Uni.rsityofJlUnoisUbrary 
 
 09 WT 
 
 L161-H41
 
 THIED EDITION. With 2 Mar> t'rown 8vo. cloth extra, 3s. 6<f. 
 
 THE DOWNFALL 
 
 ('LA DEBACLE')- 
 By EMILE ZOLA. Translated by E. A. VIZETELLT. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 1 Let captious critics challenge bis statements as they may, the bulk of his country, 
 men will not deny that he has furnished them with the most intensely realistic descrip- 
 tion of " The Downfall " that has jet been written.' STAB. 
 
 ' Mr. Vizetelly's translation is a masterly piece of work. France should be proud of 
 M. Zola. . . ." The Downfall " is the most instructive and fearfully fascinating book that 
 has been written, or possibly could be written, on the Franco-German War.' PEOPLE. 
 
 ' Cavils are silent when we contemplate the masterly march of the epic as a whole. 
 Never has the author written better ; never, assuredly, has he described so well ; never has 
 he had such a chance to vent his profound and poetical sense, not only of the lugubrious 
 and desperate sides of human life in war, but of its sudden hopes, its comradeships, and 
 its partings.' MANCHESTER GUARDIAN. 
 
 ' A most fascinating story.' CHRISTIAN WORLD. 
 
 1 " The Downfall " is one of the most realistic and fascinating narratives placed in 
 the hands of the reading public for a long time past. It is a work that reflects the genius 
 of the great writer in every page. If. Zola set himself a big task, and he has faithfully 
 and fearlessly accomplished it.' SALA'S JOURNAL. 
 
 ' It has been observed by historians of literature that the losing tide in battles 
 usually has the best songs, and this novel confirms the general view. No book of 
 triumph could be so impressive as this stately and sorrowful story of a country's over- 
 throwin which a thousand touches of literary effect are massed, controlled, and 
 managed with something of the commanding skill that leads an army to victory.' 
 
 SCOTSMAN. 
 
 ' The subject has turned the terribly conscientious transcriber of documents into a 
 poet . . . The grander side of the awful struggle is never lost sight of, and, in its own 
 way, M. Zola's novel is almost as religious as a Greek tragedy. ... It is impossible not 
 to admire the thoroughly artistic way in which M. Zola has succeeded In bleeding the 
 personal and national elements in his drama.' GLASGOW HERALD. 
 
 ' From first to last the reader will be fascinated with M. Zola's brilliant style, for 
 he rises to preater heights of sublimity in "The Downfall" than in any of his other 
 books. ... It is one of the greatest historical dramas ever written. . . . Zola was the 
 only man who was equal to it. He has produced a masterpiece.' MORNING LEADER. 
 
 ' Probably no one who is interested in modern fiction is by this time unfamiliar at 
 least with the substance of tins marvellous work. Its picture of Sedan is a monument 
 of conscientious study. . . . The artist is so thoroughly the master of his craft that the 
 narrative always flows on with the ease of something thrown off in the calmest leisure.' 
 YOI.KSHIBE POST. 
 
 ' This long-promised addition to the celebrated Rougon-Macquart series has brought 
 joy to the admirers of M. Zola, and has raised him in the estimation even of those 
 who have no sympathy with his methods. M. Zola has painted for his countrymen, in 
 all its horrors, the downfall of their patrie before the German ; and his strongly-drawn 
 characters march through all the horrors of the war, many of the scenes, let us gay, 
 being given in a masterly manner, and with a stern grasp of the psychology of the 
 battle-field.' ARMY AND NAVY GAZETTE. 
 
 ' That M. Zola attempted a very ambitious piece of work, and that he has carried it out 
 in a very masterly manner, there can be no doubt. The story "catches on" at once, 
 for from the very beginning the reader is bound to fall under the spell of a style which 
 fascinates irresistibly even in the most horrible scenes of the most realistic of the realist's 
 works. ... It requires an uncommon amount of courage to open a story with a descrip- 
 t : on of the much-described camp life of 1870-71, but M. Zola dares it with brilliant 
 success.' PALL MALL GAZETTE. 
 
 'M. Zola has risen" to "the height of hi* great argument." "La DebAcle" is the 
 prose epic of - war. . . .Yet, horrible as it i?, there has been no straining, at horror for 
 hoiror's sake perfect sobriety, a classic severity, absence of anything like exaggera-
 
 Opinions of the Press. 
 
 tion arc, indeed, conspicuous throughout the book. Zola has done his work in the 
 grand style, with immense breadth of survey, with dignity and power on a level with his 
 subject. It would have been nothing short of a disaster to literature if this great theme 
 had been unworthily handled. All apprehensions on that score are now set at rest, for 
 " La Debacle" is a masterpiece.' SPEAKER. 
 
 " It would probably be no exaggeration to say that, taken as a whole, " La Debacle " 
 is the most wonderfully faithful reproduction of an historical drama ever committed to 
 writing. " La Debacle " is an appalling record of long-drawn-out misery, profligacy, and 
 military and official incapacity, unbroken by any ray of hope or sunshine. It is a 
 literally true Inferno. ... Of the terribly life-like descriptions of the sufferings of the 
 demoralised army, it is impossible to give the faintest idea in a single review.' 
 
 SPECTATOR. 
 
 '"La Debacle "is full of magnificent work. It contains one of the finest passages 
 of prose in the French language a passage that even Mr. Swinburne would find it 
 difficult to deny was not superior to Hugo's celebrated charge in " Les Miserables." I 
 could point out many other passages almost as fine.' GEORGE MOORE in THE FORT- 
 NIGHTLY REVIEW. 
 
 ' Nobody can read it without having a perfect loathing for war and a horror of 
 the passions, the laws, and the statesmen by whom it is ever voluntarily brought 
 about. . . . It is only when jou have come to the end that you appreciate the feverish 
 hurry in which jou have read page after page, and that yon know the splendM art with 
 which M. Zola has concealed the fervour, the pity, the agony, and tbe inspiration with 
 which he has told the tale. That M. Zola, can writs with power is already well known ; 
 but in no passage in his many books is this power exhibited with such perfect ease, 
 mastery, and simplicity.' SUNDAY Sex. 
 
 ' Though its subject is one which lends itself to naturalistic treatment of the most 
 lurid order, and though the details of military life are depicted on naturalistic lines, yet 
 tlie particular form of naturalism which has disfigured the pages of Zola, even in the 
 ejes of his sincerest admirers, is conspicuously absent. . . . "La Debacle" treats of 
 nothing but horror, yet from cover to cover it does not contain three needlessly repellent 
 sentences. . . . The tale of Sedan has been told a hundred times, but not one of the 
 narrations will have had one-hundredth ^jart of the readers who will make " La Debacle " 
 their text-book for the disaster of the annee terrible.' ATHKK^CM. 
 
 1 M. Zola has given us a veritable masterpiece. His wonderful powers of observation 
 and of marshalling detail are as prominent here as in " La Terre" ; but they are purified 
 by thought, and the result is a perfectly balanced and artistic entity. " La Debacle " 
 is the prose epic of modern war. . . . M. Zola has made a contribution of the greatest 
 value to history and to literature. He has at length found himself; and will assnredly 
 have his reward, not only in the appreciation of others, bnt in that greatest of all joys 
 to the creative artist, the consciousness of having worthily treated a great subject,' 
 
 VANITY FAIR. 
 
 ' ' La Debacle " (rives a wonderful picture of the overthrow of the Second Empire. 
 The efforts of the author have all been concentrated on a description of war as it really 
 is. The only book we can compare with it is Tolstois "War and Peace.'" NOVEL 
 BE VIEW. 
 
 'In ''La Debacle " M. Zola has given to the world a prose epic of extraordinary 
 power and interest. . . . The dramatii persona: include many striking types of French 
 citizens and civilians, sketched with the passionate vigour and almost savage realism 
 that characterise the strokes of M. Zola's incisive pen. The word-pictures are extra- 
 ordinarily powerful, painful, and pathetic.' DAILY TELEGRAPH. 
 
 Crown Svo. clbth extra, 3s. &d. 
 
 THE DBEAM 
 
 ('LE REVE')- 
 By EMILE ZOLA. With 8 full-page Illustrations by JEAXKIOT. 
 
 * One of the most beautiful idyls in the language.' TABLET. 
 
 London: CHATIO & WINDTJ6, 214 Piccadilly, W.
 
 THE DREAM
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 LONDON
 
 She continued to look round the room. 
 
 [p. 260.
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 (LE REVE) 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILE ZOLA 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE DOWNFALL' BTC. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY ELIZA E. CHASE 
 
 WITH 8 ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGES JEANNIOT
 
 " z 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 SHE CONTINUED TO LOOK ROUND THE ROOM . Frontispiece 
 
 MENIAL LABOUR WAS IMPOSED UPON HER . to face j). 23 
 
 WOMEN HAD THE PRIVILEGE or WASHING THEIR 
 
 LINEN 74 
 
 THEY WERE BOTH CONFUSED .... 100 
 ' SHE HAS THE SAME BEAUTIFUL EYES THAT 
 
 YOU HAVE ' . 142 
 
 ' I PUT MYSELF IN YOUR HANDS, MONSEIGNEUR ' 226 
 
 SHE SAW FROM A DISTANCE CLAIRE, ACCOM- 
 PANIED BY FELICIEN 238 
 
 ANGBLIQUB REMAINED VERY FEEBLE . 292 
 
 ^
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DURING the severe winter of I860 the river Oise was 
 frozen over and the plains of Lower Picardy were 
 covered with deep snow. On Christmas Day, especially, 
 a heavy squall from the north-east had almost buried 
 the little city of Beaumont. The snow, which began to 
 fall early in the morning, increased towards evening and 
 accumulated during the night ; in the upper town, in 
 the Rue des Orfevres, at the end of which, as if enclosed 
 therein, is the northern front of the cathedral transept, 
 this was blown with great force by the wind against the 
 portal of Saint Agnes, the old Romanesque portal, 
 where traces of Early Gothic could be seen, contrasting 
 its florid ornamentation with the bare simplicity of the 
 transept gable. 
 
 The inhabitants still slept, wearied by the festive 
 rejoicings of the previous day. The town-clock struck 
 six. In the darkness, which was slightly lightened by 
 the slow, persistent fall of the flakes, a vague living form 
 alone was visible : that of a little girl, nine years of age, 
 who, having taken refuge under the archway of the 
 portal, had passed the night there, shivering, and 
 sheltering herself as well as possible. She wore a thin 
 
 B
 
 2 THE DREAM 
 
 woollen dress, ragged from long use, her head was 
 covered with a torn silk handkerchief, and on her bare 
 feet were heavy shoes much too large for her. Without 
 doubt she had only gone there after having well wandered 
 through the town, for she had fallen down from sheer 
 exhaustion. For her it was the end of the world ; there 
 was no longer anything to interest her. It was the 
 last surrender; the hunger that gnaws, the cold 
 which kills ; and in her weakness, stifled by the heavy 
 weight at her heart, she ceased to struggle, and nothing 
 was left to her but the instinctive movement of preserva- 
 tion, the desire of changing place, of sinking still deeper 
 into these old stones, whenever a sudden gust made the 
 snow whirl about her. 
 
 Hour after hour passed. For a long time, between 
 the divisions of this double door, she leaned her back 
 against the abutting pier, on whose column was a statue 
 of Saint Agnes, the martyr of but thirteen years of age, 
 a little girl like herself, who carried a branch of palm, 
 and at whose feet was a lamb. And in the tympanum, 
 above the lintel, the whole legend of the Virgin Child 
 betrothed to Jesus could be seen in high relief, set 
 forth with a charming simplicity of faith. Her hair, 
 which grew long and covered her like a garment when 
 the Governor, whose son she had refused to marry, gave 
 her up to the soldiers ; the flames of the funeral pile, 
 destined to destroy her, turning aside and burning her 
 executioners as soon as they lighted the wood; the 
 miracles performed by her relics ; Constance, daughter 
 of the Emperor, cured of leprosy ; and the quaint story 
 of one of her painted images, which, when the priest 
 Paulinus offered it a very valuable emerald ring, held 
 out its finger, then withdrew it, keeping the ring, which
 
 TtfE DREAM- 3 
 
 can be seen at this present day. At the top of the 
 tympanum, in a halo of glory, Agnes is at last received 
 into heaven, where her betrothed, Jesus, marries her, so 
 young and so little, giving her the kiss of eternal 
 happiness. 
 
 But when the wind rushed through the street, the 
 snow was blown in the child's face, and the threshold 
 was almost barred by the white masses ; then she moved 
 away to the side, against the virgins placed above the 
 base of the arch. These are the companions of Agnes, 
 the saints who served as her escort : three at her right 
 Dorothea, who was fed in prison by miraculous bread ; 
 Barbe, who lived in a tower; and Genevieve, whose 
 heroism saved Paris : and three at her left Agatha, 
 whose breast was torn ; Christina, who was put to tor- 
 ture by her father ; and Cecilia, beloved by the angels. 
 Above these were statues and statues ; three close ranks 
 mounting with the curves of the arches, decorating them 
 with chaste triumphant figures, who, after the suffering 
 and martyrdom of their earthly life, were welcomed by 
 a host of winged cherubim, transported with ecstasy into 
 the Celestial Kingdom. 
 
 There had been no shelter for the little waif for a long 
 time, when at last the clock struck eight and daylight 
 came. The snow, had she not trampled it down, would 
 have come to her shoulders. The old door behind her 
 was covered with it, as if hung with ermine, and it 
 looked as white as an altar, beneath the grey front of the 
 church, so bare and smooth that not even a single flake 
 had clung to it. The great saints, those of the sloping 
 surface especially, were clothed in it, and were glisten- 
 ing in purity from their feet to their white beards. Still 
 higher, in the scenes of the tympanum, the outlines of 
 
 B2
 
 the little saints of the arches were designed most 
 clearly on a dark background, and this magic effect con- 
 tinued until the final rapture at the marriage of Agnes, 
 which the archangels appeared to be celebrating under 
 a shower of white roses. Standing upon her pillar, with 
 her white branch of palm and her white lamb, the Virgin 
 Child had such purity in the lines of her body of 
 immaculate snow, that the motionless stiffness of cold 
 seemed to congeal around her the mystic transports of 
 victorious youth. And at her feet the other child, so 
 miserable, white with snow she also grew so stiff and pale 
 that it seemed as if she were turning to stone, and could 
 scarcely be distinguished from the great images above her. 
 
 At last, in one of the long line of houses in which 
 all seemed to be sleeping, the noise from the drawing 
 up of a blind made her raise her eyes. It was at her 
 right hand, in the second story of a house at the side of 
 the Cathedral. A very handsome woman, a brunette 
 about forty years of age, with a placid expression of 
 serenity, was just looking out from there, and in spite 
 of the terrible frost she kept her uncovered arm in the 
 air for a moment, having seen the child move. Her 
 calm face grew sad with pity and astonishment. Then, 
 shivering, she hastily closed the window. She carried 
 with her the rapid vision of a fair little creature with 
 violet-coloured eyes under an head-covering of an old 
 silk handkerchief. The face was oval, the neck long and 
 slender as a lily, and the shoulders drooping ; but she 
 was blue from cold, her little hands and feet were half 
 dead, and the only thing about her that still showed life 
 was the slight vapour of her breath. 
 
 The child remained with her eyes upturned, looking 
 at the house mechanically. It was a narrow one, two
 
 THE DREAM 5 
 
 stories in height, very old, and evidently built towards 
 the end of the fifteenth century. It was almost sealed 
 to the side of the Cathedral, between two buttresses, 
 like a wart which had pushed itself between the two 
 toes of a Colossus. And thus supported on each side, 
 it was admirably preserved, with its stone basement, its 
 second story in wooden panels, ornamented with bricks, 
 its roof, of which the framework advanced at least three 
 feet beyond the gable, its tui'ret for the projecting 
 stairway at the left corner, where could still be seen in 
 the little window the leaden setting of long ago. At 
 times repairs had been made on account of its age. 
 The tile-roofing dated from the reign of Louis XIV., for 
 one easily recognised the work of that epoch ; a dormer 
 window pierced in the side of the turret, little wooden 
 frames replacing everywhere those of the primitive panes; 
 the three united openings of the second story had been 
 reduced to two, that of the middle being closed up with 
 bricks, thus giving to the front the symmetry of the 
 other buildings on the street of a more recent date. 
 
 In the basement the changes were equally visible, 
 an oaken door with mouldings having taken the place 
 of the old one with iron trimmings that was under the 
 stairway ; and the great central arcade, of which the 
 lower part, the sides, and the point had been plastered 
 over, so as to leave only one rectangular opening, was 
 now a species of large window, instead of the triple- 
 pointed one which formerly came out on to the street. 
 
 Without thinking, the child still looked at this 
 venerable dwelling of a master-builder, so well preserved } 
 and as she read upon a little yellow plate nailed at the 
 left of the door these words, ' Hubert, chasuble maker,' 
 printed in black letters, she was again attracted by the
 
 6 THE DREAM 
 
 sound of the opening of a shutter. This time it was the 
 blind of the square window of the ground-floor. A man 
 in his turn looked out ; his face was full, his nose 
 aquiline, his forehead projecting, and his thick short 
 hair already white, although he was scarcely yet five- 
 and-forty. He, too, forgot the air for a moment as he 
 examined her with a sad wrinkle on his great tender 
 mouth. Then she saw him, as he remained standing 
 behind the little greenish-looking panes. He turned, 
 beckoned to someone, and his wife reappeared. How 
 handsome she was ! They both stood side by side, 
 looking at her earnestly and sadly. 
 
 For four hundred years, the line of Huberts, em- 
 broiderers from father to son, had lived in this house. 
 A noted maker of chasubles had built it under Louis XI., 
 another had repaired it under Louis XIV., and the 
 Hubert who now occupied it still embroidered church 
 vestments, as his ancestors had always done. At twenty 
 years of age he had fallen in love with a young girl of 
 sixteen, Hubertine, and so deep was their affection for 
 each other, that when her mother, widow of a magistrate, 
 refused to give her consent to their union, they ran away 
 together and were married. She was remarkably beauti- 
 ful, and that was their whole romance, their joy, and 
 their misfortune. 
 
 When, a year later, she went to the deathbed of her 
 mother, the latter disinherited her and gave her her 
 curse. So affected was she by the terrible scene, that 
 her infant, born soon after, died, and since then it seemed 
 as if, even in her coffin in the cemetery, the wilful woman 
 had never pardoned her daughter, for it was, alas ! a 
 childless household. After twenty-four years they still 
 mourned the little one they had lost.
 
 THE DREAM 7 
 
 Disturbed by their looks, the stranger tried to hide 
 herself behind the pillar of Saint Agnes. She was also 
 annoyed by the movement which now commenced in 
 the street, as the shops were being opened and people 
 began to go out. The Rue des Orfevres, which termi- 
 nates at the side front of the church, would be almost 
 impassable, blocked in as it is on one side by the house 
 of the Huberts, if the Eue du Soleil, a narrow lane, did 
 not relieve it on the other side by running the whole 
 length of the Cathedral to the great front on the Place 
 du Cloitre. At this hour there were few passers, except- 
 ing one or two persons who were on their way to early 
 service, and they looked with surprise at the poor little 
 girl, whom they did not recognise as ever having seen 
 at Beaumont. The slow, persistent fall of snow con- 
 tinued. The cold seemed to increase with the wan day- 
 light, and in the dull thickness of the great white shroud 
 which covered the town one heard, as if from a distance, 
 the sound of voices. But timid, ashamed of her aban- 
 donment, as if it were a fault, the child drew still 
 farther back, when suddenly she recognised before her 
 Hubertine, who, having no servant, had gone out to 
 buy bread. 
 
 ' What are you doing there, little one ? Who are 
 you?' 
 
 She did not answer, but hid her face. Then she 
 was no longer conscious of suffering ; her whole being 
 seemed to have faded away, as if her heart, turned to 
 ice, had stopped beating. When the good lady turned 
 away with a pitying look, she sank down upon her knees 
 completely exhausted, and slipped listlessly into the 
 snow, whose flakes quickly covered her. 
 
 And the woman, as she returned with her fresh
 
 8 THE DREAM 
 
 rolls, seeing that she had fallen, again approached 
 her. 
 
 ' Look up, my child ! You cannot remain here on 
 this doorstep.' 
 
 Then Hubert, who had also come out, and was 
 standing near the threshold, took the bread from his 
 wife, and said : 
 
 ' Take her up and bring her into the house.' 
 
 Hubertine did not reply, but, stooping, lifted her in 
 her strong arms. And the child shrank back no longer, 
 but was carried as if inanimate ; her teeth closely set, 
 her eyes shut, chilled through and through, and with 
 the lightness of a little bird that has just fallen from its 
 nest. 
 
 They went in. Hubert shut the door, while Huber- 
 tine, bearing her burden, passed through the front room, 
 which served as a parlour, and where some embroidered 
 bands were spread out for show before the great square 
 window. Then she went into the kitchen, the old ser- 
 vants' hall, preserved almost intact, with its heavy 
 beams, its flagstone floor mended in a dozen places, and 
 its great fireplace with its stone mantelpiece. On 
 shelves were the utensils, the pots, kettles, and saucepans, 
 that dated back one or two centuries ; and the dishes 
 were of old stone, or earthenware, and of pewter. But 
 on the middle of the hearth was a modern cooking-stove, 
 a large cast-iron one, whose copper trimmings were 
 wondrously bright. It was red from heat, and the water 
 was bubbling away in its boiler, A large porringer, 
 filled with coffee-and-milk, was on one corner of it. 
 
 ' Oh ! how much more comfortable it is here than 
 outside,' said Hubert, as he put the bread down on a 
 heavy table of the style of Louis XIIJ., which was in
 
 THE DREAM 9 
 
 the centre of the room. ' Now, seat this poor little 
 creature near the stove that she may be thawed out ! ' 
 
 Hubertine had already placed the child close to the 
 fire, and they both looked at her as she slowly regained 
 consciousness. As the snow that covered her clothes 
 melted it fell in heavy drops. Through the holes of her 
 great shoes they could see her little bruised feet, whilst 
 the thin woollen dress designed the rigidity of her 
 limbs and her poor body, worn by misery and pain. 
 She had a long attack of nervous trembling, and then 
 opened her frightened eyes with the start of an animal 
 which suddenly awakes from sleep to find itself caught 
 in a snare. Her face seemed to sink away under the 
 silken rag which was tied under her chin. Her right 
 arm appeared to be helpless, for she pressed it so closely 
 to her breast. 
 
 ' Do not be alarmed, for we will not hurt you. 
 Where did you come from ? Who are you ? ' 
 
 But the more she was spoken to the more frightened 
 she became, turning her head as if someone were behind 
 her who would beat her. She examined the kitchen 
 furtively, the flaggings, the beams, and the shining 
 utensils ; then her glance passed through the irregular 
 windows which were left in the ancient opening, and 
 she saw the garden clear to the trees by the Bishop's 
 house, whose white shadows towered above the wall at 
 the end, while at the left, as if astonished at finding 
 itself there, stretched along the whole length of the alley 
 the Cathedral, with its llomanesque windows in the 
 chapels of its apses. And again, from the heat of the 
 stove which began to penetrate her, she had a long attack 
 of shivering, after which she turned her eyes to the floor 
 and remained quiet.
 
 io THE DREAM 
 
 1 Do you belong to Beaumont ? Who is your 
 father ? ' 
 
 She was so entirely silent that Hubert thought her 
 throat must be too dry to allow her to speak. 
 
 Instead of questioning her he said : ' We would do 
 much better to give her a good cup of coffee as hot as 
 she can drink it.' 
 
 That was so reasonable that Hubertine immediately 
 handed her the cup she herself held. Whilst she cut 
 two large slices of bread and buttered them, the child, 
 still mistrustful, continued to shrink back ; but her 
 hunger was too great, and soon she ate and drank 
 ravenously. That there need not be a restraint upon 
 her, the husband and wife were silent, and were touched 
 to tears on seeing her little hand tremble to such a 
 degree that at times it was difficult for her to reach her 
 mouth. She made use only of her left hand, for her 
 right arm seemed to be fastened to her chest. When 
 she had finished, she almost broke the cup, which she 
 caught again by an awkward movement of her elbow. 
 
