Could it be that she was so hopelessly ill?
Was it unhappiness that had caused her to be so weak, and to have wasted
way to such a degree that she appeared to him light as air while she lay
there, like a feather which the slightest breath would blow away? In her
sleep, her suffering and her patient resignation were clearly seen. He
in fact would have known her only by her lily-like grace, the delicate
outlines of her neck, her drooping shoulders, and her oval face,
transfigured like that of a youthful virgin mounting towards heaven.
Her exquisite hair was now only a mass of light, and her pure soul shone
under the soft transparency of her skin. She had all the ethereal
beauty of the saints relieved from their bodies. He was both dazzled
and distressed; the violent shock rendered him incapable of moving,
and, with hands clasped, he remained silent. She did not awake as he
continued to watch her.
A little air from the half-closed lips of Felicien must have passed
across Angelique's face, as all at once she opened her great eyes. Yet
she did not start, but in her turn looked at him with a smile, as if he
were a vision. Yes, it was he! She recognised him well, although he was
greatly changed. But she did not think she was awake, for she often saw
him thus in her dreams, and her trouble was increased when, rousing from
her sleep, she realised the truth.
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