold thread. She held up the little book, then, placing it in that back part of one of the drawers, said: "Look! I haveput it here. I will not hide it, but leave it where you can take it ifyou ever wish to do so. It is best that you should see it, and rememberwhere it is. "

On entering the church that day, Angelique found herself again under thedoorway of Saint Agnes. During the week there had been a partial thaw, then the cold weather had returned to so intense a degree that thesnow which had half melted on the statues had congealed itself in largebunches or in icicles. Now, the figures seemed dressed in transparentrobes of ice, with lace trimmings like spun glass. Dorothea was holdinga torch, the liquid droppings of which fell upon her hands. Ceciliawore a silver crown, in which glistened the most brilliant of pearls. Agatha's nude chest was protected by a crystal armour. And the scenesin the tympanum, the little virgins in the arches, looked as if they hadbeen there for centuries, behind the glass and jewels of the shrine ofa saint. Agnes herself let trail behind her her court mantle, threadedwith light and embroidered with stars. Her lamb had a fleece ofdiamonds, and her palm-branch had become the colour of heaven. The wholedoor was resplendent in the purity of intense cold. 

Angelique recollected the night she had passed there under theprotection of these saints. She raised her head and smiled upon them. 

CHAPTER II

Beaumont is composed of two villages, completely separated and quitedistinct one from the other--Beaumont-l'Eglise, on the hill with its oldCathedral of the twelfth century, its Bishop's Palace which dates onlyfrom the seventeenth century, its inhabitants, scarcely one thousand innumber, who are crowded together in an almost stifling way in its narrowstreets; and Beaumont-la-Ville, at the foot of the hill, on the banks ofthe Ligneul, an ancient suburb, which the success of its manufactoriesof lace and fine cambric has enriched and enlarged to such an extentthat it has a population of nearly ten thousand persons, several publicsquares, and an elegant sub-prefecture built in the modern style. Thesetwo divisions, the northern district and the southern district, havethus no longer anything in common except in an administrative way. Although scarcely thirty leagues from Paris, where one can go by railin two hours, Beaumont-l'Eglise seems to be still immured in its oldramparts, of which, however, only three gates remain. A stationary, peculiar class of people lead there a life similar to that which theirancestors had led from father to son during the past five hundred years. 

The Cathedral explains everything, has given birth to and preservedeverything. It is the mother, the queen, as it rises in all its majestyin the centre of, and above, the little collection of low houses, which, like shivering birds, are sheltered under her wings of stone. One livesthere simply for it, and only by it. There is no movement of businessactivity, and the little tradesmen only sell the necessities of life, such as are absolutely required to feed, to clothe, and to maintainthe church and its clergy; and if occasionally one meets some privateindividuals, they are merely the last representatives of a scatteredcrowd of worshippers. The church dominates all; each street is one ofits veins; the town has no other breath than its own. On that account, this spirit of another age, this religious torpor from the past, makesthe cloistered city which surrounds it redolent with a savoury perfumeof peace and of faith. 

And in all this mystic place, the house of the Huberts, where Angeliquewas to live in the future, was the one nearest to the Cathedral, and which clung to it as if in reality it were a part thereof. Thepermission to build there, between two of the great buttresses, musthave been given by some vicar long ago, who was desirous of attachingto himself the ancestors of this line of embroiderers, as masterchasuble-makers and furnishers for the Cathedral clergy. On the southernside, the narrow garden was barred by the colossal building; first, the circumference of the side chapels, whose windows overlooked theflower-beds, and then the slender, long nave, that the flying buttressessupported, and afterwards the high roof covered with the sheet lead. 

The sun never penetrated to the lower part of this garden, where ivy andbox alone grew luxuriantly; yet the eternal shadow there was very softand pleasant as it fell from the gigantic brow of the apse--a religiousshadow, sepulchral and pure, which had a good odour about it. In thegreenish half-light of its calm freshness, the two towers let fallonly the sound of their chimes. But the entire house kept the quiveringtherefrom, sealed as it was to these old stones, melted into them andsupported by them. It trembled at the least of the ceremonies; at theHigh Mass, the rumbling of the organ, the voices of the choristers, eventhe oppressed sighs of the worshippers, murmured through each one ofits rooms, lulled it as if with a holy breath from the Invisible, andat times through the half-cool walls seemed to come the vapours from theburning incense. 

For five years Angelique lived and grew there, as if in a cloister, faraway from the world. She only went out to attend the seven-o'clock Masson Sunday mornings, as Hubertine had obtained permission for her tostudy at home, fearing that, if sent to school, she might not alwayshave the best of associates. This old dwelling, so shut in, with itsgarden of a dead quiet, was her world. She occupied as her chamber alittle whitewashed room under the roof; she went down in the morning toher breakfast in the kitchen, she went up again to the working-room inthe second story to her embroidery. And these places, with the turningstone stairway of the turret, were the only corners in which she passedher time; for she never went into the Huberts' apartments, and onlycrossed the parlour on the first floor, and they were the two roomswhich had been rejuvenated and modernised. In the parlour, the beamswere plastered over, and the ceiling had been decorated with a palm-leafcornice, accompanied by a rose centre; the wall-paper dated from theFirst Empire, as well as the white marble chimney-piece and the mahoganyfurniture, which consisted of a sofa and four armchairs covered withUtrecht velvet, a centre table, and a cabinet. 

On the rare occasions when she went there, to add to the articlesexposed for sale some new bands of embroidery, if she cast her eyeswithout, she saw through the window the same unchanging vista, thenarrow street ending at the portal of Saint Agnes; a parishioner pushingopen the little lower door, which shut itself without any noise, and theshops of the plate-worker and wax-candle-maker opposite, which appearedto be always empty, but where was a display of holy sacramental vessels, and long lines of great church tapers. And the cloistral calm of allBeaumont-l'Eglise--of the Rue Magloire, back of the Bishop's Palace, of the Grande Rue, where the Rue de Orfevres began, and of the Place duCloitre, where rose up the two towers, was felt in the drowsy air, andseemed to fall gently with the pale daylight on the deserted pavement. 

Hubertine had taken upon herself the charge of the education ofAngelique. Moreover, she was very old-fashioned in her ideas, andmaintained that a woman knew enough if she could read well, writecorrectly, and had studied thoroughly the first four rules ofarithmetic. But even for this limited instruction she had constantly tocontend with an unwillingness on the part of her pupil, who, instead ofgiving her attention to her books, preferred looking out of the windows, although the recreation was very limited, as she could see nothing butthe garden from them. In reality, Angelique cared only for reading;notwithstanding in her dictations, chosen from some classic writer, shenever succeeded in spelling a page correctly, yet her handwriting wasexceedingly pretty, graceful, and bold, one of those irregular styleswhich were quite the fashion long ago. As for other studies, ofgeography and history and cyphering, she was almost completely ignorantof them. What good would knowledge ever do her? It was really useless, she thought. Later on, when it was time for her to be Confirmed, shelearned her Catechism word for word, and with so fervent an ardour thatshe astonished everyone by the exactitude of her memory. 

Notwithstanding their gentleness, during the first year the Hubertswere often discouraged. Angelique, who promised to be skilful inembroidering, disconcerted them by sudden changes to inexplicableidleness after days of praiseworthy application. She was capricious, seemed to lose her strength, became greedy, would steal sugar to eatwhen alone, and her cheeks were flushed and her eyes looked weariedunder their reddened lids. If reproved, she would reply with a flood ofinjurious words. Some days, when they wished to try to subdue her, herfoolish pride at being interfered with would throw her into such seriousattacks that she would strike her feet and her hands together, andseemed ready to tear her clothing, or to bite anyone who approachedher. At such moments they drew away from her, for she was like a littlemonster ruled by the evil sprit within her. 

Who could she be? Where did she come from? Almost always these abandonedchildren are the offspring of vice. Twice they had resolved to giveher up and send her back to the Asylum, so discouraged were they and sodeeply did they regret having taken her. But each time these frightfulscenes, which almost made the house tremble, ended in the same deluge oftears, and the same excited expressions and acts of penitence, when thechild would throw herself on the floor, begging them so earnestly topunish her that they were obliged to forgive her. 

Little by little, Hubertine gained great authority over her. She waspeculiarly adapted for such a task, with her kind heart, her gentlefirmness, her common-sense and her uniform temper. She taught her theduty of obedience and the sin of pride and of passion. To obey was tolive. We must obey God, our parents, and our superiors. There was awhole hierarchy of respect, outside of which existence was unrestrainedand disorderly. So, after each fit of passion, that she might learnhumility, some menial labour was imposed upon her as a penance, such aswashing the cooking-utensils, or wiping up the kitchen floor; and, untilit was finished, she would remain stooping over her work, enraged atfirst, but conquered at last. 

With the little girl excess seemed to be a marked characteristic ineverything, even in her caresses. Many times Hubertine had seen herkissing her hands with vehemence. She would often be in a fever ofecstasy before the little pictures of saints and of the ChildJesus, which she had collected; and one evening she was found in ahalf-fainting state, with her head upon the table, and her lips pressedto those of the images. When Hubertine confiscated them there wasa terrible scene of tears and cries, as if she herself were beingtortured. After that she was held very strictly, was made to obey, andher freaks were at once checked by keeping her busy at her work; assoon as her cheeks grew very red, her eyes dark, and she had nervoustremblings, everything was immediately made quiet about her. 

Moreover, Hubertine had found an unexpected aid in the book given by theSociety for the Protection of Abandoned Children. Every three months, when the collector signed it, Angelique was very low-spirited for therest of the day. If by chance she saw it when she went to the drawer fora ball of gold thread, her heart seemed pierced with agony. And one day, when in a fit of uncontrollable fury, which nothing had been ableto conquer, she turned over the contents of the drawer, she suddenlyappeared as if thunderstruck before the red-covered book. Her sobsstifled her. She threw herself at the feet of the Huberts in greathumility, stammering that they had made a mistake in giving her shelter, and that she was not worthy of all their kindness. From that time heranger was frequently restrained by the sight or the mention of the book. 

In this way Angelique lived until she was twelve years of age andready to be Confirmed. The calm life of the household, the littleold-fashioned building sleeping under the shadow of the Cathedral, perfumed with incense, and penetrated with religious music, favoured theslow amelioration of this untutored nature, this wild flower, taken fromno one knew where, and transplanted in the mystic soil of the narrowgarden. Added to this was the regularity of her daily work and the utterignorance of what was going on in the world, without even an echo from asleepy quarter penetrating therein. 

But, above all, the gentlest influence came from the great love of theHuberts for each other, which seemed to be enlarged by some unknown, incurable remorse. He passed the days in endeavouring to make hiswife forget the injury he had done her in marrying her in spite of theopposition of her mother. He had realised at the death of their childthat she half accused him of this punishment, and he wished to beforgiven. She had done so years ago, and now she idolised him. Sometimeshe was not sure of it, and this doubt saddened his life. He wished theymight have had another infant, and so feel assured that the obstinatemother had been softened after death, and had withdrawn her malediction. That, in fact, was their united desire--a child of pardon; and heworshipped his wife with a tender love, ardent and pure as that of abetrothed. If before the apprentice he did not even kiss her hand, he never entered their chamber, even after twenty years of marriage, without an emotion of gratitude for all the happiness that hadbeen given him. This was their true home, this room with its tintedpaintings, its blue wall-paper, its pretty hangings, and its walnutfurniture. Never was an angry word uttered therein, and, as if from asanctuary, a sentiment of tenderness went out from its occupants, andfilled the house. It was thus for Angelique an atmosphere of affectionand love, in which she grew and thrived. 

An unexpected event finished the work of forming her character. As shewas rummaging one morning in a corner of the working-room, she foundon a shelf, among implements of embroidery which were no longer used, a very old copy of the "Golden Legend, " by Jacques de Voragine. ThisFrench translation, dating from 1549, must have been bought in thelong ago by some master-workman in church vestments, on account of thepictures, full of useful information upon the Saints. It was a greatwhile since Angelique had given any attention to the little old carvedimages, showing such childlike faith, which had once delighted her. Butnow, as soon as she was allowed to go out and play in the garden, shetook the book with her. It had been rebound in yellow calf, and was ina good condition. She slowly turned over some of the leaves, then lookedat the title-page, in red and black, with the address of the bookseller:"a Paris, en la rue Neufre Nostre-Dame, a l'enseigne Saint JehanBaptiste;" and decorated with medallions of the four Evangelists, framedat the bottom by the Adoration of the Three Magi, and at the top by theTriumph of Jesus Christ, and His resurrection. And then picture afterpicture followed; there were ornamented letters, large and small, engravings in the text and at the heading of the chapters; "TheAnnunciation, " an immense angel inundating with rays of light a slight, delicate-looking Mary; "The Massacre of the Innocents, " where a cruelHerod was seen surrounded by dead bodies of dear little children; "TheNativity, " where Saint Joseph is holding a candle, the light of whichfalls upon the face of the Infant Jesus, Who sleeps in His mother'sarms; Saint John the Almoner, giving to the poor; Saint Matthias, breaking an idol; Saint Nicholas as a bishop, having at his right handa little bucket filled with babies. And then, a little farther on, camethe female saints: Agnes, with her neck pierced by a sword; Christina, torn by pincers; Genevieve, followed by her lambs; Juliana, beingwhipped; Anastasia, burnt; Maria the Egyptian, repenting in the desert, Mary of Magdalene, carrying the vase of precious ointment; and othersand still others followed. There was an increasing terror and a pietyin each one of them, making it a history which weighs upon the heart andfills the eyes with tears. 

But, little by little, Angelique was curious to know exactly what theseengravings represented. The two columns of closely-printed text, theimpression of which remained very black upon the papers yellowed bytime, frightened her by the strange, almost barbaric look of theGothic letters. Still, she accustomed herself to it, deciphered thesecharacters, learned the abbreviations and the contractions, and soonknew how to explain the turning of the phrases and the old-fashionedwords. At last she could read it easily, and was as enchanted as if shewere penetrating a mystery, and she triumphed over each new difficultythat she conquered. 

Under these laborious shades a whole world of light revealed itself. Sheentered, as it were, into a celestial splendour. For now the few classicbooks they owned, so cold and dry, existed no longer. The Legend aloneinterested her. She bent over it, with her forehead resting on herhands, studying it so intently, that she no longer lived in the reallife, but, unconscious of time, she seemed to see, mounting from thedepths of the unknown, the broad expansion of a dream. 

How wonderful it all was! These saints and virgins! They are bornpredestined; solemn voices announce their coming, and their mothers havemarvellous dreams about them. All are beautiful, strong, and victorious. Great lights surround them, and their countenances are resplendent. Dominic has a star on his forehead. They read the minds of men andrepeat their thoughts aloud. They have the gift of prophecy, and theirpredictions are always realised. Their number is infinite. Among themare bishops and monks, virgins and fallen women, beggars and nobles of aroyal race, unclothed hermits who live on roots, and old men who inhabitcaverns with goats. Their history is always the same. They grow up forChrist, believe fervently in Him, refuse to sacrifice to false gods, are tortured, and die filled with glory. Emperors were at last weary ofpersecuting them. Andrew, after being attached to the cross, preachedduring two days to twenty thousand persons. Conversions were madein masses, forty thousand men being baptised at one time. When themultitudes were not converted by the miracles, they fled terrified. Thesaints were accused of sorcery; enigmas were proposed to them, whichthey solved at once; they were obliged to dispute questions with learnedmen, who remained speechless before them. As soon as they entered thetemples of sacrifice the idols were overthrown with a breath, and werebroken to pieces. A virgin tied her sash around the neck of a statue ofVenus, which at once fell in powder. The earth trembled. The Temple ofDiana was struck by lightning and destroyed; and the people revolting, civil wars ensued. Then often the executioners asked to be baptised;kings knelt at the feet of saints in rags who had devoted themselves topoverty. Sabina flees from the paternal roof. Paula abandons her fivechildren. Mortifications of the flesh and fasts purify, not oil orwater. Germanus covers his food with ashes. Bernard cares not to eat, but delights only in the taste of fresh water. Agatha keeps for threeyears a pebble in her mouth. Augustinus is in despair for the sin he hascommitted in turning to look after a dog who was running. Prosperity andhealth are despised, and joy begins with privations which kill the body. And it is thus that, subduing all things, they live at last in gardenswhere the flowers are stars, and where the leaves of the trees sing. They exterminate dragons, they raise and appease tempests, they seemin their ecstatic visions to be borne above the earth. Their wants areprovided for while living, and after their death friends are advisedby dreams to go and bury them. Extraordinary things happen to them, andadventures far more marvellous than those in a work of fiction. Andwhen their tombs are opened after hundreds of years, sweet odours escapetherefrom. 

Then, opposite the saints, behold the evil spirits!

"They often fly about us like insects, and fill the air without number. The air is also full of demons, as the rays of the sun are full ofatoms. It is even like powder. " And the eternal contest begins. Thesaints are always victorious, and yet they are constantly obliged torenew the battle. The more the demons are driven away, the more theyreturn. There were counted six thousand six hundred and sixty-six in thebody of a woman whom Fortunatus delivered. They moved, they talked andcried, by the voice of the person possessed, whose body they shook as ifby a tempest. At each corner of the highways an afflicted one is seen, and the first saint who passes contends with the evil spirits. Theyenter by the eyes, the ears, and by the mouth, and, after days offearful struggling, they go out with loud groanings. Basilus, to save ayoung man, contends personally with the Evil One. Macarius was attackedwhen in a cemetery, and passed a whole night in defending himself. Theangels, even at deathbeds, in order to secure the soul of the dying wereobliged to beat the demons. At other times the contests are only of theintellect and the mind, but are equally remarkable. Satan, who prowlsabout, assumes many forms, sometimes disguising himself as a woman, and again, even as a saint. But, once overthrown, he appears in all hisugliness: "a black cat, larger than a dog, his huge eyes emitting flame, his tongue long, large, and bloody, his tail twisted and raised in theair, and his whole body disgusting to the last degree. " He is the onething that is hated, and the only preoccupation. People fear him, yet ridicule him. One is not even honest with him. In reality, notwithstanding the ferocious appearance of his furnaces, he is theeternal dupe. All the treaties he makes are forced from him by violenceor cunning. Feeble women throw him down: Margaret crushes his head withher feet, and Juliana beats him with her chain. From all this a serenitydisengages itself, a disdain of evil, since it is powerless, and acertainty of good, since virtue triumphs. It is only necessary to crossone's self, and the Devil can do no harm, but yells and disappears, while the infernal regions tremble. 

Then, in this combat of legions of saints against Satan are developedthe fearful sufferings from persecutions. The executioners expose to theflies the martyrs whose bodies are covered with honey; they make themwalk with bare feet over broken glass or red-hot coals, put them inditches with reptiles; chastise them with whips, whose thongs areweighted with leaden balls; nail them when alive in coffins, which theythrow into the sea; hang them by their hair, and then set fire to them;moisten their wounds with quicklime, boiling pitch, or molten lead; makethem sit on red-hot iron stools; burn their sides with torches; breaktheir bones on wheels, and torture them in every conceivable way. And, with all this, physical pain counts for nothing; indeed, it seems to bedesired. Moreover, a continual miracle protects them. John drinkspoison but is unharmed. Sebastian smiles although pierced with arrows;sometimes they remain in the air at the right or left of the martyr, or, launched by the archer, they return upon himself and put out his eyes. Molten lead is swallowed as if it were ice-water. Lions prostratethemselves, and lick their hands as gently as lambs. The gridiron ofSaint Lawrence is of an agreeable freshness to him. He cries, "Unhappyman, you have roasted one side, turn the other and then eat, for it issufficiently cooked. " Cecilia, placed in a boiling bath, is refreshedby it. Christina exhorts those who would torture her. Her father hadher whipped by twelve men, who at last drop from fatigue; she is thenattached to a wheel, under which a fire is kindled, and the flame, turning to one side, devours fifteen hundred persons. She is then throwninto the sea, but the angels support her; Jesus comes to baptise herin person, then gives her to the charge of Saint Michael, that he mayconduct her back to the earth; after that she is placed for five days ina heated oven, where she suffers not, but sings constantly. Vincent, who was exposed to still greater tortures, feels them not. His limbs arebroken, he is covered with red-hot irons, he is pricked with needles, he is placed on a brazier of live coals, and then taken back to prison, where his feet are nailed to a post. Yet he still lives, and hispains are changed into a sweetness of flowers, a great light fills hisdungeon, and angels sing with him, giving him rest as if he were on abed of roses. The sweet sound of singing, and the fresh odour of flowersspread without in the room, and when the guards saw the miracle theywere converted to the faith, and when Dacian heard of it, he was greatlyenraged, and said, "Do nothing more to him, for we are conquered. " Suchwas the excitement among the persecutors, it could only end either bytheir conversion or by their death. Their hands are paralysed; theyperish violently; they are choked by fish-bones; they are struck bylightning, and their chariots are broken. In the meanwhile, the cells ofthe martyrs are resplendent. Mary and the Apostles enter them at will, although the doors are bolted. Constant aid is given, apparitionsdescend from the skies, where angels are waiting, holding crowns ofprecious stones. Since death seems joyous, it is not feared, and theirfriends are glad when they succumb to it. On Mount Ararat ten thousandare crucified, and at Cologne eleven thousand virgins are massacred bythe Huns. In the circuses they are devoured by wild beasts. Quirique, who, by the influence of the Holy Spirit, taught like a man, sufferedmartyrdom when but three years of age. Nursing-children reproved theexecutioners. The hope for celestial happiness deadened the physicalsenses and softened pain. Were they torn to pieces, or burnt, theyminded it not. They never yielded, and they called for the sword, whichalone could kill them. Eulalia, when at the stake, breathes the flamethat she may die the more quickly. Her prayer is granted, and a whitedove flies from her mouth and bears her soul to heaven. 

Angelique marvelled greatly at all these accounts. So many abominationsand such triumphant joy delighted her and carried her out of herself. 

But other points in the Legend, of quite a different nature, alsointerested her; the animals, for instance, of which there were enoughto fill an Ark of Noah. She liked the ravens and the eagles who fed thehermits. 

Then what lovely stories there were about the lions. The serviceable onewho found a resting-place in a field for Mary the Egyptian; the flaminglion who protected virgins or maidens in danger; and then the lion ofSaint Jerome, to whose care an ass had been confided, and, when theanimal was stolen, went in search of him and brought him back. There wasalso the penitent wolf, who had restored a little pig he had intendedeating. Then there was Bernard, who excommunicates the flies, and theydrop dead. Remi and Blaise feed birds at their table, bless them, and make them strong. Francis, "filled with a dove-like simplicity, "preaches to them, and exhorts them to love God. A bird was on a branchof a fig-tree, and Francis, holding out his hand, beckoned to it, andsoon it obeyed, and lighted on his hand. And he said to it, "Sing mysister, and praise the Lord. " And immediately the bird began to sing, and did not go away until it was told to do so. 

All this was a continual source of recreation to Angelique, and gave herthe idea of calling to the swallows, and hoping they might come to her. 

The good giant Christopher, who carried the Infant Christ on hisshoulders, delighted her so much as to bring tears to her eyes. 

She was very merry over the misadventures of a certain Governor withthe three chambermaids of Anastasia, whom he hoped to have found inthe kitchen, where he kissed the stove and the kettles, thinking hewas embracing them. "He went out therefrom very black and ugly, and hisclothes quite smutched. And when his servants, who were waiting, saw himin such a state, they thought he was the Devil. Then they beat him withbirch-rods, and, running away, left him alone. "

But that which convulsed her most with laughter, was the account of theblows given to the Evil One himself, especially when Juliana, having been tempted by him in her prison cell, administered such anextraordinary chastisement with her chain. "Then the Provost commandedthat Juliana should be brought before him; and when she came into hispresence, she was drawing the Devil after her, and he cried out, saying, 'My good lady Juliana, do not hurt me any more!' She led him in this wayaround the public square, and afterwards threw him into a deep ditch. "

Often Angelique would repeat to the Huberts, as they were all at worktogether, legends far more interesting than any fairy-tale. She hadread them over so often that she knew them by heart, and she told ina charming way the story of the Seven Sleepers, who, to escapepersecution, walled themselves up in a cavern, and whose awakeninggreatly astonished the Emperor Theodosius. Then the Legend of SaintClement with its endless adventures, so unexpected and touching, wherethe whole family, father, mother, and three sons, separated by terriblemisfortunes, are finally re-united in the midst of the most beautifulmiracles. 

Her tears would flow at these recitals. She dreamed of them at night, she lived, as it were, only in this tragic and triumphant world ofprodigy, in a supernatural country where all virtues are recompensed byall imaginable joys. 

When Angelique partook of her first Communion, it seemed as if she werewalking, like the saints, a little above the earth. She was a youngChristian of the primitive Church; she gave herself into the hands ofGod, having learned from her book that she could not be saved withoutgrace. 

The Huberts were simple in their profession of faith. They went everySunday to Mass, and to Communion on all great fete-days, and thiswas done with the tranquil humility of true belief, aided a little bytradition, as the chasubliers had from father to son always observed theChurch ceremonies, particularly those at Easter. 

Hubert himself had a tendency to imaginative fancies. He would at timesstop his work and let fall his frame to listen to the child as sheread or repeated the legends, and, carried away for the moment by herenthusiasm, it seemed as if his hair were blown about by the lightbreath of some invisible power. He was so in sympathy with Angelique, and associated her to such a degree with the youthful saints of thepast, that he wept when he saw her in her white dress and veil. Thisday at church was like a dream, and they returned home quite exhausted. Hubertine was obliged to scold them both, for, with her excellentcommon-sense, she disliked exaggeration even in good things. 

From that time she had to restrain the zeal of Angelique, especially inher tendency to what she thought was charity, and to which she wishedto devote herself. Saint Francis had wedded poverty; Julien the Chaplainhad called the poor his superiors; Gervasius and Protais had washed thefeet of the most indigent, and Martin had divided his cloak with them. So she, following the example of Lucy, wished to sell everythingthat she might give. At first she disposed of all her little privatepossessions, then she began to pillage the house. But at last shegave without judgment and foolishly. One evening, two days after herConfirmation, being reprimanded for having thrown from the windowseveral articles of underwear to a drunken woman, she had a terribleattack of anger like those when she was young; then, overcome by shame, she was really ill and forced to keep her bed for a couple of days. 

CHAPTER III

In the meanwhile, weeks and months went by. Two years had passed. Angelique was now fourteen years of age and quite womanly. When she readthe "Golden Legend, " she would have a humming in her ears, the bloodcirculated quickly through the blue veins near her temples, and she felta deep tenderness towards all these virgin saints. 

Maidenhood is the sister of the angels, the union of all good, the overthrow of evil, the domain of faith. It gives grace, it isperfection, which has only need to show itself to conquer. The action ofthe Holy Spirit rendered Lucy so heavy that a thousand men and five pairof oxen could not drag her away from her home. An officer who triedto kiss Anastasia was struck blind. Under torture, the purity of thevirgins is always powerful; from their exquisite white limbs, torn byinstruments, milk flows instead of blood. Ten different times the storyis told of the young convert who, to escape from her family, who wishher to marry against her will, assumes the garb of a monk, is accused ofsome misdeed, suffers punishment without indicating herself, and at lasttriumphs by announcing her name. Eugenia is in this way brought beforea judge, whom she recognises as her father and reveals herself tohim. Externally the combat of chastity recommences; always the thornsreappear. Thus the wisest saints shrink from being tempted. As the worldis filled with snares, hermits flee to the desert, where they scourgethemselves, throw themselves on the snow, or in beds of prickly herbs. A solitary monk covers his fingers with his mantle, that he may aid hismother in crossing a creek. A martyr bound to a stake, being tempted bya young girl, bites off his tongue with his teeth and spits it at her. All glorify the state of single blessedness. Alexis, very wealthy andin a high position, marries, but leaves his wife at the church-door. One weds only to die. Justina, in love with Cyprianus, converts him, andthey walk together to their punishment. Cecilia, beloved by an angel, reveals the secret to Valerian on their wedding-day, and he, that he maysee the spirit, consents to be baptised. He found in his room Ceciliatalking with the angel, who held in his hand two wreaths of roses, and, giving one to Cecilia, and one to Valerian, he said, "Keep these crowns, like your hearts, pure and unspotted. " In many cases it was provedthat death was stronger than love, and couples were united only as achallenge to existence. It was said that even the Virgin Mary at timesprevented betrothals from ending in a marriage. A nobleman, a relativeof the King of Hungary, renounced his claims to a young girl ofmarvellous beauty on this account. "Suddenly our Blessed Lady appeared, and said to him: 'If I am indeed so beautiful as you have called me, whydo you leave me for another?' And he became a most devout man for therest of his life. "

Among all this saintly company, Angelique had her preferences, and therewere those whose experiences touched her to the heart, and helped herto correct her failings. Thus the learned Catherine, of high birth, enchanted her by her great scientific knowledge, when, only eighteenyears of age, she was called by the Emperor Maximus to discuss certainquestions with fifty rhetoricians and grammarians. She astonished andconvinced them. "They were amazed and knew not what to say, but theyremained quiet. And the Emperor blamed them for their weakness inallowing themselves to be so easily conquered by a young girl. " Thefifty professors then declared that they were converted. "And as soonas the tyrant heard that, he had so terrible a fit of anger, that hecommanded they should all be burned to death in the public square. "In her eyes Catherine was the invincible learned woman, as proud anddazzling in intellect as in beauty, just as she would have liked tobe, that she might convert men, and be fed in prison by a dove, beforehaving her head cut off. But Saint Elizabeth, the daughter of the Kingof Hungary, was for her a constant teacher and guide. Whenever she wasinclined to yield to her violent temper, she thought of this model ofgentleness and simplicity, who was at five years of age very devout, refusing to join her playmates in their sports, and sleeping on theground, that, in abasing herself, she might all the better render homageto God. Later, she was the faithful, obedient wife of the Landgrave ofThuringia, always showing to her husband a smiling face, although shepassed her nights in tears. When she became a widow she was driven fromher estates, but was happy to lead the life of poverty. Her dress was sothin from use, that she wore a grey mantle, lengthened out by cloth ofa different shade. The sleeves of her jacket had been torn, and weremended with a material of another colour. The king, her father, wishingher to come to him, sent for her by a Count. And when the Count saw herclothed in such a way and spinning, overcome with surprise and grief, heexclaimed: "Never before did one see the daughter of a Royal House inso miserable a garb, and never was one known to spin wool until now. "So Christian and sincere was her humility, that she ate black bread withthe poorest peasants, nursed them when ill, dressed their sores withoutrepugnance, put on coarse garments like theirs, and followed them in thechurch processions with bare feet. She was once washing the porringersand the utensils of the kitchen, when the maids, seeing her so out ofplace, urged her to desist, but she replied, "Could I find another taskmore menial even than this, I would do it. " Influenced by her example, Angelique, who was formerly angry when obliged to do any cleaning in thekitchen, now tried to invent some extremely disagreeable task when shefelt nervous and in need of control. 

But more than Catherine, more than Elizabeth, far nearer and dearerto her than all the other saints, was Agnes, the child-martyr; and herheart leaped with joy on refinding in the "Golden Legend" this virgin, clothed with her own hair, who had protected her under the Cathedralportal. What ardour of pure love, as she repelled the son of theGovernor when he accosted her on her way from school! "Go--leave me, minister of death, commencement of sin, and child of treason!" Howexquisitely she described her beloved! "I love the One whose Mother wasa Virgin, and whose father was faithful to her, at whose beauty the sunand moon marvelled, and at whose touch the dead were made alive. " Andwhen Aspasien commanded that "her throat should be cut by the sword, "she ascended into Paradise to be united to her "betrothed, whiter andpurer than silver-gilt. "

Always, when weary or disturbed, Angelique called upon and implored her, and it seemed as if peace came to her at once. She saw her constantlynear her, and often she regretted having done or thought of things whichwould have displeased her. 

One evening as she was kissing her hands, a habit which she still attimes indulged in, she suddenly blushed and turned away, although shewas quite alone, for it seemed as if the little saint must have seenher. Agnes was her guardian angel. 

Thus, at fifteen Angelique was an adorable child. Certainly, neither thequiet, laborious life, nor the soothing shadows of the Cathedral, northe legends of the beautiful saints, had made her an angel, a creatureof absolute perfection. She was often angry, and certain weaknesses ofcharacter showed themselves, which had never been sufficiently guardedagainst; but she was always ashamed and penitent if she had done wrong, for she wished so much to be perfect. And she was so human, so full oflife, so ignorant, and withal so pure in reality. 

One day, on returning from a long excursion which the Huberts allowedher to take twice a year, on Pentecost Monday and on Assumption Day, she took home with her a sweetbriar bush, and then amused herself byreplanting it in the narrow garden. She trimmed it and watered it well:it grew and sent out long branches, filled with odour. With her usualintensity, she watched it daily, but was unwilling to have it grafted, as she wished to see if, by some miracle, it could not be made to bearroses. She danced around it, she repeated constantly: "This bush is likeme; it is like me!" And if one joked her upon her great wild-rose bush, she joined them in their laughter, although a little pale, and withtears almost ready to fall. Her violet-coloured eyes were softer thanever, her half-opened lips revealed little white teeth, and her ovalface had a golden aureole from her light wavy hair. She had growntall without being too slight; her neck and shoulders were exquisitelygraceful; her chest was full, her waist flexible; and gay, healthy, ofa rare beauty, she had an infinite charm, arising from the innocence andpurity of her soul. 

Every day the affection of the Huberts for her increased. They oftentalked together of their mutual wish to adopt her. Yet they took noactive measures in that way, lest they might have cause to regret it. One morning, when the husband announced his final decision, his wifesuddenly began to weep bitterly. To adopt a child? Was not that the sameas giving up all hope of having one of their own? Yet it was useless forthem to expect one now, after so many years of waiting, and she gave herconsent, in reality delighted that she could call her her daughter. WhenAngelique was spoken to on the subject, she threw her arms around theirnecks, kissed them both, and was almost choked with tears of joy. 

So it was agreed upon that she was always to remain with them in thishouse, which now seemed to be filled with her presence, rejuvenated byher youth, and penetrated by her laughter. But an unexpected obstaclewas met with at the first step. The Justice of the Peace, MonsieurGrandsire, on being consulted, explained to them the radicalimpossibility of adoption, since by law the adopted must be "of age. "Then, seeing their disappointment, he suggested the expedient of a legalguardianship: any individual over fifty years of age can attach himselfto a minor of fifteen years or less by a legal claim, on becoming theirofficial protector. The ages were all right, so they were delighted, andaccepted. It was even arranged that they should afterwards confer thetitle of adoption upon their ward by way of their united last will andtestament, as such a thing would be permitted by the Code. MonsieurGrandsire, furnished with the demand of the husband and theauthorisation of the wife, then put himself in communication with theDirector of Public Aid, the general guardian for all abandoned children, whose consent it was necessary to have. Great inquiries were made, and at last the necessary papers were placed in Paris, with a certainJustice of the Peace chosen for the purpose. And all was ready exceptthe official report which constitutes the legality of guardianship, whenthe Huberts suddenly were taken with certain scruples. 

Before receiving Angelique into their family, ought not they toascertain if she had any relatives on her side? Was her mother stillalive? Had they the right to dispose of the daughter without beingabsolutely sure that she had willingly been given up and deserted? Then, in reality, the unknown origin of the child, which had troubled themlong ago, came back to them now and made them hesitate. They were sotormented by this anxiety that they could not sleep. 

Without any more talk, Hubert unexpectedly announced that he wasgoing to Paris. Such a journey seemed like a catastrophe in his calmexistence. He explained the necessity of it to Angelique, by speaking ofthe guardianship. He hoped to arrange everything in twenty-four hours. But once in the city, days passed; obstacles arose on every side. Hespent a week there, sent from one to another, really doing nothing, andquite discouraged. In the first place, he was received very coldly atthe Office of Public Assistance. The rule of the Administration is thatchildren shall not be told of their parents until they are of age. Sofor two mornings in succession he was sent away from the office. Hepersisted, however, explained the matter to three secretaries, madehimself hoarse in talking to an under-officer, who wished to counsel himthat he had not official papers. The Administration were quite ignorant. A nurse had left the child there, "Angelique Marie, " without naming themother. In despair he was about to return to Beaumont, when a new ideaimpelled him to return for the fourth time to the office, to see thebook in which the arrival of the infant had been noted down, and in thatway to have the address of the nurse. That proved quite an undertaking. But at last he succeeded, and found it was a Madame Foucart, and that in1850 she lived on the Rue des Deux-Ecus. 

Then he recommenced his hunting up and down. The end of the Rue desDeux-Ecus had been demolished, and no shopkeeper in the neighbourhoodrecollected ever having heard of Madame Foucart. He consulted thedirectory, but there was no such name. Looking at every sign as hewalked along, he called on one after another, and at last, in this way, he had the good fortune to find an old woman, who exclaimed, in answerto his questions, "What! Do I know Madame Foucart? A most honourableperson, but one who has had many misfortunes. She lives on the Rue deCensier, quite at the other end of Paris. " He hastened there at once. 

Warned by experience, he determined now to be diplomatic. But MadameFoucart, an enormous woman, would not allow him to ask questions inthe good order he had arranged them before going there. As soon as hementioned the two names of the child, she seemed to be eager to talk, and she related its whole history in a most spiteful way. "Ah! thechild was alive! Very well; she might flatter herself that she had for amother a most famous hussy. Yes, Madame Sidonie, as she was called sinceshe became a widow, was a woman of a good family, having, it is said, abrother who was a minister, but that did not prevent her from beingvery bad. " And she explained that she had made her acquaintance when shekept, on the Rue Saint-Honore, a little shop where they dealt infruit and oil from Provence, she and her husband, when they came fromPlassans, hoping to make their fortune in the city. The husband died andwas buried, and soon after Madame Sidonie had a little daughter, whichshe sent at once to the hospital, and never after even inquired forher, as she was "a heartless woman, cold as a protest and brutal as asheriff's aid. " A fault can be pardoned, but not ingratitude! Was not ittrue that, obliged to leave her shop as she was so heavily in debt, shehad been received and cared for by Madame Foucart? And when in her turnshe herself had fallen into difficulties, she had never been able toobtain from Madame Sidonie, even the month's board she owed her, nor thefifteen francs she had once lent her. To-day the "hateful thing" livedon the Rue de Faubourg-Poissonniere, where she had a little apartment ofthree rooms. She pretended to be a cleaner and mender of lace, but shesold a good many other things. Ah! yes! such a mother as that it wasbest to know nothing about!

An hour later, Hubert was walking round the house where Madame Sidonielived. He saw through the window a woman, thin, pale, coarse-looking, wearing an old black gown, stained and greased. Never could the heart ofsuch a person be touched by the recollection of a daughter whom she hadonly seen on the day of its birth. He concluded it would be best not torepeat, even to his wife, many things that he had just learned. Still hehesitated. Once more he passed by the place, and looked again. Oughtnot he to go in, to introduce himself, and to ask the consent of theunnatural parent? As an honest man, it was for him to judge if he hadthe right of cutting the tie there and for ever. Brusquely he turned hisback, hurried away, and returned that evening to Beaumont. 

Hubertine had just learned that the _proces-verbal_ at MonsieurGrandsire's, for the guardianship of the child, had been signed. Andwhen Angelique threw herself into Hubert's arms, he saw clearly bythe look of supplication in her eyes, that she had understood the truereason of his journey. 

Then he said quietly: "My child, your mother is not living. " Angeliquewept, as she kissed him most affectionately. After this the subject wasnot referred to. She was their daughter. 

At Whitsuntide, this year, the Huberts had taken Angelique with themto lunch at the ruins of the Chateau d'Hautecoeur, which overlooks theLigneul, two leagues below Beaumont; and, after the day spent in runningand laughing in the open air, the young girl still slept when, the nextmorning, the old house-clock struck eight. 

Hubertine was obliged to go up and rap at her door. 

"Ah, well! Little lazy child! We have already had our breakfast, and itis late. "

Angelique dressed herself quickly and went down to the kitchen, where she took her rolls and coffee alone. Then, when she entered theworkroom, where Hubert and his wife had just seated themselves, afterhaving arranged their frames for embroidery, she said:

"Oh! how soundly I did sleep! I had quite forgotten that we had promisedto finish this chasuble for next Sunday. "

This workroom, the windows of which opened upon the garden, was a largeapartment, preserved almost entirely in its original state. The twoprincipal beams of the ceiling, and the three visible cross-beams ofsupport, had not even been whitewashed, and they were blackened by smokeand worm-eaten, while, through the openings of the broken plaster, hereand there, the laths of the inner joists could be seen. On one of thestone corbels, which supported the beams, was the date 1463, withoutdoubt the date of the construction of the building. The chimney-piece, also in stone, broken and disjointed, had traces of its originalelegance, with its slender uprights, its brackets, its frieze with acornice, and its basket-shaped funnel terminating in a crown. On thefrieze could be seen even now, as if softened by age, an ingeniousattempt at sculpture, in the way of a likeness of Saint Clair, thepatron of embroiderers. But this chimney was no longer used, andthe fireplace had been turned into an open closet by putting shelvestherein, on which were piles of designs and patterns. The room was nowheated by a great bell-shaped cast-iron stove, the pipe of which, aftergoing the whole length of the ceiling, entered an opening made expresslyfor it in the wall. The doors, already shaky, were of the time of LouisXIV. The original tiles of the floor were nearly all gone, and had beenreplaced, one by one, by those of a later style. It was nearly a hundredyears since the yellow walls had been coloured, and at the top ofthe room they were almost of a greyish white, and, lower down, werescratched and spotted with saltpetre. Each year there was talk ofrepainting them, but nothing had yet been done, from a dislike of makingany change. 

Hubertine, busy at her work, raised her head as Angelique spoke andsaid:

"You know that if our work is done on Sunday, I have promised to giveyou a basket of pansies for your garden. "

The young girl exclaimed gaily: "Oh, yes! that is true. Ah, well! I willdo my best then! But where is my thimble? It seems as if all workingimplements take to themselves wings and fly away, if not in constantuse. "

She flipped the old _doigtier_ of ivory on the second joint of herlittle finger, and took her place on the other side of the frame, opposite to the window. 

Since the middle of the last century there had not been the slightestmodification in the fittings and arrangements of the workroom. Fashionschanged, the art of the embroiderer was transformed, but there was stillseen fastened to the wall the chantlate, the great piece of woodwhere was placed one end of the frame or work, while the other end wassupported by a moving trestle. In the corners were many ancient tools--alittle machine called a "diligent, " with its wheels and its longpins, to wind the gold thread on the reels without touching it; a handspinning-wheel; a species of pulley to twist the threads which wereattached to the wall; rollers of various sizes covered with silks andthreads used in the crochet embroidery. Upon a shelf was spread out anold collection of punches for the spangles, and there was also tobe seen a valuable relic, in the shape of the classic chandelier inhammered brass which belonged to some ancient master-workman. On therings of a rack made of a nailed leather strap were hung awls, mallets, hammers, irons to cut the vellum, and roughing chisels of bogwood, whichwere used to smooth the threads as fast as they were employed. And yetagain, at the foot of the heavy oaken table on which the cutting-outwas done, was a great winder, whose two movable reels of wicker held theskeins. Long chains of spools of bright-coloured silks strung on cordswere hung near that case of drawers. On the floor was a large basketfilled with empty bobbins. A pair of great shears rested on the strawseat of one of the chairs, and a ball of cord had just fallen on thefloor, half unwound. 

"Oh! what lovely weather! What perfect weather!" continued Angelique. "It is a pleasure simply to live and to breathe. "

And before stooping to apply herself to her work, she delayed anothermoment before the open window, through which entered all the beauty of aradiant May morning. 

CHAPTER IV

The sun shone brightly on the roof of the Cathedral, a fresh odour oflilacs came up from the bushes in the garden of the Bishop. Angeliquesmiled, as she stood there, dazzled, and as if bathed in the springtide. Then, starting as if suddenly awakened from sleep, she said:

"Father, I have no more gold thread for my work. "

Hubert, who had just finished pricking the tracing of the pattern of acope, went to get a skein from the case of drawers, cut it, taperedoff the two ends by scratching the gold which covered the silk, and hebrought it to her rolled up in parchment. 

"Is that all you need?"

"Yes, thanks. "

With a quick glance she had assured herself that nothing more waswanting; the needles were supplied with the different golds, the red, the green, and the blue; there were spools of every shade of silk; thespangles were ready; and the twisted wires for the gold lace were in thecrown of a hat which served as a box, with the long fine needles, thesteel pincers, the thimbles, the scissors, and the ball of wax. Allthese were on the frame even, or on the material stretched therein, which was protected by a thick brown paper. 

She had threaded a needle with the gold thread. But at the first stitchit broke, and she was obliged to thread it again, breaking off tinybits of the gold, which she threw immediately into the pasteboardwaste-basket which was near her. 

"Now at last I am ready, " she said, as she finished her first stitch. 

Perfect silence followed. Hubert was preparing to stretch some materialon another frame. He had placed the two heavy ends on the chantlate andthe trestle directly opposite in such a way as to take lengthwise thered silk of the cope, the breadths of which Hubertine had just stitchedtogether, and fitting the laths into the mortice of the beams, hefastened them with four little nails. Then, after smoothing the materialmany times from right to left, he finished stretching it and tacked onthe nails. To assure himself that it was thoroughly tight and firm, hetapped on the cloth with his fingers and it sounded like a drum. 

Angelique had become a most skilful worker, and the Huberts wereastonished at her cleverness and taste. In addition to what they hadtaught her, she carried into all she did her personal enthusiasm, whichgave life to flowers and faith to symbols. Under her hands, silk andgold seemed animated; the smaller ornaments were full of mystic meaning;she gave herself up to it entirely, with her imagination constantlyactive and her firm belief in the infinitude of the invisible world. 

The Diocese of Beaumont had been so charmed with certain pieces of herembroidery, that a clergyman who was an archaeologist, and another whowas an admirer of pictures, had come to see her, and were in rapturesbefore her Virgins, which they compared to the simple gracious figuresof the earliest masters. There was the same sincerity, the samesentiment of the beyond, as if encircled in the minutest perfection ofdetail. She had the real gift of design, a miraculous one indeed, which, without a teacher, with nothing but her evening studies by lamplight, enabled her often to correct her models, to deviate entirely from them, and to follow her own fancies, creating beautiful things with the pointof her needle. So the Huberts, who had always insisted that a thoroughknowledge of the science of drawing was necessary to make a goodembroiderer, were obliged to yield before her, notwithstanding theirlong experience. And, little by little, they modestly withdrew into thebackground, becoming simply her aids, surrendering to her all the mostelaborate work, the under part of which they prepared for her. 