 ' Have you hurt your arm badly ? ' Hubertine 
 asked. ' Do not be afraid, my dear, but show it to 
 me.' 
 
 But as she was about to touch it the child rose up 
 hastily, trying to prevent her, and as in the struggle 
 she moved her arm, a little pasteboard-covered book, 
 which she had hidden under her dress, slipped through 
 a large tear in her waist. She tried to take it, and when 
 she saw her unknown hosts open and begin to read it, 
 she clenched her fist in anger. 
 
 It was an official certificate, given by the Adminis- 
 tration des Enfants Assistes in the Department of the 
 Seine. On the first page, under a medallion containing
 
 THE DREAM n 
 
 a likeness of Saint Vincent de Paul, were the printed 
 prescribed forms. For the family name, a simple black 
 line filled the allotted space. Then for the Christian 
 names were those of Angelique Marie ; for the dates } 
 born January 22, 1851, admitted the 23rd of the 
 same month under the registered number of 1,634. 
 So there was neither father nor mother ; there were no 
 papers ; not even a statement of where she was born ; 
 nothing but this little book of official coldness, with its 
 cover of pale red pasteboard. No relative in the world ! 
 and even her abandonment numbered and classed ! 
 
 ' Oh ! then she is a foundling ! ' exclaimed 
 Hubertine. 
 
 In a paroxysm of rage the child replied : ' I am 
 much better than all the others yes yes ! I am 
 better, better, better. I have never taken anything 
 that did not belong to me, and yet they stole all I had. 
 Give me back, now, that which you also have stolen from 
 me!' 
 
 Such powerless passion, such pride to be above the 
 others in goodness, so shook the body of the little girl, 
 that the Huberts were startled. They no longer recog- 
 nised the blonde creature, with violet eyes and graceful 
 figure. Now her eyes were black, her face dark, and 
 her neck seemed swollen by a rush of blood to it. Since 
 she had become warm, she raised her head and hissed 
 like a serpent that had been picked up on the snow. 
 
 ' Are you then really so naughty ? ' asked Hubert 
 gently. ' If we wish to know all about you, it is because 
 we wish to help you.' 
 
 And looking over the shoulders of his wife he read 
 as the latter turned the leaves of the little book. On 
 the second page was the name of the nurse. ' The child,
 
 12 THE DREAM 
 
 Angelique Marie, had been given, on January 25, 1851, 
 to the nurse, Francoise, sister of Mr. Hamelin, a farmer 
 by profession, living in the parish of Soulanges, an 
 arrondissement of Nevers. The aforesaid nurse had 
 received on her departure the pay for the first month 
 of her care, in addition to her clothing.' Then there 
 was a certificate of her baptism, signed by the chaplain 
 of the Asylum for Abandoned Children ; also that of 
 the physician on the arrival and on the departure of the 
 infant. The monthly accounts, paid in quarterly in- 
 stalments, filled farther on the columns of four pages, 
 and each time there was the illegible signature of the 
 receiver or collector. 
 
 ' What ! Nevers ! ' asked Hubertine. ' You were 
 brought up near Nevers ? ' 
 
 Angelique, red with anger that she could not prevent 
 them from reading, had fallen into a sullen silence. But 
 at last she opened her mouth to speak of her nurse. 
 
 ' Ah ! you may be sure that Maman Nini would 
 have beaten you. She always took my part against 
 others, she did, although sometimes she struck me 
 herself. Ah ! it is true I was not so unhappy over 
 there, with the cattle and all ! ' 
 
 Her voice choked her and she continued, in broken, 
 incoherent sentences, to speak of the meadow where she 
 drove the great red cow, of the broad road where she 
 played, of the cakes they cooked, and of a pet house-dog 
 that had once bitten her. 
 
 Hubert interrupted her as he read aloud : ' In case 
 of illness, or of bad treatment, the superintendent is 
 authorised to change the nurses of the children.' Below 
 it was written that the child Angelique Marie had been 
 given on June 20 to the care of Theresa, wife of Louis
 
 THE DREAM 13 
 
 Franchomme, both of them makers of artificial flowers 
 in Paris. 
 
 ' Ah ! I understand,' said Hubertine. ' You were 
 ill, and so they took you back to Paris.' 
 
 But no, that was not the case, and the Huberts did 
 not know the whole history until they had drawn it, 
 little by little, from Angelique. Louis Franchomme, 
 who was a cousin of Maman Nini, went to pass a month 
 in his native village when recovering from a fever. It 
 was then that his wife, Theresa, became very fond of the 
 child, and obtained permission to take her to Paris, 
 where she could be taught the trade of making flowers. 
 Three months later her husband died, and she herself, 
 being delicate in health, was obliged to leave the city 
 and to go to her brother's, the tanner Rubier, who was 
 settled at Beaumont. She, alas ! died in the early days 
 of December, and confided to her sister-in-law the little 
 girl, who since that time had been injured, beaten, and, 
 in short, suffered martyrdom. 
 
 ' The Rabiers ? ' said Hubert. ' The Rabiers ? Yes, 
 yes ! They are tanners on the banks of the Ligneul, in 
 the lower town. The husband is lame, and the wife is 
 a noted scold.' 
 
 ' They treated me as if I came from the gutter,' con- 
 tinued Angelique, revolted and enraged in her mortified 
 pride. ' They said the river was the best place for me. 
 After she had beaten me nearly to death, the woman 
 would put something on the floor for me to eat, as if I 
 were a cat, and many a time I went to bed suffering 
 from hunger. Oh ! I could have killed myself at last ! ' 
 She made a gesture of furious despair. 
 
 'Yesterday, Christmas morning, they had been 
 drinking, and, to amuse themselves, they threatened to
 
 14 THE DREAM 
 
 put out my eyes. Then, after a while, they began to 
 fight with each other, and dealt such heavy blows that 
 I thought they were dead, as they both fell on the floor 
 of their room. For a long time I had determined to 
 run away. But I was anxious to have my book. 
 Maman Nini had often said, in showing it to me : "Look, 
 this is all that you own, and if you do not keep this you 
 will not even have a name." And I know that since the 
 death of Maman Theresa they had hid it in one of the 
 bureau drawers. So stepping over them as quietly as 
 possible, while they were lying on the floor, I got the 
 book, hid it under my dress-waist, pressing it against 
 me with my arm. It seemed so large that I fancied 
 everyone must see^it, and that it would be taken from 
 me. Oh ! I ran,-and ran, and ran, and when night came 
 it was so darki Oh ! how cold I was under the poor 
 shelter of that g^feat door ! Oh dear ! I was so cold, it 
 seemed as if I were dead. But never mind now, for I 
 did not once let go of my book, and here it is.' And 
 with a sudden movement, as the Huberts closed it to 
 give it back to her, she snatched it from them. Then, 
 sitting down, she put her head on the table, sobbing 
 deeply as she laid her cheek on the light red cover. 
 Her pride seemed conquered by an intense humility. 
 Her whole being appeared to be softened by the sight 
 of these few leaves with their rumpled corners her 
 solitary possession, her one treasure, and the only tie 
 which connected her with the life of this world. She 
 could not relieve her heart of her great despair ; her 
 tears flowed continually, and under this complete sur- 
 render of herself she regained her delicate looks and 
 became again a pretty child. Her slightly oval face was 
 pure in its outlines, her violet eyes were made a little
 
 THE DREAM 15 
 
 paler from emotion, and the curve of her neck and 
 shoulders made her resemble a little virgin on a church 
 window. At length she seized the hand of Hubertine, 
 pressed it to her lips most caressingly, and kissed it 
 passionately. 
 
 The Huberts were deeply touched, and could scarcely 
 speak. They stammered : ' Dear, dear child ! ' 
 
 She was not, then, in reality bad ! Perhaps with 
 affectionate care she could be corrected of this violence 
 of temper which had so alarmed them. 
 
 In a tone of entreaty the poor child exclaimed : 
 ' Do not send me back to those dreadful people ! Oh, 
 do not send me back again ! ' 
 
 The husband and wife looked at each other for a 
 few moments. In fact, since the \snjtumn they had 
 planned taking as an apprentice some young girl who 
 would live with them, and thus bring a little brightness 
 into their house, which seemed so dull without children. 
 And their decision was soon made. 
 
 ' Would you like it, my dear ? ' Hubert asked. 
 
 Hubertine replied quietly, in her calm voice: 'I 
 would indeed.' 
 
 Immediately they occupied themselves with the 
 necessary formalities. The husband went to the Justice 
 of Peace of the northern district of Beaumont, who was 
 cousin to his wife, the only relative with whom she had 
 kept up an acquaintance, and told him all the facts of 
 the case. He took charge of it, wrote to the Hospice 
 of Abandoned Children where, thanks to the registered 
 number, Angelique was easily recognised and obtained 
 permission for her to remain as apprentice with the 
 Huberts, who were well known for their honourable 
 position.
 
 1 6 THE DREAM 
 
 The Sub-Inspector of the Hospice, on coming to 
 verify the little book, signed the new contract as witness 
 for Hubert, by which the latter promised to treat the 
 child kindly, to keep her tidy, to send her to school and 
 to church, and to give her a good bed to herself. On 
 the other side, the Administration agreed to pay him 
 all indemnities, and to give the child certain stipulated 
 articles of clothing, as was their custom. 
 
 In ten days all was arranged. Angelique slept up- 
 stairs in a room under the roof, by the side of the garret, 
 and the window of which overlooked the garden. She 
 had already taken her first lessons in embroidery. The 
 first Sunday morning after she was in her new home, 
 before going to mass, Hubertine opened before her the 
 old chest in the working-room, where she kept the fine 
 gold thread. She held up the little book, then, placing 
 it in the back part of one of the drawers, said : ' Look ! 
 I have put it here. I will not hide it, but leave it 
 where you can take it if you ever wish to do so. It 
 is best that you should see it, and remember where 
 it is.' 
 
 On entering the church that day, Angelique found 
 herself again under the doorway of Saint Agnes. During 
 the week there had been a partial thaw, then the cold 
 weather had returned to so intense a degree that the 
 snow which had half melted on the statues had con- 
 gealed itself in large bunches or in icicles. Now, the 
 figures seemed dressed in transparent robes of ice, with 
 lace trimmings like spun glass. Dorothea was holding 
 a torch, the liquid droppings of which fell upon her 
 hands. Cecilia wore a silver crown, in which glistened 
 the most brilliant of pearls. Agatha's nude chest was 
 protected by a crystal armour. And the scenes in the
 
 THE DREAM 17 
 
 tympanum, the little virgins in the arches, looked as if 
 they had been there for centuries, behind the glass and 
 jewels of the shrine of a saint. Agnes herself let trail 
 behind her her court mantle, threaded with light and 
 embroidered with stars. Her lamb had a fleece of 
 diamonds, and her palm-branch had become the colour 
 of heaven. The whole door was resplendent in the 
 purity of intense cold. 
 
 Angelique recollected the night she had passed 
 there under the protection of these saints. She raised 
 her head and smiled upon them.
 
 1 8 THE DREAM 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 BEAUMONT is composed of two villages, completely 
 separated and quite distinct one from the other 
 Beaumont-l'Eglise, on the hill, with its old Cathedral 
 of the twelfth century, its Bishop's Palace which dates 
 only from the seventeenth century, its inhabitants, 
 scarcely one thousand in number, who are crowded 
 together in an almost stifling way in its narrow streets ; 
 and Beaumont-la- Ville, at the foot of the hill, on the 
 banks of the Ligneul, an ancient suburb, which the 
 success of its manufactories of lace and of fine cambric 
 has enriched and enlarged to such an extent that it 
 has a population of nearly ten thousand persons, several 
 public squares, and an elegant sub-prefecture built in 
 the modern style. These two divisions, the northern 
 district and the southern district, have thus no longer 
 anything in common except in an administrative way. 
 Although scarcely thirty leagues from Paris, where one 
 can go by rail in two hours, Beaumont-l'Eglise seems 
 to be still immured in its old ramparts, of which, how- 
 ever, only three gates remain. A stationary, peculiar 
 class of people lead there a life similar to that which 
 their ancestors had led from father to son during the 
 past five hundred years. 
 
 The Cathedral explains everything, has given birth
 
 THE DREAM ig 
 
 to and preserved everything. It is the mother, the 
 queen, as it rises in all its majesty in the centre of, and 
 above, the little collection of low houses, which, like 
 shivering birds, are sheltered under her wings of stone. 
 One lives there simply for it, and only by it. There is 
 no movement of business activity, and the little trades- 
 men only sell the necessities of life, such as are abso- 
 lutely required to feed, to clothe, and to maintain the 
 church and its clergy ; and if occasionally one meets 
 some private individuals, they are merely the last re- 
 presentatives of a scattered crowd of worshippers. The 
 church dominates all ; each street is one of its veins ; 
 the town has no other breath than its own. On that 
 account, this spirit of another age, this religious torpor 
 from the past, makes the cloistered city which sur- 
 rounds it redolent with a savoury perfume of peace 
 and of faith. 
 
 And in all this mystic place, the house of the 
 Huberts, where Angelique was to live in the future, 
 was the one nearest to the Cathedral, and which clung 
 to it as if in reality it were a part thereof. The per- 
 mission to build there, between two of the great 
 buttresses, must have been given by some vicar long 
 ago, who was desirous of attaching to himself the 
 ancestors of this line of embroiderers, as master chasuble- 
 makers and furnishers for the Cathedral clergy. On the 
 southern side, the narrow garden was barred by the 
 colossal building ; first, the circumference of the side 
 chapels, whose windows overlooked the flower-beds, and 
 then the slender, long nave, that the flying buttresses 
 supported, and afterwards the high roof covered with 
 sheet lead. 
 
 The sun never penetrated to the lower part of this 
 
 02
 
 20 ^ THE DREAM 
 
 garden, where ivy and box alone grew luxuriantly ; yet 
 the eternal shadow there was very soft and pleasant as 
 it fell from the gigantic brow of the apse a religious 
 shadow, sepulchral and pure, which had a good odour 
 about it. In the greenish half-light of its calm freshness, 
 the two towers let fall only the sound of their chimes. 
 But the entire house fcept the quivering therefrom, 
 sealed as it was to these old stones, melted into them and 
 supported by them. It trembled at the least of the 
 ceremonies ; at the High Mass, the rumbling of the organ, 
 the voices of the choristers, even the oppressed sighs of 
 the worshippers, murmured through each one of its 
 rooms, lulled it as if with a holy breath from the Invisible, 
 and at times through the half-cool walls seemed to 
 come the vapours from the burning incense. 
 
 For five years Angelique lived and grew there, as if 
 in a cloister, far away from the world. She only went out 
 to attend the seven-o'clock Mass on Sunday mornings, 
 as Hubertine had obtained permission for her to study 
 at home, fearing that, if sent to school, she might not 
 always have the best of associates. This old dwelling, 
 so shut in, with its garden of a dead quiet, was her world. 
 She occupied as her chamber a little whitewashed room 
 under the roof; she went down in the morning to her 
 breakfast in the kitchen, she went up again to the 
 working-room in the second story to hr embroidery. 
 And these places, with the turning stone stairway of the 
 turret, were the only corners in which she passed her 
 time ; for she never went into the Huberts' apartments, 
 and only crossed the parlour on the first floor, and they 
 were the two rooms which had been rejuvenated and 
 modernised. In the parlour, the beams were plastered 
 over, and the ceiling had been decorated with a palm-
 
 THE DREAM 21 
 
 leaf cornice, accompanied by a rose centre ; the wall- 
 paper dated from the First Empire, as well as the white 
 marble chimney-piece and the mahogany furniture, which 
 consisted of a sofa and four armchairs covered with 
 Utrecht velvet, a centre table, and a cabinet. 
 
 On the rare occasions when she went there, to add to 
 the articles exposed for sale some new bands of em- 
 broidery, if she cast her eyes without, she saw through 
 the window the same unchanging vista, the narrow street 
 ending at the portal of Saint Agnes ; a parishioner 
 pushing open the little lower door, which shut itself 
 without any noise, and the shops of the plate-worker 
 and wax-candle-maker opposite, which appeared to be 
 always empty, but where was a good display of holy 
 sacramental vessels, and long lines of great church tapers. 
 And the cloistral calm of all Beaumont-l'Eglise of the 
 Rue Magloire, back of the Bishop's Palace, of the Grande 
 Rue, where the Rue des Orfevres began, and of the 
 Place du Cloitre, where rose up the two towers, was felt 
 in the drowsy air, and seemed to fall gently with the 
 pale daylight on the deserted pavement. 
 
 Hubertine had taken upon herself the charge of the 
 education of Angelique. Moreover, she was very old- 
 fashioned in her ideas, and maintained that a woman 
 knew enough if she could read well, write correctly, and 
 had studied thoroughly the first four rules of arithmetic. 
 But even for this limited instruction she had constantly 
 to contend with an unwillingness on the part of her 
 pupil, who, instead of giving her attention to her books, 
 preferred looking out of the windows, although the 
 recreation was very limited, as she could see nothing but 
 the garden from them. In reality, Angelique cared 
 only for reading ; notwithstanding in her dictations,
 
 22 THE DREAM 
 
 chosen from some classic writer, she never succeeded in 
 spelling a page correctly, yet her handwriting was ex- 
 ceedingly pretty, graceful, and bold, one of those ir- 
 regular styles which were quite the fashion long ago. 
 As for other studies, of geography and history and 
 cyphering, she was almost completely ignorant of them. 
 What good would knowledge ever do her ? It was really 
 useless, she thought. Later on, when it was time for 
 her to be Confirmed, she learned her Catechism word for 
 word, and with so fervent an ardour that she astonished 
 everyone by the exactitude of her memory. 
 
 Notwithstanding their gentleness, during the first 
 year the Huberts were often discouraged. Angelique, 
 who promised to be skilful in embroidering, disconcerted 
 them by sudden changes to inexplicable idleness after 
 days of praiseworthy application. She was capricious, 
 seemed to lose her strength, became greedy, would steal 
 sugar to eat when alone, and her cheeks were flushed and 
 her eyes looked wearied under their reddened lids. If 
 reproved, she would reply with a flood of injurious words. 
 Some days, when they wished to try to subdue her, her 
 foolish pride at being interfered with would throw her 
 into such serious attacks that she would strike her feet 
 and her hands together, and seemed ready to tear her 
 clothing, or to bite anyone who approached her. At 
 such moments they drew away from her, for she was 
 like a little monster ruled by the evil spirit within 
 her. 
 
 Who could she be ? Where did she come from ? 
 Almost always these abandoned children are the offspring 
 of vice. Twice they had resolved to give her up and 
 send her back to the Asylum, so disco uraged were they 
 and so deeply did they regret having taken her. But
 
 Menial labour was imposed upon her.
 
 THE DREAM 23 
 
 each time these frightful scenes, which almost made the 
 house tremble, ended in the same deluge of tears, and 
 the same excited expressions and acts of penitence, when 
 the child would throw herself on the floor, begging them 
 so earnestly to punish her, that they were obliged to 
 forgive her. 
 
 Little by little, Hubertine gained great authority 
 over her. She was peculiarly adapted for such a task, 
 with her kind heart, her gentle firmness, her common- 
 sense and her uniform temper. She taught her the duty 
 of obedience, and the sin of pride and of passion. To obey 
 was to live. We must obey God, our parents, and our 
 superiors. There waa a whole hierarchy of respect, 
 outside of which existence was unrestrained and dis- 
 orderly. So, after each fit of passion, that she might 
 learn humility, some menial labour was imposed upon 
 her as a penance, such as washing the cooking-utensils, 
 or wiping up the kitchen floor ; and, until it was finished, 
 she would remain stooping over her work, enraged at 
 first, but conquered at last. 
 
 With the little girl excess seemed to be a marked 
 characteristic in everything, even in her caresses. Many 
 times Hubertine had seen her kissing her hands with 
 vehemence. She would often be in a fever of ecstasy 
 before the little pictures of saints and of the Child Jesus, 
 which she had collected ; and one evening she was found 
 in a half-fainting state, with her head upon the table, 
 and her lips pressed to those of the images. When 
 Hubertine confiscated them there was a terrible scene of 
 tears and cries, as if she herself were being tortured. 
 After that she was held very strictly, was made to obey, 
 and her freaks were at once checked by keeping her 
 busy at her work ; as soon as her cheeks grew very red,
 
 24 THE DREAM 
 
 her eyes dark, and she had nervous tremblings, 
 everything was immediately made quiet about her. 
 
 Moreover, Hubertine had found an unexpected aid 
 in the book given by the Society for the Protection of 
 Abandoned Children. Every three months, when the 
 collector signed it, Angelique was very low-spirited for 
 the rest of the day. If by chance she saw it when she 
 went to the drawer for a ball of gold thread, her heart 
 seemed pierced with agony. And one day, when in a 
 fit of uncontrollable fury, which nothing had been able 
 to conquer, she turned over the contents of the drawer, 
 she suddenly appeared as if thunderstruck before the 
 red-covered book. Her sobs stifled her. She threw 
 herself at the feet of the Huberts in great humility, 
 stammering that they had made a mistake at giving her 
 shelter, and that she was not worthy of all their kindness. 
 From that time her anger was frequently restrained by 
 the sight or the mention of the book. 
 
 In this way Angelique lived until she was twelve 
 years of age and ready to be Confirmed. The calm life 
 of the household, the little old-fashioned building sleeping 
 under the shadow of the Cathedral, perfumed with incense, 
 and penetrated with religious music, favoured the slow 
 amelioration of this untutored nature, this wild flower, 
 taken from no one knew where, and transplanted in the 
 mystic soil of the narrow garden. Added to this was 
 the regularity of her daily work and the utter ignorance 
 of what was going on in the world, without even an echo 
 from a sleepy quarter penetrating therein. 
 
 But, above all, the gentlest influence came from the 
 great love of the Huberts for each other, which seemed 
 to be enlarged by some unknown, incurable remorse. 
 He passed the days in endeavouring to make his wife
 
 THE DREAM 25 
 
 forget the injury lie had done her in marrying her in 
 spite of the opposition of her mother. He had realised 
 at the death of their child that she half accused him of 
 this punishment, and he wished to be forgiven. She 
 had done so years ago, and now she idolised him. 
 Sometimes he was not sure of it, and this doubt saddened 
 his life. He wished they might have had another infant, 
 and so feel assured that the obstinate mother had been 
 softened after death, and had withdrawn her malediction. 
 That, in fact, was their united desire a child of pardon ; 
 and he worshipped his wife with a tender love, ardent 
 and pure as that of a betrothed. If before the apprentice 
 he did not even kiss her hand, he never entered their 
 chamber, even after twenty years of marriage, without 
 an emotion of gratitude for all the happiness that had 
 been given him. This was their true home, this room 
 with its tinted paintings, its blue wall-paper, its pretty 
 hangings, and its walnut furniture. Never was an 
 angry word uttered therein, and, as if from a sanctuary, 
 a sentiment of tenderness went out from its occupants, 
 and filled the house. It was thus for Angelique an 
 atmosphere of affection and love, in which she grew and 
 thrived. 
 
