He was never
calm, except when he was near her as she sat at her frame. Provided that
she was by his side, it seemed to him that he could resign himself to
the acceptance of the fact that he was disagreeable to her.
Every morning he arrived at an early hour, spoke of the work, then
seated himself as if his presence there were absolutely necessary. Then
he was in a state of enchantment simply to look at her, with her finely
cut features, her motionless profile, which seemed bathed in the liquid
golden tints of her hair; and he watched in ecstasy the skilful play of
her flexible hands, as she moved them up and down in the midst of the
needlefuls of gold or silk. She had become so habituated to his
presence that she was quite at her ease, and treated him as a comrade.
Nevertheless, he always felt that there was between them something
unexpressed which grieved him to the heart, he knew not why.
Occasionally she looked up, regarding him with an amused, half-mocking
air, and with an inquiring, impatient expression in her face. Then,
finding he was intensely embarrassed she at once became very cold and
distant.
But Felicien had discovered one way in which he could rouse her, and
he took advantage of it.
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