From one end of the year to the other, what brilliant and sacred marvelspassed through her hands! She was always occupied with silks, satins, velvets, or cloths of gold or silver. She embroidered chasubles, stoles, maniples, copes, dalmatics, mitres, banners, and veils for the chaliceand the pyx. But, above all, their orders for chasubles never failed, and they worked constantly at those vestments, with their five colours:the white, for Confessors and Virgins; the red, for Apostles andMartyrs; the black, for the days of fasting and for the dead; theviolet, for the Innocents; and the green for fete-days. Gold was alsooften used in place of white or of green. The same symbols were alwaysin the centre of the Cross: the monograms of Jesus and of the VirginMary, the triangle surrounded with rays, the lamb, the pelican, thedove, a chalice, a monstrance, and a bleeding heart pierced with thorns;while higher up and on the arms were designs, or flowers, all theornamentation being in the ancient style, and all the flora in largeblossoms, like anemones, tulips, peonies, pomegranates, or hortensias. No season passed in which she did not remake the grapes and thornssymbolic, putting silver on black, and gold on red. For the most costlyvestments, she varied the pictures of the heads of saints, having, as acentral design, the Annunciation, the Last Supper, or the Crucifixion. Sometimes the orfreys were worked on the original material itself; atothers, she applied bands of silk or satin on brocades of gold cloth, orof velvet. And all this efflorescence of sacred splendour was created, little by little, by her deft fingers. At this moment the vestment onwhich Angelique was at work was a chasuble of white satin, the crossof which was made by a sheaf of golden lilies intertwined with brightroses, in various shades of silk. In the centre, in a wreath of littleroses of dead gold, was the monogram of the Blessed Virgin, in red andgreen gold, with a great variety of ornaments. 

For an hour, during which she skilfully finished the little roses, thesilence had not been broken even by a single word. But her thread brokeagain, and she re-threaded her needle by feeling carefully under theframe, as only an adroit person can do. Then, as she raised her head, she again inhaled with satisfaction the pure, fresh air that came infrom the garden. 

"Ah!" she said softly, "how beautiful it was yesterday! The sunshine isalways perfect. "

Hubertine shook her head as she stopped to wax her thread. 

"As for me, I am so wearied, it seems as if I had no arms, and it tiresme to work. But that is not strange, for I so seldom go out, and am nolonger young and strong, as you are at sixteen. "

Angelique had reseated herself and resumed her work. She prepared thelilies by sewing bits of vellum on certain places that had been marked, so as to give them relief, but the flowers themselves were not to bemade until later, for fear the gold be tarnished were the hands movedmuch over it. 

Hubert, who, having finished arranging the material in its frame, was about drawing with pumice the pattern of the cope, joined in theconversation and said: "These first warm days of spring are sure to giveme a terrible headache. "

Angelique's eyes seemed to be vaguely lost in the rays which now fellupon one of the flying buttresses of the church, as she dreamily added:"Oh no, father, I do not think so. One day in the lively air, likeyesterday, does me a world of good. "

Having finished the little golden leaves, she began one of the largeroses, near the lilies. Already she had threaded several needles withthe silks required, and she embroidered in stitches varying in length, according to the natural position and movement of the petals, andnotwithstanding the extreme delicacy and absorbing nature of this work, the recollections of the previous day, which she lived over again inthought and in silence, now came to her lips, and crowded so closelyupon each other that she no longer tried to keep them back. So shetalked of their setting out upon their expedition, of the beautifulfields they crossed, of their lunch over there in the ruins ofHautecoeur, upon the flagstones of a little room whose tumble-down wallstowered far above the Ligneul, which rolled gently among the willowsfifty yards below them. 

She was enthusiastic over these crumbling ruins, and the scatteredblocks of stone among the brambles, which showed how enormous thecolossal structure must have been as, when first built, it commandedthe two valleys. The donjon remained, nearly two hundred feet in height, discoloured, cracked, but nevertheless firm, upon its foundation pillarsfifteen feet thick. Two of its towers had also resisted the attacksof Time--that of Charlemagne and that of David--united by a heavy wallalmost intact. In the interior, the chapel, the court-room, and certainchambers were still easily recognised; and all this appeared to havebeen built by giants, for the steps of the stairways, the sills of thewindows, and the branches on the terraces, were all on a scale far outof proportion for the generation of to-day. It was, in fact, quite alittle fortified city. Five hundred men could have sustained there asiege of thirty months without suffering from want of ammunition or ofprovisions. For two centuries the bricks of the lowest story had beendisjointed by the wild roses; lilacs and laburnums covered with blossomsthe rubbish of the fallen ceilings; a plane-tree had even grown up inthe fireplace of the guardroom. But when, at sunset, the outline of thedonjon cast its long shadow over three leagues of cultivated ground, and the colossal Chateau seemed to be rebuilt in the evening mists, onestill felt the great strength, and the old sovereignty, which had madeof it so impregnable a fortress that even the kings of France trembledbefore it. 

"And I am sure, " continued Angelique, "that it is inhabited by the soulsof the dead, who return at night. All kinds of noises are heard there;in every direction are monsters who look at you, and when I turned roundas we were coming away, I saw great white figures fluttering above thewall. But, mother, you know all the history of the castle, do you not?"

Hubertine replied, as she smiled in an amused way: "Oh! as for ghosts, Ihave never seen any of them myself. "

But in reality, she remembered perfectly the history, which she had readlong ago, and to satisfy the eager questionings of the young girl, shewas obliged to relate it over again. 

The land belonged to the Bishopric of Rheims, since the days of SaintRemi, who had received it from Clovis. 

An archbishop, Severin, in the early years of the tenth century, haderected at Hautecoeur a fortress to defend the country against theNormans, who were coming up the river Oise, into which the Ligneulflows. 

In the following century a successor of Severin gave it in fief toNorbert, a younger son of the house of Normandy, in consideration of anannual quit-rent of sixty sous, and on the condition that the city ofBeaumont and its church should remain free and unincumbered. It was inthis way that Norbert I became the head of the Marquesses of Hautecoeur, whose famous line from that date became so well known in history. HerveIV, excommunicated twice for his robbery of ecclesiastical property, became a noted highwayman, who killed, on a certain occasion, with hisown hands, thirty citizens, and his tower was razed to the ground byLouis le Gros, against whom he had dared to declare war. Raoul I, whowent to the Crusades with Philip Augustus, perished before Saint Jeand'Acre, having been pierced through the heart by a lance. But the mostillustrious of the race was John V, the Great, who, in 1225, rebuilt thefortress, finishing in less than five years this formidable Chateau ofHautecoeur, under whose shelter he, for a moment, dreamed of aspiringto the throne of France, and after having escaped from being killed intwenty battles, he at last died quietly in his bed, brother-in-law tothe King of Scotland. Then came Felician III, who made a pilgrimage toJerusalem barefooted; Herve VII, who asserted his claims to the throneof Scotland; and still many others, noble and powerful in their dayand generation, down to Jean IX, who, under Mazarin, had the grief ofassisting at the dismantling of the castle. After a desperate siege, thevaults of the towers and of the donjon were blown up with powder, andthe different constructions were set on fire; where Charles VI had beensent to rest, and to turn his attention from his vagaries, and where, nearly two hundred years later, Henri IV had passed a week as GabrielleD'Estress. Thenceforth, all these royal souvenirs had passed intooblivion. 

Angelique, without stopping the movement of her needle, listenedeagerly, as if the vision of these past grandeurs rose up from herframe, in proportion as the rose grew there in its delicate lifeof colour. Her ignorance of general history enlarged facts, and shereceived them as if they were the basis of a marvellous legend. Shetrembled with delight, and, transported by her faith, it seemed as ifthe reconstructed Chateau mounted to the very gates of heaven, and theHautecoeurs were cousins to the Virgin Mary. 

When there was a pause in the recital she asked, "Is not our new BishopMonseigneur d'Hautecoeur, a descendant of this noted family?"

Hubertine replied that Monseigneur must belong to the younger branch ofthe family, as the elder branch had been extinct for a very long time. It was, indeed, a most singular return, as for centuries the Marquessesof Hautecoeur and the clergy of Beaumont had been hostile to eachother. Towards 1150 an abbot undertook to build a church, with no otherresources than those of his Order; so his funds soon gave out, when theedifice was no higher than the arches of the side chapels, and they wereobliged to cover the nave with a wooden roof. Eighty years passed, andJean V came to rebuild the Chateau, when he gave three hundred thousandpounds, which, added to other sums, enabled the work on the church to becontinued. The nave was finished, but the two towers and the great frontwere terminated much later, towards 1430, in the full fifteenth century. To recompense Jean V for his liberality, the clergy accorded to him, for himself and his descendants, the right of burial in a chapel of theapse, consecrated to St. George, and which, since that time, had beencalled the Chapel Hautecoeur. But these good terms were not of longduration. The freedom of Beaumont was put in constant peril by theChateau, and there were continual hostilities on the questions oftribute and of precedence. One especially, the right of paying toll, which the nobles demanded for the navigation of the Ligneul, perpetuatedthe quarrels. Then it was that the great prosperity of the lower townbegan, with its manufacturing of fine linen and lace, and from thisepoch the fortune of Beaumont increased daily, while that of Hautecoeurdiminished, until the time when the castle was dismantled and the churchtriumphed. Louis XIV made of it a cathedral, a bishop's palace wasbuilt in the old enclosure of the monks, and, by a singular chain ofcircumstances, to-day a member of the family of Hautecoeur had returnedas a bishop to command the clergy, who, always powerful, had conqueredhis ancestors, after a contest of four hundred years. 

"But, " said Angelique, "Monseigneur has been married, and has not he ason at least twenty years of age?"

Hubertine had taken up the shears to remodel one of the pieces ofvellum. 

"Yes, " she replied, "the Abbot Cornille told me the whole story, and itis a very sad history. When but twenty years of age, Monseigneur was acaptain under Charles X. In 1830, when only four-and-twenty, he resignedhis position in the army, and it is said that from that time until hewas forty years of age he led an adventurous life, travelling everywhereand having many strange experiences. At last, one evening, he met, at the house of a friend in the country, the daughter of the Count deValencay, Mademoiselle Pauline, very wealthy, marvellously beautiful, and scarcely nineteen years of age, twenty-two years younger thanhimself. He fell violently in love with her, and, as she returned hisaffection, there was no reason why the marriage should not take placeat once. He then bought the ruins of Hautecoeur for a mere song--tenthousand francs, I believe--with the intention of repairing the Chateauand installing his wife therein when all would be in order and inreadiness to receive her. In the meanwhile they went to live on one ofhis family estates in Anjou, scarcely seeing any of their friends, andfinding in their united happiness the days all too short. But, alas! atthe end of a year Pauline had a son and died. "

Hubert, who was still occupied with marking out his pattern, raisedhis head, showing a very pale face as he said in a low voice: "Oh! theunhappy man!"

"It was said that he himself almost died from his great grief, "continued Hubertine. "At all events, a fortnight later he entered intoHoly Orders, and soon became a priest. That was twenty years ago, andnow he is a bishop. But I have also been told that during all this timehe has refused to see his son, the child whose birth cost the life ofits mother. He had placed him with an uncle of his wife's, an old abbot, not wishing even to hear of him, and trying to forget his existence. Oneday a picture of the boy was sent him, but in looking at it he foundso strong a resemblance to his beloved dead that he fell on the floorunconscious and stiff, as if he had received a blow from a hammer. . . . Now age and prayer have helped to soften his deep grief, for yesterdaythe good Father Cornille told me that Monseigneur had just decided tosend for his son to come to him. "

Angelique, having finished her rose, so fresh and natural that perfumeseemed to be exhaled from it, looked again through the window into thesunny garden, and, as if in a reverie, she said in a low voice: "The sonof Monseigneur!"

Hubertine continued her story. 

"It seems that the young man is handsome as a god, and his father wishedhim to be educated for the priesthood. But the old abbot would notconsent to that, saying that the youth had not the slightest inclinationin that direction. And then, to crown all, his wealth, it is said, isenormous. Two million pounds sterling! Yes, indeed! His mother lefthim a tenth of that sum, which was invested in land in Paris, where theincrease in the price of real estate has been so great, that to-day itrepresents fifty millions of francs. In short, rich as a king!"

"Rich as a king, beautiful as a god!" repeated Angelique unconsciously, in her dreamy voice. 

And with one hand she mechanically took from the frame a bobbin woundwith gold thread, in order to make the open-work centre of one of thelarge lilies. After having loosened the end from the point of the reel, she fastened it with a double stitch of silk to the edge of the vellumwhich was to give a thickness to the embroidery. Then, continuing herwork, she said again, without finishing her thought, which seemed lostin the vagueness of its desire, "Oh! as for me, what I would like, thatwhich I would like above all else----"

The silence fell again, deep and profound, broken only by the dull soundof chanting which came from the church. Hubert arranged his design byrepassing with a little brush all the perforated lines of the drawing, and thus the ornamentation of the cope appeared in white on the redsilk. It was he who first resumed speaking. 

"Ah! those ancient days were magnificent! Noblemen then wore costumesweighted with embroidery. At Lyons, material was sometimes sold for asmuch as six hundred francs an ell. One ought to read the by-laws andregulations of the Guild of Master Workmen, where it is laid down that'The embroiderers of the King have always the right to summon, by armedforce if necessary, the workmen of other masters. ' . . . And then wehad coats of arms, too! Azure, a fesso engrailed or, between threefleurs-de-lys of the same, two of them being near the top and the thirdin the point. Ah! it was indeed beautiful in the days of long ago!"

He stopped a moment, tapping the frame with his fingers to shake off thedust. Then he continued:

"At Beaumont they still have a legend about the Hautecoeurs, which mymother often related to me when I was a child. . . . A frightful plagueravaged the town, and half of the inhabitants had already fallen victimsto it, when Jean V, he who had rebuilt the fortress, perceived that Godhad given him the power to contend against the scourge. Then he went onfoot to the houses of the sick, fell on his knees, kissed them, and assoon as his lips had touched them, while he said, 'If God is willing, I wish it, ' the sufferers were healed. And lo! that is why these wordshave remained the device of the Hautecoeurs, who all have since thatday been able to cure the plague. . . . Ah! what a proud race of men!A noble dynasty! Monseigneur himself is called Jean XII, and the firstname of his son must also be followed by a number, like that of aprince. "

He stopped. Each one of his words lulled and prolonged the reverie ofAngelique. She continued, in a half-singing tone: "Oh! what I wish formyself! That which I would like above all else----"

Holding the bobbin, without touching the thread, she twisted the gold bymoving it from left to right alternately on the vellum, fastening it ateach turn with a stitch in silk. Little by little the great golden lilyblossomed out. 

Soon she continued: "Yes, what I would like above all would be to marrya prince--a prince whom I had never seen; who would come towards sunset, just before the waning daylight, and would take me by the hand and leadme to his palace. And I should wish him to be very handsome, as well asvery rich! Yes, the most beautiful and the wealthiest man that had everbeen seen on the earth! He should have superb horses that I could hearneighing under my windows, and jewels which he would pour in streamsinto my lap, and gold that would fall from my hands in a deluge when Iopened them. And what I wish still further is, that this prince ofmine should love me to distraction, so that I might also love himdesperately. We would then remain very young, very good, and very noble, for ever!"

Hubert, leaving his work, had approached her smilingly; whilstHubertine, in a friendly way, shook her finger at the young girl. 

"Oh, what a vain little creature! Ah! ambitious child, you are quiteincorrigible. Now, you are quite beside yourself with your need of beinga queen. At all events such a dream is much better than to steal sugarand to be impertinent. But really, you must not indulge in such fancies. It is the Evil One who prompts them, and it is pride that speaks, aswell as passion. "

Gay and candid, Angelique looked her in the face as she said: "Butmother, mother mine, what are you saying? Is it, then, a sin to lovethat which is rich and beautiful? I love it because it is rich andbeautiful, and so cheers my heart and soul. A beautiful object brightenseverything that is near it, and helps one to live, as the sun does. Youknow very well that I am not selfish. Money? Oh! you would see what agood use I would make of it, if only I had it in abundance! I would rainit over the town; it should be scattered among the miserable. Think whata blessing it would be to have no more poverty! In the first place, as for you and my father, I would give you everything. You should bedressed in robes and garments of brocades, like the lords and ladies ofthe olden time. "

Hubertine shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "It is ridiculous, " shesaid. "But, my dear child, you must remember that you are poor, and thatyou have not a penny for your marriage-portion. How can you, then, for amoment dream of a prince? Are you, then, so desirous to marry a prince?"

"Why should not I wish to marry such a man?" And she looked quiteamazed, as she continued: "Marry him? Of course I would do so. Since hewould have plenty of money, what difference would it make if I had none?I should owe everything to him, and on that very account I should lovehim all the more deeply. "

This victorious reasoning enchanted Hubert, who seemed carried above theearth by Angelique's enthusiasm. He would willingly have accompanied heron the wings of a cloud to the regions of fancy. 

"She is right, " he exclaimed. 

But his wife glanced at him reprovingly. She became quite stern. 

"My child, you will think differently later on, when you know lifebetter. "

"Life?--but I know it already. "

"How is it possible for you to know it? You are too young; you areignorant of evil. Yet evil exists and is very powerful. "

"Evil--evil?"

Angelique repeated the word very slowly, as if to penetrate its meaning. And in her pure eyes was a look of innocent surprise. Evil? She knew allabout it, for she had read of it in the "Golden Legend. " Was notevil Satan himself? And had not she seen how, although he constantlyreappeared, he was always overthrown? After every battle he remainedcrushed to earth, thoroughly conquered, and in a most pitiable state. 

"Evil? Ah, mother mine, if you knew how little I fear it! It is onlynecessary once to conquer it and afterwards life is all happiness. "

Hubertine appeared troubled and looked anxious. 

"You will make me almost regret having brought you up in this house, alone with us two, and away from the world as it were. I am reallyafraid that some day we shall regret having kept you in such completeignorance of the realities of life. What Paradise are you looking for?What is your idea of the world?"

A look of hope brightened the face of the young girl, while, bendingforward, she still moved the bobbin back and forth with a continuous, even motion. 

"You then really think, mother, that I am very foolish, do you not? Thisworld is full of brave people. When one is honest and industrious, oneis always rewarded. I know also that there are some bad people, but theydo not count. We do not associate with them, and they are soon punishedfor their misdeeds. And then, you see, as for the world, it produces onme, from a distance, the effect of a great garden; yes, of an immensepark, all filled with flowers and with sunshine. It is such a blessingto live, and life is so sweet that it cannot be bad. "

She grew excited, as if intoxicated by the brightness of the silks andthe gold threads she manipulated so well with her skilful fingers. 

"Happiness is a very simple thing. We are happy, are we not? All threeof us? And why? Simply because we love each other. Then, after all, itis no more difficult than that; it is only necessary to love and tobe loved. So, you see, when the one I expect really comes, we shallrecognise each other immediately. It is true I have not yet seen him, but I know exactly what he ought to be. He will enter here and will say:'I have come in search of you. ' And I shall reply: 'I expected you, andwill go with you. ' He will take me with him, and our future will be atonce decided upon. He will go into a palace, where all the furniturewill be of gold, encrusted in diamonds. Oh, it is all very simple!"

"You are crazy; so do not talk any more, " interrupted Hubertine, coldly. 

And seeing that the young girl was still excited, and ready to continueto indulge her fancies, she continued to reprove her. 

"I beg you to say no more, for you absolutely make me tremble. Unhappychild! When we really marry you to some poor mortal you will be crushed, as you fall to earth from these heights of the imagination. Happiness, for the greater part of the world, consists in humility and obedience. "

Angelique continued to smile with an almost obstinate tranquillity. 

"I expect him, and he will come. "

"But she is right, " exclaimed Hubert, again carried away by herenthusiasm. "Why need you scold her? She is certainly pretty, and daintyenough for a king. Stranger things than that have happened, and whoknows what may come?"

Sadly Hubertine looked at him with her calm eyes. 

"Do not encourage her to do wrong, my dear. You know, better thananyone, what it costs to follow too much the impulses of one's heart. "

He turned deadly pale, and great tears came to the edge of his eyelids. She immediately repented of having reproved him, and rose to offer himher hands. But gently disengaging himself, he said, stammeringly:

"No, no, my dear; I was wrong. Angelique, do you understand me? You mustalways listen to your mother. She alone is wise, and we are both of usvery foolish. I am wrong; yes, I acknowledge it. "

Too disturbed to sit down, leaving the cope upon which he had beenworking, he occupied himself in pasting a banner that was finished, although still in its frame. After having taken the pot of Flemish gluefrom the chest of drawers, he moistened with a brush the underside ofthe material, to make the embroidery firmer. His lips still trembled, and he remained quiet. 

But if Angelique, in her obedience, was also still, she allowed herthoughts to follow their course, and her fancies mounted higher andstill higher. She showed it in every feature--in her mouth, that ecstasyhad half opened, as well as in her eyes, where the infinite depth of hervisions seemed reflected. Now, this dream of a poor girl, she wove itinto the golden embroidery. It was for this unknown hero that, littleby little, there seemed to grow on the white satin the beautiful greatlilies, and the roses, and the monogram of the Blessed Virgin. The stemsof the lilies had all the gracious pointings of a jet of light, whilstthe long slender leaves, made of spangles, each one being sewed on withgold twist, fell in a shower of stars. In the centre, the initials ofMary were like the dazzling of a relief in massive gold, a marvellousblending of lacework and of embossing, or goffering, which burnt likethe glory of a tabernacle in the mystic fire of its rays. And the rosesof delicately-coloured silks seemed real, and the whole chasuble wasresplendent in its whiteness of satin, which appeared covered almostmiraculously with its golden blossoms. 

After a long silence, Angelique, whose cheeks were flushed by the bloodwhich mounted into them from her excitement, raised her head, and, looking at Hubertine, said again, a little maliciously:

"I expect him, and he will come. "

It was absurd for her thus to give loose reins to her imagination. Butshe was willful. She was convinced in her own mind that everything wouldcome to pass, eventually, as she wished it might. Nothing could weakenher happy conviction. 

"Mother, " she added, "why do you not believe me, since I assure you itmust be as I say?"

Hubertine shrugged her shoulders, and concluded the best thing for herto do was to tease her. 

"But I thought, my child, that you never intended being married. Yoursaints, who seem to have turned your head, they led single lives. Ratherthan do otherwise they converted their lovers, ran away from theirhomes, and were put to death. "

The young girl listened and was confused. But soon she laughed merrily. Her perfect health, and all her love of life, rang out in this sonorousgaiety. "The histories of the saints! But that was ages ago! Times haveentirely changed since then. God having so completely triumphed, nolonger demands that anyone should die for Him. "

When reading the Legend, it was the marvels which fascinated her, notthe contempt of the world and the desire for death. She added: "Mostcertainly I expect to be married; to love and to be loved, and thus bevery happy. "

"Be careful, my dear, " said Hubertine, continuing to tease her. "Youwill make your guardian angel, Saint Agnes, weep. Do not you know thatshe refused the son of the Governor, and preferred to die, that shemight be wedded to Jesus?"

The great clock of the belfry began to strike; numbers of sparrows flewdown from an enormous ivy-plant which framed one of the windows ofthe apse. In the workroom, Hubert, still silent, had just hung up thebanner, moist from the glue, that it might dry, on one of the great ironhooks fastened to the wall. 

The sun in the course of the morning had lightened up different partsof the room, and now it shone brightly upon the old tools--the diligent, the wicker winder, and the brass chandelier--and as its rays fell uponthe two workers, the frame at which they were seated seemed almoston fire, with its bands polished by use, and with the various objectsplaced upon it, the reels of gold cord, the spangles, and the bobbins ofsilk. 

Then, in this soft, charming air of spring, Angelique looked atthe beautiful symbolic lily she had just finished. Opening wide heringenuous eyes, she replied, with an air of confiding happiness, toHubertine's last remark in regard to the child-martyr, Saint Agnes:

"Ah, yes! But it was Jesus who wished it to be so. "

CHAPTER V

Notwithstanding her thoroughly cheerful nature, Angelique likedsolitude; and it was to her the greatest of recreations to be alonein her room, morning and evening. There she gave herself up to herthoughts; there she indulged to the full scope in her most joyousfancies. Sometimes even during the day, when she could go there for amoment, she was as happy as if, in full freedom, she had committed somechildish prank. 

The chamber was very large, taking in at least half of the upper story, the other half being the garret. It was whitewashed everywhere; not onlythe walls and the beams, but the joists, even to the visible copings ofthe mansard part of the roof; and in this bare whiteness, the old oakenfurniture seemed almost as black as ebony. At the time of the decorationof the sleeping-room below, and the improvements made in the parlour, the ancient furniture, which had been bought at various epochs, hadbeen carried upstairs. There was a great carved chest of the Renaissanceperiod, a table and chairs which dated from the reign of Louis XIII, anenormous bedstead, style Louis XIV, and a very handsome wardrobe, LouisXV. In the middle of these venerable old things a white porcelain stove, and the little toilet-table, covered with a pretty oilcloth, seemed outof place and to mar the dull harmony. Curtained with an old-fashionedrose-coloured chintz, on which were bouquets of heather, so faded thatthe colour had become a scarcely perceptible pink, the enormous bedsteadpreserved above all the majesty of its great age. 

But what pleased Angelique more than anything else was the littlebalcony on which the window opened. Of the two original windows, oneof them, that at the left, had been closed by simply fastening it withnails, and the balcony, which formerly extended across the front ofthe building, was now only before the window at the right. As the lowerbeams were still strong, a new floor had been made, and above it aniron railing was firmly attached in place of the old worm-eaten woodenbalustrade. This made a charming little corner, a quiet nook under thegable point, the leaden laths of which had been renewed at the beginningof the century. By bending over a little, the whole garden-front of thehouse could be seen in a very dilapidated state, with its sub-basementof little cut stones, its panels ornamented with imitation bricks, andits large bay window, which to-day had been made somewhat smaller. Theroof of the great porch of the kitchen-door was covered with zinc. Andabove, the interduces of the top, which projected three feet or more, were strengthened by large, upright pieces of wood, the ends of whichrested on the string-course of the first floor. All this gave to thebalcony an appearance of being in a perfect vegetation of timber, as ifin the midst of a forest of old wood, which was green with wallflowersand moss. 

Since she occupied the chamber, Angelique had spent many hours there, leaning over the balustrade and simply looking. At first, directlyunder her was the garden, darkened by the eternal shade of the evergreenbox-trees; in the corner nearest the church, a cluster of smalllilac-bushes surrounded an old granite bench; while in the oppositecorner, half hidden by a beautiful ivy which covered the whole wallat the end as if with a mantle, was a little door opening upon theClos-Marie, a vast, uncultivated field. This Clos-Marie was the oldorchard of the monks. A rivulet of purest spring-water crossed it, theChevrotte, where the women who occupied the houses in the neighbourhoodhad the privilege of washing their linen; certain poor people shelteredthemselves in the ruins of an old tumble-down mill; and no other personsinhabited this field, which was connected with the Rue Magloire simplyby the narrow lane of the Guerdaches, which passed between the highwalls of the Bishop's Palace and those of the Hotel Voincourt. Insummer, the centenarian elms of the two parks barred with theirgreen-leaved tops the straight, limited horizon which in the centrewas cut off by the gigantic brow of the Cathedral. Thus shut in onall sides, the Clos-Marie slept in the quiet peace of its abandonment, overrun with weeds and wild grass, planted with poplars and willows sownby the wind. Among the great pebbles the Chevrotte leaped, singing as itwent, and making a continuous music as if of crystal. 

Angelique was never weary of this out-of-the-way nook. Yet for sevenyears she had seen there each morning only what she had looked at on theprevious evening. The trees in the little park of the Hotel Voincourt, whose front was on the Grand Rue, were so tufted and bushy that itwas only in the winter she could occasionally catch a glimpse of thedaughter of the Countess, Mademoiselle Claire, a young girl of her ownage. 

In the garden of the Bishop was a still more dense thickness ofbranches, and she had often tried in vain to distinguish there theviolet-coloured cassock of Monseigneur; and the old gate, with itsVenetian slats above and at the sides, must have been fastened up fora very long time, for she never remembered to have seen it opened, noteven for a gardener to pass through. Besides the washerwomen in theClos, she always saw the same poor, ragged little children playing orsleeping in the grass. 

The spring this year was unusually mild. She was just sixteen years ofage, and until now she had been glad to welcome with her eyes alonethe growing green again of the Clos-Marie under the April sunshine. The shooting out of the tender leaves, the transparency of the warmevenings, and all the reviving odours of the earth had simply amused herheretofore. But this year, at the first bud, her heart seemed to beatmore quickly. As the grass grew higher and the wind brought to her allthe strong perfumes of the fresh verdure, there was in her whole beingan increasing agitation. Sudden inexplicable pain would at times seizeher throat and almost choke her. One evening she threw herself, weeping, into Hubertine's arms, having no cause whatever for grief, but, on thecontrary, overwhelmed with so great, unknown a happiness, that her heartwas too full for restraint. In the night her dreams were delightful. Shadows seemed to pass before her, and she fell into such an ecstaticstate that on awakening she did not dare to recall them, so confusedwas she by the angelic visions of bliss. Sometimes, in the middle of hergreat bed, she would rouse herself suddenly, her two hands joined andpressed against her breast as if a heavy burden were weighing her downand almost suffocating her. She would then jump up, rush across theroom in her bare feet, and, opening the window wide, would stand there, trembling slightly, until at last the pure fresh air calmed her. Shewas continually surprised at this great change in herself, as if theknowledge of joys and griefs hitherto unknown had been revealed toher in the enchantment of dreams, and that her eyes had been opened tonatural beauties which surrounded her. 

What--was it really true that the unseen lilacs and laburnums of theBishop's garden had so sweet an odour that she could no longer breatheit without a flush of colour mounting to her cheeks? Never before hadshe perceived this warmth of perfume which now touched her as if with aliving breath. 

And again, why had she never remarked in preceding years a greatJapanese Paulownia in blossom, which looked like an immense violetbouquet as it appeared between two elm-trees in the garden of theVoincourts? This year, as soon as she looked at it, her eyes grewmoist, so much was she affected by the delicate tints of the pale purpleflowers. She also fancied that the Chevrotte had never chatteredso gaily over the pebbles among the willows on its banks. The rivercertainly talked; she listened to its vague words, constantly repeated, which filled her heart with trouble. Was it, then, no longer the fieldof other days, that everything in it so astonished her and affected hersenses in so unusual a way? Or, rather, was not she herself so changedthat, for the first time, she appreciated the beauty of the coming intolife of trees and plants?

But the Cathedral at her right, the enormous mass which obstructed thesky, surprised her yet more. Each morning she seemed to see it for thefirst time; she made constant discoveries in it, and was delighted tothink that these old stones lived and had lived like herself. She didnot reason at all on the subject, she had very little knowledge, butshe gave herself up to the mystic flight of the giant, whose coming intoexistence had demanded three centuries of time, and where were placedone above the other the faith and the belief of generations. At thefoundation, it was kneeling as if crushed by prayer, with the Romanesquechapels of the nave, and with the round arched windows, plain, unornamented, except by slender columns under the archivolts. Then itseemed to rise, lifting its face and hands towards heaven, with thepointed windows of its nave, built eighty years later; high, delicatewindows, divided by mullions on which were broken bows and roses. Thenagain it sprung from the earth as if in ecstasy, erect, with the piersand flying buttresses of the choir finished and ornamented two centuriesafter in the fullest flamboyant Gothic, charged with its bell-turrets, spires, and pinnacles. A balustrade had been added, ornamented withtrefoils, bordering the terrace on the chapels of the apse. Gargoyles atthe foot of the flying buttresses carried off the water from the roofs. The top was also decorated with flowery emblems. The whole edificeseemed to burst into blossom in proportion as it approached the sky ina continual upward flight, as if, relieved at being delivered from theancient sacerdotal terror, it was about to lose itself in the bosom of aGod of pardon and of love. It seemed to have a physical sensation whichpermeated it, made it light and happy, like a sacred hymn it had justheard sung, very pure and holy, as it passed into the upper air. 

Moreover, the Cathedral was alive. Hundreds of swallows had constructedtheir nests under the borders of trefoil, and even in the hollows of thebell-turrets and the pinnacles, and they were continually brushing theirwings against the flying buttresses and the piers which they inhabited. There were also the wood-pigeons of the elms in the Bishop's garden, whoheld themselves up proudly on the borders of the terraces, going slowly, as if walking merely to show themselves off. Sometimes, half lost inthe blue sky, looking scarcely larger than a fly, a crow alighted onthe point of a spire to smooth its wings. The old stones themselves wereanimated by the quiet working of the roots of a whole flora of plants, the lichens and the grasses, which pushed themselves through theopenings in the walls. On very stormy days the entire apse seemed toawake and to grumble under the noise of the rain as it beat against theleaden tiles of the roof, running off by the gutters of the cornices androlling from story to story with the clamour of an overflowing torrent. Even the terrible winds of October and of March gave to it a soul, adouble voice of anger and of supplication, as they whistled throughits forests of gables and arcades of roseate ornaments and of littlecolumns. The sun also filled it with life from the changing play ofits rays; from the early morning, which rejuvenated it with a delicategaiety, even to the evening, when, under the slightly lengthened-outshadows, it basked in the unknown. 

And it had its interior existence. The ceremonies with which it was evervibrating, the constant swinging of its bells, the music of the organ, and the chanting of the priests, all these were like the pulsation ofits veins. There was always a living murmur in it: half-lost sounds, like the faint echo of a Low Mass; the rustling of the kneelingpenitents, a slight, scarcely perceptible shivering, nothing but thedevout ardour of a prayer said without words and with closed lips. 

Now, as the days grew longer, Angelique passed more and more time in themorning and evening with her elbows on the balustrade of the balcony, side by side with her great friend, the Cathedral. She loved it the bestat night, when she saw the enormous mass detach itself like a huge blockon the starry skies. The form of the building was lost. It was withdifficulty that she could even distinguish the flying buttresses, whichwere thrown like bridges into the empty space. It was, nevertheless, awake in the darkness, filled with a dream of seven centuries, madegrand by the multitudes who had hoped or despaired before its altars. It was a continual watch, coming from the infinite of the past, going tothe eternity of the future; the mysterious and terrifying wakefulnessof a house where God Himself never sleeps. And in the dark, motionless, living mass, her looks were sure to seek the window of a chapel of thechoir, on the level of the bushes of the Clos-Marie, the only one whichwas lighted up, and which seemed like an eye which was kept open allthe night. Behind it, at the corner of a pillar, was an ever-burningaltar-lamp. In fact, it was the same chapel which the abbots of old hadgiven to Jean V d'Hautecoeur, and to his descendants, with the right ofbeing buried there, in return for their liberality. Dedicated to SaintGeorge, it had a stained-glass window of the twelfth century, on whichwas painted the legend of the saint. From the moment of the coming on oftwilight, this historic representation came out from the shade, lighted up as if it were an apparition, and that was why Angelique wasfascinated, and loved this particular point, as she gazed at it with herdreamy eyes. 

The background of the window was blue and the edges red. Upon thissombre richness of colouring, the personages, whose flying draperiesallowed their limbs to be seen, stood out in relief in clear lighton the glass. Three scenes of the Legend, placed one above the other, filled the space quite to the upper arch. At the bottom, the daughter ofthe king, dressed in costly royal robes, on her way from the city to beeaten by the dreadful monster, meets Saint George near the pond, fromwhich the head of the dragon already appears; and a streamer of silkbears these words: "Good Knight, do not run any danger for me, as youcan neither help me nor deliver me, but will have to perish with me. "Then in the middle the combat takes place, and the saint, on horseback, cuts the beast through and through. This is explained by the followingwords: "George wielded so well his lance that he wounded the enemy andthrew him upon the earth. " At last, at the top, the Princess is seenleading back into the city the conquered dragon: "George said, 'Tie yourscarf around his neck, and do not be afraid of anything, oh beautifulmaiden, for when you have done so he will follow you like a well-traineddog. '"

When the window was new it must have been surmounted in the middle ofthe arch by an ornamental design. But later, when the chapel belonged tothe Hautecoeurs, they replaced the original work by their family coatof arms. And that was why, in the obscure nights, armorial bearings ofa more recent date shown out above the painted legend. They were theold family arms of Hautecoeur, quartered with the well-known shield ofJerusalem; the latter being argent, a cross potencee, or, between fourcrosselettes of the same; and those of the family, azure, a castle, or, on it a shield, sable, charged with a human heart, argent, the wholebetween three fleurs-de-lys, or; the shield was supported on the dexterand sinister sides by two wyverns, or; and surmounted by the silverhelmet with its blue feathers, embossed in gold, placed frontwise, andclosed by eleven bars, which belongs only to Dukes, Marshals of France, titled Lords and heads of Sovereign Corporations. And for motto werethese words: "_Si Dieu volt, ie vueil_. "

Little by little, from having seen him piercing the monster withhis lance, whilst the king's daughter raised her clasped hands insupplication, Angelique became enamoured of Saint George. He was herhero. At the distance where she was she could not well distinguish thefigures, and she looked at them as if in the aggrandisement of a dream;the young girl was slight, was a blonde, and, in short, had a face notunlike her own, while the saint was frank and noble looking, with thebeauty of an archangel. It was as if she herself had just been saved, and she could have kissed his hands with gratitude. And to thisadventure, of which she dreamed confusedly, of a meeting on the borderof a lake and of being rescued from a great danger by a young man morebeautiful than the day, was added the recollection of her excursionto the Chateau of Hautecoeur, and a calling up to view of the feudaldonjon, in its original state, peopled with the noble lords of oldentimes. 

The arms glistened like the stars on summer nights; she knew them well, she read them easily, with their sonorous words, for she was so in thehabit of embroidering heraldic symbols. There was Jean V, who stoppedfrom door to door in the town ravaged by the plague, and went in tokiss the lips of the dying, and cured them by saying, "_Si Dieu volt, ie vueil_. " And Felician III, who, forewarned that a severe illnessprevented Philippe le Bel from going to Palestine, went there in hisplace, barefooted and holding a candle in his hand, and for that he hadthe right of quartering the arms of Jerusalem with his own. Other andyet other histories came to her mind, especially those of the ladies ofHautecoeur, the "happy dead, " as they were called in the Legend. Inthat family the women die young, in the midst of some great happiness. Sometimes two or three generations would be spared, then suddenly Deathwould appear, smiling, as with gentle hands he carried away the daughteror the wife of a Hautecoeur, the oldest of them being scarcely twentyyears of age, at the moment when they were at the height of earthly loveand bliss. For instance, Laurette, daughter of Raoul I, on the eveningof her betrothal to her cousin Richard, who lived in the castle, havingseated herself at her window in the Tower of David, saw him at hiswindow in the Tower of Charlemagne, and, thinking she heard him callher, as at that moment a ray of moonlight seemed to throw a bridgebetween them, she walked toward him. But when in the middle she made inher haste a false step and overpassed the ray, she fell, and was crushedat the foot of the tower. So since that day, each night when the moon isbright and clear, she can be seen walking in the air around the Chateau, which is bathed in white by the silent touch of her immense robe. ThenBalbine, wife of Herve VII, thought for six months that her husband hadbeen killed in the wars. But, unwilling to give up all hope, she watchedfor him daily from the top of the donjon, and when at last she saw himone morning on the highway, returning to his home, she ran down quicklyto meet him, but was so overcome with joy, that she fell dead at theentrance of the castle. Even at this day, notwithstanding the ruins, assoon as twilight falls, it is said she still descends the steps, runsfrom story to story, glides through the corridors and the rooms, andpasses like a phantom through the gaping windows which open into thedesert void. All return. Isabeau, Gudule, Vonne, Austreberthe, all these"happy dead, " loved by the stern messenger, who spared them from thevicissitudes of life by taking them suddenly when, in early youth, theythought only of happiness. On certain nights this white-robed band fillthe house as if with a flight of doves. To their number had lately beenadded the mother of the son of Monseigneur, who was found lifeless onthe floor by the cradle of her infant, where, although ill, she draggedherself to die, in the fullness of her delight at embracing him. Thesehad haunted the imagination of Angelique; she spoke of them as if theywere facts of recent occurrence, which might have happened the daybefore. She had read the names of Laurette and of Balbine on oldmemorial tablets let into the walls of the chapel. Then why should notshe also die young and very happy, as they had? The armouries wouldglisten as now, the saint would come down from his place in thestained-glass window, and she would be carried away to heaven on thesweet breath of a kiss. Why not?

The "Golden Legend" had taught her this: Was not it true that themiracle is really the common law, and follows the natural course ofevents? It exists, is active, works with an extreme facility onevery occasion, multiplies itself, spreads itself out, overflows evenuselessly, as if for the pleasure of contradicting the self-evidentrules of Nature. Its power seems to be on the same plane as that of theCreator. Albrigan, King of Edeese, writes to Jesus, who replies to him. Ignatius receives letters from the Blessed Virgin. In all places theMother and the Son appear, disguise themselves, and talk with an air ofsmiling good-nature. When Stephen meets them they are very familiar withhim. All the virgins are wed to Jesus, and the martyrs mount to heaven, where they are to be united to Mary. And as for the angels and saints, they are the ordinary companions of men. They come, they go, they passthrough walls, they appear in dreams, they speak from the height ofclouds, they assist at births and deaths, they support those who aretortured, they deliver those who are in prison, and they go on dangerousmissions. Following in their footsteps is an inexhaustible efflorescenceof prodigies. Sylvester binds the mouth of a dragon with a thread. The earth rises to make a seat for Hilary, whose companions wished tohumiliate him. A precious stone falls into the chalice of Saint Loup. Atree crushes the enemies of Saint Martin; a dog lets loose a hare, anda great fire ceases to burn at his command. Mary the Egyptian walksupon the sea; honey-bees fly from the mouth of Ambrosius at his birth. Continually saints cure diseases of the eye, withered limbs, paralysis, leprosy, and especially the plague. There is no disease that resists thesign of the Cross. In a crowd, the suffering and the feeble are placedtogether, that they may be cured in a mass, as if by a thunderbolt. Death itself is conquered, and resurrections are so frequent that theybecome quite an everyday affair. And when the saints themselves aredead the wonders do not cease, but are redoubled, and are like perennialflowers which spring from their tombs. It is said that from the head andthe feet of Nicholas flowed two fountains of oil which cured every ill. When the tomb of Saint Cecilia was opened an odour of roses came up fromher coffin. That of Dorothea was filled with manna. All the bones ofvirgins and of martyrs performed marvels: they confounded liars, theyforced robbers to give back their stolen goods, they granted the prayersof childless wives, they brought the dying back to life. Nothing wasimpossible for them; in fact the Invisible reigned, and the only lawwas the caprice of the supernatural. In the temples the sorcerers mixthemselves up with the popular idea, and scythes cut the grass withoutbeing held, brass serpents move, and one hears bronze statues laugh andwolves sing. Immediately the saints reply and overwhelm them. The Hostis changed into living food, sacred Christian images shed drops ofblood, sticks set upright in the ground blossom into flower, springsof pure water appear in dry places, warm loaves of bread multiplythemselves at the feet of the needy, a tree bows down before some holyperson, and so on. Then, again, decapitated heads speak, broken chalicesmend themselves, the rain turns aside from a church to submerge aneighbouring palace, the robes of hermits never wear out, but renewthemselves at each season like the skin of a beast. In Armenia at onetime the persecutors threw into the sea the leaden coffins of fivemartyrs, and the one containing the body of Saint Bartholomew theApostle took the lead, and the four others accompanied it as a guard ofhonour. So, all together, in regular order, like a fine squadron, theyfloated slowly along, urged by the breeze, through the whole length ofthe sea, until they reached the shores of Sicily. 

Angelique was a firm believer in miracles. In her ignorance she livedsurrounded by wonders. The rising of the stars, or the opening of aviolet; each fact was a surprise to her. It would have appeared to hersimply ridiculous to have imagined the world so mechanical as tobe governed by fixed laws. There were so many things far beyond hercomprehension, she felt herself so weak and helpless in the midst offorces whose power it was impossible to measure, that she would not evenhave suspected they existed, had it not been for the great questioningbreath which at times passed over her face. So, trusting, andas thoroughly Christian as if belonging to the primitive Church, spiritually fed by her readings from the "Golden Legend, " she gaveherself up entirely into the hands of God, with only the spot oforiginal sin to be cleansed from her soul. She had no liberty of actionor freedom of will; God alone could secure her salvation by givingher the gift of His grace. That grace had been already manifested bybringing her to the hospitable roof of the Huberts, where, under theshadow of the Cathedral, she could lead a life of submission, of purity, and of faith. She often heard within her soul the grumblings of hereditytendency to evil, and asked herself what would have become of her hadshe been left on her native soil. Without doubt she would have been bad;while here, in this blessed corner of the earth, she had grown up freefrom temptation, strong and healthy. Was it not grace that had given herthis home, where she was surrounded by such charming histories she hadso easily committed to memory, where she had learned such perfect faithin the present and hope in the future, and where the invisible andunknown, or the miracles of ages, seemed natural to her, and quite ona level with her daily life? It had armed her for all combats, asheretofore it had armed the martyrs. And she created an imaginaryexperience for herself almost unknowingly. It was, in fact, theinevitable result of a mind overcharged and excited by fables; it wasincreased by her ignorance of the life within and about her, as wellas from her loneliness. She had not had many companions, so all desireswent from her only to return to her. 

Sometimes she was in such a peculiar state that she would put her handsover her face, as if doubting her own identity. Was she herself onlyan illusion, and would she suddenly disappear some day and vanish intonothingness? Who would tell her the truth?

One evening in the following May, on this same balcony where she hadspent so much time in vague dreams, she suddenly broke into tears. She was not low-spirited in the least, but it seemed to her as if heranxiety arose from a vain expectation of a visit from someone. Yet whowas there to come? It was very dark; the Clos-Marie marked itself outlike a great black spot under the sky filled with stars, and she couldbut vaguely distinguish the heavy masses of the old elm-trees of theBishop's garden, and of the park of the Hotel Voincourt. Alone thewindow of the chapel sent out a little light. If no one were to come, why did her heart beat so rapidly? It was nothing new, this feeling ofwaiting, or of hope, but it was dated from the long ago, from her earlyyouth; it was like a desire, a looking forward for something whichhad grown with her growth, and ended in this feverish anxiety of herseventeen years. Nothing would have surprised her, as for weeks shehad heard the sound of voices in this mysterious corner, peopled by herimagination. The "Golden Legend" had left there its supernatural worldof saints and martyrs, and the miracle was all ready to appear there. She understood well that everything was animated, that the voices camefrom objects hitherto silent; that the leaves of the trees, the watersof the Chevrotte, and the stones of the Cathedral spoke to her. But whatwas it that all these whisperings from the Invisible wished to explain?What did these unknown forces above and around her wish to do with heras they floated in the air? She kept her eyes fixed upon the darkness, as if she were at an appointed meeting with she knew not whom, andshe waited, still waited, until she was overcome with sleep, whilst itseemed to her as if some supernatural power were deciding her destiny, irrespective of her will or wish. 

