Angelique, who had been perfectly self-possessed until now,
began to tremble as she entered this sacred, cold solitude, where even
the little sound of her steps seemed to echo terribly. Why was it that
her heart grew so oppressed? She had thought she was quite strong, and
the day had passed most peacefully--she was so sure of being right in
her desire to be happy. But now that she was ignorant of what might
happen she turned pale as if guilty, quite frightened at thinking
that she was to see Monseigneur, and that in truth she had come there
expressly to speak to him. She went quietly to the Chapel Hautecoeur,
where she was obliged to remain leaning against the gate.
This chapel was one of the most sunken and dark of the old Romanesque
apse. Like a cave hewn in a rock, straight and bare, with the simple
lines of its low, vaulted ceiling, it had but one window, that of
stained glass, on which was the Legend of St. George, and in whose panes
the red and blue so predominated that they made a lilac-coloured light,
as if it were twilight. The altar, in black and white marble, was
unornamented, and the whole place, with its picture of the Crucifixion,
and its two chandeliers, seemed like a tomb. The walls were covered
with commemorative tablets, a collection from top to bottom of stones
crumbling from age, on which the deeply-cut inscriptions could still be
read.
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