 An unexpected event finished the work of forming 
 her character. As she was rummaging one morning in 
 a corner of the working-room, she found on a shelf, 
 among implements of embroidery which were no longer 
 used, a very old copy of the ' Golden Legend,' by Jacques 
 de Voragine. This French translation, dating from 
 1549, must have been bought in the long ago by some 
 master-workman in church vestments, on account of the 
 pictures, full of useful information upon the Saints. It 
 was a great while since Angelique had given any
 
 26 THE DREAM 
 
 attention to the little old carved images, showing such 
 childlike faith, which had once delighted her. But now, 
 as soon as she was allowed to go out and play in the 
 garden, she took the book with her. It had been 
 rebound in yellow calf, and was in a good condition. 
 She slowly turned over some of the leaves, then looked 
 at the title-page, in red and black, with the address of 
 the bookseller : ' a Paris, en la rue Neufre Nostre-Dame, 
 a Fenseigne Saint Jehan Baptiste ; ' and decorated with 
 medallions of the four Evangelists, framed at the 
 bottom by the Adoration of the Three Magi, and at the 
 top by the Triumph of Jesus Christ, and His resurrection. 
 And then picture after picture followed; there were 
 ornamented letters, large and small, engravings in the 
 text and at the heading of the chapters ; ' The Annuncia- 
 tion,' an immense angel inundating with rays of light a 
 slight, delicate-looking Mary ; ' The Massacre of the 
 Innocents,' where a cruel Herod was seen surrounded by 
 dead bodies of dear little children ; ' The Nativity/ 
 where Saint Joseph is holding a candle, the light of 
 which falls upon the face of the Infant Jesus, Who sleeps 
 in His mother's arms ; Saint John the Almoner, giving 
 to the poor; Saint Matthias, breaking an idol; Saint 
 Nicholas as a bishop, having at his right hand a little 
 bucket filled with babies. And then, a little farther 
 on, came the female saints : Agnes, with her neck 
 pierced by a sword ; Christina, torn by pincers ; 
 Genevieve, followed by her lambs; Juliana, being 
 whipped; Anastasia, burnt; Maria the Egyptian, 
 repenting in the desert; Mary of Magdalene, carry- 
 ing the vase of precious ointment ; and others and 
 still others followed. There was an increasing terror 
 and a piety in each one of them, making it a history
 
 THE DREAM 27 
 
 which weighs upon the heart and fills the eyes with 
 tears. 
 
 But, little by little, Angelique was curious to know 
 exactly what these engravings represented. The two 
 columns of closely-printed text, the impression of which 
 remained very black upon the papers yellowed by time, 
 frightened her by the strange, almost barbaric look of 
 the Gothic letters. Still, she accustomed herself to it, 
 deciphered these characters, learned the abbreviations 
 and the contractions, and soon knew how to explain the 
 turning of the phrases and the old-fashioned words. 
 At last she could read it easily, and was as enchanted 
 as if she were penetrating a mystery, and she triumphed . 
 over each new difficulty that she conquered. 
 
 Under these laborious shades a whole world of light 
 revealed itself. She entered, as it were, into a celestial 
 splendour. For now the few classic books they owned, 
 so cold and dry, existed no longer. The Legend alone 
 interested her. She bent over it, with her forehead 
 resting on her hands, studying it so intently, that she 
 no longer lived in the real life, but, unconscious of time, 
 she seemed to see, mounting from the depths of the 
 unknown, the broad expansion of a dream. 
 
 How wonderful it all was ! These saints and virgins ! 
 They are born predestined; solemn voices announce 
 their coming, and their mothers have marvellous dreams 
 about them. All are beautiful, strong, and victorious. 
 Great lights surround them, and their countenances are 
 resplendent. Dominic has a star on his forehead. 
 They read the minds of men and repeat their thoughts 
 aloud. They have the gift of prophecy, and their pre- 
 dictions are always realised. Their number is infinite. 
 Among them are bishops and monks, virgins and fallen
 
 38 THE DREAM 
 
 women, beggars and nobles of a royal race, unclothed 
 hermits who live on roots, and old men who inhabit 
 caverns with goats. Their history is always the same. 
 They grow up for Christ, believe fervently in Him, 
 refuse to sacrifice to false gods, are tortured, and die filled 
 with glory. Emperors were at last weary of persecuting 
 them. Andrew, after being attached to the cross, 
 preached during two days to twenty thousand persons. 
 Conversions were made in masses, forty thousand men 
 being baptised at one time. When the multitudes 
 were not converted by the miracles, they fled terrified. 
 The saints were accused of sorcery ; enigmas were pro- 
 posed to them, which they solved at once ; they were 
 obliged to dispute questions with learned men, who 
 remained speechless before them. As soon as they 
 entered the temples of sacrifice the idols were over- 
 thrown with a breath, and were broken to pieces. A 
 virgin tied her sash around the neck of a statue of 
 Venus, which at once fell in powder. The earth 
 trembled. The Temple of Diana was struck by light- 
 ning and destroyed ; and the people revolting, civil 
 wars ensued. Then often the executioners asked to be 
 baptised ; kings knelt at the feet of saints in rags who 
 had devoted themselves to poverty. Sabina flees from 
 the paternal roof. Paula abandons her five children. 
 Mortifications of the flesh and fasts purify, not oil or 
 water. Germanus covers his food with ashes. Bernard 
 cares not to eat, but delights only in the taste of fresh 
 water. Agatha keeps for three years a pebble in her 
 mouth. Augustinus is in despair for the sin he has 
 committed in turning to look after a dog who was run- 
 ing. Prosperity and health are despised, and joy begins 
 with privations which kill the body. And it is thus
 
 THE DREAM 29 
 
 that, subduing all things, they live at last in gardens 
 where the flowers are stars, and where the leaves of the 
 trees sing. They exterminate dragons, they raise and 
 appease tempests, they seem in their ecstatic visions to 
 be borne above the earth. Their wants are provided 
 for while living, and after their death friends are advised 
 by dreams to go and bury them. Extraordinary things 
 happen to them, and adventures far more marvellous 
 than those in a work of fiction. And when their tombs 
 are opened after hundreds of years, sweet odours escape 
 therefrom. 
 
 Then, opposite the saints, behold the evil spirits! 
 
 ' They often fly about us like insects, and fill the 
 air without number. The air is also full of demons, as 
 the rays of the sun are full of atoms. It is even like 
 powder.' And the eternal contest begins. The saints 
 are always victorious, and yet they are constantly obliged 
 to renew the battle. The more the demons are driven 
 away, the more they return. There were counted six 
 thousand six hundred and sixty-six in the body of a 
 woman whom Fortunatus delivered. They moved, they 
 talked and cried, by the voice of the person possessed, 
 whose body they shook as if by a tempest. At each 
 corner of the highways an afflicted one is seen, and the 
 first saint who passes contends with the evil spirits. 
 They enter by the eyes, the ears, and by the mouth, 
 and, after days of fearful struggling, they go out with 
 loud groanings. Basilus, to save a young man, contends 
 personally with the Evil One. Macarius was attacked 
 when in a cemetery, and passed a whole night in 
 defending himself. The angels, even at deathbeds, in 
 order to secure the soul of the dying were obliged to 
 beat the demons. At other times the contests are
 
 30 THE DREAM 
 
 only of the intellect and the mind, but are equally re- 
 markable. Satan, who prowls about, assumes many 
 forms, sometimes disguising himself as a woman, and 
 again, even as a saint. But, once overthrown, he appears 
 in all his ugliness : ' a black cat, larger than a dog, his 
 huge eyes emitting flame, his tongue long, large, and 
 bloody, his tail twisted and raised in the air, and his 
 whole body disgusting to the last degree.' He is the 
 one thing that is hated, and the only preoccupation. 
 People fear him, yet ridicule him. One is not even 
 honest with him. In reality, notwithstanding the 
 ferocious appearance of his furnaces, he is" the eternal 
 dupe. All the treaties he makes are forced from him 
 by violence or cunning. Feeble women throw him 
 down : Margaret crushes his head with her feet, and 
 Juliana beats him with her chain. From all this a 
 serenity disengages itself, a disdain of evil, since it is 
 powerless, and a certainty of good, since virtue triumphs. 
 It is only necessary to cross one's self, and the Devil can 
 do no harm, but yells and disappears, while the infernal 
 regions tremble. 
 
 Then, in this combat of legions of saints against 
 Satan are developed the fearful sufferings from persecu- 
 tion. The executioners expose to the flies the martyrs 
 whose bodies are covered with honey ; they make them 
 walk with bare feet over broken glass or red-hot coals ; 
 put them in ditches with reptiles ; chastise them with 
 whips, whose thongs are weighted with leaden balls ; 
 nail them when alive in coffins, which they throw into 
 the sea ; hang them by their hair, and then set fire to 
 them ; moisten their wounds with quicklime, boiling 
 pitch, or molten lead ; make them sit on red-hot iron 
 stools ; burn their sides with torches ; break their
 
 THE DREAM 31 
 
 bones on wheels, and torture them in every conceivable 
 way. And, with all this, physical pain counts for 
 nothing ; indeed, it seems to be desired. Moreover, a 
 continual miracle protects them. John drinks poison 
 but is unharmed. Sebastian smiles although pierced 
 with arrows ; sometimes they remain in the air at the 
 right or left of the martyr, or, launched by the archer, 
 they return upon himself and put out his eyes. Molten 
 lead is swallowed as if it were ice-water. Lions pros- 
 trate themselves, and lick their hands as gently as 
 lambs. The gridiron of Saint Lawrence is of an agree- 
 able freshness to him. He cries, ' Unhappy man, you 
 have roasted one side, turn the other and then eat, for 
 it is sufficiently cooked.' Cecilia, placed in a boiling 
 bath, is refreshed by it. Christina exhorts those who 
 would torture her. Her father had her whipped by 
 twelve men, who at last drop from fatigue ; she is 
 then attached to a wheel, under which a fire is kindled, 
 and the flame, turning to one side, devours fifteen hun- 
 dred persons. She is then thrown into the sea, but the 
 angels support her ; Jesus comes to baptise her in per- 
 son, then gives her to the charge of Saint Michael, that 
 he may conduct her back to the earth ; after that she 
 is placed for five days in a heated oven, where she 
 suffers not, but sings constantly. Vincent, who was ex- 
 posed to still greater tortures, feels them not. His 
 limbs are broken, he is covered with red-hot irons, he is 
 pricked with needles, he is placed on a brazier of live 
 coals, and then taken back to prison, where his feet are 
 nailed to a post. Yet he still lives, and his pains are 
 changed into a sweetness of flowers, a great light fills 
 his dungeon, and angels sing wjth him, giving him rest 
 as if he were on a bed of roses. The sweet sound of
 
 32 THE DREAM 
 
 singing and the fresh odour of flowers spread without in 
 the room, and when the guards saw the miracle they 
 were converted to the faith, and when Dacian heard of 
 it, he was greatly enraged, and said, ' Do nothing more 
 to him, for we are conquered.' Such was the excitement 
 among the persecutors, it could only end either by their 
 conversion or by their death. Their hands are paralysed ; 
 they perish violently ; they are choked by fish-bones ; 
 they are struck by lightning, and their chariots are 
 broken. In the meanwhile, the cells of the martyrs are 
 resplendent. Mary and the Apostles enter them at will, 
 although the doors are bolted. Constant aid is given, 
 apparitions descend from the skies, where angels are 
 waiting, holding crowns of precious stones. Since 
 death seems joyous, it is not feared, and their friends are 
 glad when they succumb to it. On Mount Ararat 
 ten thousand are crucified, and at Cologne eleven thou- 
 sand virgins are massacred by the Huns. In the cir- 
 cuses they are devoured by wild beasts. Quirique, who, 
 by the influence of the Holy Spirit, taught like a man, 
 suffered martyrdom when but three years of age. 
 Nursing-children reproved the executioners. The hope 
 for celestial happiness deadened the physical senses and 
 softened pain. Were they torn to pieces, or burnt, they 
 minded it not. They never yielded, and they called for 
 the sword, which alone could kill them. Eulalia, when, 
 at the stake, breathes the flame that she may die the 
 more quickly. Her prayer is granted, and a white dove 
 flies from her mouth and bears her soul to heaven. 
 
 Angelique marvelled greatly at all these accounts. 
 So many abominations and such triumphant joy de- 
 lighted her and carried, her out of herself. 
 
 But other points in this Legend, of quite a different
 
 THE DREAM 33 
 
 nature, also interested her ; the animals, for instance, of 
 which there were enough to fill an Ark of Noah. She 
 liked the ravens and the eagles who fed the hermits. 
 
 Then what lovely stories there were about the lions. 
 The serviceable one who found a resting-place in a field 
 for Mary the Egyptian ; the flaming lion who protected 
 virgins or maidens in danger ; and then the lion of 
 Saint Jerome, to whose care an ass had been confided, 
 and, when the animal was stolen, went in search of him 
 and brought him back. There was also the penitent 
 wolf, who had restored a little pig he had intended eat- 
 ing. Then there was Bernard, who excommunicates 
 the flies, and they drop dead. Remi and Blaise feed 
 birds at their table, bless them, and make them strong. 
 Francis, ' filled with a dove-like simplicity,' preaches to 
 them, and exhorts them to love God. A bird was on a 
 branch of a fig-tree, and Francis, holding out his hand, 
 beckoned to it, and soon it obeyed, and lighted on his 
 hand. And he said to it, ' Sing, my sister, and praise 
 the Lord.' And immediately the bird began to sing, 
 and did not go away until it was told to do so. 
 
 All this was a continual source of recreation to 
 Angelique, and gave her the idea of calling to the 
 swallows, and hoping they might come to her. 
 
 Afterwards, there were certain accounts which she 
 could not re-read without almost feeling ill, so much 
 did she laugh. 
 
 The good giant Christopher, who carried the Infant 
 Christ on his shoulders, delighted her so much as to 
 bring tears to her eyes. 
 
 She was very merry over the misadventures of a 
 certain Governor with the three chambermaids of 
 Anastasia, whom he hoped to have found in the kitchen, 
 
 D
 
 34 THE DREAM 
 
 where he kissed the stove and the kettles, thinking he 
 was embracing them. 'He went out therefrom very 
 black and ugly, and his clothes quite smutched. And 
 when his servants, who were waiting, saw him in such a 
 state, they thought he was the Devil. Then they beat 
 him with birch-rods, and, running away, left him alone.' 
 
 But that which convulsed her most with laughter, 
 was the account of the blows given to the Evil One 
 himself, especially when Juliana, having been tempted 
 by him in her prison cell, administered such an extra- 
 ordinary chastisement with her chain. ' Then the 
 Provost commanded that Juliana should be brought 
 before him ; and when she came into his presence, she 
 was drawing the Devil after her, and he cried out, say- 
 ing, " My good lady Juliana, do not hurt me any more !" 
 She led him in this way around the public square, and 
 afterwards threw him into a deep ditch.' 
 
 Often Angelique would repeat to the Huberts, as 
 they were all at work together, legends far more 
 interesting than any fairy-tale. She had read them over 
 so often that she knew them by heart, and she told in a 
 charming way the story of the Seven Sleepers, who, to 
 escape persecution, walled themselves up in a cavern, 
 where they slept three hundred and seventy-seven years, 
 and whose awakening greatly astonished the Emperor 
 Theodosius. Then the Legend of Saint Clement with 
 its endless adventures, so unexpected and touching, 
 where the whole family, father, mother, and three sons, 
 separated by terrible misfortunes, are finally re-united 
 in the midst of the most beautiful miracles. 
 
 Her tears would flow at these recitals. She dreamed 
 of them at night, she lived, as it were, only in this tragic 
 and triumphant world of prodigy, in a supernatural
 
 THE DREAM 35 
 
 country where all virtues are recompensed by all 
 imaginable joys. 
 
 When Angelique partook of her first Communion, it 
 seemed as if she were walking, like the saints, a little 
 above the earth. She was a young Christian of the 
 primitive Church ; she gave herself into the hands of 
 God, having learned from her book that she could not 
 be saved without grace. 
 
 The Huberts were simple in their profession of faith. 
 They went every Sunday to Mass, and to Communion 
 on all great fete-days, and this was done with the 
 tranquil humility of true belief, aided a little by tradi- 
 tion, as the chasubliers had from father to son always 
 observed the Church ceremonies, particularly those at 
 Easter. 
 
 Hubert himself had a tendency to imaginative 
 fancies. He would at times stop his work and let fall 
 his frame to listen to the child as she read or repeated 
 the legends, and, carried away for the moment by her 
 enthusiasm, it seemed as if his hair were blown about 
 by the light breath of some invisible power. He was so 
 in sympathy with Angelique, and associated her to such 
 a degree with the youthful saints of the past, that he 
 wept when he saw her in her white dress and veil. This 
 day at church was like a dream, and they returned home 
 quite exhausted. Hubertine was obliged to scold them 
 both, for, with her excellent common-sense, she disliked 
 exaggeration even in good things. 
 
 From that time she had to restrain the zeal of 
 Angelique, especially her tendency to what she thought 
 was charity, and to which she wished to devote herself. 
 Saint Francis had wedded poverty ; Julien the Chaplain 
 had called the poor his superiors ; Gervasius and Protais 
 
 D2
 
 36 THE DREAM 
 
 had washed the feet of the most indigent, and Martin 
 had divided his cloak with them. So she, following the 
 example of Lucy, wished to sell everything that she 
 might give. At first she disposed of all her little 
 private possessions, then she began to pillage the house. 
 But at last she gave without judgment and foolishly. 
 One evening, two days after her Confirmation, being 
 reprimanded for having thrown from the window several 
 articles of underwear to a drunken woman, she had a 
 terrible attack of anger like those when she was young ; 
 then, overcome by shame, she was really ill and forced 
 to keep her bed for a couple of days.
 
 THE DREAM 37 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IN the meanwhile, weeks and months went by. Two 
 years had passed. Angelique was now fourteen years 
 of age and quite womanly. When she read the ' Golden 
 Legend,' she would have a humming in her ears, the 
 blood circulated quickly through the blue veins near her 
 temples, and she felt a deep tenderness towards all these 
 virgin saints. 
 
 Maidenhood is sister of the angels, the union of all 
 good, the overthrow of evil, the domain of faith. It 
 gives grace, it is perfection, which has only need to 
 show itself to conquer. The action of the Holy Spirit 
 rendered Lucy so heavy that a thousand men and five 
 pair of oxen could not drag her away from her home. 
 An officer who tried to kiss Anastasia was struck blind. 
 Under torture, the purity of the virgins is always 
 powerful ; from their exquisite white limbs, torn by 
 instruments, milk flows instead of blood. Ten different 
 times the story is told of the young convert who, to 
 escape from her family, who wish her to marry against 
 her will, assumes the garb of a monk, is accused of some 
 misdeed, suffers punishment without indicating herself, 
 and at last triumphs by announcing her name. Eugenia 
 is in this way brought before a judge, whom she re- 
 cognises as her father and reveals herself to him. Ex-
 
 38 THE DREAM 
 
 ternally the combat of chastity recommences ; always 
 the thorns reappear. Thus the wisest saints shrink 
 from being tempted. As the world is filled with snares, 
 hermits flee to the desert, where they scourge them- 
 selves, throw themselves on the snow, or in beds of 
 prickly herbs. A solitary monk covers his fingers with 
 his mantle, that he may aid his mother in crossing a 
 creek. A martyr bound to a stake, being tempted by 
 a young girl, bites off his tongue with his teeth and 
 spits it at her. All glorify the state of single blessed- 
 ness. Alexis, very wealthy and in a high position, 
 marries, but leaves his wife at the church-door. One 
 weds only to die. Justina, in love with Cyprianus, 
 converts him, and they walk together to their punish- 
 ment. Cecilia, beloved by an angel, reveals the secret 
 to Valerian on their wedding-day, and he, that he may 
 see the spirit, consents to be baptised. He found in 
 his room Cecilia talking with the angel, who held in his 
 hand two wreaths of roses, and, giving one to Cecilia 
 and one to Valerian, he said, ' Keep these crowns, like 
 your hearts, pure and unspotted.' In. many cases it was 
 proved that death was stronger than love, and couples 
 were united only as a challenge to existence. It was 
 said that even the Virgin Mary at times prevented 
 betrothals from ending in a marriage. A nobleman, a 
 relative of the King of Hungary, renounced his claims 
 to a young girl of marvellous beauty on this account. 
 ' Suddenly our Blessed Lady appeared, and said to him : 
 " If I am indeed so beautiful as you have called me, why 
 do you leave me for another ? " And he became a most 
 devout man for the rest of his life.' 
 
 Among all this saintly company, Angelique had her 
 preferences, and there were those whose experiences
 
 THE DREAM 39 
 
 touched her to the heart, and helped her to correct her 
 failings. Thus the learned Catherine, of high birth, 
 enchanted her by her great scientific knowledge, when, 
 only eighteen years of age, she was called by the Empe- 
 ror Maximus to discuss certain questions with fifty 
 rhetoricians and grammarians. She astonished and 
 convinced them. ' They were amazed and knew not 
 what to say, but they remained quiet. And the Emperor 
 blamed them for their weakness in allowing themselves 
 to be so easily conquered by a young girl.' The fifty 
 professors then declared that they were converted. ' And 
 as soon as the tyrant heard that, he had so terrible a fit 
 of anger, that he commanded they should all be burned 
 to death in the public square.' In her eyes Catherine 
 was the invincible learned woman, as proud and dazzling 
 in intellect as in beauty, just as she would have liked 
 to be, that she might convert men, and be fed in prison 
 by a dove, before having her head cut off. But Saint 
 Elizabeth, the daughter of the King of Hungary, was 
 for her a constant teacher and guide. Whenever she 
 was inclined to yield to her violent temper, she thought 
 of this model of gentleness and simplicity, who was at 
 five years of age very devout, refusing to join her play- 
 mates in their sports, and sleeping on the ground, 
 that, in abasing herself, she might all the better render 
 homage to God. Later, she was the faithful, obedient 
 wife of the Landgrave of Thuringia, always showing to 
 her husband a smiling face, although she passed her 
 nights in tears. When she became a widow she was 
 driven from her estates, but was happy to lead the life 
 of poverty. ' Her dress was so thin from use, that she 
 wore a grey mantle, lengthened out by cloth of a dif- 
 ferent shade. The sleeves of her jacket had been torn,
 
 46 THE DREAM 
 
 and were mended with a material of another colour. 
 The king, her father, wishing her to come to him, sent 
 for her by a Count. And when the Count saw her 
 clothed in such a way and spinning, overcome with 
 surprise and grief, he exclaimed : * Never before did one 
 see the daughter of a Royal House in so miserable a 
 garb, and never was one known to spin wool until now.' 
 So Christian and sincere was her humility, that she ate 
 black bread with the poorest peasants, nursed them 
 when ill, dressed their sores without repugnance, put on 
 coarse garments like theirs, and followed them in the 
 church processions with bare feet. She was once wash- 
 ing the porringers and the utensils of the kitchen, when 
 the maids, seeing her so out of place, urged her to desist, 
 but she replied, ( Could I find another task more menial 
 even than this, I would do it.' Influenced by her ex- 
 ample, Angelique, who was formerly angry when obliged 
 to do any cleaning in the kitchen, now tried to invent 
 some extremely disagreeable task when she felt nervous 
 and in need of control. 
 
 But more than Catherine, more than Elizabeth, far 
 nearer and dearer to her than all the other saints, was 
 Agnes, the child-martyr ; and her heart leaped with joy 
 on refinding in the ' Golden Legend ' this virgin, clothed 
 with her own hair, who had protected her under the 
 Cathedral portal. What ardour of pure love, as she 
 repelled the son of the Governor when he accosted her 
 on her way from school ! ' Go leave me, minister of 
 death, commencement of sin, and child of treason ! ' 
 How exquisitely she described her beloved ! ' I love 
 the One whose Mother was a Virgin, and whose father 
 was faithful to her, at whose beauty the sun and moon 
 marvelled, and at whose touch the dead were made
 
 TffJS DREAM 41 
 
 alive.' And when Aspasien commanded that ' her throat 
 should be cut by the sword,' she ascended into Paradise 
 to be united to her ' betrothed, whiter and purer than 
 silver-gilt.' 
 
 Always, when weary or disturbed, Angelique called 
 upon and implored her, and it seemed as if peace came 
 to her at once. She saw her constantly near her, and 
 often she regretted having done or thought of things 
 which would have displeased her. 
 
 One evening as she was kissing her hands, a habit 
 which she still at times indulged in, she suddenly 
 blushed and turned away, although she was quite alone, 
 for it seemed as if the little saint must have seen her. 
 Agnes was her guardian angel. 
 
