ite unknown.

Then, at last, Angelique spoke.

"Ah! yes, I recollect--I recollect it all."

And Felicien was at once carried away with delight by the music of this
voice, whose extreme charm was so great over him that his love seemed to
increase simply from listening to it.

"Yes, I remember well when you came in the night. You were so far away
those first evenings that the little sound you made in walking left me
in quite an uncertain state. At last I realised perfectly that it was
you who approached me, and a little later I recognised your shadow. At
length, one evening you showed yourself boldly, on a beautiful, bright
night like this, in the full white light of the moon. You came out so
slowly from the inanimate objects near you, like a creation from all the
mysteries that surrounded me, exactly as I had expected to see you for a
long time, and punctual to the meeting.

"I have never forgotten the great desire to laugh, which I kept back,
but which broke forth in spite of me, when you saved the linen that
was being carried away by the Chevrotte. I recollect my anger when you
robbed me of my poor people, by giving them so much money, and thus
making me appear as a miser. I can still recall my fear on the evening
when you forced me to run so fast through the grass with my bare feet.
Oh, yes, I have not forgotten anything--not the slightest thing."

At this last sentence her voice, pure and crystalline, was a little
broken by the thought of those magic words of the young man, the power
of which she felt so deeply when he said, "I love you," and a deep blush
passed over her face. And he--he listened to her with delight.

"It is indeed true that I did wrong to tease you. When one is ignorant,
one is often so foolish. One does many things which seem necessary,
simply from the fear of being found fault with if following the impulses
of the heart. But my remorse for all this was deep, and my sufferings,
in consequence, were as great as yours. Were I to try to explain all
this to you, it would be quite impossible for me to do so. When you
came to us with your drawing of Saint Agnes, oh! I could have cried out,
'Thank you, thank you!' I was perfectly enchanted to work for you, as I
thought you would certainly make us a daily visit. And yet, think of it!
I pretended to be indifferent, as if I had taken upon myself the task of
doing all in my power to drive you from the house. Has one ever the need
of being willfully unh