Two or three minutes passed, and she
knew the kind watcher had not left her place, but that, stooping, and
holding with her beautiful hands the clothing so carelessly thrown over
her, she still listened at the keyhole.
Hubertine, hearing nothing more, not even a sigh, did not like to call
again. She was very sure that she had heard sobs; but if the child had
at last been able to sleep, what good would it do to awaken her? She
waited, however, another moment, troubled by the thought of a grief
which her daughter hid from her, confusedly imagining what it might
be from the tender emotion with which her heart seemed filled from
sympathy. At last she concluded to go down as she had come up, quietly,
her hands being so familiar with every turning that she needed no
candle, and leaving behind her no other sound than the soft, light touch
of her bare feet.
Then, sitting up in bed, Angelique in her turn listened. So profound
was the outward silence that she could clearly distinguish the slight
pressure of the heel on the edge of each step of the stairway. At the
foot, the door of the chamber was opened, then closed again; afterward,
she heard a scarcely-distinct murmur, an affectionate, yet sad blending
of voices in a half-whisper.
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