 Thus, at fifteen Angelique was an adorable child. 
 Certainly, neither the quiet, laborious life, nor the 
 soothing shadows of the Cathedral, nor the legends of 
 the beautiful saints, had made her an angel, a creature 
 of absolute perfection. She was often angry, and certain 
 weaknesses of character showed themselves, which had 
 never been sufficiently guarded against ; but she was 
 always ashamed and penitent if she had done wrong, 
 for she wished so much to be perfect. And she was so 
 human, so full of life, so ignorant, and withal so pure 
 in reality. 
 
 One day, on returning from a long excursion which 
 the Huberts allowed her to take twice a year, on Pente- 
 cost Monday and on Assumption Day, she took home 
 with her a sweetbriar bush, and then amused herself 
 by replanting it in the narrow garden. She trimmed 
 it and watered it well : it grew and sent out long 
 branches, filled with odour. With her usual intensity, 
 she watched it daily, but was unwilling to have it
 
 42 THE DREAM 
 
 grafted, as she wished to see if, by some miracle, it 
 could not be made to bear roses. She danced around 
 it, she repeated constantly : ' This bush is like me ; it is 
 like me ! ' And if one joked her upon her great wild- 
 rose bush, she joined them in their laughter, although a 
 little pale, and with tears almost ready to fall. Her 
 violet-coloured eyes were softer than ever, her half- 
 opened lips revealed little white teeth, and her oval face 
 had a golden aureole from her light wavy hair. She 
 had grown tall without being too slight ; her neck and 
 shoulders were exquisitely graceful ; her chest was full, 
 her waist flexible ; and gay, healthy, of a rare beauty, 
 she had an infinite charm, arising from the innocence 
 and purity of her soul. 
 
 Every day the affection of the Huberts for her in- 
 creased. They often talked together of their mutual 
 wish to adopt her. Yet they took no active measures 
 in that way, lest they might have cause to regret it. 
 One morning, when the husband announced his final 
 decision, his wife suddenly began to weep bitterly. 
 To adopt a child ? Was not that the same as giving 
 up all hope of having one of their own ? Yet it was 
 useless for them to expect one now, after so many years 
 of waiting, and she gave her consent, in reality delighted 
 that she could call her her daughter. When Angelique 
 was spoken to on the subject, she threw her arms 
 around their necks, kissed them both, and was almost 
 choked with tears of joy. 
 
 So it was agreed upon that she was always to re- 
 main with them in this house, which now seemed to be 
 filled with her presence, rejuvenated by her youth, and 
 penetrated by her laughter. But an unexpected ob- 
 stacle was met with at the first step. The Justice of
 
 THE DREAM 43 
 
 the Peace, Monsieur Grandsire, on being consulted, 
 explained to them the radical impossibility of adoption, 
 since by law the adopted must be ' of age.' Then, 
 seeing their disappointment, he suggested the expe- 
 dient of a legal guardianship : any individual over fifty 
 years of age can attach to himself a minor of fifteen 
 years or less by a legal claim, on becoming their official 
 protector. The ages were all right, so they were de- 
 lighted, and accepted. It was even arranged that they 
 should afterwards confer the title of adoption upon 
 their ward by way of their united last will and testa- 
 ment, as such a thing would be permitted by the Code. 
 Monsieur Grandsire, furnished with the demand of the 
 husband and the authorisation of the wife, then put 
 himself in communication with the Director of Public 
 Aid, the general guardian for all abandoned children, 
 whose consent it was necessary to have. Great in- 
 quiries were made, and at last the necessary papers 
 were placed in Paris, with a certain Justice of the 
 Peace chosen for the purpose. And all was ready ex- 
 cept the official report which constitutes the legality of 
 guardianship, when the Huberts suddenly were taken 
 with certain scruples. 
 
 Before receiving Angelique into their family, ought 
 not they to ascertain if she had any relatives on her 
 side ? Was her mother still alive ? Had they the 
 right to dispose of the daughter without being abso- 
 lutely sure that she had willingly been given up and 
 deserted ? Then, in reality, the unknown origin of the 
 child, which had troubled them long ago, came back to 
 them now and made them hesitate. They were so tor- 
 mented by this anxiety that they could not sleep. 
 
 Without any more talk, Hubert unexpectedly an-
 
 41 THE DREAM 
 
 nounced that he was going to Paris. Such a journey 
 seemed like a catastrophe in his calm existence. He 
 explained the necessity of it to Angelique, by speaking 
 of the guardianship. He hoped to arrange everything 
 in twenty-four hours. But once in the city, days 
 passed ; obstacles arose on every side. He spent a 
 week there, sent from one to another, really doing 
 nothing, and quite discouraged. In the first place, he 
 was received very coldly at the Office of Public Assist- 
 ance. The rule of the Administration is that children 
 shall not be told of their parents until they are of age. 
 So for two mornings in succession he was sent away 
 from the office. He persisted, however, explained the 
 matter to three secretaries, made himself hoarse in 
 talking to an under-officer, who wished to counsel him 
 that he had no official papers. The Administration 
 were quite ignorant. A nurse had left the child there, 
 'Angelique Marie,' without naming the mother. In 
 despair he was about to return to Beaumont, when a 
 new idea impelled him to return for the fourth time to 
 the office, to see the book in which the arrival of the 
 infant had been noted down, and in that way to have 
 the address of the nurse. That proved to be quite an 
 undertaking. But at last he succeeded, and found it 
 was a Madame Foucart, and that in 1850 she lived on 
 the Rue des Deux-Ecus. 
 
 Then he recommenced his huntiug up and down. 
 The end of the Rue des Deux-Ecus had been de- 
 molished, and no shopkeeper in the neighbourhood 
 recollected ever having heard of Madame Foucart. He 
 consulted the directory, but there was no such name. 
 Looking at every sign as he walked along, he called 
 on one after another, and at last, in this way, he had
 
 THE DREAM 45 
 
 the good fortune to find an old woman, who exclaimed, 
 in answer to his questions, 'What ! do I know Madame 
 Foucart ? A most honourable person, but one who has 
 had many misfortunes. She lives on the Rue de Cen- 
 sier, quite at the other end of Paris.' He hastened 
 there at once. 
 
 Warned by experience, he determined now to be 
 diplomatic. But Madame Foucart, an enormous woman, 
 would not allow him to ask questions in the good order 
 he had arranged them before going there. As soon as 
 he mentioned the two names of the child, she seemed 
 to be eager to talk, and she related its whole history in 
 a most spiteful way. ' Ah ! the child was alive ! Very 
 well; she might flatter herself that she had for a 
 mother a most famous hussy ? Yes, Madame Sidonie, 
 as she was called since she became a widow, was a 
 woman of a good family, having, it is said, a brother 
 who was a minister, but that did not prevent her from 
 being very bad.' And she explained that she had 
 made her acquaintance when she kept, on the Rue 
 Saint-Honore, a little shop where they dealt in fruit 
 and oil from Provence, she and her husband, when 
 they came from Plassans, hoping to make their fortune 
 in the city. The husband died and was buried, and 
 soon after Madame Sidonie had a little daughter, which 
 she sent at once to the hospital, and never after even 
 inquired for her, as she was ' a heartless woman, cold 
 as a protest and brutal as a sheriffs aid.' A fault 
 can be pardoned, but not ingratitude ! Was not it true 
 that, obliged to leave her shop as she was so heavily in 
 debt, she had been received and cared for by Madame 
 Foucart ? And when in her turn she herself had fallen 
 into difficulties, she had never been able to obtain from
 
 46 THE DREAM 
 
 Madame Sidonie, even the month's board she owed her, 
 nor the fifteen francs she had once lent her. To-day 
 the ' hateful thing ' lived on the Eue de Faubourg- 
 PoissonniSre, where she had a little apartment of three 
 rooms. She pretended to be a cleaner and mender of 
 lace, but she sold a good many other things. Ah ! 
 yes ! such a mother as that it was best to know nothing 
 about ! 
 
 An hour later, Hubert was walking round the house 
 where Madame Sidonie lived. He saw through the 
 window a woman, thin, pale, coarse-looking, wearing an 
 old black gown, stained and greased. Never could the 
 heart of such a person be touched by the recollection 
 of a daughter whom she had only seen on the day of 
 its birth. He concluded it would be best not to repeat, 
 even to his wife, many things that he had just learned. 
 Still he hesitated. Once more he passed by the place, 
 and looked again. Ought not he to go in, to intro- 
 duce himself, and to ask the consent of the unnatural 
 parent ? As an honest man, it was for him to judge if 
 he had the right of cutting the tie there and for ever. 
 Brusquely he turned his back, hurried away, and re- 
 turned that evening to Beaumont. 
 
 Hubertine had just learned that the proces-vei-bal at 
 Monsieur Grandsire's, for the guardianship of the child, 
 had been signed. And when Angelique threw herself 
 into Hubert's arms, he saw clearly by the look of sup- 
 plication in her eyes, that she had understood the true 
 reason of his journey. 
 
 Then he said quietly : ' My child, your mother is 
 not living.' Angelique wept, as she kissed him most 
 affectionately. After this the subject was not referred 
 to. She was their daughter.
 
 THE DREAM 47 
 
 At Whitsuntide, this year, the Huberts had taken 
 Angelique with them to lunch at the ruins of the 
 Chateau d'Hautecocur, which overlooks the Ligneul, 
 two leagues below Beaumont ; and, after the day spent 
 in running and laughing in the open air, the young 
 girl still slept when, the next morning, the old house- 
 clock struck eight. 
 
 Hubertine was obliged to go up and rap at her 
 door. 
 
 ' Ah, well ! little lazy child ! We have already had 
 our breakfast, and it is late.' 
 
 Angelique dressed herself quickly and went down 
 to the kitchen, where she took her rolls and coffee 
 alone. Then, when she entered the workroom, where 
 Hubert and his wife had just seated themselves, after 
 having arranged their frames for embroidery, she 
 said: 
 
 ' Oh ! how soundly I did sleep ! I had quite for- 
 gotten that we had promised to finish this chasuble 
 for next Sunday.' 
 
 This workroom, the windows of which opened upon 
 the garden, was a large apartment, preserved almost en- 
 tirely in its original state. The two principal beams of 
 the ceiling, and the three visible cross-beams of sup- 
 port, had not even been whitewashed, and they were 
 blackened by smoke and worm-eaten, while, through 
 the openings of the broken plaster, here and there, the 
 laths of the inner joists could be seen. On one of the 
 stone corbels, which supported the beams, was the date 
 1463, without doubt the date of the construction of 
 the building. The chimney-piece, also in stone, broken 
 and disjointed, had traces of its original elegance, with 
 its slender uprights, its brackets, its frieze with a
 
 48 THE DREAM 
 
 cornice, and its basket-shaped funnel terminating in a 
 crown. On the frieze could be seen even now, as if 
 softened by age, an ingenious attempt at sculpture, in 
 the way of a likeness of Saint Clair, the patron of 
 embroiderers. But this chimney was no longer used, 
 and the fireplace had been turned into an open closet 
 by putting shelves therein, on which were piles of de- 
 signs and patterns. The room was now heated by a 
 great bell-shaped cast-iron stove, the pipe of which, 
 after going the whole length of the ceiling, entered an 
 opening made expressly for it in the wall. The doors, 
 already shaky, were of the time of Louis XIV. The 
 original tiles of the floor were nearly all gone, and had 
 been replaced, one by one, by those of a later style. It 
 was nearly a hundred years since the yellow walls had 
 been coloured, and at the top of the room they were 
 almost of a greyish white, and, lower down, were 
 scratched and spotted with saltpetre. Each year there 
 was talk of repainting them, but nothing had yet been 
 done, from a dislike of making any change. 
 
 Hubertine, busy at her work, raised her head as 
 Angelique spoke and said : 
 
 ' You know that if our work is done on Sunday, 
 I have promised to give you a basket of pansies for 
 your garden.' 
 
 The young girl exclaimed gaily : ' Oh, yes ! that is 
 true. Ah, well ! I will do my best then ! But where 
 is my thimble ? It seems as if all working implements 
 take to themselves wings and fly away, if not in con- 
 stant use.' 
 
 She slipped the old doigtier of ivory on the second 
 joint of her little finger, and took her place on the other 
 side of the frame, opposite to the window.
 
 49 
 
 Since the middle of the last century there had not 
 been the slightest modification in the fittings and 
 arrangements of the workroom. Fashions changed, the 
 art of the embroiderer was transformed, but there was 
 still seen fastened to the wall the chantlate, the great 
 piece of wood where was placed one end of the frame 
 or work, while the other end was supported by a mov- 
 able trestle. In the corners were many ancient tools 
 a little machine called a ' diligent,' with its wheels and 
 its long pins, to wind the gold thread on the reels with- 
 out touching it ; a hand spinning-wheel ; a species of 
 pulley to twist the threads which were attached to the 
 wall; rollers of various sizes covered with silks and 
 threads used in the crochet embroidery. Upon a shelf 
 was spread out an old collection of punches for the 
 spangles, and there was also to be seen a valuable relic, 
 in the shape of the classic chandelier in hammered 
 brass which belonged to some ancient master-work- 
 man. On the rings of a rack made of a nailed leather 
 strap were hung awls, mallets, hammers, irons to cut 
 the vellum, and roughing chisels of bogwood, which 
 were used to smooth the threads as fast as they were 
 employed. And yet again, at the foot of the heavy 
 oaken table on which the cutting-out was done, was a 
 great winder, whose two movable reels of wicker held 
 the skeins. Long chains of spools of bright-coloured 
 silks strung on cords were hung near the case of 
 drawers. On the floor was a large basket filled with 
 empty bobbins. A pair of great shears rested on the 
 straw seat of one of the chairs, and a ball of cord had 
 just fallen on the floor, half unwound. 
 
 ' Oh ! what lovely weather ! What perfect weather ! '
 
 50 THE DREAM 
 
 continued Angelique. ' It is a pleasure simply to live 
 and to breathe.' 
 
 And before stooping to apply herself to her work, 
 she delayed another moment before the open window, 
 through which entered all the beauty of a radiant May 
 morning.
 
 THE DREAM 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE sun shone brightly on the roof of the Cathedral, a 
 fresh odour of lilacs came up from the bushes in the 
 garden of the Bishop. Angelique smiled, as she stood 
 there, dazzled, and as if bathed in the springtide. 
 Then, starting as if suddenly awakened from sleep, she 
 said : 
 
 ' Father, I have no more gold thread for my work.' 
 
 Hubert, who had just finished pricking the tracing 
 of the pattern of a cope, went to get a skein from the 
 case of drawers, cut it, tapered off the two ends by 
 scratching the gold which covered the silk, and he 
 brought it to her rolled up in parchment. 
 
 ' Is that all you need ? ' 
 
 Yes, thanks.' 
 
 With a quick glance she had assured herself that 
 nothing more was wanting ; the needles were supplied 
 with the different golds, the red, the green, and the 
 blue; there were spools of every shade of silk; the 
 spangles were ready; and the twisted wires for the 
 gold lace were in the crown of a hat which served as a 
 box, with the long fine needles, the steel pincers, the 
 thimbles, the scissors, and the ball of wax. All these 
 were on the frame even, or on the material stretched 
 therein, which was protected by a thick brown paper.
 
 52 THE DREAM 
 
 She had threaded a needle with the gold thread. 
 But at the first stitch it broke, and she was obliged to 
 thread it again, breaking off tiny bits of the gold, which 
 she threw immediately into the pasteboard waste-basket 
 which was near her. 
 
 ' Now at last I am ready,' she said, as she finished 
 her first stitch. 
 
 Perfect silence followed. Hubert was preparing to 
 stretch some material on another frame. He had 
 placed the two heavy ends on the chantlate and the 
 trestle directly opposite in such a way as to take 
 lengthwise the red silk of the cope, the breadths of 
 which Hubertine had just stitched together, and fitting 
 the laths into the mortice of the beams, he fastened 
 them with four little nails. Then, after smoothing the 
 material many times from right to left, he finished 
 stretching it and tacked on the nails. To assure him- 
 self that it was thoroughly tight and firm, he tapped on 
 the cloth with his fingers and it sounded like a drum. 
 
 Angelique had become a most skilful worker, and 
 the Huberts were astonished at her cleverness and taste. 
 In addition to what they had taught her, she carried 
 into all she did her personal enthusiasm, which gave 
 life to flowers and faith to symbols. Under her hands, 
 silk and gold seemed animated ; the smaller ornaments 
 were full of mystic meaning ; she gave herself up to it 
 entirely, with her imagination constantly active and her 
 firm belief in the infinitude of the invisible world. 
 
 The Diocese of Beaumont had been so charmed with 
 certain pieces of her embroideiy, that a clergyman who 
 was an archaeologist, and another who was an admirer 
 of pictures, had come to see her, and were in raptures 
 before her Virgins, which they compared to the simple,
 
 THE DREAM. 53 
 
 gracious figures of the earliest masters. There was the 
 same sincerity, the same sentiment of the beyond, as if 
 encircled in the minutest perfection of detail. She had 
 the real gift of design, a miraculous one indeed, which, 
 without a teacher, with nothing but her evening studies 
 by lamplight, enabled her often to correct her models, 
 to deviate entirely from them, and to follow her own 
 fancies, creating beautiful things with the point of her 
 needle. So the Huberts, who had always insisted that 
 a thorough knowledge of the science of drawing was 
 necessary to make a good embroiderer, were obliged to 
 yield before her, notwithstanding their long experience. 
 And, little by little, they modestly withdrew into the 
 background, becoming simply her aids, surrendering to 
 her all the most elaborate work, the under part of 
 which they prepared for her. 
 
 From one end of the year to the other, what bril- 
 liant and sacred marvels passed through her hands ! 
 She was always occupied with silks, satins, velvets, or 
 cloths of gold or silver. She embroidered chasubles, 
 stoles, maniples, copes, dalmatics, mitres, banners, and 
 veils for the chalice and the pyx. But, above all, their 
 orders for chasubles never failed, and they worked con- 
 stantly at those vestments, with their five colours : the 
 white, for Confessors and Virgins; the red, for Apostles 
 and Martyrs ; the black, for the days of fasting and for 
 the dead ; the violet, for the Innocents ; and the green, 
 for fete-days. Gold was also often used in place of 
 white or of green. The same symbols were always in 
 the centre of the Cross : the monograms of Jesus and 
 of the Virgin Mary, the triangle surrounded with rays, 
 the lamb, the pelican, the dove, a chalice, a monstrance, 
 a.nd a bleeding heart pierced with thorns ; while higher
 
 54 THE DREAM 
 
 up and on the arms were designs, or flowers, all the 
 ornamentation being in the ancient style, and all the 
 flora in large blossoms, like anemones, tulips, peonies, 
 pomegranates, or hortensias. No season passed in 
 which she did not remake the grapes and thorns sym- 
 bolic, putting silver on black, and gold on red. For 
 the most costly vestments, she varied the pictures of 
 the heads of saints, having, as a central design, the 
 Annunciation, the Last Supper, or the Crucifixion. 
 Sometimes the orfreys were worked on the original 
 material itself; at others, she applied bands of silk or 
 satin on brocades of gold cloth, or of velvet. And all 
 this efflorescence of sacred splendour was created, little 
 by little, by her deft fingers. At this moment the 
 vestment on which Angelique was at work was a chasu- 
 ble of white satin, the cross of which was made by a 
 sheaf of golden lilies intertwined with bright roses, in 
 various shades of silk. In the centre, in a wreath of 
 little roses of dead gold, was the monogram of the 
 Blessed Virgin, in red and green gold, with a great 
 variety of ornaments. 
 
 For an hour, during which-she skilfully finished the 
 little roses, the silence had not been broken even by a 
 single word. But her thread broke again, and she re- 
 threaded her needle by feeling carefully under the 
 frame, as only an adroit person can do. Then, as she 
 raised her head, she again inhaled with satisfaction the 
 pure, fresh air that came in from the garden. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' she said softly, ' how beautiful it was yester- 
 day ! The sunshine is always perfect.' 
 
 Hubertine shook her head as she stopped to wax 
 her thread. 
 
 ' As for me, I am so wearied, it seems as if I had no
 
 THE DREAM 55 
 
 arms, and it tires me to work. But that is not strange, 
 for I so seldom go out, and am no longer young and 
 strong, as you are at sixteen.' 
 
 Angel ique had reseated herself and resumed her 
 work. She prepared the lilies by sewing bits of vellum 
 on certain places that had been marked, so as to give 
 them relief, but the flowers themselves were not to be 
 made until later, for fear the gold be tarnished were 
 the hands moved much over it. 
 
 Hubert, who, having finished arranging the material 
 in its frame, was about drawing with pumice the pattern 
 of the cope, joined in the conversation and said : ' These 
 first warm days of spring are sure to give me a terrible 
 headache.' 
 
 Angelique's eyes seemed to be vaguely lost in the 
 rays which now fell upon one of the flying buttresses of 
 the church, as she dreamily added : ' Oh no, father, I 
 do not think so. One day in the lively air, like yester- 
 day, does me a world of good.' 
 
 Having finished the little golden leaves, she began 
 one of the large roses, near the lilies. Already she had 
 threaded several needles with the silks required, and 
 she embroidered in stitches varying in length, accord- 
 ing to the natural position and movement of the petals, 
 and notwithstanding the extreme delicacy and absorb- 
 ing nature of this work, the recollections of the previous 
 day, which she lived over again in thought and in 
 silence, now came to her lips, and crowded so closely 
 upon each other that she no longer tried to keep them 
 back. So she talked of their setting out upon their 
 expedition, of the beautiful fields they crossed, of their 
 lunch over there in the ruins of Hautecceur, upon the 
 flagstones of a little room whose tumbledown walls
 
 56 THE DREAM 
 
 towered far above the Ligneul, which rolled gently 
 among the willows fifty yards below them. 
 
 She was enthusiastic over these crumbling ruins, 
 and the scattered blocks of stone among the brambles, 
 which showed how enormous the colossal structure must 
 have been as, when first built, it commanded the two 
 valleys. The donjon remained, nearly two hundred 
 feet in height, discoloured, cracked, but nevertheless 
 firm, upon its foundation pillars fifteen feet thick. Two 
 of its towers had also resisted the attacks of Time 
 that of Charlemagne and that of David united by a 
 heavy wall almost intact. In the interior, the chapel, 
 the court-room, and certain chambers were still easily 
 recognised; and all this appeared to have been built 
 by giants, for the steps of the stairways, the sills of the 
 windows, and the benches on the terraces, were all on a 
 scale far out of proportion for the generation of to-day. 
 It was, in fact, quite a little fortified city. Five hun- 
 dred men could have sustained there a siege of thirty 
 months without suffering from want of ammunition or 
 of provisions. For two centuries the bricks of the 
 lowest story had been disjointed by the wild roses ; 
 lilacs and laburnums covered with blossoms the rubbish 
 of the fallen ceilings ; a plane-tree had even grown up 
 in the fireplace of the guardroom. But when, at sunset, 
 the outline of the donjon cast its long shadow over 
 three leagues of cultivated ground, and the colossal 
 Chateau seemed to be rebuilt in the evening mists, one 
 still felt the great strength, and the old sovereignty, 
 which had made of it so impregnable a fortress that 
 even the kings of France trembled before it. 
 
 1 And I am sure,' continued Angelique, ' that it is 
 inhabited by the souls of the dead : who return at night,
 
 THE DREAM 57 
 
 All kinds of noises are heard there ; in every direction 
 are monsters who look at you, and when I turned 
 round as we were coming away, I saw great white 
 figures fluttering above the wall. But, mother, you 
 know all the history of the castle, do you not ? ' 
 
 Hubertine replied, as she smiled in an amused 
 way : ' Oh ! as for ghosts, I have never seen any of 
 them myself.' 
 
 But in reality, she remembered perfectly the his- 
 tory, which she had read long ago, and to satisfy the 
 eager questionings of the young girl, she was obliged 
 to relate it over again. 
 
 The land belonged to the Bishopric of Rheims, 
 since the days of Saint Remi, who had received it 
 from Clovis. 
 