For four evenings Angelique was nervous, and wept a great deal inthe darkness. She remained in her usual place and was patient. Theatmosphere seemed to envelope her, and as it increased in density itoppressed her more and more, as if the horizon itself had become smallerand was shutting her in. Everything weighed upon her heart. Now therewas a dull murmuring of voices in her brain; yet she was not able tohear them clearly, or to distinguish their meaning. It was as if Natureitself had taken possession of her, and the earth, with the vast heavensabove it, had penetrated into her being. At the least sound her handsburned and her eyes tried to pierce the darkness. Was the wonderfulevent about to take place, the prodigy she awaited? No, there wasnothing yet. It was probably merely the beating of the wings of a nightbird. And she listened again, attentively, until she could distinguishthe difference of sound between the leaves of the elms and the willows. At least twenty times she trembled violently when a little stone rolledin the rivulet, or a prowling animal jumped over the wall. She leanedforward; but there was nothing--still nothing. 

At last, after some days, when at night a warmer darkness fell from thesky where no moon was visible, a change began. She felt it, but it wasso slight, so almost imperceptible, she feared that she might have beenmistaken in the little sound she heard, which seemed unlike the usualnoises she knew so well. She held her breath, as the sound seemedvery long in returning. At last it came again, louder than before, butequally confused. She would have said it came from a great distance, that it was a scarcely-defined step, and that the trembling of the airannounced the approach of something out of sight and out of hearing. That which she was expecting came slowly from the invisible slightmovement of what surrounded her. Little by little it disengaged itselffrom her dream, like a realisation of the vague longings of her youth. Was it the Saint George of the chapel window, who had come down from hisplace and was walking on the grass in silence towards her? Just then, by chance, the altar-light was dimmed, so that she could not distinguishthe faintest outline of the figures on the painted glass, but all seemedlike a blue cloud of vapoury mist. That was all she heard or learned atthat time of the mystery. 

But on the morrow, at the same hour, by a like obscurity, the noiseincreased and approached a little nearer. It was certainly the sound ofsteps, of real steps, which walked upon the earth. They would stop for amoment, then recommence here and there, moving up and down, without herbeing able to say precisely where they were. Perhaps they came fromthe garden of the Voincourts, where some night pedestrian was lingeringunder the trees. Or it might be, rather, that they were in the tuftedmasses of the great lilac-bushes of the park of the Bishop, whose strongperfume made her almost ill. She might do her best to try to penetratethe darkness, it was only by her hearing that she was forewarned of thecoming events, aided a little by her sense of smell, as the perfume ofthe flowers was increased as if a breath were mingled with it. Andso for several nights the steps resounded under the balcony, and shelistened as they came nearer, until they reached the walls under herfeet. There they stopped, and a long silence followed, until she seemedalmost to lose consciousness in this slow embrace of something of whichshe was ignorant. 

Not long after, she saw one evening the little crescent of the new moonappear among the stars. But it soon disappeared behind the brow ofthe Cathedral, like a bright, living eye that the lid re-covers. She followed it with regret, and at each nightfall she awaited itsappearance, watched its growth, and was impatient for this torch whichwould ere long light up the invisible. In fact, little by little, theClos-Marie came out from the obscurity, with the ruins of its old mill, its clusters of trees, and its rapid little river. And then, in thelight, creation continued. That which came from a vision ended in beingembodied. For at first she only perceived that a dim shadow was movingunder the moonlight. What was it, then? A branch moved to and fro by thewind? Or was it a large bat in constant motion? There were moments wheneverything disappeared, and the field slept in so deathly a stillnessthat she thought her eyes had deceived her. Soon there was no longer anydoubt possible, for a dark object had certainly just crossed the openspace and had glided from one willow-tree to another. It appeared, thendisappeared, without her being able exactly to define it. 

One evening she thought she distinguished the dim outline of twoshoulders, and at once she turned her eyes towards the chapel window. Ithad a greyish tint, as if empty, for the moon shining directly uponit had deadened the light within. At that moment she noticed that theliving shadow grew larger, as it approached continually nearer andnearer, walking in the grass at the side of the church. In proportion asshe realised it was a fact that someone was there, she was overcome byan indefinable sensation, a nervous feeling that one has on being lookedat by mysterious unseen eyes. 

Certainly someone was there under the trees who was regarding herfixedly. She had on her hands and face, as it were, a physicalimpression of those long, ardent, yet timid looks; but she did notwithdraw herself from them, because she knew they were pure, and camefrom the enchanted world of which she had read in the "Golden Legend";and, in the certainty of a promised happiness, her first anxiety wasquickly changed into a delicious tranquillity. 

One night, suddenly, on the ground whitened by the moon's rays, theshadow designed itself plainly and clearly. It was indeed that of a manwhom she could not see, as he was hidden by the willows. As he did notmove, she was able to look for a long time at his shadow. 

From that moment Angelique had a secret. Her bare, whitewashed chamberwas filled with it. She remained there for hours lying on her greatbed--where she seemed lost, she was so little--her eyes closed, but notasleep, and seeing continually before her, in her waking dreams, thismotionless shadow upon the earth. When she re-opened her eyes at dawn, her looks wandered from the enormous wardrobe to the odd carved chest, from the porcelain stove to the little toilet-table, as if surprisedat not seeing there the mysterious silhouette, which she could have soeasily and precisely traced from memory. In her sleep she had seen itgliding among the pale heather-blossoms on her curtains. In her dreams, as in her waking hours, her mind was filled with it. It was a companionshadow to her own. She had thus a double being, although she was alonewith her fancies. 

This secret she confided to no one, not even to Hubertine, to whom, until now, she had always told even her thoughts. When the latter, surprised at her gaiety, questioned her, she blushed deeply as shereplied that the early spring had made her very happy. From morning toevening she hummed little snatches of song, like a bee intoxicatedby the heat of the sun's rays. Never before had the chasubles sheembroidered been so resplendent with silk and gold. The Huberts smiledas they watched her, thinking simply that this exuberance of spiritscame from her state of perfect health. As the day waned she grew moreexcited, she sang at the rising of the moon, and as soon as the hourarrived she hurried to her balcony, and waited for the shadow to appear. During all the first quarters of the moon she found it exact at eachrendezvous, erect and silent. But that was all. What was the causeof it? Why was it there? Was it, indeed, only a shadow? Was not it, perhaps, the saint who had left his window, or the angel who hadformerly loved Saint Cecilia, and who had now come to love her in herturn? Although she was not vain, these thoughts made her proud, and wereas sweet to her as an invisible caress. Then she grew impatient to knowmore, and her watching recommenced. 

The moon, at its full, lighted up the Clos-Marie. When it was at itszenith, the trees, under the white rays which fell straight upon themin perpendicular lines, cast no more shadows, but were like runningfountains of silent brightness. The whole garden was bathed and filledwith a luminous wave as limpid as crystal, and the brilliancy of itwas so penetrating that everything was clearly seen, even to the finecutting of the willow-leaves. The slightest possible trembling of airseemed to wrinkle this lake of rays, sleeping in the universal peaceamong the grand elm-trees of the neighbouring garden and the giganticbrow of the Cathedral. 

Two more evenings had passed like this, when, on the third night, asAngelique was leaning on her elbows and looking out, her heart seemed toreceive a sudden shock. There, in the clear light, she saw him standingbefore her and looking at her. His shadow, like that of the trees, haddisappeared under his feet, and he alone was there, distinctly seen. Atthis distance she saw--as if it were full day--that he was tall, slight, a blonde, and apparently about twenty years of age. He resembled eithera Saint George or a superb picture of Christ, with his curly hair, histhin beard, his straight nose, rather large, and his proudly-smilingblack eyes. And she recognised him perfectly; never had she seen anotherlike him; it was he, her hero, and he was exactly as she expected tofind him. The wonder was at last accomplished; the slow creation of theinvisible had perfected itself in this living apparition, and he cameout from the unknown, from the movement of things, from murmuringvoices, from the action of the night, from all that had enveloped her, until she almost fainted into unconsciousness. She also saw him as if hewere lifted above the earth, so supernatural appeared to be his coming, whilst the miraculous seemed to surround him on every side as it floatedover the mysterious moon-lake. He had as his escort the entire people ofthe Legend--the saints whose staffs blossomed, the virgins whose woundsshed milk--and the stars seemed to pale before this white group ofperfection. 

Angelique continued to look at him. He raised his arms, and held themout, wide open. She was not at all afraid, but smiled sweetly. 

CHAPTER VI

It was a great affair for the whole household when, every three months, Hubertine prepared the "lye" for the wash. A woman was hired to aidthem, the Mother Gabet, as she was called, and for four days allembroidery was laid aside, while Angelique took her part in the unusualwork, making of it a perfect amusement, as she soaped and rinsed theclothes in the clean water of the Chevrotte. The linen when taken fromthe ashes was wheeled to the Clos-Marie, through the little gate ofcommunication in the garden. There the days were spent in the open airand the sunshine. 

"I will do the washing this time, mother, for it is the greatest ofdelights to me. "

And gaily laughing, with her sleeves drawn up above her elbows, flourishing the beetle, Angelique struck the clothes most heartilyin the pleasure of such healthy exercise. It was hard work, but shethoroughly enjoyed it, and only stopped occasionally to say a few wordsor to show her shiny face covered with foam. 

"Look, mother! This makes my arms strong. It does me a world of good. "

The Chevrotte crossed the field diagonally, at first drowsily, then itsstream became very rapid as it was thrown in great bubbles over a pebblydescent. It came from the garden of the Bishop, through a speciesof floodgate left at the foot of the wall, and at the other end itdisappeared under an arched vault at the corner of the Hotel Voincourt, where it was swallowed up in the earth, to reappear two hundred yardsfarther on, as it passed along the whole length of the Rue Basse to theLigneul, into which it emptied itself. Therefore it was very necessaryto watch the linen constantly, for, run as fast as possible, every piecethat was once let go was almost inevitably lost. 

"Mother, wait, wait a little! I will put this heavy stone on thenapkins. We shall then see if the river can carry them away. The littlethief!"

She placed the stone firmly, then returned to draw another from the old, tumble-down mill, enchanted to move about and to fatigue herself; and, although she severely bruised her finger, she merely moistened it alittle, saying, "Oh! that is nothing. "

During the day the poor people who sheltered themselves in the ruinswent out to ask for charity from the passers-by on the highways. So theClos was quite deserted. It was a delicious, fresh solitude, with itsclusters of pale-green willows, its high poplar-trees, and especiallyits verdure, its overflowing of deep-rooted wild herbs and grasses, sohigh that they came up to one's shoulders. A quivering silence came fromthe two neighbouring parks, whose great trees barred the horizon. After three o'clock in the afternoon the shadow of the Cathedralwas lengthened out with a calm sweetness and a perfume of evaporatedincense. 

Angelique continued to beat the linen harder still, with all the forceof her well-shaped white arms. 

"Oh, mother dear! You can have no idea how hungry I shall be thisevening! . . . Ah! you know that you have promised to give me a goodstrawberry-cake. "

On the day of the rinsing, Angelique was quite alone. The _mere_ Gabet, suffering from a sudden, severe attack of sciatica, had not been able tocome as usual, and Hubertine was kept at home by other household cares. 

Kneeling in her little box half filled with straw, the young girl tookthe pieces one by one, shook them for a long time in the swiftly-rollingstream, until the water was no longer dimmed, but had become as clearas crystal. She did not hurry at all, for since the morning she had beentormented by a great curiosity, having seen, to her astonishment, an oldworkman in a white blouse, who was putting up a light scaffolding beforethe window of the Chapel Hautecoeur. Could it be that they were about torepair the stained-glass panes? There was, it must be confessed, greatneed of doing so. Several pieces were wanting in the figure of SaintGeorge, and in other places, where in the course of centuries panes thathad been broken had been replaced by ordinary glass. Still, all this wasirritating to her. She was so accustomed to the gaps of the saint whowas piercing the dragon with his sword, and of the royal princess as sheled the conquered beast along with her scarf, that she already mournedas if one had the intention of mutilating them. It was sacrilege tothink of changing such old, venerable things. But when she returnedto the field after her lunch, all her angry feelings passed awayimmediately; for a second workman was upon the staging, a young man thistime, who also wore a white blouse. And she recognised him! It was he!Her hero!

Gaily, without any embarrassment, Angelique resumed her place on herknees on the straw of her box. Then, with her wrists bare, she put herhands in the deep, clear water, and recommenced shaking the linen backand forth. 

Yes, it was he--tall, slight, a blonde, with his fine beard and his haircurled like that of a god, his complexion as fresh as when she had firstseen him under the white shadow of the moonlight. Since it was he, therewas nothing to be feared for the window; were he to touch it, he wouldonly embellish it. And it was no disappointment to her whatever tofind him in this blouse, a workman like herself, a painter on glass, nodoubt. On the contrary, this fact made her smile, so absolutely certainwas she of the eventual fulfillment of her dream of royal fortune. Now, it was simply an appearance, a beginning. What good would it do herto know who he was, from whence he came, or whither he was going? Somemorning he would prove to be that which she expected him to be. A showerof gold would stream from the roof of the Cathedral, a triumphal marchwould break forth in the distant rumblings of the organ, and all wouldcome true. She did not stay to ask herself how he could always be there, day and night. Yet it was evident either that he must live in one of theneighbouring houses, or he must pass by the lane des Guerdaches, whichran by the side of the Bishop's park to the Rue Magloire. 

Then a charming hour passed by. She bent forward, she rinsed her linen, her face almost touching the fresh water; but each time she took adifferent piece she raised her head, and cast towards the church a look, in which from the agitation of her heart, was a little good-naturedmalice. And he, upon the scaffolding, with an air of being closelyoccupied in examining the state of the window, turned towards her, glancing at her sideways, and evidently much disturbed whenever shesurprised him doing so. It was astonishing how quickly he blushed, howdark red his face became. At the slightest emotion, whether of anger orinterest, all the blood in his veins seemed to mount to his face. He hadflashing eyes, which showed will; yet he was so diffident, that, when heknew he was being criticised, he was embarrassed as a little child, didnot seem to know what to do with his hands, and stammered out his ordersto the old man who accompanied him. 

As for Angelique, that which delighted her most, as she refreshed herarms in this turbulent water, was to picture him innocent like herself, ignorant of the world, and with an equally intense desire to have ataste of life. There was no need of his telling to others who he was, for had not invisible messengers and unseen lips made known to her thathe was to be her own? She looked once more, just as he was turning hishead; and so the minutes passed, and it was delicious. 

Suddenly she saw that he jumped from the staging, then that he walkedbackwards quite a distance through the grass, as if to take a certainposition from which he could examine the window more easily. But shecould not help smiling, so evident was it that he simply wishedto approach her. He had made a firm decision, like a man who riskseverything, and now it was touching as well as comical to see that heremained standing a few steps from her, his back towards her, not daringto move, fearing that he had been too hasty in coming as far as hehad done. For a moment she thought he would go back again to thechapel-window as he had come from it, without paying any attention toher. However, becoming desperate, at last he turned, and as at thatmoment she was glancing in his direction, their eyes met, and theyremained gazing fixedly at each other. They were both deeply confused;they lost their self-possession, and might never have been able toregain it, had not a dramatic incident aroused them. 

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" exclaimed the young girl, in distress. 

In her excitement, a dressing-sacque, which she had been rinsingunconsciously, had just escaped her, and the stream was fast bearing itaway. Yet another minute and it would disappear round the corner of thewall of the Voincourt park, under the arched vault through which theChevrotte passed. 

There were several seconds of anxious waiting. He saw at once what hadhappened, and rushed forward. But the current, leaping over the pebbles, carried this sacque, which seemed possessed, as it went along, much morerapidly than he. He stooped, thinking he had caught it, but took up onlya handful of soapy foam. Twice he failed. The third time he almost fell. Then, quite vexed, with a brave look as if doing something at the perilof his life, he went into the water, and seized the garment just as itwas about being drawn under the ground. 

Angelique, who until now had followed the rescue anxiously, quite upset, as if threatened by a great misfortune, was so relieved that she had anintense desire to laugh. This feeling was partly nervous, it is true, but not entirely so. For was not this the adventure of which she had sooften dreamed? This meeting on the border of a lake; the terrible dangerfrom which she was to be saved by a young man, more beautiful than theday? Saint George, the tribune, the warrior! These were simply united inone, and he was this painter of stained glass, this young workman inhis white blouse! When she saw him coming back, his feet wet throughand through, as he held the dripping camisole awkwardly in his hand, realising the ridiculous side of the energy he had employed in saving itfrom the waves, she was obliged to bite her tongue to check the outburstof gaiety which seemed almost to choke her. 

He forgot himself as he looked at her. She was like a most adorablechild in this restrained mirth with which all her youth seemed tovibrate. Splashed with water, her arms almost chilled by the stream, she seemed to send forth from herself the purity and clearness ofthese living springs which rushed from the mossy woods. She was animpersonation of health, joy, and freshness, in the full sunlight. Onecould easily fancy that she might be a careful housekeeper and a queenwithal as she was there, in her working dress, with her slender waist, her regal neck, her oval face, such as one reads of in fairy-tales. Andhe did not know how to give her back the linen, he found her exquisite, so perfect a representation of the beauty of the art he loved. Itenraged him, in spite of himself, that he should have the air of anidiot, as he plainly saw the effort she made not to laugh. But he wasforced to do something, so at last he gave her back the sacque. 

Then Angelique realised that if she were to open her mouth and try tothank him, she would shout. Poor fellow! She sympathised with him andpitied him. But it was irresistible; she was happy, and needed to giveexpression to it; she must yield to the gaiety with which her heartoverflowed. It was such lovely weather, and all life was so beautiful!

At last she thought she might speak, wishing simply to say: "Thank you, Monsieur. "

But the wish to laugh had returned, and made her stammer, interruptingher at each word. It was a loud, cheery laugh, a sonorous outpouring ofpearly notes, which sang sweetly to the crystalline accompaniment of theChevrotte. 

The young man was so disconcerted that he could find nothing to say. Hisusually pale face had become very red, the timid, childlike expressionof his eyes had changed into a fiery one, like that of an eagle, and hemoved away quickly. He disappeared with the old workman, and even thenshe continued to laugh as she bent over the water, again splashingherself as she shook the clothes hither and thither, rejoicing in thebrightness of the happy day. 

On the morrow he came an hour earlier. But at five o'clock in themorning the linen, which had been dripping all night, was spread out onthe grass. There was a brisk wind, which was excellent for drying. Butin order that the different articles need not be blown away, they werekept in place by putting little pebbles on their four corners. The wholewash was there, looking of a dazzling whiteness among the green herbage, having a strong odour of plants about it, and making the meadow as if ithad suddenly blossomed out into a snowy covering of daisies. 

When Angelique came to look at it after breakfast, she was distressed, for so strong had become the gusts of wind that all threatened to becarried away. Already a sheet had started, and several napkins had goneto fasten themselves to the branches of a willow. She fortunately caughtthem, but then the handkerchiefs began to fly. There was no one to helpher; she was so frightened that she lost all her presence of mind. Whenshe tried to spread out the sheet again, she had a regular battle, for she was quite lost in it, as it covered her with a great cracklingsound. 

Through all the noise of the wind she heard a voice saying, "Mademoiselle, do you wish me to help you?"

It was he, and immediately she cried to him, with no other thought thanher pre-occupation as a good housewife:

"Of course I wish it. Come and help me, then. Take the end over there, nearest to you. Hold it firm!"

The sheet, which they stretched out with their strong arms, flappedbackwards and forwards like a sail. At last they succeeded in putting iton the ground, and then placed upon it much heavier stones than before. And now that, quite conquered, it sank quietly down, neither of themthought of leaving their places, but remained on their knees at theopposite corners, separated by this great piece of pure white linen. 

She smiled, but this time without malice. It was a silent message ofthanks. He became by degrees a little bolder. 

"My name is Felicien. "

"And mine is Angelique. "

"I am a painter on glass, and have been charged to repair thestained-glass window of the chapel here. "

"I live over there with my father and mother, and I am an embroiderer ofchurch vestments. "

The wind, which continued to be strong under the clear blue sky, carriedaway their words, lashed them with its purifying breath in the midst ofthe warm sunshine in which they were bathed. 

They spoke of things which they already knew, as if simply for thepleasure of talking. 

"Is the window, then, to be replaced?"

"No! oh no! it will be so well repaired that the new part cannot bedistinguished from the old. I love it quite as much as you do. "

"Oh! it is indeed true that I love it! I have already embroidered aSaint George, but it was not so beautiful as this one. "

"Oh, not so beautiful! How can you say that? I have seen it, if it isthe Saint George on the chasuble which the Abbot Cornille wore lastSunday. It is a marvellous thing. "

She blushed with pleasure, but quickly turned the conversation, as sheexclaimed:

"Hurry and put another stone on the left corner of the sheet, or thewind will carry it away from us again. "

He made all possible haste, weighed down the linen, which had been ingreat commotion, like the wings of a great wounded bird trying its bestto fly away. Finding that this time it would probably keep its place, the two young people rose up, and now Angelique went through the narrow, green paths between the pieces of linen, glancing at each one, whilehe followed her with an equally busy look, as if preoccupied by thepossible loss of a dish-towel or an apron. All this seemed quite naturalto them both. So she continued to chatter away freely and artlessly, asshe told of her daily life and explained her tastes. 

"For my part, I always wish that everything should be in its place. Inthe morning I am always awakened at the same hour by the striking ofthe cuckoo-clock in the workroom; and whether it is scarcely daylight ornot, I dress myself as quickly as possible; my shoes and stockingsare here, my soap and all articles of toilette there--a true mania fororder. Yet you may well believe that I was not born so! Oh no! On thecontrary, I was the most careless person possible. Mother was obliged torepeat to me the same words over and over again, that I might not leavemy things in every corner of the house, for I found it easier to scatterthem about. And now, when I am at work from morning to evening, I cannever do anything right if my chair is not in the same place, directlyopposite the light, Fortunately, I am neither right nor left handed, butcan use both hands equally well at embroidering, which is a great helpto me, for it is not everyone who can do that. Then, I adore flowers, but I cannot keep a bouquet near me without having a terrible headache. Violets alone I can bear, and that is surprising. But their odour seemsto calm me, and at the least indisposition I have only need to smellthem and I am at once cured. "

He was enraptured while listening to her prattle. He revelled inthe beautiful ring of her voice, which had an extremely penetrating, prolonged charm; and he must have been peculiarly sensitive to thishuman music, for the caressing inflection on certain words moistened hiseyelids. 

Suddenly returning to her household cares she exclaimed:

"Oh, now the shirts will soon be dry!"

Then, in the unconscious and simple need of making herself known, shecontinued her confidences:

"For colouring, the white is always beautiful, is it not? I tire attimes of blue, of red, and of all other shades; but white is a constantjoy, of which I am never weary. There is nothing in it to trouble you;on the contrary, you would like to lose yourself in it. We had a whitecat, with yellow spots, which I painted white. It did very well for awhile, but it did not last long. Listen a minute. Mother does not knowit, but I keep all the waste bits of white silk, and have a drawer fullof them, for just nothing except the pleasure of looking at them, andsmoothing them over from time to time. And I have another secret, butthis is a very serious one! When I wake up, there is every morning nearmy bed a great, white object, which gently flies away. "

He did not smile, but appeared firmly to believe her. Was not all shesaid, in her simple way, quite natural? A queen in the magnificence ofher courtly surroundings could not have conquered him so quickly. Shehad, in the midst of this white linen on the green grass, a charming, grand air, happy and supreme, which touched him to the heart, with anever-increasing power. He was completely subdued. She was everything tohim from this moment. He would follow her to the last day of his life, in the worship of her light feet, her delicate hands, of her wholebeing, adorable and perfect as a dream. She continued to walk beforehim, with a short quick step, and he followed her closely, suffocated bya thought of the happiness he scarcely dared hope might come to him. 

But another sudden gust of wind came up, and there was a perfect flightinto the distance of cambric collars and cuffs, of neckerchiefs andchemisettes of muslin, which, as they disappeared, seemed like a flockof white birds knocked about by the tempest. 

Angelique began to run. 

"Oh dear! What shall I do? You will have to come again and help me. Ohdear!"

They both rushed forward. She caught a kerchief on the borders of theChevrotte. He had already saved two chemisettes which he found in themidst of some high thistles. One by one the cuffs and the collars wereretaken. But in the course of their running at full speed, the flyingfolds of her skirt had at several different times brushed againsthim, and each time his face became suddenly red, and his heart beatviolently. In his turn, he touched her face accidentally, as she jumpedto recover the last fichu, which he had carelessly let go of. She wasstartled and stood quietly, but breathing more quickly. She jokedno longer; her laugh sounded less clear, and she was not tempted toridicule this great awkward, but most attractive fellow. The femininenature so recently awakened in her softened her almost to tears, andwith the feeling of inexplicable tenderness, which overpowered her, wasmingled a half-fear. 

What was the matter with her that she was less gay, and that she was soovercome by this delicious pang? When he held out the kerchief to her, their hands, by chance, touched for a moment. They trembled, as theylooked at each other inquiringly. Then she drew back quickly, andfor several seconds seemed not to know what she should do under theextraordinary circumstances which had just occurred. At last shestarted. Gathering up all the smaller articles of linen in her arms, andleaving the rest, she turned towards her home. 

Felicien then wished to speak . . . "Oh, I beg your pardon. . . . I prayyou to----"

But the wind, which had greatly increased, cut off his words. In despairhe looked at her as she flew along, as if carried away by the blast. Sheran and ran, in and out, among the white sheets and tablecloths, underthe oblique, pale golden rays of the sun. Already the shadow of theCathedral seemed to envelop her, and she was on the point of enteringher own garden by the little gate which separated it from the Clos, without having once glanced behind her. But on the threshold she turnedquickly, as if seized with a kind impulse, not wishing that he shouldthink she was angry, and confused, but smiling, she called out:

"Thank you. Thank you very much. "

Did she wish to say that she was grateful to him for having helped herin recovering the linen? Or was it for something else? She disappeared, and the gate was shut after her. 

And he remained alone in the middle of the field, under the greatregular gusts, which continued to rage, although the sky was still clearand pure. The elms in the Bishop's garden rustled with a long, billowysound, and a loud voice seemed to clamour through the terraces and theflying buttresses of the Cathedral. But he heard only the light flappingof a little morning cap, tied to a branch of a lilac bush, as if it werea bouquet, and which belonged to her. 

From that date, each time that Angelique opened her window she sawFelicien over there in the Clos-Marie. He passed days in the field, having the chapel window as an excuse for doing so, on which, however, the work did not advance the least in the world. For hours he wouldforget himself behind a cluster of bushes, where, stretched out onthe grass, he watched through the leaves. And it was the greatest ofpleasures to smile at each other every morning and evening. She wasso happy that she asked for nothing more. There would not be anothergeneral washing for three months, so, until then, the little garden-gatewould seldom be open. But three months would pass very quickly, andif they could see each other daily, was not that bliss enough? What, indeed, could be more charming than to live in this way, thinking duringthe day of the evening look, and during the night of the glance of theearly morrow? She existed only in the hope of that desired moment; itsjoy filled her life. Moreover, what good would there be in approachingeach other and in talking together? Were they not constantly becomingbetter acquainted without meeting? Although at a distance, theyunderstood each other perfectly; each penetrated into the other'sinnermost thoughts with the closest intimacy. At last, they became sofilled one with the other that they could not close their eyes withoutseeing before them, with an astonishing clearness of detail, the imageof their new friend; so, in reality, they were never separated. 

It was a constant surprise to Angelique that she had unbosomed herselfat once to Felicien. At their first meeting she had confided in him, had told him everything about her habits, her tastes, and the deepestsecrets of her heart. He, more silent, was called Felicien, and that wasall she knew. Perhaps it was quite right that it should be so; the womangiving everything, and the man holding himself back as a stranger. Shehad no premature curiosity. She continued to smile at the thought ofthings which would certainly be realised. So for her, that of which shewas ignorant counted for nothing. The only important fact in her mindwas the intimacy between them, which united them, little by little, apart from the world. She knew nothing about him, yet she was so wellacquainted with his nature that she could read his thoughts in a simplelook or smile. He, her hero, had come as she always said he would. Shehad at once recognised him, and they loved each other. 

So they enjoyed most thoroughly this true possession from a distance. They were certainly encouraged by the new discoveries they made. She hadlong, slender hands, roughened a little at the ends of the fingers byher constant use of the needle, but he adored them. She noticed thathis feet were small, and was proud of the fact. Everything about himflattered her; she was grateful to him for being so handsome; and shewas overcome with joy the evening that she found his beard to be of alighter shade than his hair, which fact gave a greater softness to hissmile. He went away transported when, one morning, as she leaned overthe balcony, he saw a little red spot on her pretty neck. Their heartsbeing thus laid open, new treasures were daily found. Certainly theproud and frank manner in which she opened her window showed that, evenin her ignorance as a little embroiderer, she had the royal bearing ofa princess. In the same way she knew that he was good, from seeinghow lightly he walked over the herbs and the grass. Around them was aradiance of virtues and graces from the first hour of their meeting. Each interview had its special charm. It seemed to them as if theirfelicity in seeing each other could never be exhausted. 

Nevertheless, Felicien soon showed certain signs of impatience, and heno longer remained for hours concealed behind a bush in the immobilityof an absolute happiness. As soon as Angelique appeared at her window, he was restless, and tried to approach her as he glided from willow towillow. At length she was a little disturbed, fearing that someone mightsee him. One day there was almost a quarrel, for he came even to thewall of the house, so she was obliged to leave the balcony. It was agreat shock to him that she should be offended, and he showed in theexpression of his face so mute a prayer of submission that the next dayshe pardoned him, and opened her window at the usual hour. 

But although expectation was delightful, it was not sufficient for him, and he began again. Now he seemed to be everywhere at once: he filledthe Clos-Marie with his restlessness; he came out from behind everytree; he appeared above every bunch of brambles. Like the wood-pigeonsof the great elms in the Bishop's garden, he seemed to have hishabitation between two branches in the environs. The Chevrotte was anexcuse for his passing entire days there, on its willowy banks, bendingover the stream, in which he seemed to be watching the floating of theclouds. 

One day she saw that he had climbed up on the ruins of the old mill, and was standing on the framework of a shed, looking happy to have thusapproached her a little, in his regret at not being able to fly even sofar as her shoulder. 

Another day she stifled a slight scream as she saw him far above her, leaning on an ornamented balustrade of the Cathedral, on the roof of thechapels of the choir, which formed a terrace. In what way could he havereached this gallery, the door of which was always fastened, and whosekey no one had a right to touch but the beadle? Then again, a littlelater on, how was it that she should find him up in the air among theflying buttresses of the nave and the pinnacles of the piers? From theseheights he could look into every part of her chamber, as the swallowswho, flying from point to point among the spires, saw everything thatwas therein, without her having the idea of hiding herself from them. But a human eye was different, and from that day she shut herself upmore, and an ever-increasing trouble came to her at the thought that herprivacy was being intruded upon, and that she was no longer alone inthe atmosphere of adoration that surrounded her. If she were really notimpatient, why was it that her heart beat so strongly, like the bell ofthe clock-tower on great festivals?

Three days passed without Angelique showing herself, so alarmed was sheby the increasing boldness of Felicien. She vowed in her mind that shewould never see him again, and wound herself up to such a degree ofresentment, that she thought she hated him. But he had given her hisfeverishness. She could not keep still, and the slightest pretext wasenough for an excuse to leave the chasuble upon which she was at work. 

So, having heard that _mere_ Gabet was ill in bed, in the most profoundpoverty, she went to see her every morning. Her room was on the Rue desOrfevres, only three doors away from the Huberts. She would take hertea, sugar, and soup, then, when necessary, go to buy her medicine atthe druggist's on the Grand Rue. One day, as she returned with her handsfull of the little phials, she started at seeing Felicien at the bedsideof the old sick woman. He turned very red, and slipped away awkwardly, after leaving a charitable offering. The next day he came in as she wasleaving, and she gave him her place, very much displeased. Did he reallyintend to prevent her from visiting the poor?

In fact, she had been taken with one of her fits of charity, which madeher give all she owned that she might overwhelm those who had nothing. At the idea of suffering, her whole soul melted into a pitifulfraternity. She went often to the _pere_ Mascart's, a blind paralyticon the Rue Basse, whom she was obliged to feed herself the broth shecarried him; then to the Chouteaux, a man and his wife, each one overninety years of age, who lived in a little hut on the Rue Magloire, which she had furnished for them with articles taken from the attic ofher parents. Then there were others and others still whom she saw amongthe wretched populace of the quarter, and whom she helped to supportfrom things that were about her, happy in being able to surprise themand to see them brighten up for a little while. But now, strange to say, wherever she went she encountered Felicien! Never before had she seenso much of him; she who had avoided going to her window for fear that hemight be near. Her trouble increased, and at last she was very angry. 

But the worst of all in this matter was that Angelique soon despaired ofher charity. This young man spoilt all her pleasure of giving. In otherdays he might perhaps have been equally generous, but it was not amongthe same people, not her own particular poor, of that she was sure. Andhe must have watched her and followed her very closely to know them alland to take them so regularly one after the other. 

Now, go when she might with a little basket of provisions to theChouteaux, there was always money on the table. One day, when shewent to _pere_ Mascart, who was constantly complaining that he had notobacco, she found him very rich, with a shining new louis d'or on histable. Strangest of all, once when visiting _mere_ Gabet, the lattergave her a hundred franc note to change, and with it she was enabled tobuy some high-priced medicines, of which the poor woman had long beenin need, but which she never hoped to obtain, for where could she findmoney to pay for them?

Angelique herself could not distribute much money, as she had none. Itwas heart-breaking to her to realise her powerlessness, when he could soeasily empty his purse. She was, of course, happy that such a windfallhad come to the poor, but she felt as if she were greatly diminishedin her former self-estimation. She no longer had the same happiness ingiving, but was disturbed and sad that she had so little to distribute, while he had so much. 

The young man, not understanding her feelings, thinking to conquer heresteem by an increase of gifts, redoubled his charity, and thus dailymade hers seem less. 

Was not it exasperating to run against this fellow everywhere; to seehim give an ox wherever she offered an egg? In addition to all this, shewas obliged to hear his praises sung by all the needy whom he visited:"a young man so good, so kind, and so well brought up. " She was a merenothing now. They talked only of him, spreading out his gifts as if toshame hers. Notwithstanding her firm determination to forget him, shecould not refrain from questioning them about him. What had he left?What had he said? He was very handsome, was he not? Tender and diffidentas a woman! Perhaps he might even have spoken of her! Ah, yes indeed!That was true, for he always talked of her. Then she was very angry;yes, she certainly hated him, for at last she realised that he weighedon her breast too heavily. 

But matters could not continue in this way for ever, a change must takeplace; and one May evening, at a wondrously beautiful nightfall, itcame. It was at the home of the Lemballeuse, the family who lived inthe ruins of the mill. There were only women there; the old grandmother, seamed with wrinkles but still active, her daughter, and hergrandchildren. Of the latter, Tiennette, the elder, was a large, wild-looking girl, twenty years of age, and her two little sisters, Roseand Jeanne, had already bold, fearless eyes, under their unkempt mopsof red hair. They all begged during the day on the highway and along themoat, coming back at night, their feet worn out from fatigue in theirold shoes fastened with bits of string. Indeed, that very eveningTiennette had been obliged to leave hers among the stones, and hadreturned wounded and with bleeding ankles. Seated before their door, inthe midst of the high grass of the Clos-Marie, she drew out the thornsfrom her flesh, whilst her mother and the two children surrounded herand uttered lamentations. 

Just then Angelique arrived, hiding under her apron the bread which shehad brought them, as she did once every week. She had entered the fieldby the little garden-gate, which she had left open behind her, as sheintended to go back as quickly as possible. But she stopped on seeingall the family in tears. 

"What is the matter? Why are you in such distress?"

"Ah, my good lady!" whined the mother Lemballeuse, "do not you see inwhat a terrible state this great foolish girl has put herself? To-morrowshe will not be able to walk, so that will be a whole day lost. She musthave some shoes!"

Rose and Jeanne, with their eyes snapping from under their tangled hair, redoubled their sobs, as they cried out loudly--

"Yes, yes! She must have some shoes! She must have some shoes!"

Tiennette, half lifting up her thin, dark face, looked round furtively. Then, fiercely, without a word, she made one of her feet bleed stillmore, maddened over a long splinter which she had just drawn out by theaid of a pin, and which must have pained her intensely. 

Angelique, quite touched by the scene, offered her the gift. 

"See! Here at least is some bread. "

"Oh, bread!" said the mother. "No doubt it is necessary to eat. Butit is not with bread that she will be able to walk again, of that I amcertain! And we were to go to the fair at Bligny, a fair where, everyyear, she makes at least two francs. Oh, good heavens! What will becomeof us if she cannot go there?"

Pity and embarrassment rendered Angelique mute. She had exactly fivesous in her pocket. It surely was not with five sous that one could buya pair of shoes, even at an auction sale. As it had often done before, her want of money now paralysed her. And that which exasperated herstill more and made her lose her self-control was that at this moment, as she looked behind her, she saw Felicien, standing a few feet from herin the darkening shadow. Without doubt he had heard all that had beensaid; perhaps even he had been there for a great while, for he alwaysappeared to her in this way when least expected without her ever knowingwhence he came or whither he was going. 

She thought to herself, "He will give the shoes. "

Indeed, he had already come forward. The first stars were appearing inthe pale sky. A sweet, gentle quiet seemed to fall down from on high, soothing to sleep the Clos-Marie, whose willows were lost in the dusk. The Cathedral itself was only a great black bar in the West. 

"Yes, certainly, now he will offer to give the shoes. "

And at this probability she was really quite discouraged. Was he always, then, to give everything? Could she never, even once, conquer him?Never! Her heart beat so rapidly that it pained her. She wished that shemight be very rich, to show him that she, too, could make others happy. 

But the Lemballeuse had seen the good gentleman. The mother had rushedforward; the two little sisters moaned as they held out their hands foralms, whilst the elder one, letting go of her wounded ankles, looked atthe new-comer inquiringly with her wild eyes. 

"Listen, my noisy children, " said Felicien. Then, addressing the mother, he continued, "You may go to the Grand Rue, at the corner of the RueBasse--"

Angelique had understood immediately, for the shoemaker had his shopthere. She interrupted him quickly, and was so agitated that shestammered her words at random. 

"But that is a useless thing to do! What would be the good of it? It ismuch more simple--"

Yet she could not find in her own mind the more simple thing shedesired. What could she do? What could she invent, so to be before himin giving her charity? Never had it seemed to her possible she coulddetest him as she did now. 

"You will say from me, that it is I who have sent you, " continuedFelicien. "You will ask--"

Again she interrupted him. The contest lasted a moment longer. Sherepeated in an anxious way:

"It is, indeed, much more simple; it is much easier--"

Suddenly she was calm. She seated herself upon a stone, thoughtfullyexamined her shoes, took them off, and then drew off her stockings, saying:

"Look! This is the best thing to do, after all! Why should you have anytrouble about the matter?"

"Oh, my good young lady! God will reward you!" exclaimed the motherLemballeuse, as she turned over the shoes and found they were not onlyexcellent and strong, but almost new. "I will cut them a trifle on thetop, to make them a little larger--Tiennette, why do you not thank her, stupid creature?"

Tiennette snatched from the hands of Rose and Jeanne the stockings theywere coveting. She did not open her lips; she only gave one long, fixed, hard look. 

But now Angelique realised that her feet were bare, and that Feliciensaw them. She blushed deeply, and knew not what to do. She dared notmove, for, were she to rise to get up, he would only see them all themore. Then, frightened, she rose quickly, and without realising what shewas doing, began to run. In the grass her flying feet were very whiteand small. The darkness of the evening had increased, and the Clos-Mariewas a lake of shadow between the great trees on one side and theCathedral on the other. And on the ground the only visible light camefrom those same little feet, white and satiny as the wing of a dove. 

Startled and afraid of the water, Angelique followed the bank of theChevrotte, that she might cross it on a plank which served as a bridge. But Felicien had gone a shorter way through the brambles and brushwood. Until now he had always been overcome by his timidity, and he had turnedredder than she as he saw her bare feet, pure and chaste as herself. Now, in the overflow of his ignorant youth, passionately fond of beautyand desirous for love, he was impatient to cry out and tell her of thefeeling which had entirely taken possession of him since he had firstseen her. But yet, when she brushed by him in her flight, he could onlystammer, with a trembling voice, the acknowledgment so long delayed andwhich burnt his lips:

"I love you. "

She stopped in surprise. For an instant she stood still, and, slightlytrembling, looked at him. Her anger and the hate she thought she had forhim all vanished at once, and melted into a most delicious sentimentof astonishment. What had he said, what was the word he had justpronounced, that she should be so overcome by it? She knew that he lovedher; yet when he said so, the sound of it in her ear overwhelmed herwith an inexplicable joy. It resounded so deeply through her wholebeing, that her fears came back and were enlarged. She never would darereply to him; it was really more than she could bear; she was oppressed. 

He, grown more bold, his heart touched and drawn nearer to hers by theirunited deeds of charity, repeated:

"I love you. "

And she, fearing the lover, began to run. That was surely the only wayto escape such a danger; yet it was also a happiness, it was all sostrange. The Chevrotte was gaily singing, and she plunged into it like astartled fawn. Among its pebbles her feet still ran on, under the chillof icy water. The garden-gate was at last reached, it closed, and shedisappeared. 

CHAPTER VII

For two days Angelique was conscience-smitten. As soon as she was alone, she sobbed as if she had done something wrong. And this question, whichshe could not answer, came constantly to her mind: Had she sinned inlistening to this young man? Was she lost, like the dreadful women inthe Legend, who, having been tempted, had yielded to the Devil? Was lifeto-day as it was centuries ago? The words, so softly uttered, "I loveyou, " still resounded with such a tumult in her ears, and she wasconfused, yet pleased by them to such a degree, that they must certainlyhave come from some terrible power hidden in the depth of the invisible. But she knew not--in fact, how could she have known anything in theignorance and solitude in which she had grown up? Her anguish wasredoubled by this mysterious and inexplicable struggle within her. 

Had she sinned in making the acquaintance of Felicien, and then inkeeping it a secret? She recalled to her mind, one by one, all thedetails of her daily experience during the past few weeks; she arguedwith her innocent scruples. 

What was sin, in short? Was it simply to meet--to talk--and afterwardsto tell a falsehood to one's parents? But that could not be the extentof the evil. Then why was she so oppressed? Why, if not guilty, did shesuddenly seem to have become quite another person--as agitated as ifa new soul had been given her? Perhaps it was sin that had made herso weak and uncomfortable. Her heart was full of vague, undefinedlongings--so strange a medley of words, and also of acts, in the future, that she was frightened by them, without in the least understandingthem. The blood mounted to her face, and exquisitely coloured hercheeks, as she heard again the sweet, yet appalling words, "I love you";and she reasoned no longer, but sobbed again, doubting evident facts, fearing the commission of a fault in the beyond--in that which hadneither name nor form. 

But that which especially distressed her now was that she had not made a_confidante_ of Hubertine. Could she only have asked her what she wishedto know, no doubt the latter with a word would have explained the wholemystery to her. Then it seemed to her as if the mere fact of speaking tosomeone of her trouble would have cured her. But the secret had becometoo weighty; to reveal it would be more than she could bear, for theshame would be too great. She became quite artful for the moment, affected an air of calmness, when in the depths of her soul a tempestwas raging. If asked why she was so pre-occupied, she lifted hereyes with a look of surprise as she replied that she was thinking ofsomething. Seated before the working-frame, her hands mechanicallydrawing the needle back and forth, very quiet to all outward appearance, she was, from morning till evening, distracted by one thought. To beloved! To be loved! And for herself, on her side, was she in love? Thiswas still an obscure question, to which, in her inexperience, she foundno answer. She repeated it so constantly that at last it made her giddy, the words lost all their usual meaning, and everything seemed to be in awhirl, which carried her away. With an effort she recovered herself, andrealised that, with needle in hand, she was still embroidering with heraccustomed application, although mechanically, as if in a half-dream. Perhaps these strange symptoms were a sign that she was about to have asevere illness. One evening she had such an attack of shivering when shewent to bed that she thought she would never be able to recover from it. That idea was at the same time both cruel and sweet. She suffered fromit as if it were too great a joy. Even the next day her heart beat as ifit would break, and her ears were filled with a singing sound, like theringing of a distant bell. What could it mean? Was she in love, or wasshe about to die? Thinking thus, she smiled sweetly at Hubertine, who, in the act of waxing her thread, was looking at her anxiously. 

Moreover, Angelique had made a vow that she would never again seeFelicien. She no longer ran the risk of meeting him among the bramblesand wild grasses in the Clos-Marie, and she had even given up herdaily visits to the poor. Her fear was intense lest, were they to findthemselves face to face, something terrible might come to pass. In herresolution there was mingled, besides a feeling of penitence, a wish topunish herself for some fault she might unintentionally have committed. So, in her days of rigid humiliation, she condemned herself not even toglance once through the window, so sure was she of seeing on the banksof the Chevrotte the one whom she dreaded. But, after a while, beingsorely tempted, she looked out, and if it chanced that he were notthere, she was sad and low-spirited until the following day. 

One morning, when Hubert was arranging a dalmatic, a ring at thedoor-bell obliged him to go downstairs. It must be a customer; no doubtan order for some article, as Hubertine and Angelique heard the hum ofvoices which came through the doorway at the head of the stairs, whichremained open. Then they looked up in great astonishment; for stepswere mounting, and the embroiderer was bringing someone with him tothe workroom, a most unusual occurrence. And the young girl was quiteovercome as she recognised Felicien. He was dressed simply, like ajourneyman artist, whose hands are white. Since she no longer went tohim he had come to her, after days of vain expectation and of anxiousuncertainty, during which he had constantly said to himself that she didnot yet love him, since she remained hidden from him. 

"Look, my dear child, here is something which will be of particularinterest to you, " explained Hubert. "Monsieur wishes to give orders foran exceptional piece of work. And, upon my word, that we might talk ofit at our ease, I preferred that he should come up here at once. This ismy daughter, sir, to whom you must show your drawing. "

Neither he nor Hubertine had the slightest suspicion that this was notthe first time the young people had met. They approached them onlyfrom a sentiment of curiosity to see. But Felicien was, like Angelique, almost stifled with emotion and timidity. As he unrolled the design, his hands trembled, and he was obliged to speak very slowly to hide thechange in his voice. 

