se in me; I imagined all manner of things that might
hinder my happiness. I hesitated to cross the threshold of the house;
then I rushed forward. A mist came over my eyes, a buzzing filled my
ears. I met Saint-Jean, who, not recognising me, gave a loud cry and
threw himself in my path to prevent me from entering without being
announced. I pushed him aside, and he sank down astounded on one of the
hall chairs while I hastened to the door of the drawing-room. But,
just as I was about to throw it open, I was seized with a new fear and
checked myself; then I opened it so timidly that Edmee, who was occupied
at some embroidery on a frame, did not raise her eyes, thinking that
in this slight noise she recognised the respectful Saint-Jean. The
chevalier was asleep and did not wake. This old man, tall and thin like
all the Mauprats, was sitting with his head sunk on his breast; and his
pale, wrinkled face, which seemed already wrapped in the torpor of the
grave, resembled one of those angular heads in carved oak which adorned
the back of his big arm-chair. His feet were stretched out in front of a
fire of dried vine-branches, although the sun was warm and a bright ray
was falling on his white head and making it shine like silver. And how
could I describe to you my feelings on beholding Edmee? She was bending
over her tapestry and glancing from time to time at her father to notice
his slightest movements. But what patience and resignation were revealed
in her whole attitude! Edmee was not fond of needlework; her mind was
too vigorous to attach much importance to the effect of one shade by the
side of another shade, and to the regularity of one stitch laid against
another stitch. Besides, the blood flowed swiftly in her veins, and when
her mind was not absorbed in intellectual work she needed exercise in
the open air. But ever since her father, a prey to the infirmities of
old age, had been almost unable to leave his arm-chair, she had refused
to leave him for a single moment; and, since she could not always be
reading and working her mind, she had felt the necessity of taking
up some of those feminine occupations which, as she said, "are the
amusements of captivity." She had conquered her nature then in truly
heroic fashion. In one of those secret struggles which often take place
under our eyes without our suspecting the issue involved, she had done
more than subdue her nature, she had even changed the circulation of
her blood. I