Then Felicien, quite discouraged, realising that he was very
angry, went away, fearing lest the rush of blood, which empurpled his
cheeks, might make him commit the sacrilege of an open revolt against
paternal authority.
"My child," concluded Hubertine, "you can easily understand that you
must no longer think of this young man, for you certainly would not
wish to act in opposition to the wishes of Monseigneur. I knew that
beforehand, 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 listlessly
clasped in her lap. Scarcely had she even dropped her eyelids from
time to time, as with fixed looks she saw the scene so vividly
described--Felicien at the feet of Monseigneur, speaking of her in an
overflow of tenderness. She did not answer immediately, but continued to
think seriously, in the dead quiet of the kitchen, where even the little
bubbling sound of the water in the boiler was no longer heard. She
lowered her eyes and looked as her hands, which, under the lamplight,
seemed as if made of beautiful ivory. Then, while the smile of perfect
confidence came back to her lips, she said simply:
"If Monseigneur refuses, it is because he waits to know me.
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