"It is to be a mitre for Monseigneur the Bishop. Yes, certain ladies inthe city who wished to make him this present charged me with the drawingof the different parts, as well as with the superintendence of itsexecution. I am a painter of stained glass, but I also occupy myselfa great deal with ancient art. You will see that I have simplyreconstituted a Gothic mitre. "

Angelique bent over the great sheet of parchment which he had spreadbefore her, and started slightly as she exclaimed:

"Oh! it is Saint Agnes. "

It was indeed the youthful martyr of but thirteen years of age; thenaked virgin clothed with her hair, that had grown so long only herlittle hands and feet were seen from under it, just as she was upon thepillar at one of the doors of the cathedral; particularly, however, asone found her in the interior of the church, in an old wooden statuethat formerly was painted, but was to-day a light fawn colour, allgilded by age. She occupied the entire front of the mitre, halffloating, as she was carried towards heaven borne by the angels;which below her, stretched out into the distance, was a fine delicatelandscape. The other sides and the lappets were enriched withlance-shaped ornaments of an exquisite style. 

"These ladies, " continued Felicien, "wish to make the present on theoccasion of the Procession of the Miracle, and naturally I thought it myduty to choose Saint Agnes. "

"The idea was a most excellent one, " interposed Hubert. 

And Hubertine added, in her turn:

"Monseigneur will be deeply gratified. "

The so-called Procession of the Miracle, which takes place each year onJuly 28, dates from the time of Jean V d'Hautecoeur, who instituted itas a thanksgiving to God for the miraculous power He had given to himand to his race to save Beaumont from the plague. According to thelegend, the Hautecoeurs are indebted for this remarkable gift to theintervention of Saint Agnes, of whom they were the greatest admirers;and since the most ancient time, it has been the custom on theanniversary of her fete to take down the old statue of the saint andcarry it slowly in a solemn procession through the streets of the town, in the pious belief that she still continues to disperse and drive awayall evils. 

"Ah, " at last murmured Angelique, her eyes on the design, "theProcession of the Miracle. But that will come in a few days, and weshall not have time enough to finish it. "

The Huberts shook their heads. In truth, so delicate a piece of workrequired the most minute care and attention. Yet Hubertine turnedtowards her daughter as she said:

"I could help you, my dear. I might attend to the ornaments, and thenyou will only have the figure to do. "

Angelique continued to closely examine the figure of the saint, and wasdeeply troubled. She said to herself, "No, no. " She refused; she wouldnot give herself the pleasure of accepting. It would be inexcusable onher part thus to be an accomplice in a plan, for it was evident thatFelicien was keeping something back. She was perfectly sure that he wasnot poor, and that he wore a workman's dress simply as a disguise; andthis affected simplicity, all this history, told only that he mightapproach her, put her on her guard, amused and happy though she was, in reality, transfiguring him, seeing in him the royal prince that heshould be; so thoroughly did she live in the absolute certainty of theentire realisation of her dream, sooner or later. 

"No, " she repeated in a half-whisper, "we should not have the neededtime. "

And without lifting her eyes she continued, as if speaking to herself:

"For the saint, we could use neither the close embroidery nor the laceopenwork. It would not be worthy of her. It should be an embroidery ingold, shaded by silk. "

"Exactly, " said Felicien. "That is what I had already thought of, forI knew that Mademoiselle had re-found the secret of making it. There isstill quite a pretty little fragment of it at the sacristy. "

Hubert was quite excited. 

"Yes, yes! it was made in the fifteenth century, and the work was doneby one of my far-off ancestresses. . . . Shaded gold! Ah, Monsieur, there was never anything equal to that in the whole world. But, unfortunately, it took too much time, it cost altogether too dear, and, in addition, only a real artist ever succeeded in it. Think of it; itis more than two hundred years since anyone has ever attempted suchembroidery. And if my daughter refuses, you will be obliged to give itup entirely, for she is the only person who is qualified to undertakeit. I do not know of anyone else who has the delicacy of fingers and theclearness of eye necessary for it. "

Hubertine, who, since they had spoken of the style of the work, realisedwhat a great undertaking it was, said, in a quiet, decided tone:

"It would be utterly impossible to do it in a fortnight. It would needthe patience and skill of a fairy to accomplish it. "

But Angelique, who had not ceased studying all the features of thebeautiful martyr, had ended by making a discovery which delightedher beyond expression. Agnes resembled her. In designing from the oldstatue, Felicien certainly thought of her, and this idea--that shewas in his mind, always present with him, that he saw hereverywhere--softened her resolution to avoid him. At last she looked up;she noticed how eager he was, and his eyes glistened with so earnesta supplication that she was conquered. Still, with the intuitivehalf-malice, the love of tormenting, this natural science which comes toall young girls, even when they are entirely ignorant of life, she didnot wish to have the appearance of yielding too readily. 

"It is impossible, " she repeated. "I could not do it for anyone. "

Felicien was in despair. He was sure he understood the hidden meaningin her words. It was he whom she had refused, as well as the work. As hewas about to go out of the room, he said to Hubert:

"As for the pay, you could have asked any price you wished. These ladiesgave me leave to offer as much as three thousand francs. "

The household of the Huberts was in no way a selfish one; yet so greata sum startled each member of it. The husband and wife looked at eachother inquiringly. Was it not a pity to lose so advantageous an offer?

"Three thousand francs, " repeated Angelique, with her gentle voice; "didyou say three thousand francs, Monsieur?"

And she, to whom money was nothing, since she had never known its value, kept back a smile, a mocking smile, which scarcely drew the corners ofher mouth, rejoicing that she need not seem to yield to the pleasure ofseeing him, and glad to give him a false opinion of herself. 

"Oh, Monsieur, if you can give three thousand francs for it, then Iaccept. I would not do it for everyone, but from the moment that one iswilling to pay so well, why, that is different. If it is necessary, Ican work on it at night, as well as during the day. "

Hubert and Hubertine then objected, wishing to refuse in their turn, forfear the fatigue might be too great for her. 

"No, " she replied. "It is never wise to send away money that is broughtto you. You can depend upon me, Monsieur. Your mitre will be ready theevening before the procession. "

Felicien left the design and bade them good-day, for he was greatlydisappointed, and he had no longer the courage to give any newexplanations in regard to the work, as an excuse for stopping longer. What would he gain by doing so? It was certainly true that she did notlike him, for she had pretended not to recognise him, and had treatedhim as she would any ordinary customer, whose money alone is good totake. At first he was angry, as he accused her of being mean-spiritedand grasping. So much the better! It was ended between them, thisunspoken romance, and he would never think of her again. Then, ashe always did think of her, he at last excused her, for was she notdependent upon her work to live, and ought she not to gain her bread?

Two days later he was very unhappy, and he began to wander around thehouse, distressed that he could not see her. She no longer went out towalk. She did not even go to the balcony, or to the window, as before. He was forced to acknowledge that if she cared not for him, if inreality she was mercenary, in spite of all, his love for her increaseddaily, as one loves when only twenty years of age, without reasoning, following merely the drawing of one's heart, simply for the joy and thegrief of loving. 

One morning he caught a glimpse of her for a moment, and realised thathe could not give her up. Now she was his chosen one and no other. Whatever she might be, bad or good, ugly or pretty, poor or rich, hewould give up his life rather than not be able to claim her. 

The third day his sufferings were so great that, notwithstanding all hiswise resolves, he returned to the house of the embroiderers. 

After having rung the bell, he was received as before, downstairs byHubert, who, on account of the want of clearness in his explanations inregard to his visit, concluded the best thing to be done was to allowhim to go upstairs again. 

"My daughter, Monsieur, wishes to speak to you on certain points of thework that I do not quite understand. "

Then Felicien stammered, "If it would not disturb Mademoiselle toomuch, I would like to see how far--These ladies advised me to personallysuperintend the work--that is, if by doing so I should not be inanyone's way. "

Angelique's heart beat violently when she saw him come in. She almostchoked, but, making a great effort, she controlled herself. Theblood did not even mount her cheeks, and with an appearance of calmindifference, she replied:

"Oh, nothing ever disturbs me, Monsieur. I can work equally well beforeanyone. As the design is yours, it is quite natural that you should wishto follow the execution of it. "

Quite discountenanced by this reception, Felicien would not have daredto have taken a seat, had not Hubertine welcomed him cordially, asshe smiled in her sweet, quiet way at this excellent customer. Almostimmediately she resumed her work, bending over the frame where she wasembroidering on the sides of the mitre the Gothic ornaments in guipure, or open lacework. 

On his side, Hubert had just taken down from the wall a banner which wasfinished, had been stiffened, and for two days past had been hung up todry, and which now he wished to relax. No one spoke; the three workerskept at their tasks as if no other person had been in the room withthem. 

In the midst of this charming quiet, the young man little by little grewcalmer. When the clock struck three, the shadow of the Cathedral wasalready very long, and a delicate half-light entered by the window, which was wide open. It was almost like the twilight hour, whichcommenced early in the afternoon for this little house, so fresh andgreen from all the verdure that was about it, as it stood by the side ofthe colossal church. A slight sound of steps was heard on the pavementoutside; it was a school of young girls being taken to Confession. 

In the workroom, the tools, the time-stained walls, everythingwhich remained there immovable, seemed to sleep in the repose of thecenturies, and from every corner came freshness and rest. A greatsquare of white light, smooth and pure, fell upon the frame over whichHubertine and Angelique were bending, with their delicate profiles inthe fawn-coloured reflection of the gold. 

"Mademoiselle, " began Felicien, feeling very awkward, as he realisedthat he must give some reason for his visit--"I wish to say, Mademoiselle, that for the hair it seems to me it would be better toemploy gold rather than silk. "

She raised her head, and the laughing expression of her eyes clearlysignified that he need not have taken the trouble of coming if he had noother recommendation to make. And she looked down again as she replied, in a half-mocking tone:

"There is no doubt about that, Monsieur. "

He was indeed ridiculous, for he remarked then for the first time thatit was exactly what she was doing. Before her was the design he hadmade, but tinted with water-colours, touched up with gold, with all thedelicacy of an old miniature, a little softened, like what one sees insome prayer books of the fifteenth century. And she copied this imagewith the patience and the skill of an artist working with a magnifyingglass. After having reproduced it with rather heavy strokes upon thewhite silk, tightly stretched and lined with heavy linen, she coveredthis silk with threads of gold carried from the bottom to the top, fastened simply at the two ends, so that they were left free and closeto each other. When using the same threads as a woof, she separated themwith the point of her needle to find the design below. She followed thissame drawing, recovered the gold threads with stitches of silk across, which she assorted according to the colours of the model. In the shadedparts the silk completely hid the gold; in the half-lights the stitchesof silk were farther and farther apart, while the real lights were madeby gold alone, entirely uncovered. It was thus the shaded gold, thatmost beautiful of all work, the foundation being modified by the silks, making a picture of mellow colours as if warmed from beneath by a gloryand a mystic light. 

"Oh!" suddenly said Hubert, who began to stretch out the banner byseparating with his fingers the cords of the trellis, "the masterpieceof a woman who embroidered in the olden time was always in thisdifficult work. To become a member of the Corporation she had to make, as it is written in the statutes, a figure by itself in shaded gold, a sixth part as tall as if life-size. You would have been received, myAngelique. "

Again there was an unbroken silence. Felicien watched her constantly, asshe stooped forward, absorbed in her task, quite as if she were entirelyalone. For the hair of the saint, contrary to the general rule, she hadhad the same idea as he; that was, to use no silk, but to re-cover goldwith gold, and she kept ten needles at work with this brilliant threadof all shades, from the dark red of dying embers, to the pale, delicateyellow tint of the leaves of the forest trees in the autumn. Agnes wasthus covered from her neck to her ankles with a stream of golden hair. It began at the back of her head, covered her body with a thick mantle, flowed in front of her from the shoulders in two waves which unitedunder the chin, and fell down to her feet in one wavy sheet. It was, indeed, the miraculous hair, a fabulous fleece, with heavy twists andcurls, a glorious, starry efflorescence, the warm and living robe of asaint, perfumed with its pure nudity. 

That day Felicien could do nothing but watch Angelique as sheembroidered the curls, following the exact direction of their rollingwith her little pointed stitches, and he never wearied of seeing thehair grow and radiate under her magic needle. Its weight, and the greatquivering with which it seemed to be unrolled at one turn, disturbedhim. 

Hubertine, occupied in sewing on spangles, hiding the thread with whicheach one was attached with a tiny round of gold twist, lifted up herhead from time to time and gave him a calm motherly look, whenever shewas obliged to throw into the waste-basket a spangle that was not wellmade. 

Hubert, who had just taken away the side pieces of wood, that he mightunstitch the banner from the frame, was about folding it up carefully. And at last, Felicien, whose embarrassment was greatly increased by thisunbroken silence, realised that it was best for him to take leave, sinceas yet he had not been able to think of any of the suggestions which hehad said he intended to make. 

He rose, blushed, and stammered:

"I will return another day. I find that I have so badly succeeded inreproducing the charming design of the head of the saint that you mayperhaps have need of some explanations from me. "

Angelique looked him fully in the face with her sweet, great eyes. 

"Oh, not at all. But come again, Monsieur. Do not hesitate to do so, ifyou are in the least anxious about the execution of the work. "

He went away, happy from the permission given him, but chilled by thecoldness of manner of the young girl. Yes, he realised that she did notnow, and never would, love him. That being the case, what use was therein seeing her? Yet on the morrow, as well as on the following days, he did not fail to go to the little house on the Rue des Orfevres. Thehours which he could not pass there were sad enough, tortured as he wasby his uncertainties, distressed by his mental struggles. He was nevercalm, except when he was near her as she sat at her frame. Provided thatshe was by his side, it seemed to him that he could resign himself tothe acceptance of the fact that he was disagreeable to her. 

Every morning he arrived at an early hour, spoke of the work, thenseated himself as if his presence there were absolutely necessary. Thenhe was in a state of enchantment simply to look at her, with her finelycut features, her motionless profile, which seemed bathed in the liquidgolden tints of her hair; and he watched in ecstasy the skilful play ofher flexible hands, as she moved them up and down in the midst of theneedlefuls of gold or silk. She had become so habituated to hispresence that she was quite at her ease, and treated him as a comrade. Nevertheless, he always felt that there was between them somethingunexpressed which grieved him to the heart, he knew not why. Occasionally she looked up, regarding him with an amused, half-mockingair, and with an inquiring, impatient expression in her face. Then, finding he was intensely embarrassed she at once became very cold anddistant. 

But Felicien had discovered one way in which he could rouse her, andhe took advantage of it. It was this--to talk to her of her art, of theancient masterpieces of embroidery he had seen, either preserved amongthe treasures of cathedrals, or copies of which were engraved in books. For instance, there were the superb copes: that of Charlemagne, in redsilk, with the great eagles with unfurled wings; and the cope ofSion, which is decorated with a multitude of saintly figures. Then thedalmatic, which is said to be the most beautiful piece of embroidery inthe whole world; the Imperial dalmatic, on which is celebrated the gloryof Jesus Christ upon the earth and in heaven, the Transfiguration, andthe Last Judgment, in which the different personages are embroideredin silks of various colours, and in silver and gold. Also, there isa wonderful tree of Jesse, an orfrey of silk upon satin, which is soperfect it seems as if it were detached from a window of the fifteenthcentury; Abraham at the foot, then David, Solomon, the Blessed VirginMary, and at the very top the Saviour. 

Among the admirable chasubles he had seen, one in particular wastouching in its simplicity. It represented Christ on the Cross, and thedrops of blood from His side and His feet were made by little splashesof red silk on the cloth of gold, while in the foreground was Mary, tenderly supported by Saint John. 

On another one, which is called the chasuble of Naintre, the Virgin isseated in majesty, with richly-wrought sandals on her feet, and holdingthe Infant Jesus on her knees. Others, and still others of marvelousworkmanship were alluded to, venerable not only from their great age andthe beautiful faith that they expressed, but from a richness unknownin our time, preserving the odour of the incense of tabernacles and themystic light which seemed to come from the slightly-faded gold. 

"Ah, " sighed Angelique, "all those exquisite things are finished now. Wecan only find certain tones to remind us of their perfection. "

With feverish hands and sparkling eyes she stopped working when Felicienrelated to her the history of the most noted men and women who wereembroiderers in the olden time--Simonne de Gaules, Colin Jolye, andothers whose names have come down to us through the ages. Then, aftera few moments, she took up her needles again, and made them flyvigorously, as she appeared transfigured, and guarded on her face thetraces of the delight her artist nature had received in listening toall these accounts. Never had she seemed to him more beautiful, soenthusiastic was she, so maidenly and so pure, seated there in thebrighter surroundings of so many coloured silks, applying herself withunfailing exactitude to her work, into the slightest details of whichshe put her whole soul. When he had left off speaking he looked at herearnestly, until roused by the silence, she realised the excited stateinto which all these histories had thrown her, and became as embarrassedas if she had done something wrong. 

"Oh, dear, look; all my silks are entangled again! Mother, please not tomove about so much. "

Hubertine, who had not stirred at all, was amused, but simply smiledwithout saying anything. At first she had been rather disturbed by theconstant attentions of the young man, and had talked the matter overthoroughly with Hubert one evening in their room. But they could nothelp being drawn towards him, and as in every respect his appearancewas good and his manners perfectly respectful, they concluded it was notnecessary to object to interviews from which Angelique derived so muchhappiness. So matters were allowed to take their way, and she watchedover the young people with a loving air of protection. 

Moreover, she herself for many days had been oppressed by the lamentingcaresses of her husband, who seemed never to weary of asking her if hehad been forgiven. This month was the anniversary of the time whenthey had lost their child, and each year at this date they had thesame regrets and the same longings; he, trembling at her feet, happyto realise that he was pardoned; she, loving and distressed, blamingherself for everything, and despairing that Fate had been inexorable toall their prayers. They spoke of all this to no one, were the same tooutsiders in every way, but this increase of tenderness between themcame from their room like a silent perfume, disengaged itself from theirpersons at the least movement, by each word, and by their way of lookingat each other, when it seemed as if for the moment they almost exchangedsouls. All this was like the grave accompaniment, the deep continuousbass, upon which sang in clear notes the two hearts of the young couple. 

One week had passed, and the work on the mitre advanced. These dailymeetings had assumed a great and sweet familiarity. 

"The forehead should be very high, should it not? Without any trace ofeyebrows?"

"Yes, very high, and not the slightest shade. Quite like an oldminiature. "

"Will you pass me the white silk?"

"Wait a minute, that I may thread it. "

He helped her, and this union of work put them at their ease. It madethe occupation of each day seem perfectly natural to them both, andwithout a word of love ever having been spoken, without their handshaving once met by a voluntary touch, the bond between them grewstronger each hour, and they were henceforth eternally united one to theother. It was sufficient for them to have lived until now. 

"Father, what are you doing that we no longer hear you?"

She turned and saw Hubert, who was occupied in winding a long spool, ashis eyes were fixed abstractedly on his wife. 

"I am preparing some gold thread for your mother. "

And from the reel taken to his wife, from the mute thanks of Hubertine, from the constant little attentions her husband gave her, there wasa warm, caressing breath which surrounded and enveloped Angelique andFelicien as they both bent again over the frame. The workroom itself, this ancient hall, as it might almost be called, with its old tools andits peace of other ages, was an unconscious accomplice in this work ofunion. It seemed so far away from the noise of the street, remote as ifin dreamy depths, in this country of good, simple souls, where miraclesreign, the easy realisation of all joys. 

In five days the mitre was to be finished; and Angelique, now surethat it would be ready to be delivered, and that she would even havetwenty-four hours to spare, took a long breath of satisfaction, andseemed suddenly astonished at finding Felicien so near her, with hiselbows on the trestle. Had they really become such intimate friends?She no longer attempted to struggle against what she realised was hisconquering power; her half-malicious smiles ceased at what he triedto keep back, and which she so well understood, in spite of hissubterfuges. What was it, then, that had made her as if asleep, in herlate restless waiting? And the eternal question returned, the questionthat she asked herself every evening when she went to her room. Did shelove him? For hours, in the middle of her great bed, she had turned overagain and again these words, seeking for meanings she could not find, and thinking she was too ignorant to explain them. But that night, allat once, she felt her heart was softened by some inexplicable happiness. She cried nervously, without reason, and hid her head in her pillow thatno one might hear her. 

Yes, now she loved him; she loved him enough to be willing to die forhim. But why? But how? She could not tell, she never would know; simplyfrom her whole heart came the cry that she did indeed love him. Thelight had come to her at last; this new, overpowering joy overwhelmedher like the most ardent rays of the sun. 

For a long time her tears flowed, but not from sorrow. On the contrary, she was filled with an inexplicable confusion of happiness that wasindefinable, regretting now, more deeply than ever, that she had notmade a _confidante_ of Hubertine. To-day her secret burdened her, andshe made an earnest vow to herself that henceforth she would be as coldas an icicle towards Felicien, and would suffer everything rather thanallow him to see her tenderness. He should never know it. To lovehim, merely to love him, without even acknowledging it, that was thepunishment, the trial she must undergo to pardon her fault. It would beto her in reality a delicious suffering. She thought of the martyrs ofwhom she had read in the "Golden Legend, " and it seemed to her that shewas their sister in torturing herself in this way, and that her guardianangel, Agnes, would look at her henceforward with sadder, sweeter eyesthan ever. 

The following day Angelique finished the mitre. She had embroidered withsplit silk, light as gossamer, the little hands and feet, which were theonly points of white, naked flesh that came out from the royal mantle ofgolden hair. She perfected the face with all the delicacy of the purestlily, wherein the gold seemed like the blood in the veins under thedelicate, silken skin. And this face, radiant as the sun, was turnedheavenward, as the youthful saint was borne upward by the angels towardthe distant horizon of the blue plain. 

When Felicien entered that day, he exclaimed with admiration:

"Oh! how exactly she looks like you. "

It was an involuntary expression; an acknowledgment of the resemblancehe had purposely put in the design. He realised the fact after he hadspoken, and blushed deeply. 

"That is indeed true, my little one; she has the same beautiful eyesthat you have, " said Hubert, who had come forward to examine the work. 

Hubertine merely smiled now, having made a similar remark many daysbefore, and she was surprised and grieved when she heard Angelique replyin a harsh, disagreeable tone of voice, like that she sometimes had inher fits of obstinacy years ago:

"My beautiful eyes! Why will you make fun of me in that way? I know aswell as you do that I am very ugly. "

Then, getting up, she shook out her dress, overacting her assumedcharacter of a harsh, avaricious girl. 

"Ah, at last! It is really finished! I am thankful, for it was too muchof a task, too heavy a burden on my shoulders. Do you know, I wouldnever undertake to make another one for the same price?"

Felicien listened to her in amazement. Could it be that after all shestill cared only for money? Had he been mistaken when he thought attimes she was so exquisitely tender, and so passionately devoted to herartistic work? Did she in reality wish for the pay her labour broughther? And was she so indifferent that she rejoiced at the completion ofher task, wishing neither to see nor to hear of it again? For severaldays he had been discouraged as he sought in vain for some pretext ofcontinuing, later on, visits that gave him such pleasure. But, alas! itwas plain that she did not care for him in the least, and that she neverwould love him. His suffering was so great that he grew very pale andcould scarcely speak. 

"But, Mademoiselle, will you not make up the mitre?"

"No, mother can do it so much better than I can. I am too happy at thethought that I have nothing more to do with it. "

"But do you not like the work which you do so well?"

"I? I do not like anything in the world. "

Hubertine was obliged to speak to her sternly, and tell her to be quiet. She then begged Felicien to be so good as to pardon her nervous child, who was a little weary from her long-continued application. Sheadded that the mitre would be at his disposal at an early hour on thefollowing morning. It was the same as if she had asked him to go away, but he could not leave. He stood and looked around him in this oldworkroom, filled with shade and with peace, and it seemed to him as ifhe were being driven from Paradise. He had spent so many sweet hoursthere in the illusion of his brightest fancies, that it was like tearinghis very heart-strings to think all this was at an end. What troubledhim the worst was his inability to explain matters, and that he couldonly take with him such a fearful uncertainty. At last he said good-day, resolved to risk everything at the first opportunity rather than not toknow the truth. 

Scarcely had he closed the door when Hubert asked:

"What is the matter with you, my dear child? Are you ill?"

"No, indeed. It is simply that I am tired of having that young man here. I do not wish to see him again. "

Then Hubertine added: "Very well; you will not see him again. Butnothing should ever prevent one from being polite. "

Angelique, making some trivial excuse, hurried up to her room as quicklyas possible. Then she gave free course to her tears. Ah, how intenselyhappy she was, yet how she suffered! Her poor, dear beloved; he was sadenough when he found he must leave her! But she must not forget that shehad made a vow to the saints, that although she loved him better thanlife, he should never know it. 

CHAPTER VIII

On the evening of this same day, immediately after leaving thedinner-table, Angelique complained of not being at all well, and wentup at once to her room. The agitation and excitement of the morning, herstruggles against her true self, had quite exhausted her. She made hasteto go to bed, and covering her head with the sheet, with a desperatefeeling of disappearing for ever if she could, again the tears came toher relief. 

The hours passed slowly, and soon it was night--a warm July night, theheavy, oppressive quiet of which entered through the window, which hadbeen left wide open. In the dark heavens glistened a multitude of stars. It must have been nearly eleven o'clock, and the moon, already grownquite thin in its last quarter, would not rise until midnight. 

And in the obscure chamber, Angelique still wept nervously a flow ofinexhaustible tears, seemingly without reason, when a slight noise ather door caused her to lift up her head. 

There was a short silence, when a voice called her tenderly. 

"Angelique! Angelique! My darling child!"

She recognised the voice of Hubertine. Without doubt the latter, in herroom with her husband, had just heard the distant sound of sobbing, andanxious, half-undressed, she had come upstairs to find out what was thematter with her daughter. 

"Angelique, are you ill, my dear?"

Retaining her breath, the young girl made no answer. She did not wish tobe unkind, but her one absorbing idea at this moment was of solitude. To be alone was the only possible alleviation of her trouble. A word ofconsolation, a caress, even from her mother, would have distressed her. She imagined that she saw her standing at the other side of the door, and from the delicacy of the rustling movement on the tiled floor shethought she must be barefooted. Two or three minutes passed, and sheknew the kind watcher had not left her place, but that, stooping, andholding with her beautiful hands the clothing so carelessly thrown overher, she still listened at the keyhole. 

Hubertine, hearing nothing more, not even a sigh, did not like to callagain. She was very sure that she had heard sobs; but if the child hadat last been able to sleep, what good would it do to awaken her? Shewaited, however, another moment, troubled by the thought of a griefwhich her daughter hid from her, confusedly imagining what it mightbe from the tender emotion with which her heart seemed filled fromsympathy. At last she concluded to go down as she had come up, quietly, her hands being so familiar with every turning that she needed nocandle, and leaving behind her no other sound than the soft, light touchof her bare feet. 

Then, sitting up in bed, Angelique in her turn listened. So profoundwas the outward silence that she could clearly distinguish the slightpressure of the heel on the edge of each step of the stairway. At thefoot, the door of the chamber was opened, then closed again; afterward, she heard a scarcely-distinct murmur, an affectionate, yet sad blendingof voices in a half-whisper. No doubt it was what her father and motherwere saying of her; the fears and the hopes they had in regard to her. For a long time that continued, although they must have put out theirlight and gone to bed. 

Never before had any night sounds in this old house mounted in this wayto her ears. Ordinarily, she slept the heavy, tranquil sleep of youth;she heard nothing whatever after placing her head upon her pillow;whilst now, in the wakefulness caused by the inner combat against analmost overpowering sentiment of affection which she was determined toconquer, it seemed to her as if the whole house were in unison withher, that it was also in love, and mourned like herself. Were not theHuberts, too, sad, as they stilled their tears and thought of the childthey had lost long ago, whose place, alas! had never been filled? Sheknew nothing of this in reality, but she had a sensation in this warmnight of the watch of her parents below her, and of the disappointmentin their lives, which they could not forget, notwithstanding their greatlove for each other, which was always as fresh as when they were young. 

Whilst she was seated in this way, listening in the house that trembledand sighed, Angelique lost all self-control, and again the tears rolleddown her face, silently, but warm and living, as if they were her life'sblood. One question above all others had troubled her since the earlymorning, and had grieved her deeply. Was she right in having sent awayFelicien in despair, stabbed to the heart by her coldness, and with thethought that she did not love him? She knew that she did love him, yetshe had willingly caused him to suffer, and now in her turn she wassuffering intensely. Why should there be so much pain connected withlove? Did the saints wish for tears? Could it be that Agnes, herguardian angel, was angry in the knowledge that she was happy? Now, forthe first time, she was distracted by a doubt. Before this, whenever shethought of the hero she awaited, and who must come sooner or later, shehad arranged everything much more satisfactorily. When the right timearrived he was to enter her very room, where she would immediatelyrecognise and welcome him, when they would both go away together, tobe united for evermore. But how different was the reality! He hadcome, and, instead of what she had foreseen, their meeting was mostunsatisfactory; they were equally unhappy, and were eternally separated. To what purpose? Why had this result come to pass? Who had exacted fromher so strange a vow, that, although he might be very dear to her, shewas never to let him know it?

But, yet again, Angelique was especially grieved from the fear that shemight have been bad and done some very wrong thing. Perhaps the originalsin that was in her had manifested itself again as when she was a littlegirl! She thought over all her acts of pretended indifference: themocking air with which she had received Felicien, and the maliciouspleasure she took in giving him a false idea of herself. And theastonishment at what she had done, added to a cutting remorse for hercruelty, increased her distress. Now, her whole heart was filled with adeep infinite pity for the suffering she had caused him without reallymeaning to do so. 

She saw him constantly before her, as he was when he left the house inthe morning: the despairing expression of his face, his troubled eyes, his trembling lips; and in imagination she followed him through thestreets, as he went home, pale, utterly desolate, and wounded to theheart's core by her. Where was he now? Perhaps at this hour he wasreally ill!

She wrung her hands in agony, distressed that she could not at oncerepair the evil she had done. Ah! how she revolted at the idea of havingmade another suffer, for she had always wished to be good, and to renderthose about her as happy as possible. 

Twelve o'clock would ere long ring out from the old church-tower; thegreat elms of the garden of the Bishop's palace hid the moon, which wasjust appearing above the horizon, and the chamber was still dark. Then, letting her head fall back upon the pillow, Angelique dwelt no longerupon these disturbing questions, as she wished to go to sleep. But thisshe could not do; although she kept her eyes closed, her mind was stillactive; she thought of the flowers which every night during the lastfortnight she had found when she went upstairs upon the balcony beforeher window. Each evening it was a lovely bouquet of violets, whichFelicien had certainly thrown there from the Clos-Marie. She recollectedhaving told him that flowers generally gave her a sick headache, whilstviolets alone had the singular virtue of calming her, and so he had senther quiet nights, a perfumed sleep refreshed by pleasant dreams. Thisevening she had placed the bouquet by her bedside. All at once she hadthe happy thought of taking it into her bed with her, putting it nearher cheek, and, little by little, being soothed with its sweet breath. The purple blossoms did indeed do her good. Not that she slept, however;but she lay there with closed eyes, penetrated by the refreshingodour that came from his gift; happy to await events, in a repose andconfident abandonment of her whole being. 

But suddenly she started. It was past midnight. She opened her eyes, and was astonished to find her chamber filled with a clear bright light. Above the great elms the moon rose slowly, dimming the stars in the palesky. Through the window she saw the apse of the cathedral, almost white, and it seemed to her as if it were the reflection of this whitenesswhich entered her room, like the light of the dawn, fresh and pure. Thewhitewashed walls and beams, all this blank nudity was increased by it, enlarged, and moved back as if it were unreal as a dream. 

She still recognised, however, the old, dark, oaken furniture--thewardrobe, the chest and the chairs, with the shining edges of theirelaborate carvings. The bedstead alone--this great square, royalcouch--seemed new to her, as if she saw it for the first time, withits high columns supporting its canopy of old-fashioned, rose-tintedcretonne, now bathed with such a sheet of deep moonlight that she halfthought she was on a cloud in the midst of the heavens, borne along bya flight of silent, invisible wings. For a moment she felt the fullswinging of it; it did not seem at all strange or unnatural to her. Buther sight soon grew accustomed to the reality; her bed was again in itsusual corner, and she was in it, not moving her head, her eyes aloneturning from side to side, as she lay in the midst of this lake ofbeaming rays, with the bouquet of violets upon her lips. 

Why was it that she was thus in a state of waiting? Why could she notsleep? She was sure that she expected someone. That she had grown quitecalm was a sign that her hero was about to appear. This consolinglight, which put to flight the darkness of all bad dreams, announcedhis arrival. He was on his way, and the moon, whose brightness almostequalled that of the sun, was simply his forerunner. She must be readyto greet him. 

The chamber was as if hung with white velvet now, so they could see eachother well. Then she got up, dressed herself thoroughly, putting on asimple white gown of foulard, the same she had worn the day of theirexcursion to the ruins of Hautecoeur. She did not braid her hair, butlet it hang over her shoulders. She put a pair of slippers upon her barefeet, and drawing an armchair in front of the window, seated herself, and waited in patience. 

Angelique did not pretend to know how he would appear. Without doubt, hewould not come up the stairs, and it might be that she would simply seehim over the Clos-Marie, while she leaned from the balcony. Still, she kept her place on the threshold of the window, as it seemed to heruseless to go and watch for him just yet. So vague was her idea of reallife, so mystic was love, that she did not understand in her imaginativenature why he might not pass through the walls, like the saints in thelegends. Why should not miracles come now, as in the olden days, for hadnot all this been ordained from the beginning?

Not for a moment did she think she was alone to receive him. No, indeed!She felt as if she were surrounded by the crowd of virgins who hadalways been near her, since her early youth. They entered on the rays ofthe moonlight, they came from the great dark trees with their blue-greentops in the Bishop's garden, from the most intricate corners of theentanglement of the stone front of the Cathedral. From all the familiarand beloved horizon of the Chevrotte, from the willows, the grasses, and bushes, the young girl heard the dreams which came back to her, thehopes, the desires, the visions, all that which she had put of herselfinto inanimate objects as she saw them daily, and which they nowreturned to her. Never had the voices of the Invisible unknown spokenso clearly. She listened to them as they came from afar, recognisingparticularly in this warm, beautiful night, so calm that there was notthe slightest movement in the air, the delicate sound which she waswont to call the fluttering of the robe of Agnes, when her dear guardianangel came to her side. She laughed quietly to know that she was now byher, and waiting with the others who were near her. 

Time passed, but it did not seem long to Angelique. She was quiteconscious of what was passing around her. It appeared to her perfectlynatural, and exactly as it had been foretold, when at last she sawFelicien striding over the balustrade of the balcony. 

His tall figure came out in full relief before the background of thewhite sky; he did not approach the open window, but remained in itsluminous shadow. 

"Do not be afraid. It is I. I have come to see you. "

She was not in the slightest way alarmed; she simply thought that he wasexact to the hour of meeting, and said calmly:

"You mounted by the timber framework, did you not?"

"Yes, by the framework. "

The idea of this way made her laugh, and he himself was amused by it. He had in fact pulled himself up by the pent-house shed; then, climbingalong the principal rafters from there, whose ends were supported by thestring-course of the first story, he had without difficulty reached thebalcony. 

"I was expecting you. Will you not come nearer me?"

Felicien, who had arrived in a state of anger, not knowing how he haddared to come, but with many wild ideas in his head, did not move, sosurprised and delighted was he by this unexpected reception. As he hadcome at last, Angelique was now certain that the saints did not prohibither from loving, for she heard them welcoming him with her by a laugh asdelicate as a breath of the night. Where in the world had she ever foundso ridiculous an idea as to think that Agnes would be angry with her! Onthe contrary, Agnes was radiant with a joy that she felt as it descendedon her shoulders and enveloped her like a caress from two great wings. All those who had died for love showed great compassion for youthfultroubles, and only returned to earth on summer nights, that, althoughinvisible, they might watch those young hearts who were sorrowful fromaffection. 

"But why do you not come to me? I was waiting for you. "

Then, hesitatingly, Felicien approached. He had been so excited, socarried away by anger at her indifference, that he had said she shouldbe made to love him, and that, were it necessary, he would carry heraway even against her will. And lo! now finding her so gentle as hepenetrated almost to the entrance of this chamber, so pure and white, hebecame subdued at once, and as gentle and submissive as a child. 

He took three steps forward. But he was afraid, and not daring to gofarther, he fell on his knees at the end of the balcony. 

"Could you but know, " he said, "the abominable tortures I have passedthrough. I have never imagined a worse suffering. Really, the only truegrief is to think that you are not beloved by the person to whom youhave given your affection. I would willingly give up all else; wouldconsent to be poor, dying from hunger, or racked by pain; but I willnot pass another day with this terrible doubt gnawing at my heart, ofthinking that you do not love me. Be good, I pray you, and pity me. "

She listened to him, silent, overcome with compassion, yet very happywithal. 

"This morning you sent me away in such a dreadful manner! I had fanciedto myself that you had changed your feelings towards me, and that, appreciating my affection, you liked me better. But, alas! I found youexactly as you had been on the first day, cold, indifferent, treating meas you would have done any other simple customer who passed, recallingme harshly to the commonplaces of life. On the stairway I staggered. Once outside, I ran, and was afraid I might scream aloud. Then, themoment I reached home, it seemed to me I should stifle were I to enterthe house. So I rushed out into the fields, walking by chance first onone side of the road and then on another. Evening came, and I was stillwandering up and down. But the torment of spirit moved faster than everand devoured me. When one is hopelessly in love, it is impossible toescape from the pains accompanying one's affection. Listen!" he said, and he touched his breast; "it is here that you stabbed me, and thepoint of the knife still continues to penetrate deeper and deeper. "

He gave a long sigh at the keen recollection of his torture. 

"I found myself at last in a thicket, overcome by my distress, like atree that has been drawn up by the roots. To me, the only thing thatexisted in life, in the future, was you. The thought that you mightnever be mine was more than I could bear. Already my feet were so wearythat they would no longer support me. I felt that my hands were growingicy cold, and my head was filled with the strangest fancies. And thatis why I am here. I do not know at all how I came, or where I found thenecessary strength to bring me to you. You must try to forgive me;but had I been forced to do so, I would have broken open doors with myfists, I would have clambered up to this balcony in broad daylight, formy will was no longer under my control, and I was quite wild. Now, willyou not pardon me?"

She was a little in the shadow, and he, on his knees in the fullmoonlight, could not see that she had grown very pale in her tenderrepentance, and was too touched by his story to be able to speak. Hethought that she was still insensible to his pleadings, and he joinedhis hands together most beseechingly. 

"All my interest in you commenced long ago. It was one night when Isaw you for the first time, here at your window. You were only a vague, white shadow; I could scarcely distinguish one of your features, yet Isaw you and imagined you just as you are in reality. But I was timid andafraid, so for several days I wandered about here, never daring totry to meet you in the open day. And, in addition, since this is aconfession, I must tell you everything; you pleased me particularly inthis half mystery; it would have disturbed me to have you come outfrom it, for my great happiness was to dream of you as if you were anapparition, or an unknown something to be worshipped from afar, withoutever hoping to become acquainted with you. Later on, I knew who youwere, for after all it is difficult to resist the temptation toknow what may be the realisation of one's dream. It was then thatmy restlessness commenced. It has increased at each meeting. Do yourecollect the first time that we spoke to each other in the field nearby, on that forenoon when I was examining the painted window? Never inmy life did I feel so awkward as then, and it was not strange thatyou ridiculed me so. Afterwards I frightened you, and realised that Icontinued to be very unfortunate in following you, even in the visitsyou made to the poor people. Already I ceased to be master of my ownactions, and did things that astonished me beyond measure, and which, under usual circumstances, I would not have dared attempt. For instance, when I presented myself here with the order for a mitre, I was pushedforward by an involuntary force, as, personally, I dared not do it, knowing that I might make you angry. But at present I cannot regain myold self, I can only obey my impulses. I know that you do not like me, and yet, as you see, in spite of it all I have come back to you, thatI may hear you tell me so. If you would but try to understand howmiserable I am. Do not love me if it is not in your heart to do so. Imust accept my fate. But at least allow me to love you. Be as cold asyou please, be hateful if you will--I shall adore you whatever you maychoose to be. I only ask to be able to see you, even without any hope;merely for the joy of living thus at your feet. "

Felicien stopped, disheartened, losing all courage as he thought hewould never find any way of touching her heart. And he did not see thatAngelique smiled, half hidden as she was by the open window-sash. It wasan invincible smile, that, little by little, spread over her whole face. Ah! the dear fellow! How simple and trusting he was as he outpoured theprayer of his heart, filled with new longings and love, in bowing beforeher, as before the highest ideal of all his youthful dreams. 

To think that she had ever been so foolish as at first to try to avoidall meetings with him, and then, later on, had determined that althoughshe could not help loving him, he should never know it! Such folly onher part was quite inexplicable. Since love is right, and is the fate ofall, what good could be gained by making martyrs of them both?

A complete silence ensued, and in her enthusiastic, imaginative, nervousstate, she heard, louder than ever, in the quiet of the warm night, thevoices of the saints about her, who said love was never forbidden whenit was so ardent and true as this. Behind her back a bright flash oflight had suddenly appeared; scarcely a breath, but a delicate wave fromthe moon upon the chamber floor. An invisible finger, no doubt that ofher guardian angel, was placed upon her mouth, as if to unseal herlips and relieve her from her vow. Henceforth she could freely unburdenherself and tell the truth. All that which was powerful and tender inher surroundings now whispered to her words which seemed to come fromthe infinite unknown. 

Then, at last, Angelique spoke. 

"Ah! yes, I recollect--I recollect it all. "

And Felicien was at once carried away with delight by the music of thisvoice, whose extreme charm was so great over him that his love seemed toincrease simply from listening to it. 

"Yes, I remember well when you came in the night. You were so far awaythose first evenings that the little sound you made in walking left mein quite an uncertain state. At last I realised perfectly that it wasyou who approached me, and a little later I recognised your shadow. Atlength, one evening you showed yourself boldly, on a beautiful, brightnight like this, in the full white light of the moon. You came out soslowly from the inanimate objects near you, like a creation from all themysteries that surrounded me, exactly as I had expected to see you for along time, and punctual to the meeting. 

"I have never forgotten the great desire to laugh, which I kept back, but which broke forth in spite of me, when you saved the linen thatwas being carried away by the Chevrotte. I recollect my anger when yourobbed me of my poor people, by giving them so much money, and thusmaking me appear as a miser. I can still recall my fear on the eveningwhen you forced me to run so fast through the grass with my bare feet. Oh, yes, I have not forgotten anything--not the slightest thing. "

At this last sentence her voice, pure and crystalline, was a littlebroken by the thought of those magic words of the young man, the powerof which she felt so deeply when he said, "I love you, " and a deep blushpassed over her face. And he--he listened to her with delight. 

"It is indeed true that I did wrong to tease you. When one is ignorant, one is often so foolish. One does many things which seem necessary, simply from the fear of being found fault with if following the impulsesof the heart. But my remorse for all this was deep, and my sufferings, in consequence, were as great as yours. Were I to try to explain allthis to you, it would be quite impossible for me to do so. When youcame to us with your drawing of Saint Agnes, oh! I could have cried out, 'Thank you, thank you!' I was perfectly enchanted to work for you, as Ithought you would certainly make us a daily visit. And yet, think of it!I pretended to be indifferent, as if I had taken upon myself the task ofdoing all in my power to drive you from the house. Has one ever the needof being willfully unhappy? Whilst in reality I longed to welcome youand to receive you with open hands, there seemed to be in the depths ofmy nature another woman than myself, who revolted, who was afraid of andmistrusted you--whose delight it was to torture you with uncertainty, in the vague idea of setting up a quarrel, the cause of which, in a timelong passed, had been quite forgotten. I am not always good; often in mysoul things seem to creep up that I cannot explain or account for. Theworst of it was that I dared to speak to you of money. Fancy it, then!Of money! I, who have never thought of it, who would accept chariots ofit, only for the pleasure of making it rain down as I wished, among theneedy! What a malicious amusement I gave myself in this calumniating mycharacter. Will you ever forgive me?"

CHAPTER IX

Felicien was at her feet. Until now he had kept his place in the remotecorner of the balcony. But in the intense happiness she gave him in thusunfolding the innermost secrets of her soul he had drawn himself on hisknees towards her, as he approached the window. This great, illimitablejoy was so unlooked for, that he yielded to it in all the infinitude ofits hopes of the future. 

He half whispered:

"Ah, dear soul, pure, kind, and beautiful, your wonderful goodness hascured me as with a breath! I know not now if I have ever suffered. And, in your turn, you will now have to pardon me, for I have anacknowledgment to make to you. I must tell you who I am. "

He was troubled at the thought he could no longer disguise himself orhis position, since she had confided so freely and entirely in him. Itwould be disloyal in the highest degree to do so. Yet he hesitated, lesthe might, after all, lose her, were she to be anxious about the futurewhen at last she knew the facts. 

And she waited for him to speak again, a little malicious in spite ofherself. 

In a very low voice he continued:

"I have told a falsehood to your parents. "

"Yes, I know it, " she said as she smiled. 

"No, you do not know it; you could not possibly know it, for all thathappened too long ago. I only paint on glass for my own pleasure, and asa simple amusement; you really ought to be told of that. "

Then, with a quick movement, she put her hand on his mouth, as if shewished to prevent this explanation. 

"I do not care to hear any more. I have been expecting you. I knewthat sooner or later you would come, and you have done so. That isall-sufficient. "

They talked no longer for a while. That little hand over his lips seemedalmost too great a happiness for him. 

"When the right time comes, then I shall know all. Yet I assure you thatI am ignorant of nothing connected with you, for everything had beenrevealed to me before our first meeting. You were to be, and can be, only the handsomest, the richest, and the most noble of men, the oneabove all others; for that has ever been my dream, and in the surecertainty of its full accomplishment I wait calmly. You are the chosenhero who it was ordained should come, and I am yours. "

A second time she interrupted herself in the tremor of the words shepronounced. She did not appear to say them by herself alone; they cameto her as if sent by the beautiful night from the great white heavens, from the old trees, and the aged stones sleeping outside and dreamingaloud the fancies of the young girl. From behind her voices alsowhispered them to her, the voices of her friends in the "Golden Legend, "with whom she had peopled the air and the space around her. In thisatmosphere she had ever lived--mysticism, in which she revelled untilit seemed fact on one side, and the daily work of life on the other. Nothing seemed strange to her. 

Now but one word remained to be said--that which would express all thelong waiting, the slow creation of affection, the constantly increasingfever of restlessness. It escaped from her lips like a cry from adistance, from the white flight of a bird mounting upward in the lightof the early dawn, in the pure whiteness of the chamber behind her. 

