With an effort she recovered herself, and
realised that, with needle in hand, she was still embroidering with her
accustomed application, although mechanically, as if in a half-dream.
Perhaps these strange symptoms were a sign that she was about to have a
severe illness. One evening she had such an attack of shivering when she
went 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 from
it as if it were too great a joy. Even the next day her heart beat as if
it would break, and her ears were filled with a singing sound, like the
ringing of a distant bell. What could it mean? Was she in love, or was
she 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 see
Felicien. She no longer ran the risk of meeting him among the brambles
and wild grasses in the Clos-Marie, and she had even given up her
daily visits to the poor. Her fear was intense lest, were they to find
themselves face to face, something terrible might come to pass. In her
resolution there was mingled, besides a feeling of penitence, a wish to
punish herself for some fault she might unintentionally have committed.
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