h her great happiness.

When she held her in her arms pressed against her breast, she felt that
she was trembling. She almost seemed to avoid her usual evening kiss.
Looking anxiously in her face, Hubertine read in her eyes the feverish
expectation connected with the hoped-for meeting. It was all so evident
to her that she promised herself to keep a close watch.

"Be good, dear, and sleep well."

But already, after a hurried good-night to Hubert and to the Abbe
Cornille, Angelique was halfway up the stairs, quite disturbed, as she
realised that her secret had almost escaped her. Had her mother held her
against her heart one second longer, she would have told her everything.
When she had shut herself in her own room, and doubly locked her door,
the light troubled her, and she blew out her candle. The moon, which
rose later and later, had not yet appeared above the horizon, and the
night was very dark. Without undressing, she seated herself before the
open window, looked out into the deep shade, and waited patiently
for the hours to pass. The minutes went by rapidly, as she was fully
occupied with the one idea that as soon as the clock struck for midnight
she would go down to find Felicien. As it would be the most natural
thing in the world to do, she traced out her way, step by step, and
every movement she would make with the most perfect composure.

It was not very late when she heard the Abbe Cornille take his leave.
Soon after, the Huberts, in their turn, came upstairs. Then it seemed
to her as if someone came out of their chamber, and with furtive steps
moved cautiously as far as the foot of the stairway, then stopped, as if
listening for a moment before returning. Then the house soon sank, as if
in the quiet of a deep sleep.

When the great church clock struck twelve, Angelique left her seat.
"Now I must go, for he is waiting for me." She unlocked the door, and,
passing out, neglected closing it after her. Going down the first flight
of stairs, she stopped as she approached the room of the Huberts,
but heard nothing--nothing but the indefinable quivering of silence.
Moreover, she was neither in a hurry, nor had she any fear, for being
totally unconscious of any wrong intentions, she felt at perfect ease.
It would have been quite impossible for her not to have gone down.
An inward power directed and led her, and it all seemed so simple and
right; she would have smiled at the idea of a hidden danger. Once in the