 An archbishop, Severin, in the early years of the 
 tenth century, had erected at Hautecoeur a fortress to 
 defend the country against the Normans, who were 
 coming up the river Oise, into which the Ligneul flows. 
 
 In the following century a successor of Severin 
 gave it in fief to Norbert, a younger son of the house 
 of Normandy, in consideration of an annual quit- 
 rent of sixty sous, and on the condition that the city 
 of Beaumont and its church should remain free and 
 unincumbered. It was in this way that Norbert I. be- 
 came the head of the Marquesses of Hautecoeur, whose 
 famous line from that date became so well known in 
 history. Herve IV., excommunicated twice for his 
 robbery of ecclesiastical property, became a noted high- 
 wayman, who killed, on a certain occasion, with bis own 
 hands, thirty citizens, and his tower was razed to the 
 ground by Louis le Gros, against whom he had dared to 
 declare war. Raoul I., who went to the Crusades with
 
 5 8 THE DREAM 
 
 Philip Augustus, perished before Saint Jean d'Acre, 
 having been pierced through the heart by a lance. But 
 the most illustrious of the race was John V., the Great, 
 who, in 1225, rebuilt the fortress, finishing in less than 
 five years this formidable Chateau of Hautecoeur, under 
 whose shelter he, for a moment, dreamed of aspiring to 
 the throne of France, and after having escaped from 
 being killed in twenty battles, he at last died quietly in 
 his bed, brother-in-law to the King of Scotland. Then 
 came Felician III., who made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem 
 barefooted ; Herve VII., who asserted his claims to the 
 throne of Scotland ; and still many others, noble and 
 powerful in their day and generation, down to Jean 
 IX., who, under Mazarin, had the grief of assisting at 
 the dismantling of the castle. After a desperate siege, 
 the vaults of the towers and of the donjon were blown 
 up with powder, and the different constructions were 
 set on fire ; where Charles VI. had been sent to rest, 
 and to turn his attention from his vagaries, and where, 
 nearly two hundred years later, Henri IV. had passed a 
 week as Gabrielle D'Estress. Thenceforth, all these 
 royal souvenirs had passed into oblivion. 
 
 Angelique, without stopping the movement of her 
 needle, listened eagerly, as if the vision of these past 
 grandeurs rose up from her frame, in proportion as the 
 rose grew there in its delicate life of colour. Her 
 ignorance of general history enlarged facts, and she 
 received them as if they were the basis of a marvellous 
 legend. She trembled with delight, and, transported 
 by her faith, it seemed as if the reconstructed Chateau 
 mounted to the very gates of heaven, and the Haute- 
 coeurs were cousins to the Virgin Mary. 
 
 When there was a pause in the recital she asked,
 
 THE DREAM 59 
 
 ' Is not our new Bishop, Monseigueur d'Hautecoour, a 
 descendant of this noted family ? ' 
 
 Hubertine replied that Monseigneur must belong to 
 the younger branch of the family, as the elder branch 
 had been extinct for a very long time. It was, indeed, 
 a most singular return, as for centuries the Marquesses 
 of Hauteco3ur and the clergy of Beaumont had been 
 hostile to each other. Towards 1150 an abbot under- 
 took to build a church, with no other resources than 
 those of his Order ; so his funds soon gave out, when 
 the edifice was no higher than the arches of the 
 side chapels, and they were obliged to cover the nave 
 with a wooden roof. Eighty years passed, and Jean V. 
 came to rebuild the Chateau, when he gave three hun- 
 dred thousand pounds, which, added to other sums, 
 enabled the work on the church to be continued. The 
 nave was finished, but the two towers and the great 
 front were terminated much later, towards 1430, in the 
 full fifteenth century. To recompense Jean V. for his 
 liberality, the clergy accorded to him, for himself and 
 his descendants, the right of burial in a chapel of the 
 apse, consecrated to St. George, and which, since that 
 time, had been called the Chapel Hautecocur. But 
 these good terms were not of long duration. The free- 
 dom of Beaumont was put in constant peril by the 
 Chateau, and there were continual hostilities on the 
 questions of tribute and of precedence. One especially, 
 the right of paying toll, which the nobles demanded 
 for the navigation of the Ligneul, perpetuated the 
 quarrels. Then it was that the great prosperity of the 
 lower town began, with its manufacturing of fine linen 
 and lace, and from this epoch the fortune of Beaumont 
 increased daily, while that of Hautecocur diminished,
 
 60 THE DREAM 
 
 until the time when the castle was dismantled and the 
 church triumphed. Louis XIV. made of it a cathedral, 
 a bishop's palace was built in the old enclosure of the 
 monks, and, by a singular chain of circumstances, to- 
 day a member of the family of Hautecojur had re- 
 turned as a bishop to command the clergy, who, always 
 powerful, had conquered his ancestors, after a contest of 
 four hundred years. 
 
 ' But,' said Angelique, ' Monseigneur has been 
 married, and has not he a son at least twenty years of 
 
 Hubertine had taken up the shears to remodel one 
 of the pieces of vellum. 
 
 * Yes,' she replied, ' the Abbot Cornille told me the 
 whole story, and it is a very sad history. "When but 
 twenty years of age, Monseigneur was a captain under 
 Charles X. In 1830, when only four-and-twenty, he 
 resigned his position in the army, and it is said that 
 from that time until he was forty years of age he led 
 an adventurous life, travelling everywhere and having 
 many strange experiences. At last, one evening, he 
 met, at the house of a friend in the country, the 
 daughter of the Count de Valencay, Mademoiselle 
 Pauline, very wealthy, marvellously beautiful, and 
 scarcely nineteen years of age, twenty-two years 
 younger than himself. He fell violently in love with 
 her, and, as she returned his affection, there was no 
 reason why the marriage should not take place at 
 once. He then bought the ruins of Hauteco3ur for a 
 mere song ten thousand francs, I believe with the 
 intention of repairing the Chateau and installing his 
 wife therein when all would be in order and in readi- 
 ness to receive her. In the meanwhile they went tg
 
 THE DREAM 6 1 
 
 live on One of his family estates in Anjou, scarcely see- 
 ing any of their friends, and finding in their united 
 happiness the days all too short. But, alas ! at the end 
 of a year Pauline had a son and died. 
 
 Hubert, who was still occupied with marking out 
 his pattern, raised his head, showing a very pale face as 
 he said in a low voice : ' Oh ! the unhappy man ! ' 
 
 ' It was said that he himself almost died from his 
 great grief,' continued Hubertine. ' At all events, 
 a fortnight later he entered into holy Orders, and 
 soon became a priest. That was twenty years ago, 
 and now he is a bishop. But I have also been told 
 that during all this time he has refused to see his 
 son, the child whose birth cost the life of its mother. 
 He had placed him with an uncle of his wife's, 
 an old abbot, not wishing even to hear of him, and 
 trying to forget his existence. One day a picture of 
 the boy was sent him, but in looking at it he found so 
 strong a resemblance to his beloved dead that he fell on 
 the floor unconscious and stiff, as if he had received a 
 blow from a hammer. . . . Now age and prayer have 
 helped to soften his deep grief, for yesterday the good 
 Father Cornille told me that Monseigneur had just 
 decided to send for his son to come to him.' 
 
 Angelique, having finished her rose, so fresh and 
 natural that a perfume seemed to be exhaled from it, 
 looked again through the window into the sunny 
 garden, and, as if in a reverie, she said in a low voice : 
 ' The son of Monseigneur ! ' 
 
 Hubertine continued her story. 
 
 ' It seems that the young man is handsome as a 
 god, and his father wished him to be educated for the 
 priesthood. But the old abbot would not consent to
 
 62 TH DREAM 
 
 that, saying that the youth had not the slightest incli- 
 nation in that direction. And then, to crown all, his 
 wealth, it is said, is enormous. Two million pounds 
 sterling ! Yes, indeed ! His mother left him a tenth 
 of that sum, which was invested in land in Paris, where 
 the increase in the price of real estate has been so 
 great, that to day it represents fifty millions of francs. 
 In short, rich as a king ! ' 
 
 ' Rich as a king, beautiful as a god ! ' repeated 
 Angelique unconsciously, in her dreamy voice. 
 
 And with one hand she mechanically took from the 
 frame a bobbin wound with gold thread, in order to 
 make the open-work centre of one of the large lilies. 
 After having loosened the end from the point of the 
 reel, she fastened it with a double stitch of silk to the 
 edge of the vellum which was to give a thickness to 
 the embroidery. Then, continuing her work, she said 
 again, without finishing her thought, which seemed lost 
 in the vagueness of its desire, ' Oh ! as for me, what I 
 would like, that which I would like above all else ' 
 
 The silence fell again, deep and profound, broken 
 only by the dull sound of chanting which came from 
 the church. Hubert arranged his design by repassing 
 with a little brush all the perforated lines of the draw- 
 ing, and thus the ornamentation of the cope appeared 
 in white on the red silk. It was he who first resumed 
 speaking. 
 
 ' Ah ! those ancient days were magnificent ! Noble- 
 men then wore costumes weighted with embroidery. At 
 Lyons, material was sometimes sold for as much as six 
 hundred francs an ell. One ought to read the by-laws 
 and regulations of the Guild of Master "Workmen, 
 where it is laid down that " The embroiderers of the
 
 TH DREAM 63 
 
 King have always the right to summon, by armed 
 force if necessary, the workmen of other masters." . . . 
 And then we had coats of arms, too ! Azure, a fesse 
 engrailed or, between three fleurs-de-lys of the same, 
 two of them being near the top and the third in the 
 point. Ah ! it was indeed beautiful in the days of long 
 
 He stopped a moment, tapping the frame with his 
 fingers to shake off the dust. Then he continued : 
 
 ' At Beaumont they still have a legend about the 
 Hautecocurs, which my mother often related to me 
 when I was a child. ... A frightful plague ravaged the 
 town, and half of the inhabitants had already fallen 
 victims to it, when Jean V., he who had rebuilt the 
 fortress, perceived that God had given him the power 
 to contend against the scourge. Then he went 011 foot 
 to the houses of the sick, fell on his knees, kissed them, 
 and as soon as his lips had touched them, while he said, 
 " If God is willing, I wish it," the sufferers were healed. 
 And lo ! that is why these words have remained the 
 device of the Hautecocurs, who all have since that day 
 been able to cure the plague. . . . Ah ! what a proud 
 race of men ! A noble dynasty ! Monseigneur him- 
 self is called Jean XII., and the first name of his son 
 must also be followed by a number, like that of a 
 prince.' 
 
 He stopped. Each one of his words lulled and pro- 
 longed the reverie of Angelique. She continued, in a 
 half-singing tone : ' Oh ! what I wish for myself! That 
 which I would like above all else ' 
 
 Holding the bobbin, without touching the thread, 
 she twisted the gold by moving it from left to right 
 alternately on the vellum, fastening it at each turn with
 
 64 THE DREAM 
 
 a stitch in silk. Little by little the great golden lily 
 blossomed out. 
 
 Soon she continued : * Yes, what I would like above 
 all would be to marry a prince a prince whom I had 
 never seen ; who would come towards sunset, just before 
 the waning daylight, and would take me by the hand 
 and lead me to his palace. And I should wish him to 
 be very handsome, as well as very rich ! Yes, the most 
 beautiful and the wealthiest man that had ever been 
 seen on the earth ! He should have superb horses that 
 I could hear neighing under my windows, and jewels 
 which he would pour in streams into my lap, and gold 
 that would fall from my hands in a deluge when I 
 opened them. And what I wish still further is, that 
 this prince of mine should love me to distraction, so 
 that I might also love him desperately. We would 
 then remain very young, very good, and very noble, for 
 ever ! ' 
 
 Hubert, leaving his work, had approached her 
 smilingly ; whilst Hubertine, in a friendly way, shook 
 her finger at the young girl. 
 
 ' Oh, what a vain little creature ! Ah ! ambitious 
 child, you are quite incorrigible. Now, you are quite 
 beside yourself with your need of being a queen. At 
 all events such a dream is much better than to steal 
 sugar and to be impertinent. But really, you must not 
 indulge in such fancies. It is the Evil One who prompts 
 them, and it is pride that speaks, as well as passion.' 
 
 Gay and candid, Angelique looked her in the face as 
 she said : ' But mother, mother mine, what are you 
 saying ? Is it, then, a sin to love that which is rich 
 and beautiful ? I love it because it is rich and beautiful, 
 and so cheers my heart and coul. A beautiful object
 
 THE DREAM 65 
 
 brightens everything that is near it, and helps one to 
 live, as the sun does. You know very well that I am 
 not selfish. Money ? Oh ! you would see what a good 
 use I would make of it, if only I had it in abundance ! 
 I would rain it over the town ; it should be scattered 
 among the miserable. Think what a blessing it would 
 be to have no more poverty ! In the first place, as for 
 you and my father, I would give you everything. You 
 should be dressed in robes and garments of brocades, 
 like the lords and ladies of the olden time.' 
 
 Hubertine shrugged her shoulders and smiled. ' It 
 is ridiculous,' she said. ' But, my dear child, you must 
 remember that you are poor, and that you have not a 
 penny for your marriage-portion. How can you, then, 
 for a moment dream of a prince ? Are you, then, so 
 desirous to marry a prince ? ' 
 
 ' Why should not I wish to marry such a man ? ' 
 And she looked quite amazed, as she continued: ' Marry 
 him ? Of course I would do so. Since he would have 
 plenty of money, what difference would it make if I had 
 none ? I should owe everything to him, and on that 
 very account I should love him all the more deeply.' 
 
 This victorious reasoning enchanted Hubert, who 
 seemed carried above the earth by Angel ique's enthu- 
 siasm. He would willingly have accompanied her on 
 the wings of a cloud to the regions of fancy. 
 
 ' She is right,' he exclaimed. 
 
 But his wife glanced at him reprovingly. She 
 became quite stern. 
 
 ' My child, you will think differently later on, when 
 you know life better.' 
 
 ' Life ? but I know it already.' 
 
 ' How is it possible for you to know it ? You are 
 
 F
 
 66 THE DREAM 
 
 too young ; you are ignorant of evil. Yet evil exists 
 and is very powerful.' 
 
 ' Evil evil ? ' 
 
 Angelique repeated the word very slowly, as if to 
 penetrate its meaning. And in her pure eyes was a look 
 of innocent surprise. Evil ? She knew all about it, 
 for she had read of it in the ' Golden Legend.' Was 
 not evil Satan himself? And had not she seen how, al- 
 though he constantly reappeared, he was always over- 
 thrown ? After every battle he remained crushed to 
 earth, thoroughly conquered, and in a most pitiable 
 state. 
 
 ' Evil ? Ah, mother mine, if you knew how little 1 
 fear it ! It is only necessary once to conquer it, and 
 afterwards life is all happiness.' 
 
 Hubertine appeared troubled and looked anxious. 
 
 * You will make me almost regret having brought you 
 up in this house, alone with us two, and away from the 
 world as it were. I am really afraid that some day we 
 shall regret having kept you in such complete ignorance 
 of the realities of life. What Paradise are you looking 
 for ? What is your idea of the world ? ' 
 
 A look of hope brightened the face of the young girl, 
 while, bending forward, she still moved the bobbin back 
 and forth with a continuous, even motion. 
 
 'You then really think, mother, that I am very 
 foolish, do you not ? This world is full of brave people. 
 When one is honest and industrious, one is always 
 rewarded. I know also that there are some bad people, 
 but they do not count. We do not associate with them, 
 and they are soon punished for their misdeeds. And 
 then, you see, as for the world, it produces on me, from 
 a distance, the effect of a great garden ; yes, of an im-
 
 THE DREAM 67 
 
 mense park, all filled with flowers and with sunshine. 
 It is such a blessing to live, and life is so sweet that it 
 cannot be bad.' 
 
 She grew excited, as if intoxicated by the bright- 
 ness of the silks and the gold threads she manipulated 
 so well with her skilful fingers. 
 
 ' Happiness is a very simple thing. We are happy, 
 are we not ? All three of us ? And why ? Simply 
 because we love each other. Then, after all, it is no 
 more difficult than that ; it is only necessary to love 
 and to be loved. So, you see, when the one I expect 
 really comes, we shall recognise each other immediately. 
 It is true I have not yet seen him, but I know exactly 
 what he ought to be. He will enter here and will say : 
 " I have come in search of you." And I shall reply : 
 " I expected you, and will go with you." He will take 
 me with him, and our future will be at once decided 
 upon. He will go into a palace, where all the furniture 
 will be of gold, encrusted in diamonds. Oh, it is all 
 very simple ! ' 
 
 ' You are crazy ; so do not talk any more,' inter- 
 rupted Hubertine, coldly. 
 
 And seeing that the young girl was still excited, and 
 ready to continue to indulge in her fancies, she con- 
 tinued to reprove her. 
 
 ' I beg you to say no more, for you absolutely make 
 me tremble. Unhappy child ! when we really marry 
 you to some poor mortal you will be crushed, as you 
 fall to earth from these heights of the imagination. 
 Happiness, for the greater part of the world, consists in 
 humility and obedience.' 
 
 Angelique continued to smile with an almost obsti- 
 nate tranquillity. 
 
 p 2
 
 6$ THE DREAM 
 
 1 1 expect him, and he will come.' 
 
 ' But she is right,' exclaimed Hubert, again carried 
 away by her enthusiasm. ' Why need you scold her ? 
 She is certainly pretty, and dainty enough for a king. 
 Stranger things than that have happened, and who 
 knows what may come ? ' 
 
 Sadly Hubertine looked at him with her calm eyes. 
 
 ' Do not encourage her to do wrong, my dear. You 
 know, better than anyone, what it costs to follow too 
 much the impulses of one's heart.' 
 
 He turned deadly pale, and great tears came to 
 the edge of his eyelids. She immediately repented of 
 having reproved him, and rose to offer him her hands. 
 But gently disengaging himself, he said, stammer- 
 ingly: 
 
 ' No, no, my dear ; I was wrong. Angelique, do 
 you understand me ? You must alwajs listen to your 
 mother. She alone is wise, and we are both of us very 
 foolish. I am wrong ; yes, I acknowledge it.' 
 
 Too disturbed to sit down, leaving the cope upon 
 which he had been working, he occupied himself in 
 pasting a banner that was finished, although still in its 
 frame. After having taken the pot of Flemish glue 
 from the chest of drawers, he moistened with a brush 
 the underside of the material, to make the embroidery 
 firmer. His lips still trembled, and he remained 
 quiet. 
 
 But if Angelique, in her obedience, was also still, 
 she allowed her thoughts to follow their course, and her 
 fancies mounted higher and still higher. She showed 
 it in every feature in her mouth, that ecstasy had half 
 opened, as well as in her eyes, where the infinite depth 
 of her visions seemed reflected. Now, this dream of a
 
 THE DREAM 69 
 
 poor girl, she wove it into the golden embroidery. It 
 was for this unknown hero that, little by little, there 
 seemed to grow on the white satin the beautiful great 
 lilies, and the roses, and the monogram of the Blessed 
 Virgin. The stems of the lilies had all the gracious 
 pointings of a jet of light, whilst the long slender 
 leaves, made of spangles, each one being sewed on with 
 gold twist, fell in a shower of stars. In the centre, the 
 initials of Mary were like the dazzling of a relief in 
 massive gold, a marvellous blending of lacework and of 
 embossing, or goffering, which burnt like the glory of a 
 tabernacle in the mystic fire of its rays. And the roses 
 of delicately-coloured silks seemed real, and the whole 
 chasuble was resplendent in its whiteness of satin, which 
 appeared covered almost miraculously with its golden 
 blossoms. 
 
 After a long silence, Angelique, whose cheeks were 
 flushed by the blood which mounted into them from her 
 excitement, raised her head, and, looking at Hubertine, 
 said again, a little maliciously : 
 
 ' I expect him, and he will come.' 
 
 It was absurd for her thus to give loose reins to her 
 imagination. But she was wilful. She was convinced 
 in her own mind that everything would come to pass, 
 eventually, as she wished it might. Nothing could 
 weaken her happy conviction. 
 
 ' Mother,' she added, ' why do you not believe me, 
 since I assure you it must be as I say ? ' 
 
 Hubertine shrugged her shoulders, and concluded 
 the best thing for her to do was to tease her. 
 
 ' But I thought, my child, that you never intended 
 being married. Your saints, who seem to have turned 
 your head, they led single lives. Rather than do other--
 
 70 THE DREAM 
 
 wise they converted their lovers, ran away from their 
 homes, and were put to death,' 
 
 The young girl listened and was confused. But 
 soon she laughed merrily. Her perfect health, and all 
 her love of life, rang out in this sonorous gaiety. ' The 
 histories of the saints ! But that was ages ago ! Times 
 have entirely changed since then. God having so com- 
 pletely triumphed, no longer demands that anyone should 
 die for Him.' 
 
 When reading the Legend, it was the marvels 
 which fascinated her, not the contempt of the world 
 and the desire for death. She added : ' Most certainly 
 I expect to be married ; to love and to be loved, and 
 thus be very happy.' 
 
 ' Be careful, my dear,' said Hubertine, continuing 
 to tease her. ' You will make your guardian angel, 
 Saint Agnes, weep. Do not you know that she refused 
 the son of the Governor, and preferred to die, that she 
 might be wedded to Jesus ? ' 
 
 The great clock of the belfry began to strike ; num- 
 bers of sparrows flew down from an enormous ivy-plant 
 which framed one of the windows of the apse. In the 
 workroom, Hubert, still silent, had just hung up the 
 banner, moist from the glue, that it might dry, on one 
 of the great iron hooks fastened to the wall. 
 
 The sun in the course of the morning had lightened 
 up different parts of the room, and now it shone brightly 
 upon the old tools the diligent, the wicker winder, and 
 the brass chandelier and as its rays fell upon the two 
 workers, the frame at which they were seated seemed 
 almost on fire, with its bands polished by use, and with 
 the various objects placed upon it, the reels of gold cord, 
 the spangles, and the bobbins of silk.
 
 THE DREAM 71 
 
 Then, iu this soft, charming air of spring, Angel- 
 ique looked at the beautiful symbolic lily she had just 
 finished. Opening wide her ingenuous eyes, she replied, 
 with an air of confiding happiness, to Hubertine's last 
 remark in regard to the child-martyr, Saint Agnes : 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! But it was Jesus who wished it to 
 be so.'
 
 72 THE DREAM 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING her thoroughly cheerful nature, 
 Angelique liked solitude ; and it was to her the 
 greatest of recreations to be alone in her room, morn- 
 ing and evening. There she gave herself up to her 
 thoughts ; there she indulged to the full scope in her 
 most joyous fancies. Sometimes even during the day, 
 when she could go there for a moment, she was as 
 happy as if, in full freedom, she had committed some 
 childish prank. 
 
 The chamber was very large, taking in at least half 
 of the upper story, the other half being the garret. 
 It was whitewashed everywhere; not only the walls 
 and the beams, but the joists, even to the visible cop- 
 ings of the mansard part of the roof; and in this bare 
 whiteness, the old oaken furniture seemed almost as 
 black as ebony. At the time of the decoration of the 
 sleeping-room below, and the improvements made in 
 the parlour, the ancient furniture, which had been 
 bought at various epochs, had been carried upstairs. 
 There was a great carved chest of the Renaissance 
 period, a table and chairs which dated from the reign 
 of Louis XIII., an enormous bedstead, style Louis XIV., 
 and a very handsome wardrobe, Louis XY. In the 
 middle of these venerable old things a white porcelain
 
 THE DREAM 73 
 
 stove, and the little toilet-table, covered with a pretty 
 oilcloth, seemed out of place and to mar the dull har- 
 mony. Curtained with an old-fashioned rose-coloured 
 chintz, on which were bouquets of heather, so faded that 
 the colour had become a scarcely perceptible pink, the 
 enormous bedstead preserved above all the majesty of 
 its great age. 
 
