man was pointed out to him, he did not recognise him at all.

"Is it he? I think not. No, you must be mistaken; it is not he."

Then Hubertine acknowledged that she was not quite sure. At all events,
it was as well to talk no more about it, but she would inform herself
later on. But the procession, which had stopped again in order that
Monseigneur might incense the Holy Sacrament, which was placed among the
verdure of a temporary altar at the corner of the street, was now about
to move on again; and Angelique, whose hands seemed lost in the basket
on her lap, suddenly, in her delight and confusion, made a quick
movement, and carelessly threw out a great quantity of the perfumed
petals. At that instant Felicien approached. The leaves fell like a
little shower, and at last two of them fluttered, balanced themselves,
then quietly settled down on his hair.

It was over. The canopy had disappeared round the corner of the Grand
Rue, the end of the cortege went by, leaving the pavements deserted,
hushed as if quieted by a dreamy faith, in the rather strong exhalation
of crushed roses. Yet one could still hear in the distance, growing
weaker and weaker by degrees, the silvery sound of the little chains of
the swinging censers.

"Oh mother!" said Angelique, pleadingly, "do let us go into the church,
so as to see them all as they come back."

Hubertine's first impulse was to refuse. But she, for her own part, was
very anxious to ascertain what she could about Felicien, so she replied:

"Yes, after a while, if you really wish to do so."

But they must, of course, wait a little. Angelique, after going to her
room for her hat, could not keep still. She returned every minute to the
great window, which was still wide open. She looked to the end of the
street inquiringly, then she lifted her eyes as if seeking something
in space itself; and so nervous was she that she spoke aloud, as she
mentally followed the procession step by step.

"Now they are going down the Rue Basse. Ah! see, they must be turning on
the square before the Sous Prefecture. There is no end to all the long
streets in Beaumont-la-Ville. What pleasure can they take in seeing
Saint Agnes, I would like to know. All these petty tradesmen!"

Above them, in the heavens, was a delicately rose-tinted cloud, with a
band of white and gold around it, and it seemed as if from it there
came a devotional peace and a hush of religious expectation. In the
immobility of the