"I love you. "

Angelique, her two hands spread out, bent forward towards Felicien. Andhe recalled to himself the evening when she ran barefooted through thegrass, making so adorable a picture that he pursued her in order tostammer in her ear these same words: "I love you. " He knew that now shewas simply replying to him with the same cry of affection, the eternalcry, which at last came from her freely-opened heart. 

"Yes, I love you. I am yours. Lead the way, and I will follow youwherever it may be. "

In this surrender of her soul she gave herself to him fully andentirely. It was the hereditary flame relighted within her--the prideand the passion she thought had been conquered, but which awoke at thewish of her beloved. He trembled before this innocence, so ardent and soingenuous. He took her hands gently, and crossed them upon her breast. For a moment he looked at her, radiant with the intense happinessher confession had given him, unwilling to wound her delicacy in theslightest degree, and not thinking of yielding to the temptation of evenkissing her hair. 

"You love me, and you know that I love you! Ah! what bliss there is insuch knowledge. "

But they were suddenly drawn from their ecstatic state by a change aboutthem. What did it all mean? They realised that now they were lookingat each other under a great white light. It seemed to them as if thebrightness of the moon had been increased, and was as resplendent asthat of the sun. It was in reality the daybreak, a slight shade of whichalready tinged with purple the tops of the elm-trees in the neighbouringgardens. What? It could not be possible that the dawn had come? Theywere astonished by it, for they did not realise so long a time hadpassed since they began to talk together on the balcony. She had as yettold him nothing, and he had so many things he wished to say!

"Oh, stay one minute more, only one minute!" he exclaimed. 

The daylight advanced still faster--the smiling morning, alreadywarm, of what was to be a hot day in summer. One by one the stars wereextinguished, and with them fled the wandering visions, and all the hostof invisible friends seemed to mount upward and to glide away on themoon's rays. 

Now, in the full, clear light, the room behind them had only itsordinary whiteness of walls and ceiling, and seemed quite empty with itsold-fashioned furniture of dark oak. The velvet hangings were no longerthere, and the bedstead had resumed its original shape, as it stood halfhidden by the falling of one of its curtains. 

"Do stay! Let me be near you only one minute more!"

Angelique, having risen, refused, and begged Felicien to leaveimmediately. Since the day had come, she had grown confused and anxious. The reality was now here. At her right hand, she seemed to hear adelicate movement of wings, whilst her hair was gently blown, althoughthere was not the slightest breath of wind. Was it not Saint Agnes, who, having remained until the last, was now forced to leave, driven away bythe sun?

"No, leave me, I beg of you. I am unwilling you should stay longer. "

Then Felicien, obedient, withdrew. 

To know that he was beloved was enough for him, and satisfied him. Still, before leaving the balcony, he turned, and looked at her againfixedly, as if he wished to carry away with him an indelible remembranceof her. They both smiled at each other as they stood thus, bathed withlight, in this long caressing look. 

At last he said:

"I love you. "

And she gently replied:

"I love you. "

That was all, and he had in a moment, with the agility of a bird, gonedown the woodwork of the corner of the building, while she, remaining onthe balcony, leaned on the balustrade and watched him, with her tender, beautiful eyes. She had taken the bouquet of violets and breathed theperfume to cool her feverishness. When, in crossing the Clos-Marie, helifted his head, he saw that she was kissing the flowers. 

Scarcely had Felicien disappeared behind the willows, when Angelique wasdisturbed by hearing below the opening of the house-door. Four o'clockhad just struck, and no one was in the habit of getting up until twohours later. Her surprise increased when she recognised Hubertine, as itwas always Hubert who went down the first. She saw her follow slowly thewalks of the narrow garden, her arms hanging listlessly at her sides, asif, after a restless, sleepless night, a feeling of suffocating, a needof breathing the fresh air, had made her leave her room so early. AndHubertine was really very beautiful, with her clothes so hastily put on;and she seemed very weary--happy, but in the deepest grief. 

The morning of the next day, on waking from a sound sleep of eighthours, one of those sweet, deep, refreshing sleeps that come after somegreat happiness, Angelique ran to her window. The sky was clear, theair pure, and the fine weather had returned after a heavy shower of theprevious evening. Delighted, she called out joyously to Hubert, who wasjust opening the blinds below her:

"Father! Father! Do look at the beautiful sunlight. Oh, how glad I am, for the procession will be superb!"

Dressing herself as quickly as possible, she hurried to go downstairs. It was on that day, July 28, that the Procession of the Miracle wouldpass through the streets of the upper town. Every summer at this dateit was also a festival for the embroiderers; all work was put aside, noneedles were threaded, but the day was passed in ornamenting the house, after a traditional arrangement that had been transmitted from mother todaughter for four hundred years. 

All the while that she was taking her coffee, Angelique talked of thehangings. 

"Mother, we must look at them at once, to see if they are in goodorder. "

"We have plenty of time before us, my dear, " replied Hubertine, in herquiet way. "We shall not put them up until afternoon. "

The decorations in question consisted of three large panels of themost admirable ancient embroidery, which the Huberts guarded with thegreatest care as a sacred family relic, and which they brought out oncea year on the occasion of the passing of this special procession. 

The previous evening, according to a time-honoured custom, the Masterof the Ceremonies, the good Abbe Cornille, had gone from door to door tonotify the inhabitants of the route which would be taken by the bearersof the statue of Saint Agnes, accompanied by Monseigneur the Bishop, carrying the Holy Sacrament. For more than five centuries this route hadbeen the same. The departure was made from the portal of Saint Agnes, then by the Rue des Orfevres to the Grand Rue, to the Rue Basse, andafter having gone through the whole of the lower town, it returned bythe Rue Magloire and the Place du Cloitre, to reappear again at thegreat front entrance of the Church. And the dwellers on all thesestreets, vying with each other in their zeal, decorated their windows, hung upon their walls their richest possessions in silks, satins, velvets, or tapestry, and strewed the pavements with flowers, particularly with the leaves of roses and carnations. 

Angelique was very impatient until permission had been given her totake from the drawers, where they had been quietly resting for the pasttwelve months, the three pieces of embroidery. 

"They are in perfect order, mother. Nothing has happened to them, " shesaid, as she looked at them, enraptured. 

She had with the greatest care removed the mass of silk paper thatprotected them from the dust, and they now appeared in all their beauty. The three were consecrated to Mary. The Blessed Virgin receiving thevisit of the Angel of the Annunciation; the Virgin Mother at the footof the Cross; and the Assumption of the Virgin. They were made inthe fifteenth century, of brightly coloured silks wrought on a goldenbackground, and were wonderfully well preserved. The family had alwaysrefused to sell them, although very large sums had been offered bydifferent churches, and they were justly proud of their possessions. 

"Mother, dear, may I not hang them up to-day?"

All these preparations required a great deal of time. Hubert wasoccupied the whole forenoon in cleaning the front of the old building. He fastened a broom to the end of a long stick, that he might dust allthe wooden panels decorated with bricks, as far as the framework of theroof; then with a sponge he washed all the sub-basement of stone, andall the parts of the stairway tower that he could reach. When thatwas finished, the three superb pieces of embroidery were put in theirplaces. Angelique attached them, by their rings, to venerable nails thatwere in the walls; the Annunciation below the window at the left, theAssumption below the window at the right, while for the Calvary, thenails for that were above the great window of the first story, and shewas obliged to use a step-ladder that she might hang it there in itsturn. She had already embellished the window with flowers, so that theancient dwelling seemed to have gone back to the far-away time of itsyouth, with its embroideries of gold and of silk glistening in thebeautiful sunshine of this festive day. 

After the noon breakfast the activity increased in every direction, andthe whole Rue des Orfevres was now in excitement. To avoid the greatheat, the procession would not move until five o'clock, but after twelvethe town began to be decorated. Opposite the Huberts', the silversmithdressed his shop with draperies of an exquisite light blue, borderedwith a silver fringe; while the wax-chandler, who was next to him, madeuse of his window-curtains of red cotton, which looked more brilliantthan ever in the broad light of day. At each house there were differentcolours; a prodigality of stuffs, everything that people owned, even torugs of all descriptions, were blowing about in the weary air of thishot summer afternoon. The street now seemed clothed, sparkling, andalmost trembling with gaiety, as if changed into a gallery of fete opento the sky. All its inhabitants were rushing to and fro, pushing againsteach other; speaking loud, as if in their own homes; some of themcarrying their arms full of objects, others climbing, driving nails, and calling vociferously. In addition to all this was the _reposoir_, or altar, that was being prepared at the corner of the Grand Rue, thearrangements for which called for the services of all the women of theneighbourhood, who eagerly offered their vases and candlesticks. 

Angelique ran down to carry the two candelabra, of the style of theEmpire, which they had on the mantel-shelf of their parlour. She had nottaken a moment's rest since the early morning, but had shown no signs offatigue, being, on the contrary, supported and carried above herself byher great inward happiness. And as she came back from her errand, herhair blown all about her face by the wind, Hubert began to tease her asshe seated herself to strip off the leaves of the roses, and to put themin a great basket. 

"You could not do any more than you have done were it your wedding-day, my dear. Is it, then, that you are really to be married now?"

"But yes! oh, yes! Why not?" she answered gaily. 

Hubertine smiled in her turn. 

"While waiting, my daughter, since the house is so satisfactorilyarranged, the best thing for us to do is to go upstairs and dress. "

"In a minute, mother. Look at my full basket. "

She had finished taking the leaves from the roses which she had reservedto throw before Monseigneur. The petals rained from her slender fingers;the basket was running over with its light, perfumed contents. Then, as she disappeared on the narrow stairway of the tower, she said, whilelaughing heartily:

"We will be quick. I will make myself beautiful as a star!"

The afternoon advanced. Now the feverish movement in Beaumont-l'Eglisewas calmed; a peculiar air of expectation seemed to fill the streets, which were all ready, and where everyone spoke softly, in hushed, whispering voices. The heat had diminished, as the sun's rays grewoblique, and between the houses, so closely pressed the one againstthe others, there fell from the pale sky only a warm, fine shadow of agentle, serene nature. The air of meditation was profound, as if the oldtown had become simply a continuation of the Cathedral; the only soundof carriages that could be heard came up from Beaumont-la-Ville, the newtown on the banks of the Ligneul, where many of the factories werenot closed, as the proprietors disdained taking part in this ancientreligious ceremony. 

Soon after four o'clock the great bell of the northern tower, the onewhose swinging stirred the house of the Huberts, began to ring; and itwas at that very moment that Hubertine and Angelique reappeared. Theformer had put on a dress of pale buff linen, trimmed with a simplethread lace, but her figure was so slight and youthful in its delicateroundness that she looked as if she were the sister of her adopteddaughter. Angelique wore her dress of white foulard, with its softruchings at the neck and wrists, and nothing else; neither earringsnor bracelets, only her bare wrists and throat, soft in their satinywhiteness as they came out from the delicate material, light as theopening of a flower. An invisible comb, put in place hastily, scarcelyheld the curls of her golden hair, which was carelessly dressed. Shewas artless and proud, of a most touching simplicity, and, indeed, "beautiful as a star. "

"Ah!" she said, "the bell! That is to show that Monseigneur has left hispalace. "

The bell continued to sound loud and clear in the great purity of theatmosphere. The Huberts installed themselves at the wide-opened windowof the first story, the mother and daughter being in front, withtheir elbows resting on the bar of support, and the husband and fatherstanding behind them. These were their accustomed places; they could notpossibly have found better, as they would be the very first to seethe procession as it came from the farther end of the church, withoutmissing even a single candle of the marching-past. 

"Where is my basket?" asked Angelique. 

Hubert was obliged to take and pass to her the basket of rose-leaves, which she held between her arms, pressed against her breast. 

"Oh, that bell!" she at last murmured; "it seems as if it would lull usto sleep!"

And still the waiting continued in the little vibrating house, sonorouswith the musical movement; the street and the great square waited, subdued by this great trembling, whist the hangings on every side blewabout more quietly in the air of the coming evening. The perfume ofroses was very sweet. 

Another half-hour passed. Then at the same moment the two halves of theportal of Saint Agnes were opened, and they perceived the very depthsof the church, dark in reality, but dotted with little bright spots fromthe tapers. First the bearer of the Cross appeared, a sub-deacon ina tunic, accompanied by the acolytes, each one of whom held a lightedcandle in his hand. Behind them hurried along the Master of theCeremonies, the good Abbe Cornille, who after having assured himselfthat everything was in perfect order in the street, stopped under theporch, and assisted a moment at the passing out, in order to be surethat the places assigned to each section had been rightly taken. The various societies of laymen opened the march: the charitableassociations, schools, by rank of seniority, and numerous publicorganisations. There were a great many children: little girls all inwhite, like brides, and little bareheaded boys, with curly hair, dressedin their best, like princes, already looking in every direction to findwhere their mothers were. A splendid fellow, nine years of age, walkedby himself in the middle, clad like Saint John the Baptist, with asheepskin over his thin, bare shoulders. Four little girls, covered withpink ribbons, bore a shield on which was a sheaf of ripe wheat. Thenthere were young girls grouped around a banner of the Blessed Virgin;ladies in black, who also had their special banner of crimson silk, onwhich was embroidered a portrait of Saint Joseph. There were otherand still other banners, in velvet or in satin, balanced at the end ofgilded batons. The brotherhoods of men were no less numerous; penitentsof all colours, but especially the grey penitents in dark linen suits, wearing cowls, and whose emblems made a great sensation--a large cross, with a wheel, to which were attached the instruments of the Passion. 

Angelique exclaimed with tenderness when the children came by:

"Oh, the blessed darlings! Do look at them all!"

One, no higher than a boot, scarcely three years of age, proudlytottered along on his little feet, and looked so comical that sheplunged her hands into her basket and literally covered him withflowers. He quite disappeared under them for an instant; he had rosesin his hair and on his shoulders. The exquisite little laughing shout heuttered was enjoyed on every side, and flowers rained down from all thewindows as the cherub passed. In the humming silence of the street onecould now only hear the deafened sound of the regular movement of feetin the procession, while flowers by the handful still continued to fallsilently upon the pavement. Very soon there were heaps of them. 

But now, reassured upon the good order of the laymen, the Abbe Cornillegrew impatient and disturbed, inasmuch as the procession had beenstationary for nearly two minutes, and he walked quickly towards thehead of it, bowing and smiling at the Huberts as he passed. 

"What has happened? What can prevent them from continuing?" saidAngelique, all feverish from excitement, as if she were waiting for someexpected happiness that was to come to her from the other end that wasstill in the church. 

Hubertine answered her gently, as usual:

"There is no reason why they should run. "

"There is some obstruction evidently; perhaps it is a _reposoir_ that isstill unfinished, " Hubert added. 

The young girls of the Society of the Blessed Virgin, the "daughters ofMary, " as they are called, had already commenced singing a canticle, andtheir clear voices rose in the air, pure as crystal. Nearer and nearerthe double ranks caught the movement and recommenced their march. 

CHAPTER X

After the civilians, the clergy began to leave the church, the lowerorders coming first. All, in surplices, covered their heads with theircaps, under the porch; and each one held a large, lighted wax taper;those at the right in their right hand, and those at the left in theirleft hand, outside the rank, so there was a double row of flame, almostdeadened by the brightness of the day. First were representatives fromthe great seminaries, the parishes, and then collegiate churches; thencame the beneficed clergymen and clerks of the Cathedral, followed bythe canons in white pluvials. In their midst were the choristers, incapes of red silk, who chanted the anthem in full voice, and to whom allthe clergy replied in lower notes. The hymn, "Pange Lingua, " was grandlygiven. The street was now filled with a rustling of muslin from theflying winged sleeves of the surplices, which seemed pierced all overwith tiny stars of pale gold from the flames of the candles. 

"Oh!" at last Angelique half sighed, "there is Saint Agnes!"

She smiled at the saint, borne by four clerks in white surplices, on aplatform of white velvet heavily ornamented with lace. Each year it waslike a new surprise to her, as she saw her guardian angel thus broughtout from the shadows where she had been growing old for centuries, quitelike another person under the brilliant sunshine, as if she were timidand blushing in her robe of long, golden hair. She was really so old, yet still very young, with her small hands, her little slender feet, herdelicate, girlish face, blackened by time. 

But Monseigneur was to follow her. Already the swinging of the censerscould be heard coming from the depths of the church. 

There was a slight murmuring of voices as Angelique repeated:

"Monseigneur, Monseigneur, " and with her eyes still upon the saint whowas going by, she recalled to mind at this moment the old histories. The noble Marquesses d'Hautecoeur delivering Beaumont from the plague, thanks to the intervention of Agnes, then Jean V and all those of hisrace coming to kneel before her image, to pay their devotions to thesaint, and she seemed to see them all, the lords of the miracle, comingone by one like a line of princes. 

A large space had been left empty. Then the chaplain charged with thecare of the crozier advanced, holding it erect, the curved part beingtowards him. Afterward came two censer-bearers, who walked backwards andswung the censers gently from side to side, each one having near himan acolyte charged with the incense-box. There was a little difficultybefore they succeeded in passing by one of the divisions of the door thegreat canopy of royal scarlet velvet, decorated with a heavy fringe ofgold. But the delay was short, order was quickly re-established, and thedesignated officials took the supports in hand. Underneath, between hisdeacons of honour, Monseigneur walked, bareheaded, his shoulders coveredwith a white scarf, the two ends of which enveloped his hands, whichbore the Holy Sacrament as high as possible, and without touching it. 

Immediately the incense-bearers resumed their places, and the censerssent out in haste, fell back again in unison with the little silverysound of their chains. 

But Angelique started as she thought, where had she ever seen anyonewho looked like Monseigneur? She certainly knew his face before, buthad never been struck by it as to-day! All heads were bowed in solemndevotion. But she was so uneasy, she simply bent down and looked at him. He was tall, slight, and noble-looking; superb in his physical strength, notwithstanding his sixty years. His eyes were piercing as those ofan eagle; his nose, a little prominent, only seemed to increase thesovereign authority of his face, which was somewhat softened by hiswhite hair, that was thick and curly. She noticed the pallor of hiscomplexion, and it seemed to her as if he suddenly flushed from someunknown reason. Perhaps, however, it was simply a reflection from thegreat golden-rayed sun which he carried in his covered hands, and whichplaced him in a radiance of mystic light. 

Certainly, he to-day made her think of someone, but of whom? As soon ashe left the church, Monseigneur had commenced a psalm, which he recitedin a low voice, alternating the verses thereof with his deacons. AndAngelique trembled when she saw him turn his eyes towards their window, for he seemed to her so severe, so haughty, and so cold, as if he werecondemning the vanity of all earthly affection. He turned his facetowards the three bands of ancient embroidery--Mary and the Angel, Mary at the foot of the Cross, Mary being borne to Heaven--and his facebrightened. Then he lowered his eyes and fixed them upon her, but shewas so disturbed she could not tell whether his glance was harsh orgentle; at all events it was only for a moment, for quickly regardingthe Holy Sacrament, his expression was lost in the light which came fromthe great golden vessel. The censers still swung back and forth with ameasured rhythm, while a little blue cloud mounted in the air. 

But Angelique's heart now beat so rapidly she could scarcely keep still. Behind the canopy she had just seen a chaplain, his fingers covered witha scarf, who was carrying the mitre as devoutly as if it were a sacredobject, Saint Agnes flying heavenward with the two angels, the work ofher hands, and into each stitch of which she had put such deep love. Then, among the laymen who followed, in the midst of functionaries, ofofficers, of magistrates, she recognised Felicien in the front rank, slight and graceful, with his curly hair, his rather large but straightnose, and his black eyes, the expression of which was at the same timeproud and gentle. She expected him; she was not at all surprised to findhim transformed into a prince; her heart simply was overflowing withjoy. To the anxious look which he gave her, as of imploring forgivenessfor his falsehood, she replied by a lovely smile. 

"But look!" exclaimed Hubertine, astonished at what she saw, "is notthat the young man who came to our house about the mitre?"

She had also recognised him, and was much disturbed when, turningtowards the young girl, she saw the latter transfigured, in ecstacy, avoiding a reply. 

"Then he did not tell us the truth about himself? But why? Do you knowthe reason? Tell me, my dear, do you know who this young man is?"

Yes, perhaps in reality she did know. An inner voice answered all thesequestions. But she dared not speak; she was unwilling to ask herselfanything. At the right time and at the proper place the truth wouldbe made clear. She thought it was approaching, and felt an increase ofpride of spirit, and of great love. 

"But what is it? What has happened?" asked Hubert, as he bent forwardand touched the shoulder of his wife. 

He was never present at the moment of an occurrence, but always appearedto come from a reverie to the realisation of what passed about him. Whenthe young man was pointed out to him, he did not recognise him at all. 

"Is it he? I think not. No, you must be mistaken; it is not he. "

Then Hubertine acknowledged that she was not quite sure. At all events, it was as well to talk no more about it, but she would inform herselflater on. But the procession, which had stopped again in order thatMonseigneur might incense the Holy Sacrament, which was placed among theverdure of a temporary altar at the corner of the street, was now aboutto move on again; and Angelique, whose hands seemed lost in the basketon her lap, suddenly, in her delight and confusion, made a quickmovement, and carelessly threw out a great quantity of the perfumedpetals. At that instant Felicien approached. The leaves fell like alittle shower, and at last two of them fluttered, balanced themselves, then quietly settled down on his hair. 

It was over. The canopy had disappeared round the corner of the GrandRue, the end of the cortege went by, leaving the pavements deserted, hushed as if quieted by a dreamy faith, in the rather strong exhalationof crushed roses. Yet one could still hear in the distance, growingweaker and weaker by degrees, the silvery sound of the little chains ofthe swinging censers. 

"Oh mother!" said Angelique, pleadingly, "do let us go into the church, so as to see them all as they come back. "

Hubertine's first impulse was to refuse. But she, for her own part, wasvery anxious to ascertain what she could about Felicien, so she replied:

"Yes, after a while, if you really wish to do so. "

But they must, of course, wait a little. Angelique, after going to herroom for her hat, could not keep still. She returned every minute to thegreat window, which was still wide open. She looked to the end of thestreet inquiringly, then she lifted her eyes as if seeking somethingin space itself; and so nervous was she that she spoke aloud, as shementally followed the procession step by step. 

"Now they are going down the Rue Basse. Ah! see, they must be turning onthe square before the Sous Prefecture. There is no end to all the longstreets in Beaumont-la-Ville. What pleasure can they take in seeingSaint Agnes, I would like to know. All these petty tradesmen!"

Above them, in the heavens, was a delicately rose-tinted cloud, with aband of white and gold around it, and it seemed as if from it therecame a devotional peace and a hush of religious expectation. In theimmobility of the air one realised that all civil life was suspended, asif God had left His house, and everyone was awaiting His return beforeresuming their daily occupations. Opposite them the blue draperies ofthe silversmith, and the red curtains of the wax-chandler, still barredthe interior of their shops and hid the contents from view. The streetsseemed empty; there was no reverberation from one to the other, exceptthat of the slow march of the clergy, whose progress could easily berealised from every corner of the town. 

"Mother! mother! I assure you that now they are at the corner of the RueMagloire. They will soon come up the hill. "

She was mistaken, for it was only half-past six, and the processionnever came back before a quarter-past seven. She should have known well, had she not been over-impatient, that the canopy must be only at thelower wharf of the Ligneul. But she was too excited to think. 

"Oh! mother dear! _do_ hurry, or we may not find any places. "

"Come, make haste then, little one, " at last Hubertine said, smiling inspite of herself. "We shall certainly be obliged to wait a great while, but never mind. "

"As for me, I will remain at home, " said Hubert. "I can take down andput away the embroidered panels, and then I will set the table fordinner. "

The church seemed empty to them, as the Blessed Sacrament was no longerthere. All the doors were wide open, like those of a house in completedisorder, where one is awaiting the return of the master. Very fewpersons came in; the great altar alone, a sarcophagus of severeRomanesque style, glittered as if burning at the end of the nave, covered as it was with stars from the flame of many candles; allthe rest of the enormous building--the aisles, the chapels, and thearches--seemed filled with shadow under the coming-on of the eveningdarkness. 

Slowly, in order to gain a little patience, Angelique and Hubertinewalked round the edifice. Low down, it seemed as if crushed, thicksetcolumns supported the semicircular arches of the side-aisles. Theywalked the whole length of the dark chapels, which were buried almostas if they were crypts. Then, when they crossed over, before the greatentrance portal, under the triforium of the organ, they had a feeling ofdeliverance as they raised their eyes towards the high, Gothic windowsof the nave, which shot up so gracefully above the heavy Romanesquecoursed work. But they continued by the southern side-aisle, and thefeeling of suffocation returned again. At the cross of the transept fourenormous pillars made the four corners, and rose to a great height, thenstruck off to support the roof. There was still to be found a delicatepurple-tinted light, the farewell of the day, through the rose windowsof the side fronts. They had crossed the three steps which led to thechoir, then they turned by the circumference of the apse, which wasthe very oldest part of the building, and seemed most sepulchral. They stopped one moment and leaned against the ancient grating, whichentirely surrounded the choir, and which was most elaborately wrought, that they might look at the flaming altar, where each separate light wasreflected in the old polished oak of the stalls, most marvellous stalls, covered with rare sculptures. So at last they came back to the pointfrom which they started, lifting up their heads as if they breathed morefreely from the heights of the nave, which the growing shades at nightdrove farther away, and enlarged the old walls, on which were faintremains of paintings and of gold. 

"I know perfectly well that we are altogether too early, " saidHubertine. 

Angelique, without replying, said, as if to herself:

"How grand it is!"

It really seemed to her as if she had never known the church before, butthat she had just seen it for the first time. Her eyes wandered over themotionless sea of chairs, then went to the depth of the chapels, whereshe could only imagine were tombs and old funereal stones, on accountof the increased darkness therein. But she saw at last the ChapelHautecoeur, where she recognised the window that had been repaired, withits Saint George, that now looked vague as a dream, in the dusk. She wasunusually happy. 

At last there was a gentle shaking through the whole building, and thegreat clock struck. Then the bell began to ring. 

"Ah! now, " she said, "look, for they are really coming up the RueMagloire. "

This time it was indeed so. A crowd invaded the church, the aisles weresoon filled, and one realised that each minute the procession approachednearer and nearer. The noise increased with the pealing of the bells, with a certain rushing movement of air by the great entrance, the portalof which was wide open. 

Angelique, leaning on Hubertine's shoulder, made herself as tall aspossible by standing upon the points of her feet, as she looked towardsthis arched open space, the roundness of whose top was perfectly definedin the pale twilight of the Place du Cloitre. The first to appear was, of course, the bearer of the Cross, accompanied by his two acolytes withtheir candelabra; and behind them the Master of the Ceremonies hurriedalong--the good Abbe Cornille, who now seemed quite out of breath andovercome by fatigue. At the threshold of the door, the silhouette ofeach new arrival was thrown out for a second, clear and strong, thenpassed quickly away in the darkness of the interior. There were thelaymen, the schools, the associations, the fraternities, whose banners, like sails, wavered for an instant, then suddenly vanished in the shade. One saw again the pale "daughters of Mary, " who, as they entered, stillsang with their voices like those of seraphim. 

The Cathedral had room for all. The nave was slowly filled, the menbeing at the right and the women at the left. But night had come. Thewhole place outside was dotted with bright points, hundreds of movinglights, and soon it was the turn for the clergy, the tapers that wereheld outside the ranks making a double yellow cord as they passedthrough the door. The tapers seemed endless as they succeeded each otherand multiplied themselves; the great seminary, the parishes, and theCathedral; the choristers still singing the anthem, and the canons intheir white pluvials. Then little by little the church became lightedup, seemed inhabited, illuminated, overpowered by hundreds of stars, like a summer sky. 

Two chairs being unoccupied, Angelique stood upon one of them. 

"Get down, my dear, " whispered Hubertine, "for that is forbidden. "

But she tranquilly remained there, and did not move. 

"Why is it forbidden? I must see, at all events. Oh! how exquisite allthis is!"

At last she prevailed upon her mother to get upon the other chair. 

Now the whole Cathedral was glowing with a reddish yellow light. Thisbillow of candles which crossed it illuminated the lower arches of theside-aisles, the depth of the chapels, and glittered upon the glassof some shrine or upon the gold of some tabernacle. The rays evenpenetrated into the apse, and the sepulchral crypts were brightenedup by them. The choir was a mass of flame, with its altar on fire, itsglistening stalls, and its old railing, whose ornamentation stood outboldly. And the flight of the nave was stronger marked than ever, withthe heavy curved pillars below, supporting the round arches, whileabove, the numbers of little columns grew smaller and smaller as theyburst forth among the broken arches of the ogives, like an inexpressibledeclaration of faith and love which seemed to come from the lights. In the centre, under the roof, along the ribs of the nave, there wasa yellow cloud, a thick colour of wax, from the multitude of littletapers. 

But now, above the sound of feet and the moving of chairs, one heardagain the falling of the chains of the censers. Then the organ pealedforth majestically, a glorious burst of music that filled to overflowingthe highest arches as if with the rumbling of thunder. It was at thisinstant that Monseigneur arrived on the Place du Cloitre. The statue ofSaint Agnes had reached the apse, still borne by the surpliced clerks, and her face looked very calm under the light, as if she were more thanhappy to return to her dreams of four centuries. At last, preceded bythe crosier, and followed by the mitre, Monseigneur entered with hisdeacons under the canopy, still having his two hands covered with awhite scarf, and holding the Blessed Sacrament in the same positionas at first. The canopy, which was borne down the central aisle, wasstopped at the railing of the choir, and there, on account of a certainunavoidable confusion, the Bishop was for a moment made to approach thepersons who formed his suite. Since Felicien had reappeared, Angeliquehad looked at him constantly. It so happened that on account of thepressure he was placed a little at the right of the canopy, and at thatmoment she saw very near together the white head of Monseigneur and theblonde head of the young man. That glance was a revelation; a suddenlight came to her eyes; she joined her hands together as she said aloud:

"Oh! Monseigneur, the son of Monseigneur!"

Her secret escaped her. It was an involuntary cry, the certainty whichrevealed itself in this sudden fact of their resemblance. Perhaps, inthe depths of her mind, she already knew it, but she would never havedared to have said so; whilst now it was self-evident, a fact of whichthere could be no denial. From everything around her, from her ownsoul, from inanimate objects, from past recollections, her cry seemedrepeated. 

Hubertine, quite overcome, said in a whisper, "This young man is the sonof Monseigneur?"

Around these two the crowd had gradually accumulated. They were wellknown and were greatly admired; the mother still adorable in her simpletoilette of linen, the daughter with the angelic grace of a cherubim, inher gown of white foulard, as light as a feather. They were so handsomeand in such full view, as they stood upon their chairs, that from everydirection eyes were turned towards them, and admiring glances giventhem. 

"But yes, indeed, my good lady, " said the _mere_ Lemballeuse, whochanced to be in the group; "but yes, he is the son of Monseigneur. Buthow does it happen that you have not already heard of it? And not onlythat, but he is a wonderfully handsome young man, and so rich! Rich!Yes indeed, he could buy the whole town if he wished to do so. He hasmillions and millions!"

Hubertine turned very pale as she listened. 

"You must have heard his history spoken of?" continued the beggar-woman. "His mother died soon after his birth, and it was on that account thatMonseigneur concluded to become a clergyman. Now, however, after allthese years, he sent for his son to join him. He is, in fact, FelicienVII d'Hautecoeur, with a title as if he were a real prince. "

Then Hubertine was intensely grieved. But Angelique beamed with joybefore the commencement of the realisation of her dream. She was not inthe slightest degree astonished, for she had always known that he wouldbe the richest, the noblest, and the handsomest of men. So her joy wasintense and perfect, without the slightest anxiety for the future, orsuspicion of any obstacle that could possibly come between them. Inshort, he would in his turn now make himself known, and would telleverything. As she had fancied, gold would stream down with the littleflickering flames of the candles. The organs would send forth theirmost glorious music on the occasion of their betrothal. The line ofthe Hautecoeurs would continue royally from the beginning of thelegend--Norbert I, Jean V, Felicien III, Jean XII, then the last, Felicien VII, who just turned towards her his noble face. He was thedescendant of the cousins of the Virgin, the master, the superb son, showing himself in all his beauty at the side of his father. 

Just then Felicien smiled sweetly at her, and she did not see the angrylook of Monseigneur, who had remarked her standing on the chair, abovethe crowd, blushing in her pride and love. 

"Oh, my poor dear child!" sighed Hubertine. 

But the chaplain and the acolytes were ranged on the right and the left, and the first deacon having taken the Holy Sacrament from the handsof Monseigneur, he placed it on the altar. It was the finalBenediction--the _Tantum ergo_ sung loudly by the choristers, theincenses of the boxes burning in the censers, the strange, brusquesilence during the prayer--and in the midst of the lighted church, overflowing with clergy and with people, under the high, springingarches, Monseigneur remounted to the altar, took again in his two handsthe great golden sun, which he waved back and forth in the air threetimes, with a slow sign of the Cross. 

CHAPTER XI

That same evening, on returning from church, Angelique thought toherself, "I shall see him again very soon, for he will certainly be inthe Clos-Marie, and I will go there to meet him. "

Without having exchanged a word with each other, they appeared to havesilently arranged this interview. The family dined as usual in thekitchen, but it was eight o'clock before they were seated at the table. Hubert, quite excited by this day of recreation and of fete, was theonly one who had anything to say. Hubertine, unusually quiet, scarcelyreplied to her husband, but kept her looks fixed upon the young girl, who ate heartily and with a good appetite, although she scarcely seemedto pay any attention to the food, or to know that she put her fork toher mouth, so absorbed was she by her fancies. And under this candidforehead, as under the crystal of the purest water, Hubertine read herthoughts clearly, and followed them as they formed themselves in hermind one by one. 

At nine o'clock they were greatly surprised by a ringing of thedoor-bell. It proved to be the Abbe Cornille, who, notwithstanding hisgreat fatigue, had come to tell them that Monseigneur the Bishop hadgreatly admired the three old panels of marvellous embroidery. 

"Yes, indeed! And he spoke of them so enthusiastically to me that I wassure it would please you to know it. "

Angelique, who had roused up on hearing the name of Monseigneur, fellback again into her reveries as soon as the conversation turned to theprocession. Then after a few minutes she got up. 

"But where are you going, dear?" asked Hubertine. 

The question startled her, as if she herself knew not why she had lefther seat. 

"I am going upstairs, mother, for I am very tired. "

In spite of this plausible excuse, Hubertine imagined the true reasonthat influenced her. It was the need of being by herself, the haste ofcommuning alone with her great happiness. 

When she held her in her arms pressed against her breast, she felt thatshe was trembling. She almost seemed to avoid her usual evening kiss. Looking anxiously in her face, Hubertine read in her eyes the feverishexpectation connected with the hoped-for meeting. It was all so evidentto her that she promised herself to keep a close watch. 

"Be good, dear, and sleep well. "

But already, after a hurried good-night to Hubert and to the AbbeCornille, Angelique was halfway up the stairs, quite disturbed, as sherealised that her secret had almost escaped her. Had her mother held heragainst her heart one second longer, she would have told her everything. When she had shut herself in her own room, and doubly locked her door, the light troubled her, and she blew out her candle. The moon, whichrose later and later, had not yet appeared above the horizon, and thenight was very dark. Without undressing, she seated herself before theopen window, looked out into the deep shade, and waited patientlyfor the hours to pass. The minutes went by rapidly, as she was fullyoccupied with the one idea that as soon as the clock struck for midnightshe would go down to find Felicien. As it would be the most naturalthing in the world to do, she traced out her way, step by step, andevery movement she would make with the most perfect composure. 

It was not very late when she heard the Abbe Cornille take his leave. Soon after, the Huberts, in their turn, came upstairs. Then it seemedto her as if someone came out of their chamber, and with furtive stepsmoved cautiously as far as the foot of the stairway, then stopped, as iflistening for a moment before returning. Then the house soon sank, as ifin the quiet of a deep sleep. 

When the great church clock struck twelve, Angelique left her seat. "Now I must go, for he is waiting for me. " She unlocked the door, and, passing out, neglected closing it after her. Going down the first flightof stairs, she stopped as she approached the room of the Huberts, but heard nothing--nothing but the indefinable quivering of silence. Moreover, she was neither in a hurry, nor had she any fear, for beingtotally unconscious of any wrong intentions, she felt at perfect ease. It would have been quite impossible for her not to have gone down. An inward power directed and led her, and it all seemed so simple andright; she would have smiled at the idea of a hidden danger. Once in thelower rooms, she passed through the kitchen to go out into the garden, and again forgot to fasten the shutters. Then she walked rapidly towardsthe little gate of the Clos-Marie, which she also left wide open afterher. Notwithstanding the obscurity and the dense shadows in the field, she did not hesitate an instant, but went direct to the little plankwhich served as a bridge to the Chevrotte, crossed it, guiding herselfby feeling the way, as if in a familiar place, where every tree and bushwere well known to her. Turning to the right, under a great willow-tree, she had only to put out her hands to have them earnestly grasped byFelicien, whom she knew would be there in waiting for her. 

For a minute, without speaking, Angelique pressed Felicien's hands inhers. They could not see each other, for the sky was covered with amisty cloud of heat, and the pale moon which had just risen, had not yetlighted it up. At length she spoke in the darkness, her heart filled tooverflowing with her great happiness:

"Oh, my dear seigneur, how I love you, and how grateful I am to you!"

She laughed aloud at the realisation of the fact that at last she knewhim; she thanked him for being younger, more beautiful, and richer eventhan she had expected him to be. Her gaiety was charming; it was acry of astonishment and of gratitude before this present of love, thisfulfillment of her dreams. 

"You are the king. You are my master; and lo! here am I, your slave. Ibelong to you henceforth, and my only regret is that I am of so littleworth. But I am proud of being yours; it is sufficient for you to loveme, and that I may be in my turn a queen. It was indeed well that I knewyou were to come, and so waited for you; my heart is overflowing withjoy since finding that you are so great, so far above me. Ah! my dearseigneur, how I thank you, and how I love you. "

Gently he put his arm around her as he said:

"Come and see where I live. "

He made her cross the Clos-Marie, among the wild grass and herbs, andthen she understood for the first time in what way he had come everynight into the field from the park of the Bishop's Palace. It wasthrough an old gate, that had been unused for a long time, and whichthis evening he had left half open. Taking Angelique's hand, he led herin that way into the great garden of the Monseigneur. 

The rising moon was half-hidden in the sky, under a veil of warm mist, and its rays fell down upon them with a white, mysterious light. Therewere no stars visible, but the whole vault of heaven was filled with adim lustre, which quietly penetrated everything in this serene night. Slowly they walked along on the borders of the Chevrotte, which crossedthe park; but it was no longer the rapid rivulet rushing over a pebblydescent--it was a quiet, languid brook, gliding along through clumpsof trees. Under this mass of luminous vapour, between the bushes whichseemed to bathe and float therein, it was like an Elysian stream whichunfolded itself before them. 

Angelique soon resumed her gay chattering. 

"I am so proud and so happy to be here on your arm. "

Felicien, touched by such artless, frank simplicity, listened withdelight as she talked unrestrainedly, concealing nothing, but tellingall her inmost thoughts, as she opened her heart to him. Why should sheeven think of keeping anything back? She had never harmed anyone, so shehad only good things to say. 

"Ah, my dear child, it is I who ought to be exceedingly grateful to you, inasmuch as you are willing to love me a little in so sweet a way. Tellme once more how much you love me. Tell me exactly what you thought whenyou found out at last who I really was. "

But with a pretty, impatient movement she interrupted him. 

"No, no; let us talk of you, only of you. Am I really of anyconsequence? At all events, what matters it who I am or what I think!For the moment you are the only one of importance. "

And keeping as near him as possible, going more slowly along the sidesof the enchanted river, she questioned him incessantly, wishing to learneverything about him, of his childhood, his youth, and the twenty yearshe had passed away from his father. "I already know that your motherdied when you were an infant, and that you grew up under the care of anuncle who is a clergyman. I also know that Monseigneur refused to seeyou again. "

Then Felicien answered, speaking in a very low tone, with a voice thatseemed as if it came from the far-away past. 

"Yes, my father idolised my mother, and it seemed to him as if I wereguilty, since my birth had cost her her life. My uncle brought me upin entire ignorance of my family, harshly too, as if I had been a poorchild confided to his care. I had no idea of my true position until veryrecently. It is scarcely two years, in fact, since it was revealed tome. But I was not at all surprised in hearing the truth; it seemed asif I had always half-realised that a great fortune belonged to me. Allregular work wearied me; I was good for nothing except to run about thefields and amuse myself. At last I took a great fancy for the paintedwindows of our little church. " Angelique interrupted him by laughinggaily, and he joined her in her mirth for a moment. 

"I became a workman like yourself. I had fully decided to earn my livingby painting on glass, and was studying for that purpose, when all thisfortune poured down upon me. My father was intensely disappointed whenmy uncle wrote him that I was a good-for-nothing fellow, and that Iwould never consent to enter into the service of the Church. It had beenhis expressed wish that I should become a clergyman; perhaps he hadan idea that in so doing I could atone for the death of my mother. Hebecame, however, reconciled at last, and wished for me to be hereand remain near him. Ah! how good it is to live, simply to live, " heexclaimed. "Yes, to live, to love, and to be loved in return. "

This trembling cry, which resounded in the clear night air, vibratedwith the earnest feeling of his healthy youth. It was full of passion, of sympathy for his dead mother, and of the intense ardour he had throwninto this, his first love, born of mystery. It filled all his spirit, his beauty, his loyalty, his ignorance, and his earnest desire of life. 

"Like you, " he continued, "I was, indeed, expecting the unknown, and theevening when you first appeared at the window I also recognised you atonce. Tell me all that you have ever thought, and what you were in thehabit of doing in the days that have passed. " But again she refused, saying gently:

"No; speak only of yourself. I am eager to know every petty incident ofyour life, so please keep nothing back. In that way I shall realisethat you belong to me, and that I love you in the past as well as in thepresent. "

She never would have been fatigued in listening to him as he talkedof his life, but was in a state of joyous ecstasy in thus becomingthoroughly acquainted with him, adoring him like a little child atthe feet of some saint. Neither of them wearied of repeating the samethings: how much they loved each other and how dearly they were belovedin return. The same words returned constantly to their lips, but theyalways seemed new, as they assumed unforeseen, immeasurable depths ofmeaning. Their happiness increased as they thus made known the secretsof their hearts, and lingered over the music of the words that passedtheir lips. He confessed to her the charm her voice had always beento him, so much so that as soon as he heard it he became at once herdevoted slave. She acknowledged the delicious fear she always had atseeing his pale face flush at the slightest anger or displeasure. 

They had now left the misty banks of the Chevrotte, and arm-in-arm theyentered under the shadows of the great elm-trees. 

"Oh! this beautiful garden, " whispered Angelique, happy to breathe inthe freshness which fell from the trees. "For years I have wished toenter it; and now I am here with you--yes, I am here. "

It did not occur to her to ask him where he was leading her, but shegave herself up to his guidance, under the darkness of these centenariantrees. The ground was soft under their feet; the archway of leaves abovethem was high, like the vaulted ceiling of a church. There was neithersound nor breath, only the beating of their own hearts. 

At length he pushed open the door of a little pavilion, and said to her:"Go in; this is my home. "

It was there that his father had seen fit to install him all by himself, in this distant corner of the park. On the first floor there was a hall, and one very large room, which was now lighted by a great lamp. Abovewas a complete little apartment. 

"You can see for yourself, " he continued smilingly, "that you are at thehouse of an artisan. This is my shop. "

It was a working-room indeed; the caprice of a wealthy young man, who amused himself in his leisure hours by painting on glass. He hadre-found the ancient methods of the thirteenth century, so that he couldfancy himself as being one of the primitive glass-workers, producingmasterpieces with the poor, unfinished means of the older time. Anancient table answered all his purposes. It was coated with moist, powdered chalk, upon which he drew his designs in red, and where hecut the panes with heated irons, disdaining the modern use of a diamondpoint. The muffle, a little furnace made after the fashion of an oldmodel, was just now quite heated; the baking of some picture was goingon, which was to be used in repairing another stained window in theCathedral; and in cases on every side were glasses of all colours whichhe had ordered to be made expressly for him, in blue, yellow, green, andred, in many lighter tints, marbled, smoked, shaded, pearl-coloured, andblack. But the walls of the room were hung with admirable stuffs, andthe working materials disappeared in the midst of a marvellous luxuryof furniture. In one corner, on an old tabernacle which served as apedestal, a great gilded statue of the Blessed Virgin seemed to smileupon them. 

"So you can work--you really can work, " repeated Angelique with childishjoy. 

She was very much amused with the little furnace, and insisted upon itthat he should explain to her everything connected with his labour. Why he contented himself with the examples of the old masters, who usedglass coloured in the making, which he shaded simply with black; thereason he limited himself to little, distinct figures, to the gesturesand draperies of which he gave a decided character; his ideas upon theart of the glass-workers, which in reality declined as soon as theybegan to design better, to paint, and to enamel it; and his finalopinion that a stained-glass window should be simply a transparentmosaic, in which the brightest colours should be arranged in the mostharmonious order, so as to make a delicate, shaded bouquet. But at thismoment little did she care for the art in itself. These things had butone interest for her now--that they were connected with him, that theyseemed to bring her nearer to him and to strengthen the tie betweenthem. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "how happy we shall be together. You will paint, while I embroider. "

He had just retaken her hands, in the centre of this great room, inthe luxury of which she was quite at her ease, as it seemed to be hernatural surrounding, where her grace would be fully developed. Both ofthem remained silent for a moment. Then she was, as usual, the first tospeak. 

"Now everything is decided upon, is it not?"

"What?" he smilingly asked, "what do you mean?"

"Our marriage. "

He hesitated an instant. His face, which had been very pale, flushedquickly. She was disturbed at such a change. 

"Have I made you angry in any way?"

But he had already conquered himself, and pressed her hands tenderly, with a grasp that seemed to cover everything. 

"Yes, it is decided upon, and it is sufficient for you to wish for athing that it should be done, no matter how many obstacles may opposeit. Henceforward my one great desire in life will be to obey you. "

Then her face beamed with perfect happiness and delight. 

She did not have a single doubt. All seemed to her quite natural, to beso well-arranged that it could be finished on the morrow with the sameease as in many of the miracles of the "Golden Legend. " The idea neveroccurred to her that there should be the slightest hindrance or theleast delay. Since they really loved each other, why should they beany longer separated? It was the most simple thing in the world for twopersons who loved each other to be married. She was so secure in herhappiness that she was perfectly calm. 