 But what pleased Angelique more than anything 
 else was the little balcony on which the window opened. 
 Of the two original windows, one of them, that at the 
 left, had been closed by simply fastening it with nails, 
 and the balcony, which formerly extended across the 
 front of the building, was now only before the window 
 at the right. As the lower beams were still strong, a 
 new floor had been made, and above it an iron railing 
 was firmly attached in place of the old worm-eaten 
 wooden balustrade. This made a charming little 
 corner, a quiet nook under the gable point, the leaden 
 laths of which had been renewed at the beginning of 
 the century. By bending over a little, the whole 
 garden-front of the house could be seen in a very 
 dilapidated state, with its sub-basement of little cut 
 stones, its panels ornamented with imitation bricks, 
 and its large bay window, which to-day had been made 
 somewhat smaller. The roof of the great porch of the 
 kitchen-door was covered with zinc. And above, the 
 interduces of the top, which projected three feet or 
 more, were strengthened by large, upright pieces of 
 wood, the ends of which rested on the string-course of 
 the first floor. All this gave to the balcony an appear- 
 ance of being in a perfect vegetation of timber, as if 
 in the midst of a forest of old wood, which was green 
 with wallflowers and moss.
 
 74 THE DREAM 
 
 Since she occupied the chamber, Angelique had 
 spent many hours there, leaning over the balustrade 
 and simply looking. At first, directly under her was 
 the garden, darkened by the eternal shade of the ever- 
 green box-trees; in the corner nearest the church, a 
 cluster of small lilac-bushes surrounded an old granite 
 bench ; while in the opposite corner, half hidden by a 
 beautiful ivy which covered the whole wall at the end 
 as if with a mantle, was a little door opening upon the 
 Clos-Marie, a vast, uncultivated field. This Clos-Marie 
 was the old orchard of the monks. A rivulet of purest 
 spring-water crossed it, the Chevrotte, where the women 
 who occupied the houses in the neighbourhood had the 
 privilege of washing their linen ; certain poor people 
 sheltered themselves in the ruins of an old tumbledown 
 mill ; and no other persons inhabited this field, which 
 was connected with the Rue Magloire simply by the 
 narrow lane of the Guerdaches, which passed between 
 the high walls of the Bishop's Palace and those of the 
 Hotel Voincourt. In summer, the centenarian elms of 
 the two parks barred with their green-leaved tops the 
 straight, limited horizon which in the centre was cut off 
 by the gigantic brow of the Cathedral. Thus shut in 
 on all sides, the Clos-Marie slept in the quiet peace of 
 its abandonment, overrun with weeds and wild grass, 
 planted with poplars and willows sown by the wind. 
 Among the great pebbles the Chevrotte leaped, singing 
 as it went, and making a continuous music as if of 
 crystal. 
 
 Angelique was never weary of this out-of-the-way 
 nook. Yet for seven years she had seen there each 
 morning only what she had looked at on the previous 
 evening. The trees in the little park of the Hotel 

 
 1
 
 THE DREAM 75 
 
 Voincourt, whose front was on the Grand Rue, were 
 so tufted and bushy that it was only in the winter she 
 could occasionally catch a glimpse of the daughter of 
 the Countess, Mademoiselle Claire, a young girl of her 
 own age. 
 
 In the garden of the Bishop was a still more dense 
 thickness of branches, and she had often tried in vain 
 to distinguish there the violet-coloured cassock of 
 Monseigneur ; and the old gate, with its Venetian slats 
 above and at the sides, must have been fastened up for 
 a very long time, for she never remembered to have 
 seen it opened, not even for a gardener to pass through. 
 Besides the washerwomen in the Clos, she always saw 
 the same poor, ragged little children playing or sleep- 
 ing in the grass. 
 
 The spring this year was unusually mild. She was 
 just sixteen years of age, and until now she had been 
 glad to welcome with her eyes alone the growing green 
 again of the Clos-Marie under the April sunshine. 
 The shooting out of the tender leaves, the transparency 
 of the warm evenings, and all the reviving odours of 
 the earth had simply amused her heretofore. But this 
 year, at the first bud, her heart seemed to beat more 
 quickly. As the grass grew higher and the wind 
 brought to her all the strong perfumes of the fresh 
 verdure, there was in her whole being an increasing 
 agitation. Sudden inexplicable pain would at times 
 seize her throat and almost choke her. One evening 
 she threw herself, weeping, into Hubertine's arms, 
 having no cause whatever for grief, but, on the con- 
 trary, overwhelmed with so great, unknown a happi- 
 ness, that her heart was too full for restraint. In the 
 night her dreams were delightful. Shadows seemed to
 
 76 THE DREAM 
 
 pass before her, and she fell into such an ecstatic state 
 that on awakening she did not dare to recall them, so 
 confused was she by the angelic visions of bliss. Some- 
 times, in the middle of her great bed, she would rouse 
 herself suddenly, her two hands joined and pressed 
 against her breast as if a heavy burden were weighing 
 her down and almost suffocating her. She would then 
 jump up, rush across the room in her bare feet, and, 
 opening the window wide, would stand there, trembling 
 slightly, until at last the pure fresh air calmed her. 
 She was continually surprised at this great change in 
 herself, as if the knowledge of joys and griefs hitherto 
 unknown had been revealed to her in the enchantment 
 of dreams, and that her eyes had been opened to 
 natural beauties which surrounded her. 
 
 What was it really true that the unseen lilacs 
 and laburnums of the Bishop's garden had so sweet an 
 odour that she could no longer breathe it without a 
 flush of colour mounting to her cheeks ? Never before 
 had she perceived this warmth of perfume which now 
 touched her as if with a living breath. 
 
 And again, why had she never remarked in pre- 
 ceding years a great Japanese Paulo wnia in blossom, 
 which looked like an immense violet bouquet as it 
 appeared between two elm-trees in the garden of the 
 Voincourts? This year, as soon as she looked at it, 
 her eyes grew moist, so much was she affected by the 
 delicate tints of the pale purple flowers. She also 
 fancied that the Chevrotte had never chattered so gaily 
 over the pebbles among the willows on its banks. The 
 river certainly talked ; she listened to its vague words, 
 constantly repeated, which filled her heart with trouble. 
 Was it, then, no longer the field of other days, that every-
 
 THE DREAM 97 
 
 thing in it so astonished her and affected her senses in 
 so unusual a way ? Or, rather, was not she herself so 
 changed that, for the first time, she appreciated the 
 beauty of the coming into life of trees and plants ? 
 
 But the Cathedral at her right, the enormous mass 
 which obstructed the sky, surprised her yet more. 
 Each morning she seemed to see it for the first time ; 
 she made constant discoveries in it, and was delighted 
 to think that these old stones lived and had lived like 
 herself. She did not reason at all on the subject, she 
 had very little knowledge, but she gave herself up to 
 the mystic flight of the giant, whose coming into ex- 
 istence had demanded three centuries of time, and 
 where were placed one above the other the faith and the 
 belief of generations. At the foundation, it was kneel- 
 ing as if crushed by prayer, with the Romanesque 
 chapels of the nave, and with the round arched win- 
 dows, plain, unornamented, except by slender columns 
 under the archivolts. Then it seemed to rise, lifting 
 its face and hands towards heaven, with the pointed 
 windows of its nave, built eighty years later; high, 
 delicate windows, divided by mullions on which were 
 broken bows and roses. Then again it sprung from the 
 earth as if in ecstasy, erect, with the piers and flying 
 buttresses of the choir finished and ornamented two 
 centuries after in the fullest flamboyant Gothic, charged 
 with its bell-turrets, spires, and pinnacles. A balus- 
 trade had been added, ornamented with trefoils, border- 
 ing the terrace on the chapels of the apse. Gargoyles 
 at the foot of the flying buttresses carried off the water 
 from the roofs. The top was also decorated with 
 flowery emblems. The whole edifice seemed to burst 
 into blossom in proportion as it approached the sky in
 
 78 THE DREAM 
 
 a continual upward flight, as if, relieved at being de- 
 livered from the ancient sacerdotal terror, it was about 
 to lose itself in the bosom of a God of pardon and of 
 love. It seemed to have a physical sensation which 
 permeated it, made it light and happy, like a sacred 
 hymn it had just heard sung, very pure and holy, as it 
 passed into the upper air. 
 
 Moreover, the Cathedral was alive. Hundreds of 
 swallows had constructed their nests under the borders 
 of trefoil, and even in the hollows of the bell-turrets and 
 the pinnacles, and they were continually brushing their 
 wings against the flying buttresses and the piers which 
 they inhabited. There were also the wood-pigeons of 
 the elms in the Bishop's garden, who held themselves 
 up proudly on the borders of the terraces, going slowly, 
 as if walking merely to show themselves off. Some- 
 times, half lost in the blue sky, looking scarcely larger 
 than a fly, a crow alighted on the point of a spire to 
 smooth its wings. The old stones themselves were ani- 
 mated by the quiet working of the roots of a whole flora 
 of plants, the lichens and the grasses, which pushed 
 themselves through the openings in the walls. On very 
 stormy days the entire apse seemed to awake and to 
 grumble under the noise of the rain as it beat against 
 the leaden tiles of the roof, running off by the gutters 
 of the cornices and rolling from story to story with 
 the clamour of an overflowing torrent. Even the ter- 
 rible winds of October and of March gave to it a soul, 
 a double voice of anger and of supplication, as they 
 whistled through its forests of gables and arcades of 
 roseate ornaments and of little columns. The sun also 
 filled it with life from the changing play of its rays ; 
 from the early morning, which rejuvenated it with a
 
 THE DREAM 79 
 
 delicate gaiety, even to the evening, when, under the 
 slightly lengthened-out shadows, it basked in the un- 
 known. 
 
 And it had its interior existence. The ceremonies 
 with which it was ever vibrating, the constant swinging 
 of its bells, the music of the organ, and the chanting 
 of the priests, all these were like the pulsation of its 
 veins. There was always a living murmur in it : half- 
 lost sounds, like the faint echo of a Low Mass ; the 
 rustling of the kneeling penitents, a slight, scarcely 
 perceptible shivering, nothing but the devout ardour of 
 a prayer said without words and with closed lips. 
 
 Now, as the days grew longer, Angelique passed 
 more and more time in the morning and evening with 
 her elbows on the balustrade of the balcony, side by 
 side with her great friend, the Cathedral. She loved it 
 the best at night, when she saw the enormous mass 
 detach itself like a huge block on the starry skies. The 
 form of the building was lost. It was with difficulty 
 that she could even distinguish the flying buttresses, 
 which were thrown like bridges into the empty space. 
 It was, nevertheless, awake in the darkness, filled with 
 a dream of seven centuries, made grand by the multi- 
 tudes who had hoped or despaired before its altars. It 
 was a continual watch, coming from the infinite of the 
 past, going to the eternity of the future ; the mysterious 
 and terrifying wakefulness of a house where God Him- 
 self never sleeps. And in the dark, motionless, living 
 mass, her looks were sure to seek the window of a 
 chapel of the choir, on the level of the bushes of the 
 Clos-Marie, the only one which was lighted up, and 
 which seemed like an eye which was kept open all the 
 night. Behind it, at the corner of a pillar, was an
 
 86 THE DREAM 
 
 ever-burning altar-lamp. In fact, it was the same 
 chapel which the abbots of old had given to Jean V. 
 d'Hautecceur, and to his descendants, with the right 
 of being buried there, in return for their liberality. 
 Dedicated to Saint George, it had a stained-glass win- 
 dow of the twelfth century, on which was painted the 
 legend of the saint. From the moment of the coming 
 on of twilight, this historic representation came out 
 from the shade, lighted up as if it were an apparition, 
 and that was why Angelique was fascinated, and loved 
 this particular point, as she gazed at it with her dreamy 
 eyes. 
 
 The background of the window was blue and the 
 edges red. Upon this sombre richness of colouring, 
 the personages, whose flying draperies allowed their 
 limbs to be seen, stood out in relief in clear light on 
 the glass. Three scenes of the Legend, placed one 
 above the other, filled the space quite to the upper arch. 
 At the bottom, the daughter of the king, dressed in 
 costly royal robes, on her way from the city to be eaten 
 by the dreadful monster, meets Saint George near the 
 pond, from which the head of the dragon already ap- 
 pears ; and a streamer of silk bears these words : ' Good 
 Knight, do not run any danger for me, as you can 
 neither help me nor deliver me, but will have to perish 
 with me.' Then in the middle the combat takes place, 
 and the saint, on horseback, cuts the beast through and 
 through. This is explained by the following words : 
 ' George wielded so well his lance that he wounded the 
 enemy and threw him upon the earth.' At last, at the 
 top, the Princess is seen leading back into the city the 
 conquered dragon: 'George said, "Tie your scarf 
 around his neck, and do not be afraid of anything, oh
 
 THE DREAM 81 
 
 beautiful maiden, for when you Lave done so he will 
 follow you like a well-trained dog." ' 
 
 When the window was new it must have been sur- 
 mounted in the middle of the arch by an ornamental 
 design. But later, when the chapel belonged to the 
 Hautecoeurs, they replaced the original work by their 
 family coat of arms. And that was why, in the obscure 
 nights, armorial bearings of a more recent date shone 
 out above the painted legend. They were the old family 
 arms of Hautecceur, quartered with the well-known 
 shield of Jerusalem; the latter being argent, a cross 
 potencee, or, between four crosselettes of the same ; 
 and those of the family, azure, a castle, or, on it a 
 shield, sable, charged with a human heart, argent, the 
 whole between three fleurs-de-lys, or ; the shield was 
 supported on the dexter and sinister sides by two 
 wy verns, or ; and surmounted by the silver helmet with 
 its blue feathers, embossed in gold, placed frontwise, and 
 closed by eleven bars, which belongs only to Dukes, 
 Marshals of France, titled Lords and heads of Sove- 
 reign Corporations. And for motto were these words : 
 ' Si Dieu volt, ie vueil.' 
 
 Little by little, from having seen him piercing the 
 monster with his lance, whilst the king's daughter 
 raised her clasped hands in supplication, Angelique 
 became enamoured of Saint George. He was her hero. 
 At the distance where she was she could not well dis- 
 tinguish the figures, and she looked at them as if in the 
 aggrandisement of a dream ; the young girl was slight, 
 was a blonde, and, in short, had a face not unlike her 
 own, while the saint was frank and noble looking, with 
 the beauty of an archangel. It was as if she herself 
 had just been saved, and she could have kissed his 
 
 G
 
 82 THE DREAM 
 
 bauds with gratitude. And to this adventure, of which 
 she dreamed confusedly, of a meeting on the border of 
 a lake and of being rescued from a great danger by a 
 young man more beautiful than the day, was added the 
 recollection of her excursion to the Chateau of Hante- 
 coeur, and a calling up to view of the feudal donjon, in 
 its original state, peopled with the noble lords of olden 
 times. 
 
 The arms glistened like the stars on summer nights ; 
 she knew them well, she read them easily, with their 
 sonorous words, for she was so in the habit of embroider- 
 ing heraldic symbols. There was Jean V., who stopped 
 from door to door in the town ravaged by the plague, 
 and went in to kiss the lips of the dying, and cured 
 them by saying, ' Si Dieu volt,ie vueiL' And FelicianllL, 
 who, forewarned that a severe illness prevented Philippe 
 le Bel from going to Palestine, went there in his place, 
 barefooted and holding a candle in his hand, and for 
 that he had the right of quartering the arms of Jeru- 
 salem with his own. Other and yet other histories 
 came to her mind, especially those of the ladies of Haute- 
 co2ur, the ' happy dead,' as they were called in the 
 Legend. In that family the women die young, in the 
 midst of some great happiness. Sometimes two or three 
 generations would be spared, then suddenly Death 
 would appear, smiling, as with gentle hands he carried 
 away the daughter or the wife of a Hautecceur, the 
 oldest of them being scarcely twenty years of age, at 
 the moment when they were at the height of earthly 
 love and bliss. For instance, Laurette, daughter of 
 Raoul I., on the evening of her betrothal to her cousin 
 Richard, who lived in the castle, having seated herself 
 at her window in the Tower of David, saw him at his
 
 THE DREAM 83 
 
 window in the Tower of Charlemagne, and, thinking she 
 heard him call her, as at that moment a ray of moon- 
 light seemed to throw a bridge between them, she 
 walked toward him. But when in the middle she made 
 in her haste a false step and overpassed the ray, she 
 fell, and was crushed at the foot of the tower. So since 
 that day, each night when the moon is bright and clear, 
 she can be seen walking in the air around the Chateau, 
 which is bathed in white by the silent touch of her 
 immense robe. Then Balbine, wife of Herve VII., 
 thought for six months that her husband had been killed 
 in the wars. But, unwilling to give up all hope, she 
 watched for him daily from the top of the donjon, and 
 when at last she saw him one morning on the highway, 
 returning to his home, she ran down quickly to meet 
 him, but was so overcome with joy, that she fell dead at 
 the entrance of the castle. Even at this day, notwith- 
 standing the ruins, as soon as twilight falls, it is said 
 she still descends the steps, runs from story to story, 
 glides through the corridors and the rooms, and passes 
 like a phantom through the gaping windows which open, 
 into the desert void. All return. Isabeau, Gudule, 
 Vonne, Austreberthe, all these ' happy dead,' loved by 
 the stern messenger, who spared them from the vicissi- 
 tudes of life by taking them suddenly when, in early 
 youth, they thought only of happiness. On certain 
 nights this white-robed band fill the house as if with a 
 flight of doves. To their number had lately been added 
 the mother of the son of Monseigneur, who was found 
 lifeless on the floor by the cradle of her infant, where, 
 although ill, she dragged herself to die, in the fulness 
 of her delight at embracing him. These had haunted 
 the imagination of Angelique ; she spoke of them as if 
 
 o 2
 
 84 THE DREAM 
 
 they were facts of recent occurrence, which might have 
 happened the day before. She had read the names of 
 Laurette and of Balbine on old memorial tablets let 
 into the walls of the chapel. Then why should not she 
 also die young and very happy, as they had ? The 
 armouries would glisten as now, the saint would come 
 down from his place in the stained-glass window, and 
 she would be carried away to heaven on the sweet 
 breath of a kiss. Why not ? 
 
 The ' Golden Legend ' had taught her this : Was not 
 it true that the miracle is really the common law, and 
 follows the natural course of events ? It exists, is active, 
 works with an extreme facility on every occasion, multi- 
 plies itself, spreads itself out, overflows even uselessly, 
 as if for the pleasure of contradicting the self-evident 
 rules of Nature. Its power seems to be on the same 
 plane as that of the Creator. Abrigan, King of Edeese, 
 writes to Jesus, who replies to him. Ignatius receives 
 letters from the Blessed Virgin. In all places the 
 Mother and the Son appear, disguise themselves, and 
 talk with an air of smiling good-nature. When Stephen 
 meets them they are very familiar with him. All the 
 virgins are wed to Jesus, and the martyrs mount to 
 heaven, where they are to be united to Mary. And as 
 for the angels and saints, they are the ordinary com- 
 panions of men. They come, they go, they pass through 
 walls, they appear in dreams, they speak from the 
 height of clouds, they assist at births and deaths, they 
 support those who are tortured, they deliver those who 
 are in prison, and they go on dangerous missions. Fol- 
 lowing in their footsteps is an inexhaustible efflorescence 
 of prodigies. Sylvester binds the mouth of a dragon 
 with a thread. The earth rises to make a seat for
 
 THE DREAM 85 
 
 Hilary, whose companions wished to humiliate him. A 
 precious stone falls into the chalice of Saint Loup. A 
 tree crushes the enemies of Saint Martin ; a dog lets 
 loose a hare, and a great fire ceases to burn at his com- 
 mand. Mary the Egyptian walks upon the sea ; honey- 
 bees fly from the mouth of Ambrosius at his birth. 
 Continually saints cure diseases of the eye, withered 
 limbs, paralysis, leprosy, and especially the plague. 
 There is no disease that resists the sign of the Cross. 
 In a crowd, the suffering and the feeble are placed to- 
 gether, that they may be cured in a mass, as if by a 
 thunderbolt. Death itself is conquered, and resurrections 
 are so frequent that they become quite an everyday 
 affair. And when the saints themselves are dead the 
 wonders do not cease, but are redoubled, and are like 
 perennial flowers which spring from their tombs. It is 
 said that from the head and the feet of Nicholas flowed 
 two fountains of oil which cured every ill. When the 
 tomb of Saint Cecilia was opened an odour of roses came 
 up from her coffin. That of Dorothea was filled with 
 manna. All the bones of virgins and of martyrs per- 
 formed marvels : they confounded liars, they forced 
 robbers to give back their stolen goods, they granted the 
 prayers of childless wives, they brought the dying back 
 to life. Nothing was impossible for them ; in fact the 
 invisible reigned, and the only law was the caprice of 
 the supernatural. In the temples the sorcerers mix 
 themselves up with the popular idea, and scythes cut 
 the grass without being held, brass serpents move, and 
 one hears bronze statues laugh and wolves sing. Im- 
 mediately the saints reply and overwhelm them. The 
 Host is changed into living food, sacred Christian images 
 shed drops of blood, sticks set upright in the ground
 
 86 THE DREAM 
 
 blossom into flower, springs of pure water appear in dry 
 places, warm loaves of bread multiply themselves at the 
 feet of the needy, a tree bows down before some holy 
 person, and so on. Then, again, decapitated heads 
 speak, broken chalices mend themselves, the rain turns 
 aside from a church to submerge a neighbouring palace, 
 the robes of hermits never wear out, but renew them- 
 selves at each season like the skin of a beast. In 
 Armenia at one time the persecutors threw into the sea 
 the leaden coffins of five martyrs, and the one contain- 
 ing the body of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle took 
 the lead, and the four others accompanied it as a guard 
 of honour. So, all together, in regular order, like a fine 
 squadron, they floated slowly along, urged by the breeze, 
 through the whole length of the sea, until they reached 
 the shores of Sicily. 
 
 Angelique was a firm believer in miracles. In her 
 ignorance she lived surrounded by wonders. The rising 
 of the stars, or the opening of a violet ; each fact was a 
 surprise to her. It would have appeared to her simply 
 ridiculous to have imagined the world so mechanical as 
 to be governed by fixed laws. There were so many 
 things far beyond her comprehension, she felt herself so 
 weak and helpless in the midst of forces whose power it 
 was impossible to measure, that she would not even 
 have suspected they existed, had it not been for the 
 great questioning breath which at times passed over 
 her face. So, trusting, and as thoroughly Christian as 
 if belonging to the primitive Church, spiritually fed by 
 her readings from the ' Golden Legend,' she gave herself 
 up entirely into the hands of God, with only the spot of 
 original sin to be cleansed from her soul. She had no 
 liberty of action or freedom of will ; God alone could
 
 THE DREAM 87 
 
 secure her salvation by giving her the gift of His grace. 
 That grace had been already manifested by bringing her 
 to the hospitable roof of the Huberts, where, under the 
 shadow of the Cathedral, she could lead a life of sub- 
 mission, of purity, and of faith. She often heard within 
 her soul the grumblings of hereditary tendency to evil, 
 and asked herself what would have become of her had 
 she been left on her native soil. Without doubt she 
 would have been bad ; while here, in this blessed corner 
 of the earth, she had grown up free from temptation, 
 strong and healthy. Was it not grace that had given 
 her this home, where she was surrounded by such 
 charming histories she had so easily committed to 
 memory, where she had learned such perfect faith in 
 the present and hope in the future, and where the in- 
 visible and unknown, or the miracles of ages, seemed 
 natural to her, and quite on a level with her daily life ? 
 It had armed her for all combats, as heretofore it had 
 armed the martyrs. And she created an imaginary ex- 
 perience for herself almost unknowingly. It was, in 
 fact, the inevitable result of a mind overcharged and 
 excited by fables ; it was increased by her ignorance of 
 the life within and about her, as well as from her lone- 
 liness. She had not had many companions, so all 
 desires went from, her only to return to her. 
 
 Sometimes she was in such a peculiar state that she 
 would put her hands over her face, as if doubting her 
 own identity. Was she herself only an illusion, and 
 would she suddenly disappear some day and vanish into 
 nothingness ? Who would tell her the truth ? 
 
