At ten o'clock the organs pealed. Angelique and Felicien were
there, walking with slow steps towards the high altar, between the
closely-pressed ranks of the crowd. A breath of sincere, touching
admiration came from every side. He, deeply moved, passed along proud
and serious, with his blonde beauty of a young god appearing slighter
than ever from his closely-fitting black dress-coat. But she, above all,
struck the hearts of the spectators, so exquisite was she, so divinely
beautiful with a mystic, spiritual charm. Her dress was of white watered
silk, simply covered with rare old Mechlin lace, which was held by
pearls, a whole setting of them designing the ruches of the waist and
the ruffles of the skirt. A veil of old English point was fastened to
her head by a triple crown of pearls, and falling to her feet, quite
covered her. That was all--not a flower, not a jewel, nothing but this
slight vision, this delicate, trembling cloud, which seemed to have
placed her sweet little face between two white wings, like that of the
Virgin of the painted glass window, with her violet eyes and her golden
hair.
Two armchairs, covered with crimson velvet, had been placed for Felicien
and Angelique before the altar; and directly behind them, while the
organs increased their phrases of welcome, Hubert and Hubertine knelt
on the low benches which were destined for the family.
Pages:
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376