rroundings of so many coloured silks, applying herself with
unfailing exactitude to her work, into the slightest details of which
she put her whole soul. When he had left off speaking he looked at her
earnestly, until roused by the silence, she realised the excited state
into which all these histories had thrown her, and became as embarrassed
as if she had done something wrong.

"Oh, dear, look; all my silks are entangled again! Mother, please not to
move about so much."

Hubertine, who had not stirred at all, was amused, but simply smiled
without saying anything. At first she had been rather disturbed by the
constant attentions of the young man, and had talked the matter over
thoroughly with Hubert one evening in their room. But they could not
help being drawn towards him, and as in every respect his appearance
was good and his manners perfectly respectful, they concluded it was not
necessary to object to interviews from which Angelique derived so much
happiness. So matters were allowed to take their way, and she watched
over the young people with a loving air of protection.

Moreover, she herself for many days had been oppressed by the lamenting
caresses of her husband, who seemed never to weary of asking her if he
had been forgiven. This month was the anniversary of the time when
they had lost their child, and each year at this date they had the
same regrets and the same longings; he, trembling at her feet, happy
to realise that he was pardoned; she, loving and distressed, blaming
herself for everything, and despairing that Fate had been inexorable to
all their prayers. They spoke of all this to no one, were the same to
outsiders in every way, but this increase of tenderness between them
came from their room like a silent perfume, disengaged itself from their
persons at the least movement, by each word, and by their way of looking
at each other, when it seemed as if for the moment they almost exchanged
souls. All this was like the grave accompaniment, the deep continuous
bass, upon which sang in clear notes the two hearts of the young couple.

One week had passed, and the work on the mitre advanced. These daily
meetings had assumed a great and sweet familiarity.

"The forehead should be very high, should it not? Without any trace of
eyebrows?"

"Yes, very high, and not the slightest shade. Quite like an old
miniature."

"Will you pass me the white silk?"

"Wait a minute, that I may thread it."

He helped h