"Since it is agreed upon, " she said jokingly, "give me your hand. "

He took her little hand and kissed it, as he said:

"It is all arranged. "

She then hastened to go away, in the fear of being surprised by thedawn, and also impatient to relieve her mind of her secret. He wished toaccompany her. 

"No, no, " she replied. "We should not get back before daylight. I caneasily find the way. Good-bye until to-morrow. "

"Until to-morrow, then. "

Felicien obeyed, and watched Angelique as she ran, first under the shadyelms, then along the banks of the Chevrotte, which were now bathed inlight. Soon she closed the gate of the park, then darted across theClos-Marie, through the high grass. While on her way, she thought itwould be impossible to wait until sunrise, but that she would rap at thedoor of the Huberts' room as soon as she reached home, that she mightwake them up and tell them everything. She was in such an expansion ofhappiness, such a turmoil of sincerity, that she realised that she wasincapable of keeping five minutes longer this great secret which hadbeen hers for so long a time. She entered into their garden and closedthe gate. 

And there, near the Cathedral, Angelique saw Hubertine, who waited forher in the night, seated upon the stone bench, which was surrounded bya small cluster of lilac-bushes. Awakened, warned by some inexpressiblefeeling, she had gone upstairs, then down again, and on finding all thedoors open, that of the chamber as well as that of the house, she hadunderstood what had happened. So, uncertain what it was best to do, orwhere to go, in the fear lest she might aggravate matters, she sat downanxiously. 

Angelique immediately ran to her, without embarrassment, kissed herrepeatedly, her heart beating with joy as she laughed merrily at thethought that she had no longer need of hiding anything from her. 

"Oh, mother mine, everything is arranged! We are to be married verysoon, and I am so happy. "

Before replying, Hubertine examined her closely. But her fears vanishedinstantly before the limpid eyes and the pure lips of this exquisiteyoung girl. Yet she was deeply troubled, and great tears rolled down hercheeks. 

"My poor, dear child, " she whispered, as she had done the previousevening in church. 

Astonished to see her in such a way, she who was always so equable, whonever wept, Angelique exclaimed:

"But what is the matter, mother? It is, indeed, true that I have notdone right, inasmuch as I have not made you my confidante. But you wouldpardon me if you knew how much I have suffered from it, and how keenmy remorse has been. Since at first I did not speak, later on I did notdare to break the silence. Will you forgive me?"

She had seated herself near her mother, and had placed her armcaressingly around her waist. The old bench seemed almost hidden in thismoss-covered corner of the Cathedral. Above their heads the lilacs madea little shade, while near them was the bush of eglantine which theyoung girl had set out in the hope that it might bear roses; but, havingbeen neglected for some time, it simply vegetated, and had returned toits natural state. 

"Mother, let me tell you everything now. Come, listen to me, please. "

CHAPTER XII

Then, in a low tone, Angelique began her story. She related in a flowof inexhaustible words all that had happened, calling up the most minutedetails, growing more and more excited at the recollection of them. Sheomitted nothing, but searched her memory as if it were for a confession. She was not at all embarrassed, although her cheeks grew very red andher eyes sparkled with flashes of pride; yet she did not raise hervoice, but continued to talk earnestly in a half-whisper. 

At length Hubertine interrupted her, speaking also very low:

"Ah, my dear! Now you are too excited. You have indeed to correctyourself, for you are carried away by your feelings, as if by a greatwind. Ah, my vain, my headstrong child, you are always the same littlegirl who refused to wash up the kitchen floor, and who kissed her ownhands. "

Angelique could not prevent herself from laughing. 

"No, do not laugh. It may be that by-and-by you will not have tearsenough to weep. My poor darling, this marriage can never take place. "

Again her gaiety burst out in a long musical laugh. 

"But mother, mother, what are you saying? Do you wish to punish me byteasing me? It is a very simple matter. This evening Felicien is to talkof it with his father. To-morrow he will come to arrange everything withyou. "

Could it be true that she believed all this? Hubertine was distressed, and knew not what to do. At last she concluded it was best to bepitiless and tell her; that it would be impossible for a littleembroiderer without money and without name to marry Feliciend'Hautecoeur. A young man who was worth so many millions! The lastdescendant of one of the oldest families of France! No, that could neverbe. 

But at each new obstacle Angelique tranquilly replied: "But why not?"It would be a real scandal, a marriage beyond all ordinary conditionsof happiness. Did she hope, then, to contend against all the world? "Butwhy not?" Monseigneur is called very strict and very haughty, proudof his name, and severe in his criticisms in regard to all marks ofaffection. Could she dare to expect to bend him?

"But why not?" And, unshakable in her faith, in her firm, ingenuousmanner she said: "It is very odd, dear mother, that you should thinkpeople all so bad! Especially when I have just assured you thateverything is well under way, and is sure to come out all right. Do younot recollect that only two months ago you scolded me, and ridiculedmy plans? Yet I was right, and everything that I expected has come topass. "

"But, unhappy child, wait for the end!"

Hubertine now thought of the past, and was angry with herself, as shenow reflected, more bitterly than ever before, that Angelique hadbeen brought up in such ignorance. Again she predicted to her thehard lessons of the reality of life, and she would have liked to haveexplained to her some of the cruelties and abominations of the world, but, greatly embarrassed, she could not find the necessary words. Whata grief it would be to her if some day she were forced to accuse herselfof having brought about the unhappiness of this child, who had been keptalone as a recluse, and allowed to dwell in the continued falsehood ofimagination and dreams!

"Listen to me, dearest. You certainly would not wish to marry this youngman against the wish of us all, and without the consent of his father?"

Angelique had grown very serious. She looked her mother in the face, andin a serious tone replied:

"Why should I not do so? I love him, and he loves me. "

With a pang of anguish, Hubertine took her again in her arms, claspedher tenderly, but convulsively, and looked at her earnestly, but withoutspeaking. The pale moon had disappeared from sight behind the Cathedral, and the flying, misty clouds were now delicately coloured in the heavensby the approach of the dawn. They were both of them enveloped in thispurity of the early morn, in the great fresh silence, which was alonedisturbed by the little chirping of the just-awakening birds. 

"But alas! my dear child, happiness is only found in obedience and inhumility. For one little hour of passion, or of pride, we sometimes areobliged to suffer all our lives. If you wish to be contented on thisearth, be submissive, be ready to renounce and give up everything. "

But feeling that she was still rebellious under her embrace, that whichshe had never said to anyone, that which she still hesitated to speakof, almost involuntarily escaped from her lips:

"Listen to me once more, my dear child. You think that we are happy, do you not, your father and I. We should indeed be so had not our livesbeen embittered by a great vexation. "

She lowered her voice still more, as she related with a trembling breaththeir history. The marriage without the consent of her mother, the deathof their infant, and their vain desire to have another child, which wasevidently the punishment of their fault. Still, they adored each other. They had lived by working, had wanted for nothing; but their regret forthe child they had lost was so ever-present that they would have beenwretchedly unhappy, would have quarrelled, and perhaps even have beenseparated, had it not been that her husband was so thoroughly good, while for herself she had always tried to be just and reasonable. 

"Reflect, my daughter. Do not put any stumbling-block in your path whichwill make you suffer later on. Be humble, obey, check the impulse ofyour heart as much as possible. "

Subdued at last, Angelique restrained her tears, but grew very pale asshe listened, and interrupted her by saying:

"Mother, you pain me terribly. I love him, and I am sure that he lovesme. "

Then she allowed her tears to flow. She was quite overcome by all shehad listened to, softened, and with an expression in her eyes as ifdeeply wounded by the glimpse given her of the probable truth of thecase. Yet she could suffer, and would willingly die, if need be, for herlove. 

Then Hubertine decided to continue. 

"I do not wish to pain you too deeply at once, yet it is absolutelynecessary that you should know the whole truth. Last evening, after youhad gone upstairs, I had quite a talk with the Abbe Cornille, and heexplained to me why Monseigneur, after great hesitation, had at lastdecided to call his son to Beaumont. One of his greatest troubles wasthe impetuosity of the young man, the uncontrollable haste which hemanifested to plunge into the excitement of life, without listening tothe advice of his elders. After having with pain renounced all hope ofmaking him a priest, his father found that he could not establish him inany occupation suitable to his rank and his fortune. He would never beanything but a headstrong fellow, restless, wandering, yielding to hisartistic tastes when so inclined. He was alarmed at seeing in his sontraits of character like those from which he himself had so cruellysuffered. At last, from fear that he might take some foolish step, andfall in love with someone beneath him in position, he wished to have himhere, that he might be married at once. "

"Very well, " said Angelique, who did not yet understand. 

"Such a marriage had been proposed even before his arrival, and allpreliminaries were settled yesterday, so that the Abbe Cornille formallyannounced that in the autumn Felicien would wed Mademoiselle Claire deVoincourt. You know very well the Hotel de Voincourt there, close to theBishop's Palace. The family are very intimate with Monseigneur. On bothsides, nothing better could be hoped for, either in the way of name orof fortune. The Abbe himself highly approves of the union. "

The young girl no longer listened to these reasons of the fitness ofthings. Suddenly an image appeared to come before her eyes--that ofClaire. She saw her, as she had occasionally had a glimpse of her inthe alleys of the Park during the winter, or as she had seen her on fetedays in the Cathedral. A tall young lady, a brunette, very handsome, ofa much more striking beauty than her own, and with a royal bearing andappearance. Notwithstanding her haughty air, she was said to be verygood and kind. 

"So he is to marry this elegant young lady, who is not only beautifulbut very rich, " she murmured. 

Then, as if suddenly pierced by a sharp agony, she exclaimed:

"He uttered a falsehood! He did not tell me this!"

She recollected now the momentary hesitation of Felicien, the rushof blood which had coloured his cheeks when she spoke to him of theirmarriage. The shock was so great that she turned deadly pale, and herhead fell heavily on her mother's shoulders. 

"My darling, my dear darling! This is, indeed, a cruel thing; I know itwell. But it would have been still worse had you waited. Take courage, then, and draw at once the knife from the wound. Repeat to yourself, whenever the thought of this young man comes to you, that never wouldMonseigneur, the terrible Jean XII, whose intractable pride, it appears, is still recollected by all the world, give his son, the last of hisrace, to a little embroiderer, found under a gateway and adopted by poorpeople like ourselves. "

In her weakness, Angelique heard all this without making any objection. What was it she felt pass over her face? A cold breath coming from adistance, from far above the roofs of the houses, seemed to freeze herblood. Was it true that her mother was telling her of this misery of theworld, this sad reality, in the same way that parents relate the storyof the wolf to unreasonable children? She would never forget the shockand the grief of this first experience of a bitter disappointment. Yet, however, she already excused Felicien. He had told no falsehood; hesimply had been silent. Were his father to wish him to marry this younggirl, no doubt he would refuse to do so. But as yet he had not dared torebel. As he had not said anything to her of the matter, perhaps it wasbecause he had just made up his mind as to what it was best for him todo. Before this sudden vanishing away of her air-castles, pale and weakfrom the rude touch of the actual life, she still kept her faith, and trusted, in spite of all, in the future realisation of her dream. Eventually the fair promises for the future would come to pass, evenalthough now her pride was crushed and she sank down into a state ofhumiliation and resignation. 

"Mother, it is true I have done wrong, but I will never sin again. Ipromise you that I will be patient, and submit myself without a murmurof revolt to whatever Heaven wishes me to be. "

It was true grace which spoke within her. The trial was great, but shewas able to conquer, from the effects of the education she had receivedand the excellent example of the home life in which she had grown up. Why should she doubt the morrow, when until this present moment everyonenear her had been so generous and so tender towards her? She prayedthat she might be able to have the wisdom of Catherine, the meeknessof Elizabeth, the chastity of Agnes; and re-comforted by the aid ofthe saints, she was sure that they alone would help her to triumph overevery trouble. Was it not true that her old friends the Cathedral, theClos-Marie, and the Chevrotte, the little fresh house of the Huberts, the Huberts themselves, all who loved her, would defend her, without herbeing obliged to do anything, except to be obedient and good?

"Then, dear child, you promise me that you will never act contrary toour wishes, and above all against those of Monseigneur?"

"Yes, mother, I promise. "

"You also promise me not to see this young man again, and no longer toindulge in the foolish idea of marrying him?"

At this question her courage failed her. She almost felt the spiritof rebellion rise again within her, as she thought of the depth of herlove. But in a moment she bowed her head and was definitely conquered. 

"I promise to do nothing to bring about a meeting with him, and to takeno steps towards our marriage. "

Hubertine, touched to the heart, pressed the young girl mostaffectionately in her arms as she thanked her for her obedience. Oh!what a dreadful thing it was, when wishing to do good to the child sheso tenderly loved, she was forced to make her suffer so intensely. Shewas exhausted, and rose up hastily, surprised that daylight had come. The little cry of the birds had increased in every direction, althoughas yet none were to be seen in flight. In the sky the clouds, delicateas gauze, seemed to float away in the limpid blueness of the atmosphere. 

Then Angelique, whose look had mechanically fallen upon her wildrose-bush, at last noticed it with its puny leaves. She smiled sadly asshe said:

"You were right, mother dear; it will never be in blossom. "

At seven o'clock in the morning Angelique was at her work as usual. Thedays followed each other, and every forenoon found her seated before thechasuble she had left on the previous evening. Nothing appeared to bechanged outwardly; she kept strictly her promise, shut herself up, andmade no attempt whatever to see Felicien. This did not seem to depressher at all, but she kept her bright, youthful look, smiling sweetlyat Hubertine when occasionally she saw her eyes fixed upon her as ifastonished. However, in this enforced silence she thought only of him;he was always in her mind. 

Her hope remained firm, and she was sure that in spite of all obstacleseverything would come out all right in the end. In fact, it was thisfeeling of certainty that gave her such an air of courage, of haughtyrectitude, and of justice. 

Hubert from time to time scolded her. 

"You are over-doing, my dear; you are really growing pale. I hope atleast that you sleep well at night. "

"Oh yes, father! Like a log! Never in my life did I feel better thannow. "

But Hubertine, becoming anxious in her turn, proposed that they shouldtake a little vacation, and said:

"If you would like it, my child, we will shut up the house, and we willgo, all three of us, to Paris for a while. "

"Oh! mother mine, of what are you thinking? What would become of all ourorders for work? You know I am never in better health than when closelyoccupied. "

In reality, Angelique simply awaited a miracle, some manifestation ofthe Invisible which would give her to Felicien. In addition to thefact that she had promised to do nothing, what need was there of herstriving, since in the beyond some unknown power was always working forher? So, in her voluntary inaction, while feigning indifference, she wascontinually on the watch, listening to the voices of all that quiveredaround her, and to the little familiar sounds of this circle in whichshe lived and which would assuredly help her. Something must eventuallycome from necessity. As she leaned over her embroidery-frame, not farfrom the open window, she lost not a trembling of the leaves, not amurmur of the Chevrotte. The slightest sighs from the Cathedral came toher, magnified tenfold by the eagerness of her attention; she even heardthe slippers of the beadle as he walked round the altar when puttingout the tapers. Again at her side she felt the light touch of mysteriouswings; she knew that she was aided by the unknown, and at times she eventurned suddenly, thinking that a phantom had whispered in her ear theway of gaining the hoped-for victory. But days passed and no changecame. 

At night, that she need not break her word, Angelique at first did notgo out upon the balcony, for fear of being tempted to rejoin Felicien, were she to see him below her. She remained quietly waiting in herchamber. Then, as the leaves even scarcely stirred, but seemed to sleep, she ventured out, and began to question the dark shadows as before. 

From whence would the miracle come? Without doubt, in the Bishop'sgarden would be seen a flaming hand, which would beckon to her toapproach. 

Or, perhaps, the sign would appear in the Cathedral, the great organs ofwhich would peal forth, and would call her to the altar. 

Nothing would have surprised her: neither the doves of the "GoldenLegend" bringing the words of benediction, nor the intervention ofsaints, who would enter through the walls, to tell her that Monseigneurwished to see her. The only thing at which she wondered was the slownessof the working of the marvel. Like the day, the nights succeeded nights, yet nothing, nothing manifested itself. 

At the close of the second week, that which astonished Angelique aboveall was that she had not seen Felicien. She, it was true, had pledgedherself to take no steps towards meeting him, yet, without having saidso to anyone, she thought he would do all in his power to find her. Butthe Clos-Marie remained deserted, and he no longer walked among thewild grasses therein. Not once during the past fortnight had she had aglimpse of him by day, or even seen his shadow in the evening. Stillher faith remained unshaken; that he did not come was simply that hewas occupied in making his preparations to rejoin her. However, as hersurprise increased there was at length mingled with it a beginning ofanxiety. 

At last, one evening the dinner was sad at the embroiderer's, and assoon as it was over Hubert went out, under the pretext of having animportant commission to attend to, so Hubertine remained alone withAngelique in the kitchen. She looked at her for a long time withmoistened eyes, touched by such courage. During the past fortnight notone word had been exchanged between them in reference to those thingswith which their hearts were full, and she was deeply moved by thestrength of character and loyalty her daughter displayed in thus keepingher promise. A sudden feeling of deep tenderness made her open her arms, and the young girl threw herself upon her breast, and in silence theyclasped each other in a loving embrace. 

Then, when Hubertine was able to speak, she said:

"Ah! my poor child, I have been impatient to be alone with you, for youmust know that now all is at an end; yes, quite at an end. "

Startled, Angelique rose quickly, exclaiming:

"What! Is Felicien dead?"

"No! oh no!"

"If he will never come again, it is only that he is dead. "

So Hubertine was obliged to explain to her that the day after theprocession she had been to see him, and had made him also promise thathe would keep way from them until he had the full authorisation ofMonseigneur to do otherwise. It was thus a definite leave-taking, forshe knew a marriage would be utterly impossible. She had made him almostdistracted as she explained to him how wrongly he had done in thuscompromising a young, ignorant, confiding child, whom he would not beallowed to make his wife; and then he had assured her, that if he couldnot see her again, he would die from grief, rather than be disloyal. 

That same evening he confessed everything to his father. 

"You see, my dear, " continued Hubertine, "you are so courageous that Ican repeat to you all I know without hesitation. Oh! if you realised, mydarling, how I pity you, and what admiration I have for you since I havefound you so strong, so brave in keeping silent and in appearing gaywhen your heart was heavily burdened. But you will have need of evenmore firmness; yes, much more, my dear. This afternoon I have seen theAbbe Cornille, and he gives me no encouragement whatever. Monseigneurrefuses to listen to the subject, so there is no more hope. "

She expected a flood of fears, and she was astonished to see herdaughter reseat herself tranquilly, although she had turned very pale. The old oaken table had been cleared, and a lamp lighted up this ancientservants' hall, the quiet of which was only disturbed by the humming ofthe boiler. 

"Mother, dear, the end has not yet come. Tell me everything, I beg ofyou. Have I not a right to know all, since I am the one above all othersmost deeply interested in the matter?"

And she listened attentively to what Hubertine thought best to tell herof what she had learned from the Abbe, keeping back only certain detailsof the life which was as yet an unknown thing to this innocent child. 

CHAPTER XIII

Since the return of his son to him Monseigneur's days had been full oftrouble. After having banished him from his presence almost immediatelyupon the death of his wife, and remaining without seeing him for twentyyears, lo! he had now come back to him in the plenitude and lustre ofyouth, the living portrait of the one he had so mourned, with the samedelicate grace and beauty. This long exile, this resentment againsta child whose life had cost that of the mother, was also an act ofprudence. He realised it doubly now, and regretted that he had changedhis determination of not seeing him again. Age, twenty years of prayer, his life as clergyman, had not subdued the unregenerate man within him. It was simply necessary that this son of his, this child of the wife hehad so adored, should appear with his laughing blue eyes, to make theblood circulate so rapidly in his veins as if it would burst them, as heseemed to think that the dead had been brought to life again. He struckhis breast, he sobbed bitterly in penitence, as he remembered that thejoys of married life and the ties springing therefrom were prohibitedto the priesthood. The good Abbe Cornille had spoken of all this toHubertine in a low voice and with trembling lips. Mysterious sounds hadbeen heard, and it was whispered that Monseigneur shut himself upafter twilight, and passed nights of combat, of tears and of cries, theviolence of which, although partly stifled by the hangings of his room, yet frightened the members of his household. He thought that he hadforgotten; that he had conquered passion; but it reappeared with theviolence of a tempest, reminding him of the terrible man he had beenformerly--the bold adventurer, the descendant of brave, legendarychieftains. Each evening on his knees he flayed his skin with haircloth, he tried to banish the phantom of the regretted wife by calling from itscoffin the skeleton which must now be there. But she constantly appearedbefore him, living, in the delicious freshness of youth, such as shewas when very young he had first met her and loved her with the devotedaffection of maturity. The torture then recommenced as keen and intenseas on the day after her death: he mourned her, he longed for her withthe same revolt against God Who had taken her from him; he was unable tocalm himself until the break of day, when quite exhausted by contempt ofhimself and disgust of all the world. Oh! Divine love! When he went outof his room Monseigneur resumed his severe attitude, his expression wascalm and haughty, and his face was only slightly pale. The morningwhen Felicien had made his confession he listened to him withoutinterruption, controlling himself with so great an effort that not afibre of his body quivered, and he looked earnestly at him, distressedbeyond measure to see him, so young, so handsome, so eager, and solike himself in this folly of impetuous love. It was no longer withbitterness, but it was his absolute will, his hard duty to save hisson from the ills which had caused him so much suffering, and he woulddestroy the passion in his child as he wished to kill it in himself. This romantic history ended by giving him great anxiety. Could it betrue that a poor girl--a child without a name, a little embroiderer, first seen under a pale ray of moonlight, had been transfigured into adelicate Virgin of the Legends, and adored with a fervent love as if ina dream? At each new acknowledgment he thought his anger was increased, as his heart beat with such an inordinate emotion, and he redoubled hisattempts at self-control, knowing not what cry might come to his lips. He had finished by replying with a single word, "Never!" Then Felicienthrew himself on his knees before him, implored him, and pleaded hiscause as well as that of Angelique, in the trembling of respect and ofterror with which the sight of his father always filled him. Until thenhe had approached him only with fear. He besought him not to opposehis happiness, without even daring to lift his eyes towards his saintlypersonage. With a submissive voice he offered to go away, no matterwhere; to leave all his great fortune to the Church, and to take hiswife so far from there that they would never be seen again. He onlywished to love and to be loved, unknown. Monseigneur shook fromtrembling as he repeated severely the word, "Never!" He had pledgedhimself to the Voincourts, and he would never break his engagementwith them. Then Felicien, quite discouraged, realising that he was veryangry, went away, fearing lest the rush of blood, which empurpled hischeeks, might make him commit the sacrilege of an open revolt againstpaternal authority. 

"My child, " concluded Hubertine, "you can easily understand that youmust no longer think of this young man, for you certainly would notwish to act in opposition to the wishes of Monseigneur. I knew thatbeforehand, but I preferred that the facts should speak for themselves, and that no obstacle should appear to come from me. "

Angelique had listened to all this calmly, with her hands listlesslyclasped in her lap. Scarcely had she even dropped her eyelids fromtime to time, as with fixed looks she saw the scene so vividlydescribed--Felicien at the feet of Monseigneur, speaking of her in anoverflow of tenderness. She did not answer immediately, but continued tothink seriously, in the dead quiet of the kitchen, where even the littlebubbling sound of the water in the boiler was no longer heard. Shelowered her eyes and looked as her hands, which, under the lamplight, seemed as if made of beautiful ivory. Then, while the smile of perfectconfidence came back to her lips, she said simply:

"If Monseigneur refuses, it is because he waits to know me. "

That night Angelique slept but little. The idea that to see her wouldenable at once Monseigneur to decide in her favor haunted her. There wasin it no personal, feminine vanity, but she was under the influence of adeep, intense love, and her true affection for Felicien was so evident, she was sure that when his father realised it he could not be soobstinate as to make them both unhappy. Many times she turned restlesslyin her bed as she pictured what would happen. Before her closed eyesMonseigneur constantly passed in his violet-coloured robe. Perhaps itwas, indeed, through him, and by him, that the expected miracle was toappear. The warm night was sleeping without, and she eagerly listenedfor the voices, trying to know what the trees, the Chevrotte, theCathedral, her chamber itself, peopled with such friendly shadows, advised her to do. But there was only an indistinct humming, and nothingprecise came to her. It seemed, however, as if mysterious whispersencouraged her to persevere. At last she grew impatient of these tooslow certitudes, and as she fell asleep she surprised herself by saying:

"To-morrow I will speak to Monseigneur. "

When she awoke, her proposed plan seemed not only quite natural butnecessary. It was ingenuous and brave; born of a proud and great purity. 

She knew that at five o'clock on every Saturday afternoon Monseigneurwent to kneel in the Chapel Hautecoeur, where he liked to pray alone, giving himself up entirely to the past of his race and to himself, seeking a solitude which was respected by all connected with theCathedral. As it fortunately happened, this was a Saturday. She quicklycame to a decision. At the Bishop's Palace, not only would she be aptto find it difficult to be received, but, on the other hand, there werealways so many people about she would be ill at ease; whilst it wouldbe so simple to await him in the chapel, and to introduce herself toMonseigneur as soon as he appeared. That day she embroidered with herusual application and composure. Firm in her wish, sure of doing theright thing, she had no impatient fever of expectation. When it wasfour o'clock she spoke of going to see the _mere_ Gabet, and went out, dressed as for an ordinary walk, wearing her little garden-hat tiedcarelessly under her chin. She turned to the left, and pushing openthe linted, stuffed door of the portal of Saint Agnes, let it fall backheavily behind her. 

The church was empty; alone, the confessional of Saint Joseph was stilloccupied by a penitent, the edge of whose black dress was just seen asone passed. Angelique, who had been perfectly self-possessed until now, began to tremble as she entered this sacred, cold solitude, where eventhe little sound of her steps seemed to echo terribly. Why was it thather heart grew so oppressed? She had thought she was quite strong, andthe day had passed most peacefully--she was so sure of being right inher desire to be happy. But now that she was ignorant of what mighthappen she turned pale as if guilty, quite frightened at thinkingthat she was to see Monseigneur, and that in truth she had come thereexpressly to speak to him. She went quietly to the Chapel Hautecoeur, where she was obliged to remain leaning against the gate. 

This chapel was one of the most sunken and dark of the old Romanesqueapse. Like a cave hewn in a rock, straight and bare, with the simplelines of its low, vaulted ceiling, it had but one window, that ofstained glass, on which was the Legend of St. George, and in whose panesthe red and blue so predominated that they made a lilac-coloured light, as if it were twilight. The altar, in black and white marble, wasunornamented, and the whole place, with its picture of the Crucifixion, and its two chandeliers, seemed like a tomb. The walls were coveredwith commemorative tablets, a collection from top to bottom of stonescrumbling from age, on which the deeply-cut inscriptions could still beread. 

Almost stifled, Angelique waited, motionless. A beadle passed, whodid not even see her, so closely had she pressed herself against theinterior of the iron railing. She still saw the dress of the penitentwho was at the confessional near the entrance. Her eyes, graduallyaccustomed to the half-light, were mechanically fixed upon theinscriptions, the characters of which she ended by deciphering. Certainnames struck her, calling back to her memory the legends of the Chateaud'Hautecoeur, of Jean V le Grand, of Raoul III, and of Herve VII. 

She soon found two others, those of Laurette and of Balbine, whichbrought tears to her eyes, so nervous was she from trouble andanxiety--Laurette, who fell from a ray of moonlight, on her way torejoin her betrothed, and Balbine, who died from sudden joy at thereturn of her husband, whom she thought had been killed in the war. They both of them came back at night and enveloped the Castle with theirimmense, flowing white robes. Had she not seen them herself the day oftheir visit to the ruins, as they floated, towards evening, above thetowers in the rosy pallor of the dusk? Ah! how willingly she would dieas they did, although but sixteen years of age, in the supreme happinessof the realisation of her dream!

A loud noise which reverberated under the arches made her tremble. Itwas the priest who came out from the confessional of Saint Joseph andshut the door after him. She was surprised at no longer seeing thepenitent, who had already gone. And when in his turn the clergyman wentout by way of the sacristy, she realised that she was absolutely alonein the vast solitude of the Cathedral. At the loud sound of the doorof the confessional, as it creaked on its hinges, she thought thatMonseigneur was coming. It was nearly half an hour since she hadexpected him, yet she did not realise it, for her excitement preventedher from taking any note of time. 

Soon a new name drew her eyes towards the tablets--Felicien III, whowent to Palestine, carrying a candle in his hand, to fulfil a vow ofPhilippe le Bel. And her heart beat with pride as she saw beforeher, mentally, the youthful Felicien VII, the descendant of all theseworthies, the fair-haired nobleman whom she adored, and by whom she wasso tenderly loved. She suddenly became filled with pride and fear. Wasit possible that she herself was there, in the expectation of bringingabout a prodigy? Opposite her there was a fresher plaque of marble, dating from the last century, the black letters upon which she couldeasily read. Norbert Louis Ogier, Marquis d'Hautecoeur, Prince ofMirande and of Rouvres, Count of Ferrieres, of Montegu and of SaintMarc, and also of Villemareuil, Chevalier of the four Royal Ordersof Saint Esprit, Saint Michel, Notre Dame de Carmel and Saint Louis, Lieutenant in the Army of the King, Governor of Normandy, holding officeas Captain-General of the Hunting, and Master of the Hounds. All thesewere the titles of Felicien's grandfather, and yet she had come, sosimple, with her working-dress and her fingers worn by the needle, inhopes of marrying the grandson of this dead dignitary!

There was a slight sound, scarcely a rustling, on the flagstones. Sheturned and saw Monseigneur, and remained motionless at this silentapproach without the pomp and surroundings she had vaguely expected. He entered into the chapel, tall, erect, and noble-looking, dressed inpurple, with his pale face, his rather large nose, and his superb eyes, which still seemed youthful in their expression. At first he did notnotice her against the black gate. Then, as he was about to kneel down, he saw her before him at his feet. 

With trembling limbs, overcome by respect and fear, Angelique had fallenupon her knees. He seemed to her at this moment like the Eternal Father, terrible in aspect and absolute master of her destiny. But her heart wasstill courageous, and she spoke at once. 

"Oh! Monseigneur, I have come----"

As for the Bishop, he had risen immediately. He had a vague recollectionof her; the young girl, seen first at her window on the day of theprocession, and re-found a little later standing on a chair in thechurch; this little embroiderer, with whom his son was so desperatelyin love. He uttered no word, he made no gesture. He waited, stern andstiff. 

"Oh! Monseigneur, I have come on purpose that you may see me. You have, it is true, refused to accept me, but you do not know me. And now, hereI am. Please look at me before you repel me again. I am the one wholoves, and am also beloved, and that is all. Nothing beyond thisaffection. Nothing but a poor child, found at the door of this church. You see me at your feet, little, weak, and humble. If I trouble you itwill be very easy for you to send me away. You have only to lift yourlittle finger to crush me. But think of my tears! Were you to know howI have suffered, you would be compassionate. I wished, Monseigneur, toplead my cause in my turn. I love, and that is why I kneel before you, to tell you so. I am ignorant in many ways; I only know I love. Allmy strength and all my pride is centred in that fact. Is not thatsufficient? It certainly makes one great and good to be able to say thatone really loves. "

She continued with sighs, and in broken phrases, to confess everythingto him, in an unaffected outpouring of ardent feeling. It was a trueaffection that thus acknowledged itself. She dared to do so because shewas innocent and pure. Little by little she raised her head. 

"We love each other, Monseigneur. Without doubt he has already toldyou how all this came to pass. As for me, I have often asked myself thequestion without being able to reply to it. But we love each other, andif it is a crime to do so, pardon it, I beseech you, for it came fromafar, from everything in short that surrounded us. When I realised thatI loved him, it was already too late to prevent it. Now, is it possibleto be angry on that account? You can keep him with you, make him marrysome other person, but you cannot prevent him from giving me his heart. He will die without me, as I shall if obliged to part from him. Whenhe is not by my side I feel that he is really near me, and that we willnever be entirely separated, since we carry each other's life with us. I have only to close my eyes to re-see him when I wish, so firmly is hisimage impressed upon my soul. Our whole natures are thus closely unitedfor life. And could you wish to draw us away from this union? Oh!Monseigneur, it is divine; do not try to prevent us loving each other!"

He looked at her in her simple working-dress, so fresh, so unpretending, and attractive. He listened to her as she repeated the canticle of theirlove in a voice that both fascinated and troubled him, and which grewstronger by degrees. But as her garden-hat fell upon her shoulders, herexquisite hair seemed to make a halo around her head of fine gold, andshe appeared to him, indeed, like one of those legendary virgins of theold prayer-books, so frail was she, so primitive, so absorbed in herdeep feeling of intense and pure affection. 

"Be good, be merciful, Monseigneur. You are the master. Do allow us tobe happy!"

She implored him, and finding that he remained unmoved, withoutspeaking, she again bowed down her head. 

Oh! this unhappy child at his feet; this odour of youth that came upfrom the sweet figure thus bent before him! There he saw, as it wereagain, the beautiful light locks he had so fondly caressed in the daysgone by. She, whose memory still distressed him after twenty years ofpenitence, had the same fresh youthfulness, the same proud expression, and the same lily-like grace. She had re-appeared; it was she herselfwho now sobbed and besought him to be tender and merciful. 

Tears had come to Angelique, yet she continued to outpour her heart. 

"And, Monseigneur, it is not only that I love him, but I also love thenobility of his name, the lustre of his royal fortune. Yes, I know wellthat being nothing, that having nothing, it seems as if I were onlydesirous of his money. In a way, it is true it is also for his wealththat I wish to marry him. I tell you this because it is necessary thatyou should know me thoroughly. Ah! to become rich by him and with him, to owe all my happiness to him, to live in the sweetness and splendourof luxury, to be free in our loving home, and to have no more sorrow, nomisery around us! That is my ideal! Since he has loved me I fancy myselfdressed in heavy brocades, as ladies wore in olden days; I have on myarms and around my neck strings of pearls and precious stones; I havehorses and carriages; groves in which I take long walks, followedby pages. Whenever I think of him my dream recommences, and I say tomyself, 'This must all come to pass, for it perfects my desire to becomea queen. ' Is it, then, Monseigneur, a bad thing to love him more becausehe can gratify all my childish wishing by showering down miraculousfloods of gold upon me as in fairy-tales?"

He saw then that she rose up proudly, with a charming, stately air ofa true princess, in spite of her real simplicity. And she was alwaysexactly like the fair maiden of other years, with the same flower-likedelicacy, the same tender tears, clear as smiles. A species ofintoxication came from her, the warm breath of which mounted to hisface--the same shadow of a remembrance which made him at night throwhimself on his devotional chair, sobbing so deeply that he disturbed thesacred silence of the Palace. Until three o'clock in the morning of thissame day he had contended with himself again, and this long history oflove, this story of passion, would only revive and excite his incurablewound. But behind his impassiveness nothing was seen, nothing betrayedhis effort at self-control and his attempt to conquer the beating of hisheart. Were he to lose his life's blood, drop by drop, no one should seeit flow, and he now simply became paler, was silent and immovable. 

At last this great persistent silence made Angelique desperate, and sheredoubled her prayers. 

"I put myself in your hands, Monseigneur. Do with me whatever you thinkbest; but have pity when deciding my fate. "

Still, as he continued silent, he terrified her, and seemed to growtaller than ever as he stood before her in his fearful majesty. Thedeserted Cathedral, whose aisles were already dark, with its highvaulted arches where the daylight seemed dying, made the agony of thissilence still harder to bear. In the chapel, where the commemorativeslabs could no longer be seen, there remained only the Bishop in hispurple cassock, that now looked black, and his long white face, whichalone seemed to have absorbed all the light. She saw his bright eyesfixed upon her with an ever-increasing depth of expression, and shrunkfrom them, wondering if it were possible that anger made them shine inso strange a way. 

"Monseigneur, had I not come to-day, I should have eternally reproachedmyself for having brought about the unhappiness of us both from my wantof courage. Tell me then, oh, tell me that I was right in doing so, andthat you will give us your consent!"

What use would there be in discussing the matter with this child? Hehad already given his son the reasons for his refusal, and that wasall-sufficient. That he had not yet spoken was only because he thoughthe had nothing to say. She, no doubt, understood him, and she seemed towish to raise herself up that she might be able to kiss his hands. Buthe threw them behind him violently, and she was startled at seeing hiswhite face become suddenly crimson, from a rush of blood to his head. 

"Monseigneur! Monseigneur!"

At last he opened his lips, to say to her just one word, the same he hadsaid to his son:

"Never!"

And without remaining to pray that day, as was his wont, he left thechapel, and with slow steps soon disappeared behind the pillars of theapse. 

Falling on the flagstones, Angelique wept for a long time, sobbingdeeply in the great peaceful silence of the empty church. 

CHAPTER XIV

That same evening in the kitchen, after they left the dinner-table, Angelique confessed everything to Hubert, telling him of her interviewwith the Bishop, and of the latter's refusal. She was very pale, but notat all excited. 

Hubert was quite overcome. What? Could it be possible that his dearchild already suffered? That she also had been so deeply wounded in heraffections? His eyes were filled with tears from his sympathy with her, as they were both of that excessively sensitive nature that at the leastbreath they were carried away by their imaginations. 

"Ah! my poor darling, why did you not consult me? I would willingly haveaccompanied you, and perhaps I might have persuaded Monseigneur to yieldto your prayers. "

With a look Hubertine stopped him. He was really unreasonable. Was itnot much better to seize this occasion to put an end at once to allideas of a marriage which would be impossible? She took the young girlin her arms, and tenderly kissed her forehead. 

"Then, now it is ended, my dear child; all ended?"

Angelique at first did not appear to understand what was said to her. Soon the words returned to her as if from a distance. She looked fixedlybefore her, seeming anxious to question the empty space, and at last shereplied:

"Without doubt, mother. "

Indeed, on the morrow she seated herself at the work-frame andembroidered as she was wont to do. She took up her usual routine ofdaily work, and did not appear to suffer. Moreover, no allusion was madeto the past; she no longer looked from time to time out of the windowinto the garden, and gradually losing her paleness, the naturalcolour came back to her cheeks. The sacrifice appeared to have beenaccomplished. 

Hubert himself thought it was so, and, convinced of the wisdom ofHubertine, did all in his power to keep Felicien at a distance. Thelatter, not daring to openly revolt against his father, grew feverishlyimpatient, to such a degree that he almost broke the promise he had madeto wait quietly without trying to see Angelique again. He wrote to her, and the letters were intercepted. He even went to the house one morning, but it was Hubert alone who received him. Their explanatory conversationsaddened them both to an equal degree, so much did the young man appearto suffer when the embroiderer told him of his daughter's calmness andher air of forgetfulness. He besought him to be loyal, and go to away, that he might not again throw the child into the fearful trouble of thelast few weeks. 

Felicien again pledged himself to be patient, but he violently refusedto take back his word, for he was still hopeful that he might persuadehis father in the end. He could wait; he would let affairs remain intheir present state with the Voincourts, where he dined twice a week, doing so simply to avoid a direct act of open rebellion. 

And as he left the house he besought Hubert to explain to Angelique whyhe had consented to the torment of not seeing her for the moment; hethought only of her, and the sole aim of everything he did was to gainher at last. 

When her husband repeated this conversation to her, Hubertine grew veryserious. Then, after a short silence, she asked:

"Shall you tell our daughter what he asked you to say to her?"

"I ought to do so. "

She was again silent, but finally added:

"Act according to your conscience. But he is now under a delusion. Hewill eventually be obliged to yield to his father's wishes, and then ourpoor, dear little girl will die in consequence. "

Hubert, overcome with grief, hesitated. But after contending withhimself, he concluded to repeat nothing. Moreover, he became a littlereassured each day when his wife called his attention to Angelique'stranquil appearance. 

"You see well that the wound is healing. She is learning to forget. "

But she did not forget; she also was simply waiting. All hope of humanaid having died within her, she now had returned to the idea of somewonderful prodigy. There would surely be one, if God wished her to behappy. She had only to give herself up entirely into His hands; shebelieved that this new trial had been sent to her as a punishmentfor having attempted to force His will in intruding upon Monseigneur. Without true grace mankind was weak, and incapable of success. Her needof that grace made her humble, bringing to her as an only hope theaid of the Invisible; so that she gave up acting for herself, but lefteverything to the mysterious forces which surrounded her. Each eveningat lamplight she recommenced her reading of the "Golden Legend, " beingas delighted with it as when she was a young child. She doubted noneof the miracles related therein, being convinced that the power of theUnknown is without limit for the triumph of pure souls. 

Just at this time the upholsterer of the Cathedral ordered of theHuberts a panel of the very richest embroidery for the throne ofMonseigneur the Bishop. This panel, one yard and a half in width andthree yards in length, was to be set in old carved wood, and on it wereto be represented two angels of life-size, holding a crown, on whichwere to be the arms of the Hautecoeurs. It was necessary that theembroidery should be in bas-relief, a work which not only required greatartistic knowledge, but also needed physical strength, to be well done. When proposed to the Huberts, they at first declined the offer, beingnot only fearful of fatiguing Angelique, but especially dreading thatshe would be saddened by the remembrances which would be brought to hermind as she wrought thread after thread during the several weeks. Butshe insisted upon accepting the command, and every morning appliedherself to her task with an extraordinary energy. It seemed as ifshe found her happiness in tiring herself, and that she needed to bephysically exhausted in order to be calm. 

So in the old workroom life continued in the same regular way, as iftheir hearts had not even for a moment beaten more quickly than usual. Whilst Hubert occupied himself with arranging the frames, or drewthe patterns, or stretched or relaxed the materials, Hubertine helpedAngelique, both of them having their hands terribly tired and bruisedwhen evening came. For the angels and the ornaments it had beennecessary at the beginning to divide each subject into several parts, which were treated separately. In order to perfect the most salientpoints, Angelique first took spools of coarse unbleached thread, which she re-covered with the strong thread of Brittany in a contrarydirection; and as the need came, making use of a heavy pair of shears, as well as of a roughing-chisel, she modelled these threads, shaped thedrapery of the angels, and detached the details of the ornaments. In allthis there was a real work of sculpture. At last, when the desired formwas obtained, with the aid of Hubertine she threw on masses of goldthread, which she fastened down with little stitches of silk. Thus therewas a bas-relief of gold, incomparably soft and bright, shining like asun in the centre of this dark, smoky room. The old tools were arrangedin the same lines as they had been for centuries--the punches, theawls, the mallets, and the hammers; on the work-frame the little donkeywaste-basket and the tinsel, the thimbles and the needles, moved upand down as usual, while in the different corners, where they ended bygrowing rusty, the diligent, the hand spinning-wheel, and the reel forwinding, seemed to sleep in the peaceful quiet which entered through theopen window. 

Days passed. Angelique broke many needles between morning and evening, so difficult was it to sew down the gold, through the thickness ofthe waxed threads. To have seen her, one would have said she was sothoroughly absorbed by her hard work that she could think of nothingelse. At nine o'clock she was exhausted by fatigue, and, going to bed, she sank at once into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When her embroidery gaveher mind a moment's leisure, she was astonished not to see Felicien. Although she took no step towards seeking him, it seemed to her that heought to have tried every possible way to come to her. Yet she approvedof his wisdom in acting as he did, and would have scolded him hadhe tried to hasten matters. No doubt he also looked for somethingsupernatural to happen. It was this expectation upon which she nowlived, thinking each night that it would certainly come on the morrow. Until now she had never rebelled. Still, at times she lifted up her headinquiringly, as if asking "What! Has nothing yet come to pass?" And thenshe pricked her finger so deeply that her hand bled, and she was obligedto take the pincers to draw the needle out. When her needle would breakwith a sharp little sound, as if of glass, she did not even make amovement of impatience. 

Hubertine was very anxious on seeing her apply herself so desperatelyto her work, and as the time for the great washing had come again, sheforced her to leave her panel of embroidery, that she might have fourgood days of active outdoor life in the broad sunlight. The _mere_Gabet, now free of her rheumatism, was able to help in the soaping andrinsing. It was a regular fete in the Clos-Marie, these last Augustdays, in which the weather was splendid, the sky almost cloudless, whilea delicious fragrance came up from the Chevrotte, the water of which asit passed under the willows was almost icy cold. The first day Angeliquewas very gay, as she beat the linen after plunging it in the stream;enjoying to the full the river, the elms, the old ruined mill, the wildherbs, and all those friendly surroundings, so filled with pleasantmemories. Was it not there she had become acquainted with Felicien, whounder the moonlight had at first seemed so mysterious a being, and who, later on, had been so adorably awkward the morning when he ran afterthe dressing-sacque that was being carried away by the current? As sherinsed each article, she could not refrain from glancing at the gatewayof the Bishop's garden, which until recently had been nailed up. Oneevening she had passed through it on his arm, and who could tell but hemight suddenly now open it and come to take her as she applied herselfto her work in the midst of the frothy foam that at times almost coveredher. 

But the next day, as the _mere_ Gabet brought the last barrow of linen, which she spread out on the grass with Angelique, she interrupted herinterminable chattering upon the gossip of the neighbourhood to saymaliciously:

"By the way, you know that Monseigneur is to marry his son?"

The young girl, who was just smoothing out a sheet, knelt down in thegrass, her strength leaving her all at once, from the rudeness of theshock. 

"Yes, everyone is talking of it. The son of Monseigneur will in theautumn marry Mademoiselle de Voincourt. It seems that everything wasdecided upon and arranged yesterday. "

She remained on her knees, as a flood of confused ideas passed throughher brain, and a strange humming was in her ears. She was not at allsurprised at the news, and she realised it must be true. Her mother hadalready warned her, so she ought to have been prepared for it. She didnot yet even doubt Felicien's love for her, as that was her faith andher strength. But at the present moment, that which weakened her sogreatly and excited her to the very depths of her being was the thoughtthat, trembling before the commands of his father, he could at lastyield from weariness, and consent to wed one whom he did not love. Thenhe would be lost to her whom he really adored. Never had she thoughtsuch an act on his part possible; but now she saw him obliged by hisfilial duty and his sense of obedience to make them both unhappy forever. Still motionless, her eyes fixed upon the little gate, she atlast revolted against the facts, feeling as if she must go and shake thebars, force them open with her hands, run to Felicien, and, aiding himby her own courage, persuade him not to yield. She was surprised to hearherself reply to the _mere_ Gabet, in the purely mechanical instinct ofhiding her trouble:

"Ah! then he is to marry Mademoiselle Claire. She is not only verybeautiful, but it is said she is also very good. "

Certainly, as soon as the old woman went away, she must go and find him. She had waited long enough; she would break her promise of not seeinghim as if it were a troublesome obstacle. What right had anyoneto separate them in this way? Everything spoke to her of theiraffection--the Cathedral, the fresh water, and the old elm-trees underwhich they had been so happy. Since their affection had grown on thisspot, it was there that she wished to find him again, to go with himarm-in-arm far away, so far that no one would ever see them. 