 One evening in the following May, on this same 
 balcony where she had spent so much time in vague 
 dreams, she suddenly broke into tears. She was not
 
 88 THE DREAM 
 
 low-spirited in the least, but it seemed to her as if her 
 anxiety arose from a vain expectation of a visit from 
 someone. Yet who was there to come ? It was very 
 dark ; the Clos-Marie marked itself out like a great 
 black spot under the sky filled with stars, and she could 
 but vaguely distinguish the heavy masses of the old elm- 
 trees of the Bishop's garden, and of the park of the 
 Hotel Voincourt. Alone the window of the chapel 
 sent out a little light. If no one were to come, why did 
 her heart beat so rapidly ? It was nothing new, this 
 feeling of waiting, or of hope, but it was dated from the 
 long ago, from her early youth ; it was like a desire, a 
 looking forward for something which had grown with 
 her growth, and ended in this feverish anxiety of her 
 seventeen years. Nothing would have surprised her, 
 as for weeks she had heard the sound of voices in this 
 mysterious corner, peopled by her imagination. The 
 ' Golden Legend ' had left there its supernatural world of 
 saints and martyrs, and the miracle was all ready to ap- 
 pear there. She understood well that everything was 
 animated, that the voices came from objects hitherto 
 silent ; that the leaves of the trees, the waters of the 
 Chevrotte, and the stones of the Cathedral spoke to her. 
 But what was it that all these whisperings from the 
 invisible wished to explain ? What did these unknown 
 forces above and around her wish to do with her as they 
 floated in the air ? She kept her eyes fixed upon the 
 darkness, as if she were at an appointed meeting with 
 she knew not whom, and she waited, still waited, until 
 she was overcome with sleep, whilst it seemed to her as 
 if some supernatural power were deciding her destiny, 
 irrespective of her will or wish. 
 
 For four evenings Angelique was nervous, and wept
 
 8 9 
 
 a great deal in the darkness. She remained in her 
 usual place and was patient. The atmosphere seemed 
 to envelop her, and as it increased in density it oppressed 
 her more and more, as if the horizon itself had become 
 smaller and was shutting her in. Everything weighed 
 upon her heart. Now there was a dull murmuring of 
 voices in her brain ; yet she was not able to hear them 
 clearly, or to distinguish their meaning. It was as if 
 Nature itself had taken possession of her, and the earth, 
 with the vast heavens above it, had penetrated into her 
 being. At the least sound her hands burned and her 
 eyes tried to pierce the darkness. Was the wonderful 
 event about to take place, the prodigy she awaited ? No, 
 there was nothing yet. It was probably merely the 
 beating of the wings of a night bird. And she listened 
 again, attentively, until she could distinguish the differ- 
 ence of sound between the leaves of the elms and the 
 willows. At least twenty times she trembled violently 
 when a little stone rolled in the rivulet, or a prowling 
 animal jumped over the wall. She leaned forward ; but 
 there was nothing still nothing. 
 
 At last, after some days, when at night a warmer 
 darkness fell from the sky where no moon was visible, 
 a change began. She felt it, but it was so slight, so 
 almost imperceptible, she feared that she might have 
 been mistaken in the little sound she heard, which 
 seemed unlike the usual noises she knew so well. She 
 held her breath, as the sound seemed very long in return- 
 ing. At last it came again, louder than before, but equally 
 confused. She would have said it came from a great 
 distance, that it was a scarcely-defined step, and that 
 the trembling of the air announced the approach of 
 something out of sight and out of hearing. That which
 
 90 THE DREAM 
 
 she was expecting came slowly from the invisible slight 
 movement of what surrounded her. Little by little it 
 disengaged itself from her dream, like a realisation of 
 the vague longings of her youth. Was it the Saint 
 George of the chapel window, who had come down from 
 his place and was walking on the grass in silence to- 
 wards her ? Just then, by chance, the altar-light was 
 dimmed, so that she could not distinguish the faintest 
 outline of the figures on the painted glass, but all 
 seemed like a blue cloud of vapoury mist. That was all 
 she heard or learned at that time of the mystery. 
 
 But on the morrow, at the same hour, by a like ob- 
 scurity, the noise increased and approached a little 
 nearer. It was certainly the sound of steps, of real 
 steps, which walked upon the earth. They would stop 
 for a moment, then recommence here and there, moving 
 up and down, without her being able to say precisely 
 where they were. Perhaps they came from the garden 
 of the Voincourts, where some night pedestrian was 
 lingering under the trees. Or it might be, rather, that 
 they were in the tufted masses of the great lilac-bushes 
 of the park of the Bishop, whose strong perfume made 
 her almost ill. She might do her best to try to pene- 
 trate the darkness, it was only by her hearing that she 
 was forewarned of the coming events, aided a little by 
 her sense of smell, as the perfume of the flowers was 
 increased as if a breath were mingled with it. And so 
 for several nights the steps resounded under the balcony, 
 and she listened as they came nearer, until they reached 
 the walls under her feet. There they stopped, and a 
 long silence followed, until she seemed almost to lose 
 consciousness in this slow embrace of something of 
 which she was ignorant.
 
 THE DREAM 91 
 
 Not long after, she saw one evening the little cres- 
 cent of the new moon appear among the stars. But it 
 soon disappeared behind the brow of the Cathedral, like 
 a bright, living eye that the lid re-covers. She followed 
 it with regret, and at each nightfall she awaited its 
 appearance, watched its growth, and was impatient for 
 this torch which would ere long light up the invisible. 
 In fact, little by little, the Clos-Marie came out from 
 the obscurity, with the ruins of its old mill, its clusters 
 of trees, and its rapid little river. And then, in the light, 
 creation continued. That which came from a vision 
 ended in being embodied. For at first she only per- 
 ceived that a dim shadow was moving under the moon- 
 light. What was it, then ? A branch moved to and 
 fro by the wind ? Or was it a large bat in constant 
 motion ? There were moments when everything dis- 
 appeared, and the field slept in so deathly a stillness 
 that she thought her eyes had deceived her. Soon 
 there was no longer any doubt possible, for a dark ob- 
 ject had certainly just crossed the open space and had 
 glided from one willow-tree to another. It appeared, then 
 disappeared, without her being able exactly to define it. 
 
 One evening she thought she distinguished the dim 
 outline of two shoulders, and at once she turned her 
 eyes towards the chapel window. It had a greyish tint, 
 as if empty, for the moon shining directly upon it had 
 deadened the light within. At that moment she noticed 
 that the living shadow grew larger, as it approached 
 continually nearer and nearer, walking in the grass at 
 the side of the church. In proportion as she realised 
 it was a fact that someone was there, she was overcome 
 by an indefinable sensation, a nervous feeling that one 
 has on being looked at by mysterious unseen eyes.
 
 92 THE DREAM 
 
 Certainly someone was there under the trees who 
 was regarding her fixedly. She had on her hands and 
 face, as it were, a physical impression of those long, 
 ardent, yet timid looks ; but she did not withdraw her- 
 self from them, because she knew they were pure, and 
 came from the enchanted world of which she had read 
 in the ' Golden Legend ' ; and, in the certainty of a pro- 
 mised happiness, her first anxiety was quickly changed 
 into a delicious tranquillity. 
 
 One night, suddenly, on the ground whitened by 
 the moon's rays, the shadow designed itself plainly and 
 clearly. It was indeed that of a man whom she could not 
 see, as he was hidden by the willows. As he did not 
 move, she was able to look for a long time at his shadow. 
 
 From that moment Angelique had a secret. Her 
 bare, whitewashed chamber was filled with it. She 
 remained there for hours lying on her great bed where 
 she seemed lost, she was so little her eyes closed, but 
 not asleep, and seeing continually before her, in her 
 waking dreams, this motionless shadow upon the earth. 
 When she re-opened her eyes at dawn, her looks 
 wandered from the enormous wardrobe to the old carved 
 chest, from the porcelain stove to the little toilet- 
 table, as if surprised at not seeing there the mysterious 
 silhouette, which she could have so easily and precisely 
 traced from memory. In her sleep she had seen it 
 gliding among the pale heather- blossoms on her curtains. 
 In her dreams, as in her waking hours, her mind was 
 filled with it. It was a companion shadow to her own. 
 She had thus a double being, although she was alone 
 with her fancies. 
 
 This secret she confided to no one, not even to 
 Hubertine, to whom, until now, she had always told
 
 THE DREAM 93 
 
 even her thoughts. When the latter, surprised at her 
 gaiety, questioned her, she blushed deeply as she replied 
 that the early spring had made her very happy. From 
 morning to evening she hummed little snatches of song, 
 like a bee intoxicated by the heat of the sun's rays. 
 Never before had the chasubles she embroidered been 
 so resplendent with silk and gold. The Huberts smiled 
 as they watched her, thinking simply that this exuber- 
 ance of spirits came from her state of perfect health. 
 As the day waned she grew more excited, she sang at 
 the rising of the moon, and as soon as the hour arrived 
 she hurried to her balcony, and waited for the shadow 
 to appear. During all the first quarters of the moon 
 she found it exact at each rendezvous, erect and silent. 
 But that was all. What was the cause of it ? Why 
 was it there ? Was it, indeed, only a shadow ? Was 
 not it, perhaps, the saint who had left his window, or 
 the angel who had formerly loved Saint Cecilia, and who 
 had now come to love her in her turn ? Although she 
 was nob vain, these thoughts made her proud, and were 
 as sweet to her as an invisible caress. Then she grew 
 impatient to know more, and her watching recom- 
 menced. 
 
 The moon, at its full, lighted up the Clos-Marie. 
 When it was at its zenith, the trees, under the white 
 rays which fell straight upon them in perpendicular 
 lines, cast no more shadows, but were like running 
 fountains of silent brightness. The whole garden was 
 bathed and filled with a luminous wave as limpid as 
 crystal, and the brilliancy of it was so penetrating that 
 everything was clearly seen, even to the fine cutting of 
 the willow-leaves. The slightest possible trembling of 
 air seemed to wrinkle this lake of rays, sleeping in the
 
 94 THE DREAM 
 
 universal peace among the great elm-trees of the neigh- 
 bouring garden and the gigantic brow of the Cathedral. 
 
 Two more evenings had passed like this, when, on 
 the third night, as Angelique was leaning on her elbows 
 and looking out, her heart seemed to receive a sudden 
 shock. There, in the clear light, she saw him standing 
 before her and looking at her. His shadow, like that 
 of the trees, had disappeared under his feet, and he 
 alone was there, distinctly seen. At this distance she 
 saw as if it were full day that he was tall, slight, a 
 blonde, and apparently about twenty years of age. He 
 resembled either a Saint George or a superb picture 
 of Christ, with his curly hair, his thin beard, his straight 
 nose, rather large, and his proudly-smiling black eyes. 
 And she recognised him perfectly ; never had she seen 
 another like him ; it was he, her hero, and he was ex- 
 actly as she expected to find him. The wonder was at 
 last accomplished ; the slow creation of the invisible 
 had perfected itself in this living apparition, and he 
 came out from the unknown, from the movement of 
 things, from murmuring voices, from the action of the 
 night, from all that had enveloped her, until she almost 
 fainted into unconsciousness. She also saw him as if 
 he were lifted above the earth, so supernatural appeared 
 to be his coming, whilst the miraculous seemed to sur- 
 round him on every side as it floated over the mysterious 
 moon-lake. He had as his escort the entire people of 
 the Legend the' saints whose staffs blossomed, the 
 virgins whose wounds shed milk and the stars seemed 
 to pale before this white group of perfection. 
 
 Angelique continued to look at him. He raised 
 his arms, and held them out, wide open. She was not 
 at all afraid, but smiled sweetly.
 
 THE DREAM 95 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IT was a great affair for the whole household when, 
 every three months, Hubertine prepared the 'lye' for 
 the wash. A woman was hired to aid them, the Mother 
 Gabet, as she was called, and for four days all embroidery 
 was laid aside, while Angelique took her part in the 
 unusual work, making of it a perfect amusement, as she 
 soaped and rinsed the clothes in the clean water of the 
 Chevrotte. The linen when taken from the ashes was 
 wheeled to the Clos-Marie, through the little gate of 
 communication in the garden. There the days were 
 spent in the open air and the sunshine. 
 
 ' I will do the washing this time, mother, for it is 
 the greatest of delights to me.' 
 
 And gaily laughing, with her sleeves drawn up 
 above her elbows, flourishing the beetle, Angelique 
 struck the clothes most heartily in the pleasure of such 
 healthy exercise. It was hard work, but she thoroughly 
 enjoyed it, and only stopped occasionally to say a few 
 words or to show her shiny face covered with foam. 
 
 ' Look, mother ! This makes my arms strong. It 
 does me a world of good.' 
 
 The Chevrotte crossed the field diagonally, at first 
 drowsily, then its stream became very rapid as it was
 
 96 THE DREAM 
 
 thrown in great bubbles over a pebbly descent. It came 
 from the garden of the Bishop, through a species of 
 floodgate left at the foot of the wall, and at the other 
 end it disappeared under an arched vault at the corner 
 of the Hotel Voincourt, where it was swallowed up in 
 the earth, to reappear two hundred yards farther on, 
 as it passed along the whole length of the Rue Basse 
 to the Ligneul, into which it emptied itself. Therefore 
 it was very necessary to watch the linen constantly, for, 
 run as fast as possible, every piece that was once let go 
 was almost inevitably lost. 
 
 ' Mother, wait, wait a little ! I will put this heavy 
 stone on the napkins. We shall then see if the river 
 can carry them away. The little thief ! ' 
 
 She placed the stone firmly, then returned to draw 
 another from the old, tumble-down mill, enchanted to 
 move about and to fatigue herself; and, although she 
 severely bruised her finger, she merely moistened it a 
 little, saying, ' Oh ! that is nothing.' 
 
 During the day the poor people who sheltered them- 
 selves in the ruins went out to ask for charity from the 
 passers-by on the highways. So the Clos was quite 
 deserted. It was a delicious, fresh solitude, with its 
 clusters of pale-green willows, its high poplar-trees, and 
 especially its verdure, its overflowing of deep-rooted 
 wild herbs and grasses, so high that they came up to 
 one's shoulders. A quivering silence came from the 
 two neighbouring parks, whose great trees barred the 
 horizon. After three o'clock in the afternoon the 
 shadow of the Cathedral was lengthened out with a 
 calm sweetness and a perfume of evaporated incense. 
 
 Angelique continued to beat the linen harder still, 
 with all the force of her well-shaped white arms.
 
 THE DREAM 97 
 
 ' Oh, mother dear ! You can have no idea how 
 hungry I shall be this evening ! . . . Ah ! you know 
 that you have promised tP give me a good strawberry- 
 cake.' 
 
 On the day of the rinsing, Angelique was quite 
 alone. The mere Gabet, suffering from a sudden, severe 
 attack of sciatica, had not been able to come as usual, 
 and Hubertine was kept at home by other household 
 cares. 
 
 Kneeling in her little box half filled with straw, the 
 young girl took the pieces one by one, shook them for 
 a long time in the swiftly-rolling stream, until the 
 water was no longer dimmed, but had become as clear 
 as crystal. She did not hurry at all, for since the 
 morning she had been tormented by a great curiosity, 
 having seen, to her astonishment, an old workman in a 
 white blouse, who was putting up a light scaffolding 
 before the window of the Chapel Hautecosur. Could it 
 be that they were about to repair the stained-glass panes ? 
 There was, it must be confessed, great need of doing so. 
 Several pieces were wanting in the figure of Saint 
 George, and in other places, where in the course of 
 centuries panes that had been broken had been replaced 
 by ordinary glass. Still, all this was irritating to her. 
 She was so accustomed to the gaps of the saint who was 
 piercing the dragon with his sword, and of the royal 
 princess as she led the conquered beast along with 
 her scarf, that she already mourned as if one had the 
 intention of mutilating them. It was sacrilege to think 
 of changing such old, venerable things. But when she 
 returned to the field after her lunch, all her angry 
 feelings passed away immediately ; for a second work- 
 man was upon the staging, a young man this time, who
 
 9 8 THE DREAM 
 
 also wore a white blouse. And she had recognised him ! 
 It was he ! Her hero ! 
 
 Gaily, without any embarrassment, Angelique re- 
 sumed her place on her knees on the straw of her box. 
 Then, with her wrists bare, she put her hands in the 
 deep, clear water, and recommenced shaking the linen 
 back and forth. 
 
 Yes, it was he tall, slight, a blonde, with his fine 
 beard and his hair curled like that of a god, his com- 
 plexion as fresh as when she had first seen him under 
 the white shadow of the moonlight. Since it was he, 
 there was nothing to be feared for the window ; were 
 he. to touch it, he would only embellish it. And it was 
 no disappointment to her whatever to find him in this 
 blouse, a workman like herself, a painter on glass, 'no 
 doubt. On the contrary, this fact made her smile, so 
 absolutely certain was she of the eventual fulfilment of 
 her dream of royal fortune. Now, it was simply an 
 appearance, a beginning. What good would it do her 
 to know who he was, from whence he came, or whither 
 he was going ? Some morning he would prove to be 
 that which she expected him to be. A shower of gold 
 would stream from the roof of the Cathedral, a triumphal 
 march would break forth in the distant rumblings of 
 the organ, and all would come true. She did not stay 
 to ask herself how he could always be there, day and 
 night. Yet it was evident either that he must live in 
 one of the neighbouring houses, or he must pass by 
 the lane des Guerdaches, which ran by the side of the 
 Bishop's park to the Eue Magloire. 
 
 Then a charming hour passed by. She bent for- 
 ward, she rinsed her linen, her face almost touching the 
 fresh water ; but each time she took a different piece
 
 THE DREAM 99 
 
 she raised her head, and cast towards the church a 
 look, in which, from the agitation of her heart, was a 
 little good-natured malice. And he, upon the scaffold- 
 ing, with an air of being closely occupied in examining 
 the state of the window, turned towards her, glancing 
 at her sideways, and evidently much disturbed whenever 
 she surprised him doing so. It was astonishing how 
 quickly he blushed, how dark red his face became. At 
 the slightest emotion, whether of anger or interest, all 
 the blood in his veins seemed to mount to his face. He 
 had flashing eyes, which showed will ; yet he was so 
 diffident, that, when he knew he was being criticised, 
 he was embarrassed as a little child, did not seem to 
 know what to do with his hands, and stammered out 
 his orders to the old man who accompanied him. 
 
 As for Angelique, that which delighted her most, as 
 she refreshed her arms in this turbulent water, was to 
 picture him innocent like herself, ignorant of the world, 
 and with an equally intense desire to have a taste of 
 life. There was no need of his telling to others who 
 he was, for had not invisible messengers and unseen 
 lips made known to her that he was to be her own ? 
 She looked once more, just as he was turning his head ; 
 and so the minutes passed, and it was delicious. 
 
 Suddenly she saw that he jumped from the staging, 
 then that he walked backwards quite a distance through 
 the grass, as if to take a certain position from which 
 he could examine the window more easily. But she 
 could not help smiling, so evident was it that he simply 
 wished to approach her. He had made a firm decision, 
 like a man who risks everything, and now it was touch- 
 ing as well as comical to see that he remained standing 
 a few steps from her, his back towards her, not daring 
 
 H 2
 
 loo THE DREAM 
 
 to move, fearing that he had been too hasty in coming 
 so far as he had done. For a moment she thought he 
 would go back again to the chapel-window as he had 
 come from it, without paying any attention to her. 
 However, becoming desperate, at last he turned, and 
 as at that moment she was glancing in his direction, 
 their eyes met, and they remained gazing fixedly at 
 each other. They were both deeply confused ; they lost 
 their self-possession, and might never have been able to 
 regain it, had not a dramatic incident aroused them. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! Oh dear ! ' exclaimed the young girl, in 
 distress. 
 
 In her excitement, a dressing-sacque, which she had 
 been rinsing unconsciously, had just escaped her, and 
 the stream was fast bearing it away. Yet another 
 minute and it would disappear round the corner of the 
 wall of the Voincourt park, under the arched vault 
 through which the Chevrotte passed. 
 
 There were several seconds of anxious waiting. He 
 saw at once what had happened, and rushed forward. 
 But the current, leaping over the pebbles, carried this 
 sacque, which seemed possessed, as it went along, much 
 more rapidly than he. He stooped, thinking he had 
 caught it, but took up only a handful of soapy foam. 
 Twice he failed. The third time he almost fell. Then, 
 quite vexed, with a brave look as if doing something at 
 the peril of his life, he went into the water, and seized 
 the garment just as it was about being drawn under 
 the ground. 
 
 Angelique, who until now had followed the rescue 
 anxiously, quite upset, as if threatened by a great mis- 
 fortune, was so relieved that she had an intense desire 
 to laugh. This feeling was partly nervous, it is true,
 
 77iey were botk confused.
 
 THE DREAM 101 
 
 but not entirely so. For was not this the adventure of 
 which she had so often dreamed ? This meeting on the 
 border of a lake ; the terrible danger from which she 
 was to be saved by a young man, more beautiful than 
 the day ? Saint George, the tribune, the warrior ! 
 These were simply united in one, and he was this 
 painter of stained glass, this young workman in his 
 white blouse! When she saw him coming back, his 
 feet wet through and through, as he held the dripping 
 camisole awkwardly in his hand, realising the ridiculous 
 side of the energy he had employed in saving it from 
 the waves, she was obliged to bite her tongue to check 
 the outburst of gaiety which seemed almost to choke 
 her. 
 
 He forgot himself as he looked at her. She was 
 like a most adorable child in this restrained mirth with 
 which all her youth seemed to vibrate. Splashed with 
 water, her arms almost chilled by the stream, she 
 seemed to send forth from herself the purity and clear- 
 ness of these living springs which rushed from the 
 mossy woods. She was an impersonation of health, 
 joy, and freshness, in the full sunlight. One could 
 easily fancy that she might be a careful housekeeper 
 and a queen withal as she was there, in her working 
 dress, with her slender waist, her regal neck, her oval 
 face, such as one reads of in fairy-tales. And he did 
 not know how to give her back the linen, he found her 
 so exquisite, so perfect a representation of the beauty of 
 the art he loved. It enraged him, in spite of himself, 
 that he should have the air of an idiot, as he plainly 
 saw the effort she made not to laugh. But he was 
 forced to do something, so at last he gave her back the 
 sacque.
 
 102 THE DREAM 
 
 Then Angelique realised that if she were to open 
 her mouth and try to thank him, she would shout. 
 Poor fellow! she sympathised with him and pitied him. 
 But it was irresistible ; she was happy, and needed to 
 give expression to it ; she must yield to the gaiety with 
 which her heart overflowed. It was such lovely weather, 
 and all life was so beautiful ! 
 
 At last she thought she might speak, wishing simply 
 to say : ' Thank you, Monsieur.' 
 
 But the wish to laugh had returned, and made her 
 stammer, interrupting her at each word. It was a 
 loud, cheery laugh, a sonorous outpouring of pearly 
 notes, which sang sweetly to the crystalline accompani- 
 ment of the Chevrotte. 
 
 The young man was so disconcerted that he could 
 find nothing to say. His usually pale face had become 
 very red, the timid, childlike expression of his eyes had 
 changed into a fiery one, like that of an eagle, and he 
 moved a\vay quickly. He disappeared with the old 
 workman, and even then she continued to laugh as she 
 bent over the water, again splashing herself as she 
 shook the clothes hither and thither, rejoicing in the 
 brightness of the happy day. 
 
 On the morrow he came an hour earlier. But at 
 five o'clock in the morning the linen, which had been 
 dripping all night, was spread out on the grass. There 
 was a brisk wind, which was excellent for drying. Bat 
 in order that the different articles need not be blown 
 away, they were kept in place by putting little pebbles 
 on their four corners. The whole wash was there, look- 
 ing of a dazzling whiteness among the green herbage, 
 having a strong odour of plants about it, and making 
 the meadow as if it had suddenly blossomed out into a 
 snowy covering of daisies.
 
