"Father, what are you doing that we no longer hear you?"
She turned and saw Hubert, who was occupied in winding a long spool, as
his 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 was
a warm, caressing breath which surrounded and enveloped Angelique and
Felicien as they both bent again over the frame. The workroom itself,
this ancient hall, as it might almost be called, with its old tools and
its peace of other ages, was an unconscious accomplice in this work of
union. It seemed so far away from the noise of the street, remote as if
in dreamy depths, in this country of good, simple souls, where miracles
reign, the easy realisation of all joys.
In five days the mitre was to be finished; and Angelique, now sure
that it would be ready to be delivered, and that she would even have
twenty-four hours to spare, took a long breath of satisfaction, and
seemed suddenly astonished at finding Felicien so near her, with his
elbows on the trestle. Had they really become such intimate friends?
She no longer attempted to struggle against what she realised was his
conquering power; her half-malicious smiles ceased at what he tried
to keep back, and which she so well understood, in spite of his
subterfuges.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183