"That is all, " said at last the _mere_ Gabet, as she hung the lastnapkins on a bush. "In two hours they will be dry. Good-night, mademoiselle, as you no longer have need of me. "

Now, standing in the midst of this efflorescence of linen that shoneon the green grass, Angelique thought of that other day, when, in thetempest of wind, among the flapping of the sheets and tablecloths, theyunfolded so ingenuously the secrets of their lives to each other. Whyhad he discontinued his visits to her? Why had he not come to meet herduring her healthy exercise of the past three days? But it would notbe long before she would run to him, and when he had clasped her in hisarms, he would know well that he was hers, and hers only. She would noteven need to reproach him for his apparent weakness; it would be enoughfor her to show herself to make him realise that their happiness was inbeing together. 

He would dare everything for her sake when once she had rejoined him. 

An hour passed, and Angelique walked slowly between the pieces oflinen, all white herself from the blinding reflection of the sun; anda confused sentiment awoke in her breast, which, growing stronger andstronger, prevented her from going over to the gate, as she had wishedto do. She was frightened before this commencement of a struggle. Whatdid it mean? She certainly could act according to her own will. Yetsomething new, inexplicable, thwarted her and changed the simplicity ofher passion. It was such a simple thing to go to a beloved one; yet shecould not possibly do so now, being kept back by a tormenting doubt. Also, since she had given her promise, perhaps it would be wrong tobreak it. In the evening, when the whole "wash" was dry, and Hubertinecame to help her to take it to the house, she was still undecided whatto do, and concluded to reflect upon it during the night. With her armsfilled to overflowing with linen, white as snow, and smelling fresh andclean, she cast an anxious look towards the Clos-Marie, already bathedin the twilight, as if it were a friendly corner of Nature refusing tobe her accomplice. 

In the morning Angelique was greatly troubled when she awoke. Severalother nights passed without her having come to any decision. She couldnot recover her ease of mind until she had the certainty that she wasstill beloved. Were her faith in that unshaken she would be perfectly atrest. If loved, she could bear anything. A fit of being charitable hadagain taken possession of her, so that she was touched by the slightestsuffering, and her eyes were filled with tears ready to overflow at anymoment. The old man Mascart made her give him tobacco, and the Chouartsdrew from her everything they wished, even to preserved fruits. But theLemballeuses also profited by her gifts, and Tiennette had been seendancing at the fetes, dressed in one of "the good young lady's" gowns. And one day, as she was taking to the grandmother some chemises promisedher the previous evening, she saw from a distance, in the midst of thepoor family, Madame de Voincourt and her daughter Claire, accompanied byFelicien. The latter, no doubt, had taken them there. She did not showherself, but returned home at once, chilled to the heart. Two dayslater she saw the two again as they came out from the Chateau; then onemorning the old man Mascart told her of a visit he had received fromthe handsome young gentleman and two ladies. Then she abandoned her poorpeople, who seemed no longer to have claims upon her, since Felicien hadtaken them and given them to his new friends. She gave up her walksfor fear she might see them, and thus be so deeply wounded that hersufferings would be increased tenfold. She felt as if something weredying within her, as if, little by little, her very life was passingaway. 

One evening, after one of these meetings, when alone in her chamber, stifling from anguish, she uttered this cry:

"But he loves me no longer. "

She saw before her, mentally, Claire de Voincourt, tall, beautiful, with her crown of black hair, and he was at her side, slight, proud, andhandsome. Were they not really created for each other, of the same race, so well mated that one might think they were already married?

"He no longer loves me! Oh! he no longer loves me!"

This exclamation broke from her lips as if it were the ruin of all herhopes, and, her faith once shaken, everything gave way without her beingable to examine the facts of the case or to regard them calmly. Theprevious evening she believed in something, but that had now passed by. A breath, coming from she knew not where, had been sufficient, and allat once by a single blow she had fallen into the greatest despair--thatof thinking she was not beloved. He had indeed spoken wisely when hetold her once that this was the only real grief, the one insupportabletorture. Now her turn had come. Until then she had been resigned, she felt so strong and confident as she awaited the miracle. But herstrength passed away with her faith; she was tormented by her distresslike a child; her whole being seemed to be only an open wound. And apainful struggle commenced in her soul. 

At first she called upon her pride to help her; she was too proud tocare for him any more. She tried to deceive herself, she pretended to befree from all care, as she sang while embroidering the Hautecoeur coatof arms, upon which she was at work. But her heart was so full it almoststifled her, and she was ashamed to acknowledge to herself that she wasweak enough to love him still in spite of all, and even to love him morethan ever. For a week these armorial bearings, as they grew thread bythread under her fingers, filled her with a terrible sorrow. Quarteredone and four, two and three, of Jerusalem and d'Hautecoeur; ofJerusalem, which is argent, a cross potence, or, between fourcross-crosslets of the last; and d'Hautecoeur, azure, on a castle, or, ashield, sable, charged with a human heart, argent; the whole accompaniedby three fleurs-de-lys, or, two at the top and one in the point. Theenamels were made of twist, the metals of gold and silver thread. Whatmisery it was to feel that her hands trembled, and to be obliged tolower her head to hide her eyes, that were blinded with tears, from allthis brightness. She thought only of him; she adored him in the lustreof his legendary nobility. And when she embroidered the motto of thefamily, "_Si Dieu veult, je veux_, " in black silk on a streamer ofsilver, she realised that she was his slave, and that never againcould she reclaim him. Then tears prevented her from seeing, whilemechanically she continued to make little stitches in her work. 

After this it was indeed pitiable. Angelique loved in despair, foughtagainst this hopeless affection, which she could not destroy. She stillwished to go to Felicien, to reconquer him by throwing her arms aroundhis neck; and thus the contest was daily renewed. Sometimes she thoughtshe had gained control over her feelings, so great a silence appeared tohave fallen within and around her. She seemed to see herself as if in avision, a stranger in reality, very little, very cold, and kneeling likean obedient child in the humility of renunciation. Then it was no longerherself, but a sensible young girl, made so by her education and herhome life. Soon a rush of blood mounted to her face, making her dizzy;her perfect health, the ardent feelings of her youth, seemed to galloplike runaway colts, and she resaw herself, proud and passionate, in allthe reality of her unknown origin. Why, then, had she been so obedient?There was no true duty to consult, only free-will. Already she hadplanned her flight, and calculated the most favourable hour for forcingopen the gate of the Bishop's garden. But already, also, the agony, thegrave uneasiness, the torment of a doubt had come back to her. Were sheto yield to evil she would suffer eternal remorse in consequence. Hours, most abominable hours, passed in this uncertainty as to what part sheshould take under this tempestuous wind, which constantly threw her fromthe revolt of her love to the horror of a fault. And she came out of thecontest weakened by each victory over her heart. 

One evening, as she was about leaving the house to go to join Felicien, she suddenly thought of her little book from the Society of Aid toAbandoned Children. She was so distressed to find that she no longer hadstrength to resist her pride. She took it from the depths of the chestof drawers, turned over its leaves, whispered to herself at each pagethe lowness of her birth, so eager was she in her need of humility. Father and mother unknown; no name; nothing but a date and a number; acomplete neglect, like that of a wild plant that grows by the roadside!Then crowds of memories came to her: the rich pastures of the Mievre andthe cows she had watched there; the flat route of Soulanges, where shehad so often walked barefooted; and Maman Nini, who boxed her ears whenshe stole apples. Certain pages specially attracted her by their painfulassociations:--those which certified every three months to the visitsof the under-inspector and of the physician, whose signatures weresometimes accompanied by observations or information, as, for instance, a severe illness, during which she had almost died; a claim from hernurse on the subject of a pair of shoes that had been burnt; and badmarks that had been given her for her uncontrollable temper. It was, inshort, the journal of her misery. But one thing disturbed her above allothers--the report in reference to the breaking of the necklace shehad worn until she was six years of age. She recollected that she hadinstinctively hated it, this string of beads of bone, cut in the shapeof little olives, strung on a silken cord, and fastened by a medallionof plaited silver, bearing the date of her entrance into the "Home" andher number. She considered it as a badge of slavery, and tried severaltimes to break it with her little hands, without any fear as to theconsequences of doing so. Then, when older, she complained that itchoked her. For a year longer she was obliged to wear it. Great, indeed, was her joy when, in the presence of the mayor of the parish, theinspector's aid had cut the cord, replacing this sign of individualityby a formal description, in which allusion was made to herviolet-coloured eyes and her fine golden hair. Yet she always seemedto feel around her neck this collar, as if she were an animal that wasmarked in order that she might be recognised if she went astray; it cutinto her flesh and stifled her. When she came to that page on this day, her humility came back to her, she was frightened, and went up to herchamber, sobbing as if unworthy of being loved. At two other times thislittle book saved her. At last it lost its power, and could not help herin checking her rebellious thoughts. 

Now, her greatest temptation came to her at night. Before going tobed, that her sleep might be calm, she imposed upon herself the task ofresuming reading the Legends. But, resting her forehead on her hands, notwithstanding all her efforts she could understand nothing. Themiracles stupefied her; she saw only a discoloured flight of phantoms. Then in her great bed, after a most intense prostration, she startedsuddenly from her sleep, in agony, in the midst of the darkness. She satupright, distracted; then knelt among the half thrown-back clothes, asthe perspiration started from her forehead, while she trembled from headto foot. Clasping her hands together, she stammered in prayer, "Oh! myGod! Why have You forsaken me?"

Her great distress was to realise that she was alone in the obscurityat such moments. She had dreamed of Felicien, she was eager to dressherself and go to join him, before anyone could come to prevent herfrom fleeing. It was as if the Divine grace were leaving her, as if Godceased to protect her, and even the elements abandoned her. In despair, she called upon the unknown, she listened attentively, hoping for somesign from the Invisible. But there was no reply; the air seemed empty. There were no more whispering voices, no more mysterious rustlings. Everything seemed to be dead--the Clos-Marie, with the Chevrotte, thewillows, the elm-trees in the Bishop's garden, and the Cathedral itself. Nothing remained of the dreams she had placed there; the white flight ofher friends in passing away left behind them only their sepulchre. Shewas in agony at her powerlessness, disarmed, like a Christian of thePrimitive Church overcome by original sin, as soon as the aid of thesupernatural had departed. In the dull silence of this protected cornershe heard this evil inheritance come back, howling triumphant overeverything. If in ten minutes more no help came to her from figurativeforces, if things around her did not rouse up and sustain her, she wouldcertainly succumb and go to her ruin. "My God! My God! Why have Youabandoned me?" Still kneeling on her bed, slight and delicate, it seemedto her as if she were dying. 

Each time, until now, at the moment of her greatest distress she hadbeen sustained by a certain freshness. It was the Eternal Grace whichhad pity upon her, and restored her illusions. She jumped out on to thefloor with her bare feet, and ran eagerly to the window. Then at lastshe heard the voices rising again; invisible wings brushed against herhair, the people of the "Golden Legend" came out from the trees and thestones, and crowded around her. Her purity, her goodness, all that whichresembled her in Nature, returned to her and saved her. Now she was nolonger afraid, for she knew that she was watched over. Agnes had comeback with the wandering, gentle virgins, and in the air she breathedwas a sweet calmness, which, notwithstanding her intense sadness, strengthened her in her resolve to die rather than fail in her duty orbreak her promise. At last, quite exhausted, she crept back intoher bed, falling asleep again with the fear of the morrow's trials, constantly tormented by the idea that she must succumb in the end, ifher weakness thus increased each day. 

In fact, a languor gained fearfully upon Angelique since she thoughtFelicien no longer loved her. She was deeply wounded and silent, uncomplaining; she seemed to be dying hourly. At first it showed itselfby weariness. She would have an attack of want of breath, when she wasforced to drop her thread, and for a moment remain with her eyes halfclosed, seeing nothing, although apparently looking straight before her. Then she left off eating, scarcely taking even a little milk; and sheeither hid her bread or gave it to the neighbours' chickens, that sheneed not make her parents anxious. A physician having been called, found no acute disease, but considering her life too solitary, simplyrecommended a great deal of exercise. It was like a gradual fading awayof her whole being; a disappearing by slow degrees, an obliteratingof her physique from its immaterial beauty. Her form floated like theswaying of two great wings; a strong light seemed to come from herthin face, where the soul was burning. She could now come down from herchamber only in tottering steps, as she supported herself by putting hertwo hands against the wall of the stairway. But as soon as she realisedshe was being looked at, she made a great effort, and even persisted inwishing to finish the panel of heavy embroidery for the Bishop's seat. Her little, slender hands had no more strength, and when she broke aneedle she could not draw it from the work with the pincers. 

One morning, when Hubert and Hubertine had been obliged to go out, andhad left her alone at her work, the embroiderer, coming back first, hadfound her on the floor near the frame, where she had fallen from herchair after having fainted away. She had at last succumbed before hertask, one of the great golden angels being still unfinished. Hubert tookher in his arms, and tried to place her on her feet. But she fell backagain, and did not recover consciousness. 

"My darling! My darling! Speak to me! Have pity on me!"

At last she opened her eyes and looked at him in despair. Why had hewished her to come back to life! She would so gladly die!

"What is the matter with you, my dear child? Have you really deceivedus? Do you still love him?"

She made no answer, but simply looked at him with intense sadness. Thenhe embraced her gently, took her in his arms, and carried her up to herroom. Having placed her upon her bed, when he saw how white and frailshe was he wept that he had had so cruel a task to perform as to keepaway from her the one whom she so loved. 

"But I would have given him to you, my dear! Why did you say nothing tome?"

She did not speak; her eyelids closed, and she appeared to fallasleep. He remained standing, his looks fixed upon the thin, lily-whitecountenance, his heart bleeding with pity. Then, as her breathing hadbecome quiet, he went downstairs, as he heard his wife come in. 

He explained everything to her in the working-room. Hubertine had justtaken off her hat and gloves, and he at once told her of his havingfound the child on the floor in a dead faint, that she was now sleepingon her bed, overcome with weakness, and almost lifeless. 

"We have really been greatly mistaken. She thinks constantly of thisyoung man, and it is killing her by inches. Ah! if you knew what a shockit gave me, and the remorse which has made me almost distracted, sinceI have realised the truth of the case, and carried her upstairs in sopitiable a state. It is our fault. We have separated them by falsehoods, and I am not only ashamed, but so angry with myself it makes me ill. Butwhat? Will you let her suffer so, without saying anything to save her?"

Still Hubertine was as silent as Angelique, and, pale from anxiety, looked at him calmly and soothingly. But he, always an excitable man, was now so overcome by what he had just seen that, forgetting his usualsubmission, he was almost beside himself, could not keep still, butthrew his hands up and down in his feverish agitation. 

"Very well, then! I will speak, and I will tell her that Felicien lovesher, and that it is we who have had the cruelty to prevent him fromreturning, in deceiving him also. Now, every tear she sheds cuts me tothe heart. Were she to die, I should consider myself as having been hermurderer. I wish her to be happy. Yes! happy at any cost, no matter how, but by all possible means. "

He had approached his wife, and he dared to cry out in the revolt ofhis tenderness, being doubly irritated by the sad silence she stillmaintained. 

"Since they love each other, it is they alone who should be masters ofthe situation. There is surely nothing in the world greater than to loveand be loved. Yes, happiness is always legitimate. "

At length Hubertine, standing motionless, spoke slowly:

"You are willing, then, that he should take her from us, are you not?That he should marry her notwithstanding our opposition, and without theconsent of his father? Would you advise them to do so? Do you think thatthey would be happy afterwards, and that love would suffice them?"

And without changing her manner she continued in the same heart-brokenvoice:

"On my way home I passed by the cemetery, and an undefinable hope mademe enter there again. I knelt once more on the spot that is worn by ourknees, and I prayed there for a long time. "

Hubert had turned very pale, and a cold chill replaced the fever of afew moments before. Certainly he knew well the tomb of the unforgivingmother, where they had so often been in tears and in submission, as theyaccused themselves of their disobedience, and besought the dead to sendthem her pardon from the depths of the earth. They had remained therefor hours, sure that if the grace they demanded were ever granted themthey would be cognisant of it at once. That for which they pleaded, thatfor which they hoped, was for another infant, a child of pardon, theonly sign which would assure them that at last they themselves had beenforgiven. But all was in vain. The cold, hard mother was deaf to alltheir entreaties, and left them under the inexorable punishment of thedeath of their firstborn, whom she had taken and carried away, and whomshe refused to restore to them. 

"I prayed there for a long time, " repeated Hubertine. "I listenedeagerly to know if there would not be some slight movement. "

Hubert questioned her with an anxious look. 

"But there was nothing--no! no sound came up to me from the earth, andwithin me there was no feeling of relief. Ah! yes, it is useless to hopeany longer. It is too late. We brought about our own unhappiness. "

Then, trembling, he asked:

"Do you accuse me of it?"

"Yes, you are to blame, and I also did wrong in following you. Wedisobeyed in the beginning, and all our life has been spoiled inconsequence of that one false step. "

"But are you not happy?"

"No, I am not happy. A woman who has no child can never be happy. Tolove merely is not enough. That love must be crowned and blest. "

He had fallen into a chair, faint and overcome, as tears came to hiseyes. Never before had she reproached him for the ever-open wound whichmarred their lives, and she who always after having grieved him byan involuntary allusion to the past had quickly recovered herself andconsoled him, this time let him suffer, looking at him as she stoodnear, but making no sign, taking no step towards him. He wept bitterly, exclaiming in the midst of his tears:

"Ah! the dear child upstairs--it is she you condemn. You are not willingthat Felicien should marry her, as I married you, and that she shouldsuffer as you have done. "

She answered simply by a look: a clear, affectionate glance, in which heread the strength and simplicity of her heart. 

"But you said yourself, my dear, that our sweet daughter would die ofgrief if matters were not changed. Do you, then, wish for her death?"

"Yes. Her death now would be preferable to an unhappy life. "

He left his seat, and clasped her in his arms as they both sobbedbitterly. For some minutes they embraced each other. Then he conqueredhimself, and she in her turn was obliged to lean upon his shoulder, thathe might comfort her and renew her courage. They were indeed distressed, but were firm in their decision to keep perfectly silent, and, if itwere God's will that their child must die in consequence, they mustaccept it submissively, rather than advise her to do wrong. 

From that day Angelique was obliged to keep in her room. Her weaknessincreased so rapidly and to such a degree that she could no longer godown to the workroom. Did she attempt to walk, her head became dizzyat once and her limbs bent under her. At first, by the aid of thefurniture, she was able to get to the balcony. Later, she was obligedto content herself with going from her armchair to her bed. Even thatdistance seemed long to her, and she only tried it in the morning andevening, she was so exhausted. 

However, she still worked, giving up the embroidery in bas-relief asbeing too difficult, and simply making use of coloured silks. She copiedflowers after Nature, from a bunch of hydrangeas and hollyhocks, which, having no odour, she could keep in her room. The bouquet was in fullbloom in a large vase, and often she would rest for several minutes asshe looked at it with pleasure, for even the light silks were too heavyfor her fingers. In two days she had made one flower, which was freshand bright as it shone upon the satin; but this occupation was herlife, and she would use her needle until her last breath. Softened bysuffering, emaciated by the inner fever that was consuming her, sheseemed now to be but a spirit, a pure and beautiful flame that wouldsoon be extinguished. 

Why was it necessary to struggle any longer if Felicien did not loveher? Now she was dying with this conviction; not only had he no love forher to-day, but perhaps he had never really cared for her. So long asher strength lasted she had contended against her heart, her health, andher youth, all of which urged her to go and join him. But now that shewas unable to move, she must resign herself and accept her fate. 

One morning, as Hubert placed her in her easy chair, and put a cushionunder her little, motionless feet, she said, with a smile:

"Ah! I am sure of being good now, and not trying to run away. "

Hubert hastened to go downstairs, that she might not see his tears. 

CHAPTER XV

It was impossible for Angelique to sleep that night. A nervouswakefulness kept her burning eyelids from closing, and her extremeweakness seemed greater than ever. The Huberts had gone to their room, and at last, when it was near midnight, so great a fear came over herthat she would die if she were to remain longer in bed, she preferred toget up, notwithstanding the immense effort required to do so. 

She was almost stifled. Putting on a dressing-gown and warm slippers, she crept along slowly as far as the window, which she opened wide. The winter was somewhat rainy, but of a mild dampness; so the air waspleasant to breathe. She sank back into her great armchair, after havingturned up the wick of a lamp which was on a table near her, and whichwas always allowed to be kept burning during the entire night. There, by the side of the volume of the "Golden Legend, " was the bouquet ofhydrangeas and hollyhocks which she had begun to copy. That she mightonce more attach herself to the life which she realised was fast passingfrom her she had a sudden fancy to work, and drawing her frame forward, she made a few stitches with her trembling fingers. The red silk of therose-tremiere seemed of a deeper hue than ever, in contrast with herwhite hands: it was almost as if it were the blood from her veins whichwas quietly flowing away drop by drop. 

But she, who for two hours had turned in vain from side to side in theburning bedclothes, yielded almost immediately to sleep as soon as shewas seated. Her head drooped a little toward her right shoulder, beingsupported by the back of her chair, and the silk remaining in hermotionless hands, a looker-on would have thought she was stillembroidering. White as snow, perfectly calm, she slept under the lightof the lamp in the chamber, still and quiet as a tomb. The faded, rosydraperies of the great royal couch were paler than ever in their shadycorner, and the gloom of the walls of the room was only relieved by thegreat chest of drawers, the wardrobe, and the chairs of old carved oak. Minutes passed; her slumber was deep and dreamless. 

At last there was a slight sound, and Felicien suddenly appeared on thebalcony, pale, trembling, and, like herself, looking very worn and thin, and his countenance distressed. When he saw her reclining in the easychair, pitiable and yet so beautiful to look at, he rushed at once intothe chamber, and his heart grew heavy with infinite grief as he wentforward, and, falling on his knees before her, gazed at her with anexpression of utter despair. Could it be that she was so hopelessly ill?Was it unhappiness that had caused her to be so weak, and to have wastedway to such a degree that she appeared to him light as air while she laythere, like a feather which the slightest breath would blow away? In hersleep, her suffering and her patient resignation were clearly seen. Hein fact would have known her only by her lily-like grace, the delicateoutlines of her neck, her drooping shoulders, and her oval face, transfigured like that of a youthful virgin mounting towards heaven. Her exquisite hair was now only a mass of light, and her pure soul shoneunder the soft transparency of her skin. She had all the etherealbeauty of the saints relieved from their bodies. He was both dazzledand distressed; the violent shock rendered him incapable of moving, and, with hands clasped, he remained silent. She did not awake as hecontinued to watch her. 

A little air from the half-closed lips of Felicien must have passedacross Angelique's face, as all at once she opened her great eyes. Yetshe did not start, but in her turn looked at him with a smile, as if hewere a vision. Yes, it was he! She recognised him well, although he wasgreatly changed. But she did not think she was awake, for she often sawhim thus in her dreams, and her trouble was increased when, rousing fromher sleep, she realised the truth. 

He held his hands out towards her and spoke:

"My dearest, I love you. I was told that you were ill, and came to youimmediately. Look at me! Here I am, and I love you. "

She straightened herself up quickly. She shuddered, as with a mechanicalmovement she passed her fingers over her eyes. 

"Doubt no longer, then. See me at your feet, and realise that I love younow, as I have ever done. "

Then she exclaimed:

"Oh! is it you? I had given up expecting you, and yet you are here. "

With her feeble, trembling hands, she had taken his, thus assuringherself that he was not a fanciful vision of her sleep. 

He continued:

"You have always loved me, and I love you for ever. Yes, notwithstandingeverything; and more deeply even than I should have ever thought itpossible to do. "

It was an unhoped-for excess of happiness, and in this first minute ofabsolute joy they forgot everything else in the world, giving themselvesup to the delightful certainty of their mutual affection, and theirability to declare it. The sufferings of the past, the obstacles ofthe future, had disappeared as if by magic. They did not even think ofasking how it was that they had thus come together. But there they were, mingling their tears of joy together as they embraced each other withthe purest of feelings: he was overcome with pity that she was so wornby grief and illness that she seemed like a mere shadow in his arms. Inthe enchantment of her surprise she remained half-paralysed, tremblingfrom exhaustion, radiant with spiritual beauty, as she lay back in hergreat easy chair, so physically weary that she could not raise herselfwithout falling again, but intoxicated with this supreme contentment. 

"Ah, dear Seigneur, my only remaining wish is gratified. I longed to seeyou before death came. "

He lifted up his head, as with a despairing movement, and said:

"Do not speak of dying. It shall not be. I am here, and I love you. "

She smiled angelically. 

"I am not afraid to die now that you have assured me of your affection. The idea no longer terrifies me. I could easily fall asleep in this way, while leaning on your shoulders. Tell me once more that you love me. "

"I love you as deeply to-day as I loved you yesterday, and as I willlove you on the morrow. Do not doubt it for one moment, for it is foreternity! Oh, yes, we will love each other for ever and ever. "

Angelique was enraptured, and with vague eyes looked directly beforeher, as if seeing something beyond the cold whiteness of the chamber. But evidently she aroused herself, as if just awaking from sleep. Inthe midst of this great felicity which had appeased her, she had now hadtime for reflection. The true facts of the case astonished her. 

"You have loved me! Yet why did you not at once come to see me?"

"Your parents said that you cared for me no longer. I also nearly diedwhen learning that. At last, I was determined to know the whole truth, and was sent away from the house, the door being absolutely closedagainst me, and I was forbidden to return. "

"Then they shut the door in your face? Yet my mother told me that youdid not love me, and I could but believe her, since having seen youseveral times with that young lady, Mademoiselle Claire, I thoughtnaturally you were obeying your father. "

"No. I was waiting. But it was cowardly on my part thus to tremblebefore him. My great mistake has been to allow the matter to go sofar; for my duty was to have trusted only in you, to have insisted uponseeing you personally, and to have acted with you. "

There was a short silence. Angelique sat erect for an instant, as ifshe had received a blow, and her expression grew cold and hard, and herforehead was cut by an angry wrinkle. 

"So we have both of us been deceived. Falsehoods have been told in orderto separate us from each other. Notwithstanding our mutual love, we havebeen tortured to such a degree that they have almost killed us both. Very well, then! It is abominable, and it frees us from the promises wemade. We are now at liberty to act as we will. "

An intense feeling of contempt so excited her that she stood up on herfeet. She no longer realised that she was ill, but appeared to haveregained her strength miraculously in the reawakening of all the passionand pride of her nature. To have thought her dream ended, and all atonce to have re-found it in its full beauty and vitality, delighted her. To be able to say that they had done nothing unworthy of their love, butthat it was other persons who had been the guilty ones, was a comfort. This growth of herself, this at last certain triumph, exalted her andthrew her into a supreme rebellion. 

She simply said:

"Come, let us go. "

And she walked around the room, brave in the return of her energy andher will. She had already selected a mantle to throw over her shoulders. A lace scarf would be sufficient for her head. 

Felicien uttered one cry of joy as she thus anticipated his desire. Hehad merely thought of this flight, but had not had the boldness to darepropose it; and how delightful indeed it would be to go away together, to disappear, and thus put an end to all cares, to overcome allobstacles. The sooner it was done the better, for then they would avoidhaving to contend with reflection or afterthought. 

"Yes, darling, let us go immediately. I was coming to take you. I knowwhere we can find a carriage. Before daylight we will be far away: sofar that no one will ever be able to overtake us. "

She opened her drawers, but closed them again violently, without takinganything therefrom, as her excitement increased. Could it be possiblethat she had suffered such torture for so many weeks! She had doneeverything in her power to drive him from her mind, to try to convinceherself that he cared no more for her, until at last she thought shehad succeeded in doing so. But it was of no use, and all this abominablework must be done over again. No! she could never have strengthsufficient for that. Since they loved each other, the simplest thingin the world to do was to be married, and then no power on earth couldseparate them. 

"Let me see. What ought I to take? Oh! how foolish I have been with allmy childish scruples, when I think that others have lowered themselvesso much as even to tell us falsehoods! Yes! even were I to have died, they would not have called you to me. But, tell me, must I take linenand dresses? See, here is a warmer gown. What strange ideas, whatunnumbered obstacles, they put in my head. There was good on one sideand evil on the other: things which one might do, and again that whichone should never do; in short, such a complication of matters, it wasenough to make one wild. They were all falsehoods: there was no truthin any of them. The only real happiness is to live to love the onewho loves you, and to obey the promptings of the heart. You are thepersonification of fortune, of beauty, and of youth, my dear Seigneur;my only pleasure is in you. I give myself to you freely, and you may dowith me what you wish. "

She rejoiced in this breaking-out of all the hereditary tendencies ofher nature, which she thought had died within her. Sounds of distantmusic excited her. She saw as it were their royal departure: this son ofa prince carrying her away as in a fairy-tale, and making her queenof some imaginary realm; and she was ready to follow him with her armsclasped around his neck, her head upon his breast, with such a tremblingfrom intense feeling that her whole body grew weak from happiness. To bealone together, just they two, to abandon themselves to the gallopingof horses, to flee away, and to disappear in each other's arms. Whatperfect bliss it would be!

"Is it not better for me to take nothing? What good would it do inreality?"

He, partaking of her feverishness, was already at the door, as hereplied:

"No, no! Take nothing whatever. Let us go at once. "

"Yes, let us go. That is the best thing to do. "

And she rejoined him. But she turned round, wishing to give a lastlook at the chamber. The lamp was burning with the same soft light, thebouquet of hydrangeas and hollyhocks was blooming as ever, and in herwork-frame the unfinished rose, bright and natural as life, seemed tobe waiting for her. But the room itself especially affected her. Neverbefore had it seemed so white and pure to her; the walls, the bed, theair even, appeared as if filled with a clear, white breath. 

Something within her wavered, and she was obliged to lean heavilyagainst the back of a chair that was near her and not far from the door. 

"What is the matter?" asked Felicien anxiously. 

She did not reply, but breathed with great difficulty. Then, seized witha trembling, she could no longer bear her weight on her feet, but wasforced to sit down. 

"Do not be anxious; it is nothing. I only want to rest for a minute andthen we will go. "

They were silent. She continued to look round the room as if she hadforgotten some valuable object there, but could not tell what it was. It was a regret, at first slight, but which rapidly increased and filledher heart by degrees, until it almost stifled her. She could no longercollect her thoughts. Was it this mass of whiteness that kept her back?She had always adored white, even to such a degree as to collect bits ofsilk and revel over them in secret. 

"One moment, just one moment more, and we will go away, my dearSeigneur. "

But she did not even make an effort to rise. Very anxious, he againknelt before her. 

"Are you suffering, my dear? Cannot I do something to make you feelbetter? If you are shivering because you are cold, I will take yourlittle feet in my hands, and will so warm them that they will growstrong and be able to run. "

She shook her head as she replied:

"No, no, I am not cold. I could walk. But please wait a little, just asingle minute. "

He saw well that invisible chains seemed again to have taken possessionof her limbs, and, little by little, were attaching themselves sostrongly to her that very soon, perhaps, it would be quite impossiblefor him to draw her away. Yet, if he did not take her from there atonce, if they did not flee together, he thought of the inevitablecontest with his father on the morrow, of the distressing interviewbefore which he had recoiled for weeks past. Then he became pressing, and besought her most ardently. 

"Come, dear, the highways are not light at this hour; the carriage willbear us away in the darkness, and we will go on and on, cradled in eachother's arms, sleeping as if warmly covered with down, not fearing thenight's freshness; and when the day dawns we will continue our routein the sunshine, as we go still farther on, until we reach the countrywhere people are always happy. No one will know us there; we will liveby ourselves, lost in some great garden, having no other care than tolove each other more deeply than ever at the coming of each new day. Weshall find flowers as large as trees, fruits sweeter than honey. Andwe will live on nothing, for in the midst of this eternal spring, dearsoul, we will live on our kisses. "

She trembled under these burning words, with which he heated her face, and her whole being seemed to be fainting away at the representation ofthese promised joys. 

"Oh! in a few minutes I will be ready; but wait a little longer. "

"Then, if journeying fatigues us, we will come back here. We willrebuild the Chateau d'Hautecoeur, and we will pass the rest of ourlives there. That is my ideal dream. If it is necessary, we will spendwillingly all our fortune therein. Once more shall its donjon overlookfrom its height the two valleys. We will make our home in the Paviliond'Honneur, between the Tower of David and the Tower of Charlemagne. The colossal edifice shall be restored as in the days of its primitivepower: the galleries, the dwellings, the chapels, shall appear in thesame barbaric luxury as before. And I shall wish for us to lead the lifeof olden times; you a princess and I a prince, surrounded by a largecompany of armed vassals and of pages. Our walls of fifteen feet ofthickness will isolate us, and we shall be as our ancestors were, ofwhom it is written in the Legend. When the sun goes down behind thehills we will return from hunting, mounted on great white horses, greeted respectfully by the peasants as they kneel before us. The hornwill resound in welcome, the drawbridge will be lowered for us. In theevening, kings will dine at our table. At night, our couch will be on aplatform surmounted by a canopy like a throne. While we sleep peacefullyin purple and gold, soft music will be played in the distance. "

Quivering with pride and pleasure, she smiled now, but soon, overcome bythe great suffering that again took possession of her, her lips assumeda mournful expression and the smile disappeared. As with a mechanicalmovement of her hands she drove away the tempting pictures he calledforth, he redoubled his ardour, and wished to make her his by seizingher and carrying her away in his arms. 

"Come, dear. Come with me. Let us go, and forget everything but ourunited happiness. "

Disengaging herself brusquely, she escaped him, with an instinctiverebellion, and trying to stand up, this cry came at last from her:

"No, no! I cannot go. I no longer have the power to do so. "

However, again lamenting her fate, still torn by the contest inher soul, hesitating and stammering, she again turned towards himimploringly. 

"I beg you to be good and not hurry me too much, but wait awhile. Iwould so gladly obey you, in order to prove to you my love; I would likeabove all to go away on your arm to that beautiful far-away country, where we could live royally in the castle of your dreams. It seems to mean easy thing to do, so often have I myself planned our flight. Yet now, what shall I say to you? It appears to me quite an impossibility; itis as if a door had suddenly been walled up between us and prevented mefrom going out. "

He wished to try to fascinate her again, but she quieted him with amovement of her hands. 

"No; do not say anything more. It is very singular, but in proportionas you utter such sweet, such tender words, which ought to convince me, fear takes possession of me and chills me to the heart. My God! What isthe matter with me? It is really that which you say which drives me fromyou. If you continue, I can no longer listen to you; you will be obligedto go away. Yet wait--wait a little longer!"

She walked very slowly about the room, anxiously seeking to resume herself-control, while he looked at her in despair. 

"I thought to have loved you no longer; but it was certainly only afeeling of pique, since just now, as soon as I found you again at myfeet, my heart beat rapidly, and my first impulse was to follow you asif I were your slave. Then, if I love you, why am I afraid of you? Whatis it that prevents me from leaving this room, as if invisible handswere holding me back by my whole body, and even by each hair of myhead?"

She had stopped near her bed; then she went as far as the wardrobe, thento the different articles of furniture, one after the other. They allseemed united to her person by invisible ties. Especially the walls ofthe room, the grand whiteness of the mansard roof, enveloped her witha robe of purity, that she could leave behind her only with tears; andhenceforth all this would be a part of her being; the spirit of hersurroundings had entered into her. And she realised this fact strongerthan ever when she found herself opposite her working-frame, which wasresting at the side of the table under the lamplight. Her heart softenedas she saw the half-made rose, which she would never finish were she togo away in this secret, criminal manner. The years of work were broughtback to her mind: those quiet, happy years, during which life had beenone long experience of peace and honesty, so that now she rebelled atthe thought of committing a fault and of thus fleeing in the arms ofher lover. Each day in this little, fresh house of the embroiderers, the active and pure life she had led there, away from all worldlytemptations, had, as it were, made over all the blood in her veins. 

Then Felicien, realising that in some inexplicable way Angelique wasbeing reconquered and brought to her better self, felt the necessity ofhastening their departure. He seized her hands and said:

"Come, dear. Time passes quickly. If we wait much longer it will be toolate. "

She looked at him an instant, and then in a flash realised her trueposition. Freeing herself from his grasp she exclaimed, resolutely andfrankly:

"It is already too late. You can see for yourself that I am unable nowto follow you. Once my nature was so proud and passionate that I couldhave thrown my two arms around your neck in order that you might carryme away all the more quickly. But now I am no longer the same person. Iam so changed that I do not recognise myself. Yes, I realise now thatit is this quiet corner where I have been brought up, and the educationthat has been given me, that has made me what I am at present. Do youthen yourself hear nothing? Do you not know that everything in thischamber calls upon me to stay? And I do not rebel in the least againstthis demand, for my joy at last is to obey. "

Without speaking, without attempting to discuss the question with her, he tried to take her hands again, and to lead her like an intractablechild. Again she avoided him and turned slowly toward the window. 

"No, I beseech you to leave me. It is not my hand that you wish for, itis my heart; and also that, of my own free will, I shall at once go awaywith you. But I tell you plainly that I do not wish to do so. A whileago I thought to have been as eager for flight as you are. But sure ofmy true self now, I know it was only the last rebellion, the agony ofthe old nature within me, that has just died. Little by little, withoutmy knowledge, the good traits of my character have been drawn togetherand strongly united: humility, duty, and renunciation. So at each returnof hereditary tendency to excess, the struggle has been less severe, andI have triumphed over temptation more easily. Now, at last, everythingassures me that the supreme contest has just taken place; thathenceforth it is finished for ever. I have conquered myself, and mynature is freed from the evil tendencies it had. Ah! dear Seigneur, I love you so much! Do not let us do the slightest thing to mar ourhappiness. To be happy it is always necessary to submit. "

As he took another step towards her, she was at the threshold of thegreat window, which was now wide open on to the balcony. She had stoppedhim with a half-smile as she said:

"You would not like to force me to throw myself down from here. Listen, and understand me when I say to you that everything which surroundsme is on my side. I have already told you that for a long time objectsthemselves have spoken to me. I hear voices in all directions, and neverhave they been so distinct as at this moment. Hear! It is the wholeClos-Marie that encourages me not to spoil my life and yours by givingmyself to you without the consent of your father. This singing voice isthe Chevrotte, so clear and so fresh that it seems to have put within mea purity like crystal since I have lived so near it. This othervoice, like that of a crowd, tender and deep, it is that of the entireearth--the grasses, the trees, all the peaceable life of this sacredcorner which has so constantly worked for the good of my soul. 

"And there are other voices which come from still farther away, from theelms of the garden of Monseigneur, and from this horizon of branches, the smallest of which interests itself in me, and wishes for me to bevictorious. 

"Then, again, this great, sovereign voice, it is that of my old friend, the Cathedral, who, eternally awake, both day and night, has taught memany important things. Each one of the stones in the immense building, the little columns in the windows, the bell-towers of its piers, the flying buttresses of its apse, all have a murmur which I candistinguish, a language which I understand. Listen to what they say:that hope remains even in death. When one is really humble, love aloneremains and triumphs. And at last, look! The air itself is filled withthe whisperings of spirits. See, here are my invisible companions, thevirgins, who are ever near me and aid me. Listen, listen!"

Smiling, she had lifted up her hand with an air of the deepestattention, and her whole being was in ecstasy from the scatteredbreathings she heard. They were the virgins of the "Golden Legend"that her imagination called forth, as in her early childhood, and whosemystic flight came from the old book with its quaint pictures, that wasplaced on the little table. Agnes was first, clothed with her beautifulhair, having on her finger the ring of betrothal to the Priest Paulin. Then all the others came in turn. Barbara with her tower; Genevievewith her sheep; Cecilia with her viol; Agatha with her wounded breast;Elizabeth begging on the highways, and Catherine triumphing over thelearned doctors. She did not forget the miracle that made Lucy so heavythat a thousand men and five yoke of oxen could not carry her away: northe Governor who became blind as he tried to embrace Anastasia. Thenothers who seemed flying through the quiet night, still bearing marks ofthe wounds inflicted upon them by their cruel martyrdom, and from whichrivers of milk were flowing instead of blood. Ah! to die from love likethem, to die in the purity of youth at the first kiss of a beloved one!

Felicien had approached her. 

"I am the one person who really lives, Angelique, and you cannot give meup for mere fancies. "

"Dreams!--fancies!" she murmured. 

"Yes; for if in reality these visions seem to surround you, it is simplythat you yourself have created them all. Come, dear; no longer put apart of your life into objects about you, and they will be quiet. "

She gave way to a burst of enthusiastic feeling. 

"Oh no! Let them speak. Let them call out louder still! They are mystrength; they give me the courage to resist you. It is a manifestationof the Eternal Grace, and never has it overpowered me so energeticallyas now. If it is but a dream, a dream which I have placed in mysurroundings, and which comes back to me at will, what of it? Itsaves me, it carries me away spotless in the midst of dangers. Listenyourself. Yield, and obey like me. I no longer have even a wish tofollow you. "

In spite of her weakness, she made a great effort and stood up, resoluteand firm. 

"But you have been deceived, " he said. "Even falsehood has been resortedto in order to separate us!"

"The faults of others will not excuse our own. "

"Ah! You have withdrawn your heart from me, and you love me no longer. "

"I love you. I oppose you only on account of our love and for our mutualhappiness. Obtain the consent of your father; then come for me, and Iwill follow you no matter where. "

"My father! You do not know him. God only could ever make him yield. Tell me, then, is this really to be the end of everything? If my fatherorders me to marry Claire de Voincourt, must I in that case obey him?"

At this last blow Angelique tottered. Was no torture to be spared her?She could not restrain this heartbroken cry:

"Oh! that is too much! My sufferings are greater than I can bear. Ibeseech you go away quickly and do not be so cruel. Why did you come atall? I was resigned. I had learned to accept the misfortune of beingno longer loved by you. Yet the moment that I am reassured of youraffection, all my martyrdom recommences; and how can you expect me tolive now?"

Felicien, not aware of the depth of her despair, and thinking that shehad yielded simply to a momentary feeling, repeated his question:

"If my father wishes me to marry her----"

She struggled heroically against her intense suffering; she succeededin standing up, notwithstanding that her heart was crushed, and draggingherself slowly towards the table, as if to make room for him to passher, she said:

"Marry her, for it is always necessary to obey. "

In his turn he was now before the window, ready to take his departure, because she had sent him away from her. 

"But it will make you die if I do so. "

She had regained her calmness, and, smiling sadly, she replied:

"Oh! that work is nearly done already. "

For one moment more he looked at her, so pale, so thin, so wan; lightas a feather, to be carried away by the faintest breath. Then, with abrusque movement of furious resolution, he disappeared in the night. 

When he was no longer there, Angelique, leaning against the back of herarmchair, stretched her hands out in agony towards the darkness, and herfrail body was shaken by heavy sobs, and cold perspiration came out uponher face and neck. 

"My God!" This, then, was the end, and she would never see him again. All her weakness and pain had come back to her. Her exhausted limbs nolonger supported her. It was with great difficulty that she could regainher bed, upon which she fell helpless, but calm in spirit from theassurance that she had done right. 

The next morning they found her there, dying. The lamp had just gone outof itself, at the dawn of day, and everything in the chamber was of atriumphal whiteness. 

CHAPTER XVI

Angelique was dying. 

It was ten o'clock one cold morning towards the end of the winter, theair was sharp, and the clear heavens were brightened up by thebeautiful sunshine. In her great royal bed, draped with its old, faded, rose-coloured chintz, she lay motionless, having been unconscious duringthe whole night. Stretched upon her back, her little ivory-like handscarelessly thrown upon the sheet, she no longer even opened her eyes, and her finely-cut profile looked more delicate than ever under thegolden halo of her hair; in fact, anyone who had seen her would havethought her already dead, had it not been for the slight breathingmovement of her lips. 

The day before, Angelique, realising that she was very ill, hadconfessed, and partaken of the Communion. Towards three o'clock inthe afternoon the good Abbe Cornille had brought to her the sacred_Viaticum_. Then in the evening, as the chill of death gradually creptover her, a great desire came to her to receive the Extreme Unction, that celestial remedy, instituted for the cure of both the soul andbody. Before losing consciousness, her last words, scarcely murmured, were understood by Hubertine, as in hesitating sentences sheexpressed her wish for the holy oils. "Yes--oh yes!--as quickly--aspossible--before it is too late. "

But death advanced. They had waited until day, and the Abbe, having beennotified, was about to come. 

Everything was now ready to receive the clergyman. The Huberts had justfinished arranging the room. Under the gay sunlight, which at this earlymorning hour struck fully upon the window-panes, it looked pure as thedawn in the nudity of its great white walls. The table had been coveredwith a fresh damask cloth. At the right and the left of the crucifix twolarge wax-tapers were burning in the silver candelabrum which had beenbrought up from the parlour, and there were also there the consecratedwafers, the asperges brush, an ewer of water with its basin and anapkin, and two plates of white porcelain, one of which was filled withlong bits of cotton, and the other with little _cornets_ of paper. Thegreenhouses of the lower town had been thoroughly searched, but theonly inodorous flowers that had been found were the peonies--great whitepeonies, enormous tufts of which adorned the table, like a shimmeringof white lace. And in the midst of this intense whiteness, Angelique, dying, with closed eyes, still breathed gently with a half-perceptiblebreath. 

The doctor, who had made his first morning visit, had said that shecould not live through the day. She might, indeed, pass away at anymoment, without even having come to her senses at all. The Huberts, resolute and grave, waited in silent despair. Notwithstanding theirgrief and tears, it was evidently necessary that this should be the end. If they had ever wished for this death, preferring to lose their dearchild rather than to have her rebellious, it was evident that God alsowished it with them, and now, that in this last trying moment they werequite powerless, they could only submit themselves to the inevitable. They regretted nothing, although their sorrow seemed greater than theycould bear. Since she, their darling, had been there, suffering fromher long illness, they had taken the entire care of her day and night, refusing all aid offered them from outside. They were still there alonein this supreme hour, and they waited. 

Hubert, scarcely knowing what he did, walked mechanically to theporcelain stove, the door of which he opened, for the gentle roaring ofthe flaming wood sounded to him like a plaintive moan; then there was aperfect silence. The peonies seemed even to turn paler in the soft heatof the room. 

Hubertine, stronger than her husband, and still fully conscious of allshe did, listened to the sounds of the Cathedral as they came toher from behind the walls. During the past moment the old stones hadvibrated from the swinging of the bell of the great tower. It mustcertainly be the Abbe Cornille leaving the church with the sacred oils, she thought; so she went downstairs, that she might receive him at thedoor of the house. 

