er, and this union of work put them at their ease. It made
the occupation of each day seem perfectly natural to them both, and
without a word of love ever having been spoken, without their hands
having once met by a voluntary touch, the bond between them grew
stronger each hour, and they were henceforth eternally united one to the
other. It was sufficient for them to have lived until now.

"Father, what are you doing that we no longer hear you?"

She turned and saw Hubert, who was occupied in winding a long spool, as
his eyes were fixed abstractedly on his wife.

"I am preparing some gold thread for your mother."

And from the reel taken to his wife, from the mute thanks of Hubertine,
from the constant little attentions her husband gave her, there was
a warm, caressing breath which surrounded and enveloped Angelique and
Felicien as they both bent again over the frame. The workroom itself,
this ancient hall, as it might almost be called, with its old tools and
its peace of other ages, was an unconscious accomplice in this work of
union. It seemed so far away from the noise of the street, remote as if
in dreamy depths, in this country of good, simple souls, where miracles
reign, the easy realisation of all joys.

In five days the mitre was to be finished; and Angelique, now sure
that it would be ready to be delivered, and that she would even have
twenty-four hours to spare, took a long breath of satisfaction, and
seemed suddenly astonished at finding Felicien so near her, with his
elbows on the trestle. Had they really become such intimate friends?
She no longer attempted to struggle against what she realised was his
conquering power; her half-malicious smiles ceased at what he tried
to keep back, and which she so well understood, in spite of his
subterfuges. What was it, then, that had made her as if asleep, in her
late restless waiting? And the eternal question returned, the question
that she asked herself every evening when she went to her room. Did she
love him? For hours, in the middle of her great bed, she had turned over
again and again these words, seeking for meanings she could not find,
and thinking she was too ignorant to explain them. But that night, all
at once, she felt her heart was softened by some inexplicable happiness.
She cried nervously, without reason, and hid her head in her pillow that
no one might hear her.

Yes, now she loved him; she loved him enough to be willing to die for
him. But why?