Two minutes later, the narrow stairway of the little tower was filledwith a great murmuring sound. Then in the warm chamber, Hubert, struckwith astonishment, suddenly began to tremble, whilst a religious fear, mingled with a faint hope, made him fall upon his knees. Instead of theold clergyman whom they had expected, it was Monseigneur who entered. Yes! Monseigneur, in lace surplice, having the violet stole, andcarrying the silver vessel in which was the oil for the sick, which hehimself had blessed on Holy Thursday. His eagle-like eyes were fixed, as he looked straight before him; his beautiful pale face was reallymajestic under the thick, curly masses of his white hair. Behind himwalked the Abbe Cornille, like a simple clerk, carrying in one hand acrucifix, and under the other a book of ritual service. 

Standing for a moment upon the threshold, the bishop said in a deep, grave voice:

"_Pax huic domui_. " ("Peace be to this house. ")

"_Et omnibus habitantibus in ea_, " replied the priest in a lower tone. ("And to all the inhabitants thereof. ")

When they had entered, Hubertine, who had come up the stairs after them, she also trembling from surprise and emotion, went and knelt by theside of her husband. Both of them prostrated themselves most humbly, andprayed fervently from the depths of their souls. 

A few hours after his last visit to Angelique, Felicien had had theterrible and dreaded explanation with his father. Early in the morningof that same day he had found open the doors, he had penetrated eveninto the Oratory, where the Bishop was still at prayer, after one ofthose nights of frightful struggling against the memories of the past, which would so constantly reappear before him. In the soul of thishitherto always respectful son, until now kept submissive by fear, rebellion against authority, so long a time stifled, suddenly brokeforth, and the collision of these two men of the same blood, withnatures equally prompt to violence, was intense. The old man had lefthis devotional chair, and with cheeks growing purple by degrees, helistened silently as he stood there in his proud obstinacy. The youngman, with face equally inflamed, poured out everything that was inhis heart, speaking in a voice that little by little grew louder andrebuking. He said that Angelique was not only ill, but dying. He toldhim that in a pressing moment of temptation, overcome by his deepaffection, he had wished to take her away with him that they might fleetogether, and that she, with the submissive humility of a saint, andchaste as a lily, had refused to accompany him. Would it not be a mostabominable murder to allow this obedient young girl to die, because shehad been unwilling to accept him unless when offered to her by the handof his father? She loved him so sincerely that she could die for him. Infact, she could have had him, with his name and his fortune, but shehad said "No, " and, triumphant over her feelings, she had struggledwith herself in order to do her duty. Now, after such a proof of hergoodness, could he permit her to suffer so much grief? Like her, hewould be willing to give up everything, to die even, if it might be, andhe realised that he was cowardly. He despised himself for not being ather side, that they might pass out of life together, by the same breath. Was it possible that anyone could be so cruel as to wish to tormentthem, that they should both have so sad a death, when one word, onesimple word, would secure them such bliss? Ah! the pride of name, theglory of wealth, persistence in one's determination: all these werenothing in comparison to the fact that by the union of two hearts theeternal happiness of two human beings was assured. He joined hishands together, he twisted them feverishly, quite beside himself ashe demanded his father's consent, still supplicating, already almostthreatening. But the Bishop, with face deeply flushed by the mountingof his blood, with swollen lips, with flaming eyes, terrible in hisunexpressed anger, at last opened his mouth, only to reply by this wordof parental authority: "Never!"

Then Felicien, absolutely raving in his rebellion, lost all control overhimself. 

He spoke of his mother, he really threatened his father by theremembrance of the dead. It was she who had come back again in the shapeof her son to vindicate and reclaim the right of affection. Could it bethat his father had never loved her? Had he even rejoiced in her death, since he showed himself so harsh towards those who loved each other, andwho wished to live? But he might well do all he could to become cold inthe renunciations demanded by the Church; she would come back to hauntand to torture him, because he was willing to torture the child theyhad had, the living witness of their affection for each other. She wouldalways be there, so long as their son lived. She wished to reappear inthe children of their child for ever. And he was causing her to dieover again, by refusing to her son the betrothed of his choice, theone through whom the race was to be continued. When a man had once beenmarried to a woman, he should never think of wedding the Church. Face toface with his father, who, motionless, appeared in his fearful silenceto grow taller and taller, he uttered unfilial, almost murderous words. Then, shocked at himself, he rushed away, shuddering at the extent towhich passion had carried him. 

When once more alone, Monseigneur, as if stabbed in the full breast bya sharp weapon, turned back upon himself and struggled deeply with hissoul, as he knelt upon his prie-Dieu. A half-rattling sound camefrom his throat. Oh! these frightful heart contests, these invincibleweaknesses of the flesh. This woman, and his beloved dead, who wasconstantly coming back to life, he adored her now, as he did the firstevening when he kissed her white feet; and this son, he idolised him asbelonging to her, as a part of her life, which she had left to him. Andeven the young girl, the little working girl whom he had repulsed, heloved her also with a tenderness like that of his son for her. Now hisnights were inexpressibly agitated by all three. Without his having beenwilling to acknowledge it, had she then touched him so deeply as he sawher in the great Cathedral, this little embroiderer, with her goldenhair, her fresh pure neck, in all the perfume of her youth? He saw heragain; she passed before him, so delicate, so pure in her victorioussubmission. No remorse could have come to him with a step more certainor more conquering. He might reject her with a loud voice. He knew wellthat henceforth she held him strongly by the heart with her humble handsthat bore the signs of work. Whilst Felicien was so violentlybeseeching him, he seemed to see them both behind the blonde head of thepetitioner--these two idolised women, the one for whom his son prayed, and the one who had died for her child. They were there in all theirphysical beauty, in all their loving devotion, and he could not tellwhere he had found strength to resist, so entirely did his whole beinggo out towards them. Overcome, sobbing, not knowing how he could againbecome calm, he demanded from Heaven the courage to tear out his heart, since this heart belonged no longer to God alone. 

Until evening Monseigneur continued at prayer. When he at lastreappeared he was white as wax, distressed, anxious, but still resolute. He could do nothing more, but he repeated to his son the terribleword--"Never!" It was God alone who had the right to relieve him fromhis promise; and God, although implored, gave him no sign of change. Itwas necessary to suffer. 

Some days had passed. Felicien constantly wandered round the littlehouse, wild with grief, eager for news. Each time that he saw anyonecome out he almost fainted from fear. Thus it happened that on themorning when Hubertine ran to the church to ask for the sacred oils, helearned that Angelique could not live through the day. The Abbe Cornillewas not at the Sacristy, and he rushed about the town to find him, stillhaving a last hope that through the intervention of the good man someDivine aid might come. Then, as he brought back with him the sought-forclergyman, his hope left him, and he had a frightful attack of doubt andanger. What should he do? In what way could he force Heaven to come tohis assistance? He went away, hastened to the Bishop's palace, thedoors of which he again forced open, and before his incoherent words hisfather was for a moment frightened. At last he understood. Angeliquewas dying! She awaited the Extreme Unction, and now God alone could saveher. The young man had only come to cry out all his agony, to break allrelations with this cruel, unnatural father, and to accuse him to hisface of willingly allowing this death. But Monseigneur listened to himwithout anger: upright and very serious, his eyes suddenly brightenedwith a strange clearness, as if an inner voice had spoken to him. Motioning to his son to lead the way, he followed him, simply saying atlast:

"If God wishes it, I also wish it. "

Felicien trembled so that he could scarcely move. His father consented, freed from his personal vow, to submit himself to the goodwill of thehoped-for miracle. Henceforth they, as individuals, counted for nothing. God must act for himself. Tears blinded him. Whilst in the SacristyMonseigneur took the sacred oils from the hands of the Abbe Cornille. Heaccompanied them, almost staggering; he did not dare to enter into thechamber, but fell upon his knees at the threshold of the door, which wasopen wide. 

The voice of the Bishop was firm, as he said:

"_Pax huic domui_. "

"_Et omnibus habitantibus in ea_, " the priest replied. 

Monseigneur had just placed on the white table, between the twowax-candles, the sacred oils, making in the air the sign of the cross, with the silver vase. Then he took from the hands of the Abbe thecrucifix, and approached the sufferer that he might make her kiss it. But Angelique was still unconscious: her eyes were closed, her mouthshut, her hands rigid, and looking like the little stiff figures ofstone placed upon tombs. He examined her for a moment, and, seeing bythe slight movement of her chest that she was not dead, he placed uponher lips the crucifix. He waited. His face preserved the majesty ofa minister of penitence, and no signs of emotion were visible when herealised that not even a quivering had passed over the exquisite profileof the young girl, nor in her beautiful hair. She still lived, however, and that was sufficient for the redemption of her sins. 

The Abbe then gave to Monseigneur the vessel of holy water and theasperges brush, and while he held open before him the ritual book, hethrew the holy water upon the dying girl, as he read the Latin words, _Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivemdealbabor_. ("Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be clean:thou shalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. ")

The drops sprang forth in every direction, and the whole bed wasrefreshed by them as if sprinkled with dew. It rained upon her handsand upon her cheeks; but one by one the drops rolled away as if frominsensible marble. At last the Bishop turned towards the assistants andsprinkled them in their turn. Hubert and Hubertine, kneeling side byside, in the full union of their perfect faith, bent humbly under theshower of this benediction. Then Monseigneur blessed also the chamber, the furniture, the white walls in all their bare purity, and as hepassed near the door he found himself before his son, who had fallendown on the threshold, and was sobbing violently, having covered hisface with his burning hands. With a slow movement, he raised three timesthe asperges brush, and he purified him with a gentle rain. This holywater, spread everywhere, was intended at first to drive away all evilspirits, who were flying by crowds, although invisible. Just at thismoment a pale ray of the winter sun passed over the bed, and a multitudeof atoms, light specks of dust, seemed to be living therein. They wereinnumerable as they came down from an angle of the window, as if tobathe with their warmth the cold hands of the dying. 

Going again towards the table, Monseigneur repeated the prayer, "_Exaudinos_. " ("Give ear to us. ")

He made no haste. It was true that death was there, hovering near theold, faded chintz curtains, but he knew that it was patient, and thatit would wait. And although in her state of utter prostration the childcould not hear him, he addressed her as he asked her:

"Is there nothing upon your conscience which distresses you? Confess allyour doubts and fears, my daughter; relieve your mind. "

She was still in the same position, and she was always silent. When, invain, he had given time for a reply, he commenced the exhortation withthe same full voice, without appearing to notice that none of his wordsreached her ear. 

"Collect your thoughts, meditate, demand from the depths of your soulpardon from God. The Sacrament will purify you, and will strengthenyou anew. Your eyes will become clear, your ears chaste, your nostrilsfresh, your mouth pure, your hands innocent. "

With eyes fixed upon her, he continued reading to the end all that wasnecessary for him to say; while she scarcely breathed, nor did one ofher closed eyelids move. Then he said:

"Recite the Creed. "

And having waited awhile, he repeated it himself:

"_Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem_. " ("I believe in one God, theFather Almighty. ")

"Amen, " replied the Abbe Cornille. 

All this time the heavy sobbing of Felicien was heard, as upon thelanding-place he wept in the enervation of hope. Hubert and Hubertinestill prayed fervently, with the same anxious waiting and desire, as ifthey had felt descend upon them all the invisible powers of the Unknown. A change now came in the service, from the murmur of half-spokenprayers. Then the litanies of the ritual were unfolded, the invocationto all the Saints, the flight of the Kyrie Eleison, calling Heaven tothe aid of miserable humanity, mounting each time with great outbursts, like the fume of incense. 

Then the voices suddenly fell, and there was a deep silence. Monseigneurwashed his fingers in the few drops of water that the Abbe poured outfrom the ewer. At length he took the vessel of sacred oil, opened thecover thereof, and placed himself before the bed. It was the solemnapproach of the Sacrament of this last religious ceremony, by theefficacy of which are effaced all mortal or venial sins not pardoned, which rest in the soul after having received the other sacraments, oldremains of forgotten sins, sins committed unwittingly, sins of languorwhich prevented one from being firmly re-established in the grace ofGod. The pure white chamber seemed to be like the individuals collectedtherein, motionless, and in a state of surprise and expectation. Wherecould all these sins be found? They must certainly come from outside inthis great band of sun's rays, filled with dancing specks of dust, whichappeared to bring germs of life even to this great royal couch, so whiteand cold from the coming of death to a pure young maiden. 

Monseigneur meditated a moment, fixing his looks again upon Angelique, assuring himself that the slight breath had not ceased, strugglingagainst all human emotion, as he saw how thin she was, with the beautyof an archangel, already immaterial. His voice retained the authority ofa divine disinterestedness, and his thumb did not tremble when he dippedit into the sacred oils as he commenced the unctions on the five partsof the body where dwell the senses: the five windows by which evilenters into the soul. 

First upon the eyes, upon the closed eyelids, the right and then theleft; and slowly, lightly, he traced with his thumb the sign of theCross. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per visum deliquisti_. " ("By this holyanointing and His gracious mercy, the Lord forgive whatever sins thouhast committed through _seeing_. ")[*]

 [*] This formula is repeated with reference to the other senses--hearing, smell, taste, and touch. 

And the sins of the sight were redeemed; lascivious looks, immodestcuriosity, the pride of spectacles, unwholesome readings, tears shed forguilty troubles. 

And she, dear child, knew no other book than the "Golden Legend, " noother horizon than the apse of the Cathedral, which hid from view allthe rest of the world. She had wept only in the struggle of obedienceand the renunciation of passion. 

The Abbe Cornille wiped both her eyes with a bit of cotton, which heafterwards put into one of the little cornets of paper. 

Then Monseigneur anointed the ears, with their lobes as delicate andtransparent as pearl, first the right ear, afterwards the left, scarcelymoistened with the sign of the cross. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per auditum deliquisti_. "

So all the abominations of hearing were atoned for: all the words andmusic which corrupt, the slanders, the calumnies, the blasphemies, thesinful propositions listened to with complacency, the falsehoods of lovewhich aided the forgetfulness of duty, the profane songs which excitedthe senses, the violins of the orchestra which, as it were, weptvoluptuously under the brilliant lights. 

She in her isolated life, like that of a cloistered nun--she had nevereven heard the free gossip of the neighbours, or the oath of a carman ashe whips his horses. The only music that had ever entered her ears wasthat of the sacred hymns, the rumblings of the organs, the confusedmurmurings of prayers, with which at times vibrated all this freshlittle house, so close to the side of the great church. 

The Abbe, after having dried the ears with cotton, put that bit alsointo one of the white cornets. 

Monseigneur now passed to the nostrils, the right and then the left, like two petals of a white rose, which he purified by touching them withthe sacred oil and making on them the sign of the cross. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per odoratum deliquisti_. "

And the sense of smell returned to its primitive innocence, cleansedfrom all stain: not only from the carnal disgrace of perfumes, fromthe seduction of flowers with breath too sweet, from the scatteredfragrances of the air which put the soul to sleep; but yet again fromthe faults of the interior sense, the bad examples given to others, andthe contagious pestilence of scandal. Erect and pure, she had at lastbecome a lily among the lilies, a great lily whose perfume fortified theweak and delighted the strong. In fact, she was so truly delicate thatshe could never endure the powerful odour of carnations, the musk oflilacs, the feverish sweetness of hyacinths, and was only at ease withthe scentless blossoms, like the marguerites and the periwinkles. 

Once more the Abbe, with the cotton, dried the anointed parts, andslipped the little tuft into another of the cornets. 

Then Monseigneur, descending to the closed mouth, through which thefaint breath was now scarcely perceptible, made upon the lower lip thesign of the cross. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per gustum deliquisti_. "

This time it was the pardon for the base gratifications of taste, greediness, too great a desire for wine, or for sweets; but especiallythe forgiveness for sins of the tongue, that universally guilty member, the provoker, the poisoner, the inventor of quarrels, the inciter towars, which makes one utter words of error and falsehood which at lengthobscure even the heavens. Yet her whole mouth was only a chalice ofinnocence. She had never had the vice of gluttony, for she had taughtherself, like Elizabeth, to eat whatever was set before her, withoutpaying great attention to her food. And if it were true that she livedin error, it was the fault of her dream which had placed her there, thehope of a beyond, the consolation of what was invisible, and all theworld of enchantment which her ignorance had created and which had madeof her a saint. 

The Abbe having dried the lips, folded the bit of cotton in the fourthwhite cornet. 

At last Monseigneur anointed first the right and then the left palms ofthe two little ivory-like hands, lying open upon the sheet, and cleansedthem from their sins with the sign of the cross. 

"_Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per tactum deliquisti_. "

And the whole body was purified, being washed from its last spots--thoseof the touch the most repugnant of all. Pilfering, fighting, murder, without counting other sins of the breast, the body, and the feet, whichwere also redeemed by this unction. All which burns in the flesh, ouranger, our desires, our unruled passions, the snares and pitfalls intowhich we run, and all forbidden joys by which we are tempted. Since shehad been there, dying from her victory over herself, she had conqueredher few failings, her pride and her passion, as if she had inheritedoriginal sin simply for the glory of triumphing over it. She knew not, even, that she had had other wishes, that love had drawn her towardsdisobedience, so armed was she with the breastplate of ignorance ofevil, so pure and white was her soul. 

The Abbe wiped the little motionless hands, and putting the last puff ofcotton in the remaining cornet, he threw the five papers into the fireat the back of the stove. 

The ceremony was finished. Monseigneur washed his fingers before sayingthe final prayer. He had now only to again exhort the dying, in placingin her hand the symbolic taper, to drive away the demons, and to showthat she had just recovered her baptismal innocence. But she remainedrigid, her eyes closed, her mouth shut as if dead. The holy oils hadpurified her body, the signs of the cross had left their traces on thefive windows of the soul, without making the slightest wave of colour, or of life, mount to her cheeks. 

Although implored and hoped for, the prodigy did not appear, and theroom was silent and anxious. Hubert and Hubertine, still kneelingside by side, no longer prayed, but, with their eyes fixed upon theirdarling, gazed so earnestly that they both seemed motionless for ever, like the figures of the _donataires_ who await the Resurrection in acorner of an old painted glass window. Felicien had drawn himself up onhis knees and was now at the door, having ceased from sobbing, as withhead erect he also might see if God would always remain deaf to theirprayers. Was it then a mere lure? Would not this holy Sacrament bringher back to life?

For the last time Monseigneur approached the bed, followed by the AbbeCornille, who held, already lighted, the wax-taper which was to beplaced in the hand of the young girl. And the Bishop, not willingto acknowledge the state of unconsciousness in which she remained, determining to go even to the end of the rite, that God might have timein which to work, pronounced the formula:--

"_Accipe lampadem ardentem, custodi unctionem tuam, ut cum Dominus adjudicandum venerit, possis occurrere ei cum omnibus sanctis et vivas insaecula saeculorum_. " ("Receive this light, and keep the unction thouhast received, that when the Lord shall come to judgment thou mayestmeet Him with all His saints, and live with Him for ever and ever. ")

"Amen, " replied the Abbe. 

But when they endeavoured to open Angelique's hand and to press it roundthe taper, the hand, powerless, as if already dead, escaped them andfell back upon her breast. 

Then, little by little, Monseigneur yielded to a great nervoustrembling. It was the emotion which, for a long time restrained, now broke out within him, carrying away with it the last rigidity ofpriesthood. He dearly loved her, this child, from the day when she hadcome to sob at his feet, so innocent, and showing so plainly the purefreshness of her youth. Since then, in his nights of distress, he hadcontended chiefly against her, to defend himself from the overwhelmingtenderness with which she inspired him. At this moment she was worthy ofpity, with this pallor of death, with an ethereal beauty which showed, however, so deep a suffering that he could not look at her without hisheart being secretly overwhelmed with distress. 

He could no longer control himself. His eyelids were swollen by thegreat tears which at last rolled down his cheeks. She must not die inthis way: he was conquered by her touching charms even in death, and allhis paternal feelings went out towards her. 

Then Monseigneur, recalling to mind the numerous miracles of his race, the power which had been given them by Heaven to heal, thought thatdoubtless God awaited his consent as a father. He invoked Saint Agnes, before whom all his ancestors had offered up their devotions, and asJean V d'Hautecoeur prayed at the bedside of those smitten by the plagueand kissed them, so now he prayed and kissed Angelique upon her lips. 

"If God wishes, I also wish it. "

Immediately Angelique opened her eyelids. She looked at the Bishopwithout surprise as she awoke from her long trance, and, her lips stillwarm from the kiss, smiled upon him. These things were not strange toher, for they certainly must have been realised sooner or later, andit might be that she was coming out of one dream only to have anotherstill; but it seemed to her perfectly natural that Monseigneur shouldhave come to betroth her to Felicien, since the hour for that ceremonyhad arrived. In a few minutes, unaided, she sat up in the middle of hergreat royal bed. 

The Bishop, radiant, showing by his expression his clear appreciation ofthe remarkable prodigy, repeated the formula:--

"_Accipe lampadem ardentem, custodi unctionem tuam, ut cum Dominus adjudicandum venerit, possis occurrere ei cum omnibus sanctis et vivas insaecula saeculorum_. "

"Amen, " replied the Abbe. 

Angelique had taken the lighted taper, and held it up with a firm hand. Life had come back to her, like the flame of the candle, which wasburning clear and bright, driving away the spirits of the night. 

A great cry resounded through the room. Felicien was standing up, as ifraised by the power of the miracle, while the Huberts, overwhelmed bythe same feeling, remained upon their knees, with wonder-stricken eyes, with delighted countenances, before that which they had seen. The bedhad appeared to them enveloped with a brilliant light; white massesseemed still to be mounting up on the rays of the sunlight, and thegreat walls, the whole room in fact, kept a white lustre, as that ofsnow. 

In the midst of all, Angelique, like a refreshed lily, replaced uponits branch, appeared in the clear light. Her fine golden hair was like ahalo of glory around her head, her violet-coloured eyes shone divinely, and her pure face beamed with a living splendour. 

Felicien, seeing that she was saved, touched by the Divine grace thatHeaven had vouchsafed them, approached her, and knelt by the side of thebed. 

"Ah! dear soul, you recognise us now, and you will live. I am yours. Myfather wishes it to be so, since God has desired it. "

She bowed her head, smiling sweetly as she said, "Oh! I knew it must beso, and waited for it. All that I have foreseen will come to pass. "

Monseigneur, who had regained his usual proud serenity, placed thecrucifix once more on her lips, and this time she kissed it as asubmissive servant. Then, with a full movement of his hands, throughthe room, above the heads of all present, the Bishop gave the finalbenediction, while the Huberts and the Abbe Cornille wept. 

Felicien had taken one of the little hands of Angelique, while in theother little hand the taper of innocence burned bright and clear. 

CHAPTER XVII

The marriage was fixed for the early part of March. But Angeliqueremained very feeble, notwithstanding the joy which radiated from herwhole person. She had wished after the first week of her convalescenceto go down to the workroom, persisting in her determination to finishthe panel of embroidery in bas-relief which was to be used for theBishop's chair. 

"It would be, " she said cheerfully, "her last, best piece of work; andbesides, no one ever leaves, " she added, "an order only half-completed. "

Then exhausted by the effort, she was again forced to keep her chamber. She lived there, happy and smiling, without regaining the full healthof former times, always white and immaterial as the sacred sacramentaloils; going and coming with a gentle step like that of a vision, andafter having occasionally made the exertion of walking as far as fromher table to the window, finding herself obliged to rest quietly forhours and give herself up to her sweet thoughts. At length they deferredthe wedding-day, thinking it better to wait for her complete recovery, which must certainly come if she were well nursed and cared for. 

Every afternoon Felicien went up to see her. Hubert and Hubertine werethere, and they passed together most delightful hours, during which theycontinually made and re-made the same bright projects. Seated in hergreat chair she laughed gaily, seemed trembling with life and vivacity, as she was the first to talk of the days which would be so well filledwhen together they could take long journeys; and of all the unknownjoys that would come to them after they had restored the old Chateaud'Hautecoeur. Anyone, to have seen her then, would have considered hersaved and regaining her strength in the backward spring, the air ofwhich, growing warmer and warmer daily, entered by the open window. Infact, she never fell back into the deep gravities of her dreams, exceptwhen she was entirely alone and was not afraid of being seen. In thenight, voices still appeared to be near her: then it seemed as if theearth were calling to her; and at last the truth was clearly revealed toher, so that she fully understood that the miracle was being continuedonly for the realisation of her dream. Was she not already dead, havingsimply the appearance of living, thanks to the respite which hadbeen granted her from Divine Grace? This idea soothed her with deepgentleness in her hours of solitude, and she did not feel a moment'sregret at the thought of being called away from life in the midst of herhappiness, so certain was she of always realising to its fullest extenther anticipated joy. The cheerfulness she had hitherto shown becamesimply a little more serious; she abandoned herself to it quietly, forgetting her physical weakness as she indulged in the pure delightsof fancy. It was only when she heard the Huberts open the door, or whenFelicien came to see her, that she was able to sit upright, to bringher thoughts back to her surroundings, and to appear as if she wereregaining her health, laughing pleasantly while she talked of theiryears of happy housekeeping far away, in the days to come. 

Towards the end of March Angelique grew very restless and much weaker. Twice, when by herself, she had long fainting fits. One morning shefell at the foot of her bed, just as Hubert was bringing her up a cupof milk; by a great effort of will she conquered herself, and, thatshe might deceive him, she remained on the floor and smiled, asshe pretended to be looking for a needle that had been dropped. Thefollowing day she was gayer than usual, and proposed hastening themarriage, suggesting that at all events it should not be put off anylater than the middle of April. All the others exclaimed at this idea, asking if it would not be advisable to wait awhile, since she was stillso delicate. There was no need of being in such a hurry. She, however, seemed feverishly nervous, and insisted that the ceremony should takeplace immediately--yes, as soon as possible. Hubertine, surprised atthe request, having a suspicion as to the true motive of this eagerness, looked at her earnestly for a moment, and turned very pale as sherealised how slight was the cold breath which still attached herdaughter to life. The dear invalid had already grown calm, in her tenderneed of consoling others and keeping them under an illusion, althoughshe knew personally that her case was hopeless. Hubert and Felicien, in continual adoration before their idol, had neither seen norfelt anything unusual. Then Angelique, exerting herself almostsupernaturally, rose up, and was more charming than ever, as she slowlymoved back and forth with the light step of former days. She continuedto speak of her wish, saying if it were granted she would be so happy, and that after the wedding she would certainly be cured. Moreover, thequestion should be left to Monseigneur; he alone should decide it. Thatsame evening, when the Bishop was there, she explained her desire tohim, fixing her eyes on his, regarding him steadily and beseechingly, and speaking in her sweet, earnest voice, under which there was hiddenan ardent supplication, unexpressed in words. Monseigneur realised it, and understood the truth, and he appointed a day in the middle of Aprilfor the ceremony. 

Then they lived in great commotion from the necessary bustle attendantupon the preparations for the marriage. Notwithstanding his officialposition as guardian, Hubert was obliged to ask permission, or ratherthe consent of the Director of Public Assistance, who always representedthe family council, Angelique not yet being of age; and MonsieurGrandsire, the Justice of the Peace, was charged with all legal details, in order to avoid as much as possible the painful side of the positionto the young girl and to Felicien. But the dear child, realising thatsomething was being kept back, asked one day to have her little bookbrought up to her, wishing to put it herself into the hands of herbetrothed. She was now, and would henceforth remain, in a state of suchsincere humility that she wished him to know thoroughly from what alow position he had drawn her, to elevate her to the glory of hiswell-honoured name and his great fortune. These were her parchments, her titles to nobility; her position was explained by this officialdocument, this entry on the calendar where there was only a datefollowed by a number. She turned over all the leaves once more, thengave it to him without being confused, happy in thinking that in herselfshe was nothing, but that she owed everything to him. So deeply touchedwas he by this act, that he knelt down, kissed her hands while tearscame to his eyes, as if it were she who had made him the one gift, theroyal gift of her heart. 

For two weeks the preparations occupied all Beaumont, both the upper andthe lower town being in a state of great excitement therefrom. It wassaid that twenty working-girls were engaged day and night upon thetrousseau. The wedding-dress alone required three persons to make it, and there was to be a _corbeille_, or present from the bridegroom, tothe value of a million of francs: a fluttering of laces, of velvets, ofsilks and satins, a flood of precious stones--diamonds worthy a Queen. But that which excited the people more than all else was the greatamount given in charity, the bride having wished to distribute tothe poor as much as she had received herself. So another million wasshowered down upon the country in a rain of gold. At length she was ableto gratify all her old longings of benevolence, all the prodigalitiesof her most exaggerated dreams, as with open hands she let fall upon thewretched and needy a stream of riches, an overflow of comforts. In herlittle, white, bare chamber, confined to her old armchair, she laughedwith delight when the Abbe Cornille brought to her the list of thedistributions he had made. "Give more! Give more!" she cried, as itseemed to her as if not enough were done. She would, in reality, haveliked to have seen the Pere Mascart seated for ever at a table beforea princely banquet; the Chouteaux living in palatial luxury; the _mere_Gabet cured of her rheumatism, and by the aid of money to have renewedher youth. As for the Lemballeuse, the mother and daughters, sheabsolutely wished to load them with silk dresses and jewellery. The hailof golden pieces redoubled over the town as in fairy-tales, far beyondthe daily necessities, as if merely for the beauty and joy of seeing thetriumphal golden glory, thrown from full hands, falling into the streetand glittering in the great sunlight of charity. 

At last, on the eve of the happy day, everything was in readiness. Felicien had bought a large house on the Rue Magloire, at the backof the Bishop's palace, which had been fitted up and furnished mostluxuriously. There were great rooms hung with admirable tapestries, filled with the most beautiful articles imaginable; a salon in old, rarepieces of hand embroidery; a boudoir in blue, soft as the early morningsky; and a sleeping-room, which was particularly attractive: a perfectlittle corner of white silk and lace--nothing, in short, but white, airy, and light--an exquisite shimmering of purity. But Angelique hadconstantly refused to go to see all these wonderful things, althougha carriage was always ready to convey her there. She listened to therecital of that which had been done with an enchanted smile, but shegave no orders, and did not appear to wish to occupy herself with any ofthe arrangements. "No, no, " she said, for all these things seemed so faraway in the unknown of that vast world of which she was as yet totallyignorant. Since those who loved her had prepared for her so tenderlythis happiness, she desired to partake thereof, and to enter thereinlike a princess coming from some chimerical country, who approachesthe real kingdom where she is to reign for ever. In the same way shepreferred to know nothing, except by hearsay, of the _corbeille_, whichalso was waiting for her--a superb gift from her betrothed, the weddingoutfit of fine linen, embroidered with her cipher as marchioness, thefull-dress costumes tastefully trimmed, the old family jewels valuableas the richest treasures of a cathedral, and the modern jewels in theirmarvellous yet delicate mountings, precious stones of every kind, anddiamonds of the purest water. It was sufficient to her that her dreamhad come to pass, and that this good future awaited her in her new home, radiant in the reality of the new life that was opening before her. Theonly thing she saw was her wedding-dress, which was brought to her onthe marriage morning. 

That day, when she awoke, Angelique, still alone, had in her great beda moment of intense exhaustion, and feared that she would not be able toget up at all. She attempted to do so, but her knees bent under her;and in contrast to the brave serenity she had shown for weeks past, afearful anguish, the last, perhaps, took utter possession of her. Then, as in a few minutes Hubertine came into the room, looking unusuallyhappy, she was surprised to find that she could really walk, for shecertainly did not do so from her own strength, but aid came to herfrom the Invisible, and friendly hands sustained and carried her. Theydressed her; she no longer seemed to weigh anything, but was so slightand frail that her mother was astonished, and laughingly begged her notto move any more if she did not wish to fly quite away. During all thetime of preparing her toilette, the little fresh house of the Huberts, so close to the side of the Cathedral, trembled under the greatbreath of the Giant, of that which already was humming therein, of thepreparations for the ceremony, the nervous activity of the clergy, andespecially the ringing of the bells, a continuous peal of joy, withwhich the old stones were vibrating. 

In the upper town, for over an hour there had been a glorious chimingof bells, as on the greatest holy days. The sun had risen in all itsbeauty, and on this limpid April morning a flood of spring rays seemedliving with the sonorous peals which had called together all theinhabitants of the place. The whole of Beaumont was in a state ofrejoicing on account of the marriage of this little embroiderer, to whomtheir hearts were so deeply attached, and they were touched by the factof her royal good fortune. This bright sunlight, which penetrated allthe streets, was like the golden rain, the gifts of fairy-tales, rollingout from her delicate hands. Under this joyful light, the multitudecrowded in masses towards the Cathedral, filling the side-aisles of thechurch, and coming out on to the Place du Cloitre. There the great frontof the building rose up, like a huge bouquet of stone, in full blossom, of the most ornamental Gothic, above the severe Romanesque of thefoundation. In the tower the bells still rung, and the whole facadeseemed to be like a glorification of these nuptials, expressive of theflight of this poor girl through all the wonders of the miracle, asit darted up and flamed, with its open lace-work ornamentations, thelily-like efflorescence of its little columns, its balustrades, and itsarches, the niches of saints surmounted with canopies, the gable endshollowed out in trefoil points, adorned with crossettes and flowers, immense rose-windows opening out in the mystic radiation of theirmullions. 

At ten o'clock the organs pealed. Angelique and Felicien werethere, walking with slow steps towards the high altar, between theclosely-pressed ranks of the crowd. A breath of sincere, touchingadmiration came from every side. He, deeply moved, passed along proudand serious, with his blonde beauty of a young god appearing slighterthan ever from his closely-fitting black dress-coat. But she, above all, struck the hearts of the spectators, so exquisite was she, so divinelybeautiful with a mystic, spiritual charm. Her dress was of white wateredsilk, simply covered with rare old Mechlin lace, which was held bypearls, a whole setting of them designing the ruches of the waist andthe ruffles of the skirt. A veil of old English point was fastened toher head by a triple crown of pearls, and falling to her feet, quitecovered her. That was all--not a flower, not a jewel, nothing but thisslight vision, this delicate, trembling cloud, which seemed to haveplaced her sweet little face between two white wings, like that of theVirgin of the painted glass window, with her violet eyes and her goldenhair. 

Two armchairs, covered with crimson velvet, had been placed for Felicienand Angelique before the altar; and directly behind them, while theorgans increased their phrases of welcome, Hubert and Hubertine knelton the low benches which were destined for the family. The day before anintense joy had come to them, from the effects of which they had not yetrecovered, and they were incapable of expressing their deep, heartfeltthanks for their own happiness, which was so closely connected with thatof their daughter. Hubertine, having gone once more to the cemetery, saddened by the thought of their loneliness, and the little house, whichwould seem so empty after the departure of the dearly-beloved child, hadprayed to her mother for a long time; when suddenly she felt within heran inexplicable relief and gladness, which convinced her that at lasther petition had been granted. From the depths of the earth, after morethan twenty years, the obstinate mother had forgiven them, and sent themthe child of pardon so ardently desired and longed for. Was this therecompense of their charity towards the poor forlorn little creaturewhom they had found one snowy day at the Cathedral entrance, and whoto-day was to wed a prince with all the show and pomp of the greatestceremony? They remained on their knees, without praying in formulatedwords, enraptured with gratitude, their whole souls overflowing withan excess of infinite thanksgiving. And on the other side of the nave, seated on his high, official throne, Monseigneur was also one of thefamily group. He seemed filled with the majesty of the God whom herepresented; he was resplendent in the glory of his sacred vestments, and the expression of his countenance was that of a proud serenity, asif he were entirely freed from all worldly passions. Above his head, on the panel of wonderful embroidery, were two angels supporting thebrilliant coat of arms of Hautecoeur. 

Then the solemn service began. All the clergy connected with thecathedral were present to do honour to their Bishop, and priests hadcome from the different parishes to assist them. Among the crowd ofwhite surplices which seemed to overflow the grating, shone the goldencapes of the choristers, and the red robes of the singing-boys. Thealmost eternal night of the side-aisles, crushed down by the weight ofthe heavy Romanesque chapels, was this morning slightly brightened bythe limpid April sunlight, which struck the painted glass of the windowsso that they seemed to be a burning of gems, a sacred bursting intoblossom of luminous flowers. But the background of the nave particularlyblazed with a swarming of wax-tapers, tapers as innumerable as the starsof evening in a summer sky. In the centre, the high altar seemed on firefrom them, a true "burning bush, " symbolic of the flame that consumessouls; and there were also candles in large candelabra and inchandeliers, while before the plighted couple, two enormous lustres withround branches looked like two suns. About them was a garden of massesof green plants and of living blossoms, where were in flower great tuftsof white azaleas, of white camellias, and of lilacs. Away to the backof the apse sparkled bits of gold and silver, half-seen skirts of velvetand of silk, a distant dazzling of the tabernacle among the sombresurroundings of green verdure. Above all this burning the nave sprangout, and the four enormous pillars of the transept mounted upward tosupport the arched vaulting, in the trembling movement of these myriadsof little flames, which almost seemed to pale at times in the fulldaylight which entered by the high Gothic windows. 

Angelique had wished to be married by the good Abbe Cornille, and whenshe saw him come forward in his surplice, and with the white stole, followed by two clerks, she smiled. This was at last the triumphantrealisation of her dream--she was wedding fortune, beauty, and power farbeyond her wildest hopes. The church itself was singing by the organs, radiant with its wax-tapers, and alive with the crowd of believers andpriests, whom she knew to be around her on every side. Never had the oldbuilding been more brilliant or filled with a more regal pomp, enlargedas it were in its holy, sacred luxury, by an expansion of happiness. Angelique smiled again in the full knowledge that death was at herheart, celebrating its victory over her, in the midst of thisglorious joy. In entering the Cathedral she had glanced at the Chapeld'Hautecoeur, where slept Laurette and Balbine, the "Happy Dead, " whopassed away when very young, in the full happiness of their love. At this last hour she was indeed perfect. Victorious over herself, reclaimed, renewed, having no longer any feeling of passion or of prideat her triumph, resigned at the knowledge that her life was fast leavingher, in this beautiful Hosanna of her great friend, the blessed oldchurch. When she fell upon her knees, it was as a most humble, mostsubmissive servant, entirely free from the stain of original sin; and inher renunciation she was thoroughly content. 

The Abbe Cornille, having mounted to the altar, had just come downagain. In a loud voice he made the exhortation; he cited as an examplethe marriage which Jesus had contracted with the Church; he spoke of thefuture, of days to come when they would live and govern themselves inthe true faith; of children whom they must bring up as Christians; andthen, once more, in face of this hope, Angelique again smiled sweetly, while Felicien trembled at the idea of all this happiness, which hebelieved to be assured. Then came the consecrated demands of the ritual, the replies which united them together for their entire existence, thedecisive "Yes"--which she pronounced in a voice filled with emotion fromthe depths of her heart, and which he said in a much louder tone, andwith a tender earnestness. The irrevocable step was taken, the clergymanhad placed their right hands together, one clasping the other, as herepeated the prescribed formula: "I unite you in matrimony, in the nameof the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Ghost. " But there werestill rings to be blessed, the symbols of inviolable fidelity, and ofthe eternity of the union, which is lasting. In the silver basin, abovethe rings of gold, the priest shook back and forth the asperges brush, and making the sign of the Cross over each one, said, "Bless, O Lord, this ring. "

Then he presented them to the young couple, to testify to them that theChurch sanctified their union; that for the husband henceforth his heartwas sealed, and no other woman could ever enter therein; and the husbandwas to place the ring upon his wife's finger in order to show her, inhis turn, that henceforth he alone among all men existed for her. Thiswas the strict union, without end, the sign of her dependence upon him, which would recall to her constantly the vows she had made; it was alsothe promise of a long series of years, to be passed together, as if bythis little circle of gold they were attached to each other even to thegrave. 

And while the priest, after the final prayers, exhorted them once more, Angelique wore always the sweet expression of renunciation; she, thepure soul, who knew the truth. 

Then, as the Abbe Cornille withdrew, accompanied by his clerks, theorgans again burst forth with peals of joy. Monseigneur, motionlessuntil now, bent towards the young couple with an expression of greatmildness in his eagle-like eyes. Still on their knees, the Hubertslifted their heads, blinded by their tears of joy. And the enormousdepths of the organs' peals rolled and lost themselves by degrees in ahail of little sharp notes, which were swept away under the high arches, like the morning song of the lark. There was a long waving movement, a half-hushed sound amongst the reverential crowd, who filled tooverflowing even the side-aisles and the nave. The church, decoratedwith flowers, glittering with the taper lights, seemed beaming with joyfrom the Sacrament. 

Then there were nearly two hours more of solemn pomp; the Mass beingsung and the incense being burnt. 

The officiating clergyman had appeared, dressed in his white chasuble, accompanied by the director of the ceremonies, two censer-bearerscarrying the censer and the vase of incense, and two acolytes bearingthe great golden candlesticks, in which were lighted tapers. 

The presence of Monseigneur complicated the rites, the salutations, andthe kisses. Every moment there were bowings, or bendings of the knee, which kept the wings of the surplices in constant motion. In the oldstalls, with their backs of carved wood, the whole chapter of canonsrose; and then again, at other times it was as if a breath from heavenprostrated at once the clergy, by whom the whole apse was filled. Theofficiating priest chanted at the altar. When he had finished, he wentto one side, and took his seat while the choir in its turn for a longtime continued the solemn phrases of the services in the fine, clearnotes of the young choristers, light and delicate as the flutes ofarchangels. Among these voices was a very beautiful one, unusually pureand crystalline, that of a young girl, and most delicious to hear. Itwas said to be that of Mademoiselle Claire de Voincourt, who had wishedand obtained permission to sing at this marriage, which had been sowonderfully secured by a miracle. The organ which accompanied herappeared to sigh in a softened manner, with the peaceful calm of a soulat ease and perfectly happy. 

There were occasionally short spells of silence. Then the music burstout again with formidable rollings, while the master of the ceremoniessummoned the acolytes with their chandeliers, and conducted thecenser-bearers to the officiating clergyman, who blessed the incenses inthe vases. Now there was constantly heard the movements of the censer, with the silvery sound of the little chains as they swung back and forthin the clear light. There was in the air a bluish, sweet-scented cloud, as they incensed the Bishop, the clergy, the altar, the Gospel, eachperson and each thing in its turn, even the close crowd of people, making the three movements, to the right, to the left, and in front, tomark the Cross. 

In the meantime Angelique and Felicien, on their knees, listeneddevoutly to the Mass, which is significant of the mysteriousconsummation of the marriage of Jesus and the Church. There had beengiven into the hands of each a lighted candle, symbol of the puritypreserved since their baptism. After the Lord's Prayer they had remainedunder the veil, which is a sign of submission, of bashfulness, and ofmodesty; and during this time the priest, standing at the right-handside of the altar, read the prescribed prayers. They still held thelighted tapers, which serve also as a sign of remembrance of death, evenin the joy of a happy marriage. And now it was finished, the offeringwas made, the officiating clergyman went away, accompanied by thedirector of the ceremonies, the incense-bearers, and the acolytes, afterhaving prayed God to bless the newly-wedded couple, in order that theymight live to see and multiply their children, even to the third andfourth generation. 

At this moment the entire Cathedral seemed living and exulting withjoy. The March Triumphal was being played upon the organs with suchthunder-like peals that they made the old edifice fairly tremble. Theentire crowd of people now rose, quite excited, and straining themselvesto see everything; women even mounted on the chairs, and there wereclosely-pressed rows of heads as far back as the dark chapels of theouter side-aisles. In this vast multitude every face was smiling, everyheart beat with sympathetic joy. In this final adieu the thousands oftapers appeared to burn still higher, stretching out their flames liketongues of fire, vacillating under the vaulted arches. A last Hosannafrom the clergy rose up through the flowers and the verdure in the midstof the luxury of the ornaments and the sacred vessels. But suddenly thegreat portal under the organs was opened wide, and the sombre walls ofthe church were marked as if by great sheets of daylight. It was theclear April morning, the living sun of the spring-tide, the Place duCloitre, which was now seen with its tidy-looking, white houses; andthere another crowd, still more numerous, awaited the coming of thebride and bridegroom, with a more impatient eagerness, which alreadyshowed itself by gestures and acclamations. The candles had grown paler, and the noises of the street were drowned in the music of the organs. 

With a slow step, between the double hedge of the worshippers, Angeliqueand Felicien turned towards the entrance-door. After the triumphantcarrying out of her dream, she was now about to enter into the realityof life. This porch of broad sunlight opened into the world of whichas yet she was entirely ignorant. She retarded her steps as she lookedearnestly at the rows of houses, at the tumultuous crowd, at all whichgreeted and acclaimed her. Her weakness was so intense that her husbandwas obliged to almost carry her. However, she was still able to lookpleased, as she thought of the princely house, filled with jewels andwith queenly toilettes, where the nuptial chamber awaited her, alldecorated with white silk and lace. Almost suffocated, she was obligedto stop when halfway down the aisle; then she had sufficient strengthto take a few steps more. She glanced at her wedding ring, so recentlyplaced upon her finger, and smiled at this sign of eternal union. Then, on the threshold of the great door, at the top of the steps which wentdown into the Place du Cloitre, she tottered. Had she not really arrivedat the summit of her happiness? Was not it there that the joy of herlife, being perfected, was to end? With a last effort she raised herselfas much as possible, that she might put her lips upon the lips ofFelicien. And in that kiss of love she passed away for ever. 

But her death was without sadness. Monseigneur, with his habitualmovement of pastoral benediction, aided this pure soul to free itselffrom the frail body. He had regained his calmness, and had once morefound in the fulfillment of his sacred calling the desired-for peace. 

The Huberts, unconscious of what had taken place, were still kneeling, grateful for the pardon at last granted them, and feeling as ifre-entering into existence. For them, as well as for their beloveddaughter, the dream was accomplished. All the Cathedral and the wholetown were _en fete_. The organs sounded louder than ever; the bellspealed joyously; the multitude waited to greet the loving couple on thethreshold of the mystic church under the glorious spring sunlight. 

It was indeed a beautiful death. Angelique, happy and pure, carried awaysuddenly at the moment of the realisation of her fondest dream, takeninto the heavenly life from the dark Romanesque chapels with theflamboyant, Gothic-vaulted ceiling, from among the gilded decorationsand paintings of ancient times, in the full Paradise of Golden Legends. What more could she have asked for?

Felicien held in his arms simply a soft and tender form, from which lifehad departed; this bridal robe of lace and pearls seemed like the lightwings of a bird, still warm to the touch. For a long time he had wellknown that he could claim but a shadow. The exquisite vision that camefrom the Invisible had returned to the Invisible. 

It was merely a semblance, which effaced itself; the vanishing of anillusion. 

Everything is only a dream. 

And so, at the moment of supreme earthly happiness, Angelique haddisappeared in the slight breath of a loving kiss.