 THE DREAM 103 
 
 When Angelique came to look at it after breakfast, 
 she was distressed, for so strong had become the gusts 
 of wind that all threatened to be carried away. Already 
 a sheet had started, and several napkins had gone to 
 fasten themselves to the branches of a willow. She 
 fortunately caught them, but then the handkerchiefs 
 began to fly. There was no one to help her ; she was 
 so frightened that she lost all her presence of mind. 
 When she tried to spread out the sheet again, she had a 
 regular battle, for she was quite lost in it, as it covered 
 her with a great crackling sound. 
 
 Through all the noise of the wind she heard a 
 voice saying, ' Mademoiselle, do you wish me to help 
 you?' 
 
 It was he, and immediately she cried to him, with 
 no other thought than her pre-occupation as a good 
 housewife : 
 
 ' Of course I wish it. Come and help me, then. 
 Take the end over there, nearest to you. Hold it 
 firm!' 
 
 The sheet, which they stretched out with their 
 strong arms, flapped backwards and forwards like a sail. 
 At last they succeeded in putting it on the ground, and 
 then placed upon it much heavier stones than before. 
 And now that, quite conquered, it sank quietly down, 
 neither of them thought of leaving their places, but 
 remained on their knees at the opposite corners, sepa- 
 rated by this great piece of pure white linen. 
 
 She smiled, but this time without malice. It was a 
 silent message of thanks. He became by degrees a 
 little bolder. 
 
 ' My name is Felicien.' 
 
 ' And mine is Angelique.'
 
 104 THE DREAM 
 
 1 1 am a painter on glass, and have been charged to 
 repair the stained-glass window of the chapel here.' 
 
 { I live over there with my father and mother, and I 
 am an embroiderer of church vestments.' 
 
 The wind, which continued to be strong under the 
 clear blue sky, carried away their words, lashed them 
 with its purifying breath in the midst of the warm sun- 
 shine in which they were bathed. 
 
 They spoke of things which they already knew, as 
 if simply for the pleasure of talking. 
 
 ' Is the window, then, to be replaced ? ' 
 
 ' No ! oh no ! it will be so well repaired that the 
 new part cannot be distinguished from the old. I love 
 it quite as much as you do.' 
 
 ' Oh ! it is indeed true that I love it ! I have al- 
 ready embroidered a Saint George, but it was not so 
 beautiful as this one.' 
 
 ' Oh, not so beautiful ! How can you say that ? I 
 have seen it, if it is the Saint George on the chasuble 
 which the Abbot Cornille wore last Sunday. It is a 
 marvellous thing.' 
 
 She blushed with pleasure, but quickly turned the 
 conversation, as she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Hurry and put another stone on the left corner of 
 the sheet, or the wind will carry it away from us 
 again.' 
 
 He made all possible haste, weighed down the linen, 
 which had been in great commotion, like the wings of 
 a great wounded bird trying its best to fly away. Find- 
 ing that this time it would probably keep its place, the 
 two young people rose up, and now Angelique went 
 through the narrow, green paths between the pieces of 
 linen, glancing at each one, while he followed her with
 
 THE DREAM lo 
 
 an equally busy look, as if preoccupied by the possible 
 loss of a dish-towel or an apron. All this seemed quite 
 natural to them both. So she continued to chatter 
 away freely and artlessly, as she told of her daily life 
 and explained her tastes. 
 
 ' For my part, I always wish that everything should 
 be in its place. ... In the morning I am always 
 awakened at the same hour by the striking of the 
 cuckoo-clock in the workroom ; and whether it is 
 scarcely daylight or not, I dress myself as quickly as 
 possible; my shoes and stockings are here, my soap 
 and all articles of toilette there a true mania for order. 
 Yet you may well believe that I was not born so ! Oh 
 no ! On the contrary, I was the most careless person 
 possible. Mother was obliged to repeat to me the same 
 words over and over again, that I might not leave my 
 things in every corner of the house, for I found it 
 easier to scatter them about. And now, when I am at 
 work from morning to evening, I can never do anything 
 right if my chair is not in the same place, directly 
 opposite the light. Fortunately, I am neither right 
 nor left handed, but can use both hands equally well at 
 embroidering, which is a great help to me, for it is not 
 everyone who can do that. . . . Then, I adore flowers, 
 but I cannot keep a bouquet near me without having a 
 terrible headache. Violets alone I can bear, and that 
 is surprising. But their odour seems to calm me, and 
 at the least indisposition I have only need to smell 
 them and I am at once cured.' 
 
 He was enraptured while listening to her prattle. 
 He revelled in the beautiful ring of her voice, which 
 had an extremely penetrating, prolonged charm ; and 
 he must have been peculiarly sensitive to this human
 
 106 THE DREAM 
 
 music, for the caressing inflection on certain words 
 moistened his eyelids. 
 
 Suddenly returning to her household cares she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 ' Oh, now the shirts will soon be dry ! ' 
 
 Then, in the unconscious and simple need of making 
 herself known, she continued her confidences : 
 
 ' For colouring, the white is always beautiful, is it 
 not ? I tire at times of blue, of red, and of all other 
 shades; but white is a constant joy, of which I am 
 never weary. There is nothing in it to trouble you ; 
 on the contrary, you would like to lose yourself in it. 
 We had a white cat, with yellow spots, which I painted 
 white. It did very well for a while, but it did not last 
 long. Listen a minute. Mother does not know it, 
 but I keep all the waste bits of white silk, and have 
 a drawer full of them, for just nothing except the 
 pleasure of looking at them, and smoothing them over 
 from time to time. And I have another secret, but 
 this is a very serious one ! When I wake up, there is 
 every morning near my bed a great, white object, which 
 gently flies away.' 
 
 He did not smile, but appeared firmly to believe 
 her. Was not all she said, in her simple way, quite 
 natural ? A queen in the magnificence of her courtly 
 surroundings could not have conquered him so quickly. 
 She had, in the midst of this white linen on the green 
 grass, a charming, grand air, happy and supreme, 
 which touched him to the heart, with an ever-increasipg 
 power. He was completely subdued. She was every- 
 thing to him from this moment. He would follow her 
 to the last day of his life, in the worship of her light 
 feet, her delicate hands, of her whole being, adorable
 
 THE DREAM 107 
 
 and perfect as a dream. She continued to walk before 
 him, with a short, quick step, and he followed her 
 closely, suffocated by a thought of the happiness he 
 scarcely dared hope might come to him. 
 
 But another sudden gust of wind came up, and 
 there was a perfect flight into the distance of cambric 
 collars and cuffs, of neckerchiefs and chemisettes of 
 muslin, which, as they disappeared, seemed like a flock 
 of white birds knocked about by the tempest. 
 
 Angelique began to run. 
 
 ' Oh dear ! what shall I do ? You will have to 
 come again and help me. Oh dear ! ' 
 
 They both rushed forward. She caught a kerchief 
 on the borders of the Chevrotte. He had already saved 
 two chemisettes which he found in the midst of some 
 high thistles. One by one the cuffs and the collars 
 were retaken. But in the course of their running at 
 full speed, the flying folds of her skirt had at several 
 different times brushed against him, and each time his 
 face became suddenly red, and his heart beat violently. 
 In his turn, he touched her face accidentally, as he 
 jumped to recover the last fichu, which he had carelessly 
 let go of. She was startled and stood quietly, but 
 breathing more quickly. She joked no longer; her 
 laugh sounded less clear, and she was not tempted to 
 ridicule this great, awkward, but most attractive fellow. 
 The feminine nature so recently awakened in her soft- 
 ened her almost to tears, and with the feeling of inex- 
 plicable tenderness, which overpowered her, was mingled 
 a half-fear. 
 
 What was the matter with her that she was less gay, 
 and that she was so overcome by this delicious pang ? 
 When he held out the kerchief to her, their hands, by
 
 io8 THE DREAM 
 
 chance, touched for a moment. They trembled, as they 
 looked at each other inquiringly. Then she drew back 
 quickly, and for several seconds seemed not to know 
 what she should do under the extraordinary circum- 
 stances which had just occurred. At last she started. 
 Gathering up all the smaller articles of linen in her 
 arms, and leaving the rest, she turned towards her 
 home. 
 
 Felicien then wished to speak . . . ' Oh, I beg your 
 pardon. ... I pray you to ' 
 
 But the wind, which had greatly increased, cut off 
 his words. In despair he looked at her as she flew 
 along, as if carried away by the blast. She ran and ran, 
 in and out, among the white sheets and tablecloths, 
 under the oblique, pale golden rays of the sun. Already 
 the shadow of the Cathedral seemed to envelop her, 
 and she was on the point of entering her own garden 
 by the little gate which separated it from the Clos, 
 without having once glanced behind her. But on the 
 threshold she turned quickly, as if seized with a kind 
 impulse, not wishing that he should think she was 
 angry, and confused, but smiling, she called out : 
 
 ' Thank you. Thank you very much.' 
 
 Did she wish to say that she was grateful to him for 
 having helped her in recovering the linen ? Or was it 
 for something else ? She disappeared, and the gate was 
 shut after her. 
 
 And he remained alone in the midst of the field, 
 under the great regular gusts, which continued to rage, 
 although the sky was still clear and pure. The elms in 
 the Bishop's garden rustled with a long, billowy sound, 
 and a loud voice seemed to clamour through the terraces 
 and the flying buttresses of the Cathedral. But he heard
 
 THE DREAM log 
 
 only the light flapping of a little morning cap, tied to a 
 branch of a lilac bush, as if it were a bouquet, and which 
 belonged to her. 
 
 From that date, each time that Angelique opened 
 her window she saw Felicien over there in the Clos- 
 Marie. He passed days in the field, having the chapel 
 window as an excuse for doing so, on which, however, 
 the work did not advance the least in the world. For 
 hours he would forget himself behind a cluster of bushes, 
 where, stretched out on the grass, he watched through 
 the leaves. And it was the greatest of pleasures to 
 smile at each other every morning and evening. She 
 was so happy that she asked for nothing more. There 
 would not be another general washing for three months, 
 so, until then, the little garden-gate would seldom be 
 open. But three months would pass very quickly, and 
 if they could see each other daily, was nob that bliss 
 enough ? What, indeed, could be more charming than 
 to live in this way, thinking during the day of the 
 evening look, and during the night of the glance of the 
 early morrow ? She existed only in the hope of that 
 desired moment ; its joy filled her life. Moreover, what 
 good would there be in approaching each other and in 
 talking together ? Were they not constantly becoming 
 better acquainted without meeting? Although at a 
 distance, they understood each other perfectly; each 
 penetrated into the other's innermost thoughts with the 
 closest intimacy. At last, they became so filled one with 
 the other that they could not close their eyes without 
 seeing before them, with an astonishing clearness of 
 detail, the image of their new friend ; so, in reality, they 
 were never separated. 
 
 It was a constant surprise to Angelique that she
 
 no THE DREAM 
 
 had unbosomed herself at once to Felicien. At their 
 first meeting she had confided in him, had told him 
 everything about her habits, her tastes, and the deepest 
 secrets of her heart. He, more silent, was called 
 Felicien, and that was all she knew. Perhaps it was 
 quite right that it should be so; the woman giving 
 everything, and the man holding himself back as a 
 stranger. She had no premature curiosity. She con- 
 tinued to smile at the thought of things which would 
 certainly be realised. So for her, that of which she was 
 ignorant counted for nothing. The only important 
 fact in her mind was the intimacy between them, which 
 united them, little by little, apart from the world. She 
 knew nothing about him, yet she was so well acquainted 
 with his nature that she could read his thoughts in a 
 simple look or smile. He, her hero, had come as she 
 always said he would. She had at once recognised him, 
 and they loved each other. 
 
 So they enjoyed most thoroughly this true possession 
 from a distance. They were certainly encouraged by 
 the new discoveries they made. She had long, slender 
 hands, roughened a little at the ends of the fingers by 
 her constant use of the needle, but he adored them. 
 She noticed that his feet were small, and was proud of 
 the fact. Everything about him flattered her ; she was 
 grateful to him for being so handsome ; and she was 
 overcome with joy the evening that she found his beard 
 to be of a lighter shade than his hair, which fact gave a 
 greater softness to his smile. He went away trans- 
 ported when, one morning, as she leaned over the bal- 
 cony, he saw a little red spot on her pretty neck. Their 
 hearts being thus laid open, new treasures were daily 
 found. Certainly the proud and frank manner in which
 
 THE DREAM in 
 
 she opened her window showed that, even in her ignor- 
 ance as a little embroiderer, she had the royal bearing 
 of a princess. In the same way she knew that he was 
 good, from seeing how lightly he walked over the herbs 
 and the grass. Around them was a radiance of virtues 
 and graces from the first hour of their meeting. Each 
 interview had its special charm. It seemed to them as 
 if their felicity in seeing each other could never be 
 exhausted. 
 
 Nevertheless, Felicien soon showed certain signs of 
 impatience, and he no longer remained for hours con- 
 cealed behind a bush in the immobility of an absolute 
 happiness. As soon as Angelique appeared at her 
 window, he was restless, and tried to approach her as he 
 glided from willow to willow. At length she was a 
 little disturbed, fearing that someone might see him. 
 One day there was almost a quarrel, for he came even 
 to the wall of the house, so she was obliged to leave the 
 balcony. It was a great shock to him that she should 
 be offended, and he showed in the expression of his face 
 so mute a prayer of submission that the next day she 
 pardoned him, and opened her window at the usual hour. 
 
 But although expectation was delightful, it was not 
 sufficient for him, and he began again. Now he seemed 
 to be everywhere at once : he filled the Clos-Marie 
 with his restlessness ; he came out from behind every 
 tree; he appeared above every bunch of brambles. 
 Like the wood-pigeons of the great elms in the Bishop's 
 garden, he seemed to have his habitation between two 
 branches in the environs. The Chevrotte was an excuse 
 for his passing entire days there, on its willowy banks, 
 bending over the stream, in which he seemed to be 
 watching the floating of the clouds.
 
 II2 THE DREAM 
 
 One day she saw that he had climbed up on the 
 ruins of the old mill, and was standing on the framework 
 of a shed, looking happy to have thus approached her a 
 little, in his regret at not being able to fly even so far 
 as her shoulder. 
 
 Another day she stifled a slight scream as she saw 
 him far above her, leaning on an ornamented balustrade 
 of the Cathedral, on the roof of the chapels of the choir, 
 which formed a terrace. In what way could he have 
 reached this gallery, the door of which was always 
 fastened, and whose key no one had a right to touch 
 but the beadle ? Then again, a little later on, how was 
 it that she should find him up in the air among the 
 flying buttresses of the nave and the pinnacles of the 
 piers? From these heights he could look into every 
 part of her chamber, as the swallows who, flying from 
 point to point among the spires, saw everything that was 
 therein, without her having the idea of hiding herself 
 from them. But a human eye was different, and from 
 that day she shut herself up more, and an ever-increasing 
 trouble came to her at the thought that her privacy was 
 being intruded upon, and that she was no longer alone 
 in the atmosphere of adoration that surrounded her. If 
 she were really not impatient, why was it that her heart 
 beat so strongly, like the bell of the clock-tower on great 
 festivals ? 
 
 Three days passed without Angelique showing her- 
 self, so alarmed was she by the increasing boldness of 
 Felicien. She vowed in her mind that she would never 
 see him again, and wound herself up to such a degree 
 of resentment, that she thought she hated him. But he 
 had given her his feverishness. She could not keep 
 still, and the slightest pretext was enough for an
 
 THE DREAM 113 
 
 excuse to leave the chasuble upon which she was at 
 work. 
 
 So, having heard that the mere Gabet was ill in bed, 
 in the most profound poverty, she went to see her every 
 morning. Her room was on the Rue des Orfevres, only 
 three doors away from the Huberts. She would take 
 her tea, sugar, and soup, then, when necessary, go to buy 
 her medicine at the druggist's on the Grand Rue. One 
 day, as she returned with her hands full of little phials, 
 she started at seeing Felicien at the bedside of the old 
 sick woman. He turned very red, and slipped away 
 awkwardly, after leaving a charitable offering. The next 
 day he came in as she was leaving, and she gave him 
 her place, very much displeased. Did he really intend 
 to prevent her from visiting the poor ? 
 
 In fact, she had been taken with one of her fits of 
 charity, which made her give all she owned that she 
 might overwhelm those who had nothing. At the idea 
 of suffering, her whole soul melted into a pitiful frater- 
 nity. She went often to the pere Mascart's, a blind 
 paralytic on the Rue Basse, whom she was obliged to 
 feed herself with the broth she carried him ; then to the 
 Chouteaux, a man and his wife, each one over ninety 
 years of age, who lived in a little hut on the Rue Ma- 
 gloire, which she had furnished for them with articles 
 taken from the attic of her parents. Then there were 
 others and others still whom she saw among the wretched 
 populace of the quarter, and whom she helped to sup- 
 port from things that were about her, happy in being 
 able to surprise them and to see them brighten up for 
 a little while. But now, strange to say, wherever she 
 went she encountered Felicien ! Never before had she 
 seen so much of him ; she who had avoided going to 
 
 I
 
 H 4 THE DREAM 
 
 her window for fear that he might be near. Her trouble 
 increased, and at last she was very angry. 
 
 But the worst of all in this matter was that Angel- 
 ique soon despaired of her charity. This young man 
 spoilt all her pleasure of giving. In other days he 
 might perhaps have been equally generous, but it was 
 not among the same people, not her own particu- 
 lar poor, of that she was sure. And he must have 
 watched her and followed her very closely to know 
 them all and to take them so regularly one after the 
 other. 
 
 Now, go when she might with a little basket of pro- 
 visions to the Chouteaux, there was always money on 
 the table. One day, when she hurried to pere Mascart, 
 who was constantly complaining that he had no tobacco, 
 she found him very rich, with a shining new louis d'or 
 on his table. Strangest of all, once when visiting mere 
 Gabet,the latter gave her a hundred franc note to change, 
 and with it she was enabled to buy some high-priced 
 medicines, of which the poor woman had long been in 
 need, but which she never hoped to obtain, for where 
 could she find money to pay for them ? 
 
 Angelique herself could not distribute much money, 
 as she had none. It was heart-breaking to her to 
 realise her powerlessness, when he could so easily empty 
 his purse. She was, of course, happy that such a wind- 
 fall had come to the poor, but she felt as if she were 
 greatly diminished in her former self-estimation. She 
 110 longer had the eame happiness in giving, but was 
 disturbed and sad that she had so little to distribute, 
 while he had so much. 
 
 The young man, not understanding her feelings, 
 thinking to conquer her esteem by an increase of gift,
 
 THE DREAM 115 
 
 redoubled his charity, and thus daily made hers seem 
 less. 
 
 Was not it exasperating to run against this fellow 
 everywhere ; to see him give an ox wherever she offered 
 an egg? In addition to all this, she was obliged to 
 hear his praises sung by all the needy whom he visited : 
 ' A young man so good, so kind, and so well brought 
 up.' She was a mere nothing now. They talked only 
 of him, spreading out his gifts as if to shame hers. 
 Notwithstanding her firm determination to forget him, 
 she could not refrain from questioning them about him. 
 What had he left ? What had he said ? He was very 
 handsome, was he not? Tender and diffident as a 
 woman ! Perhaps he might even have spoken of her ! 
 Ah, yes indeed ! That was true, for he always talked 
 of her. Then she was very angry ; yes, she certainly 
 hated him, for at last she realised that he weighed on 
 her breast too heavily. 
 
 But matters could not continue in this way for ever, 
 a change must take place ; and one May evening, at a 
 wondrously beautiful nightfall, it came. It was at the 
 home of the Lemballeuse, the family who lived in the 
 ruins of the mill. There were only women there ; the 
 old grandmother, seamed with wrinkles but still active, 
 her daughter, and her grandchildren. Of the latter, 
 Tiennette, the elder, was a large, wild-looking girl, 
 twenty years of age, and her two little sisters, Rose and 
 Jeanne, had already bold, fearless eyes, under their un- 
 kempt mops of red hair. They all begged during the 
 day on the highway and along the moat, coming back 
 at night, their feet worn out from fatigue in their old 
 shoes fastened with bits of string. Indeed, that very 
 evening Tiennette had been obliged to leave hers among 
 
 i 2
 
 i!6 THE DREAM 
 
 the stones, and had returned wounded and with bleed- 
 ing ankles. Seated before their door, in the midst of 
 the high grass of the Clos-Marie, she drew out the 
 thorns from her flesh, whilst her mother and the two 
 children surrounded her and uttered lamentations. 
 
 Just then Angelique arrived, hiding under her apron 
 the bread which she had brought them, as she did once 
 every week. She had entered the field by the little 
 garden-gate, which she had left open behind her, as she 
 intended to go back as quickly as possible. But she 
 stopped on seeing all the family in tears. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? Why are you in such dis- 
 tress ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, my good lady ! ' whined the mother Lembal- 
 leuse, v do not you see in what a terrible state this great 
 foolish girl has put herself? To-morrow she will not 
 be able to walk, so that will be a whole day lost. She 
 must have some shoes ! ' 
 
 Rose and Jeanne, with their eyes snapping from 
 under their tangled hair, redoubled their sobs, as they 
 cried out loudly 
 
 ' Yes, yes ! she must have some shoes ! She must 
 have some shoes ! ' 
 
 Tiennette, half lifting up her thin, dark face, looked 
 round furtively. Then, fiercely, without a word, she 
 made one of her feet bleed still more, maddened over a 
 long splinter which she had just drawn out by the aid 
 of a pin, and which must have pained her intensely. 
 
 Angelique, quite touched by the scene, offered her 
 gift. 
 
 ' See ! here at least is some bread.' 
 'Oh, bread!' said the mother. 'No doubt it is 
 necessary to eat. But it is not with bread that she will
 
 THE DREAM 117 
 
 be able to walk again, of that I am certain ! And we 
 were to go to the fair at Bligny, a fair where, every year, 
 she makes at least two francs. Oh, good heavens! 
 What will become of us if she cannot go there ? ' 
 
 Pity and embarrassment rendered Angelique mute. 
 She had exactly five sous in her pocket. It surely was 
 not with five sous that one could buy a pair of shoes, 
 even at an auction sale. As it had often done before, 
 her want of money now paralysed her. And that which 
 exasperated her still more and made her lose her self- 
 control was that at this moment, as she looked behind 
 her, she saw Felicien, standing a few feet from her in 
 the darkening shadow. "Without doubt he had heard 
 all that had been said ; perhaps even he had been there 
 for a great while, for he always appeared to her in this 
 way when least expected without her ever knowing 
 whence he came or whither he was going. 
 
 She thought to herself, ' He will give the shoes.' 
 Indeed, he had already come forward. The first 
 stars were appearing in the pale sky. A sweet, gentle 
 quiet seemed to fall down from on high, soothing to 
 sleep the Clos-Marie, whose willows were lost in the 
 dusk. The Cathedral itself was only a great black bar 
 in the West. 
 
 ' Yes, certainly, now he will offer to give the shoes.' 
 And at this probability she was really quite dis- 
 couraged. Was he always, then, to give everything ? 
 Could she never, even once, conquer him ? Never ! 
 Her heart beat so rapidly that it pained her. She 
 wished that she might be very rich, to show him that 
 she, too, could make others happy. 
 
 But the Lemballeuse had seen the good gentleman. 
 The mother had rushed forward ; the two little sisters
 
 ii8 THE DREAM 
 
 moaned as they held out their hands for alms, whilst 
 the elder one, letting go of her wounded ankles, 
 looked at the new-comer inquiringly with her wild 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Listen, my noisy children,' said Felicien. Then, ad- 
 dressing the mother, he continued, ' You may go to the 
 Grand Rue, at the corner of the Rue Basse ' 
 
 Angelique had understood immediately, for the 
 shoemaker had his shop there. She interrupted him 
 quickly, and was so agitated that she stammered her 
 words at random. 
 
 ' But that is a useless thing to do ! What would 
 be the good of it ? It is much more simple ' 
 
 Yet she could not find in her own mind the more 
 simple thing she desired. What could she do ? What 
 could she invent, so to be before him in giving her 
 charity ? Never had it seemed to her possible she could 
 detest him as she did now. 
 
 ' You will say from me, that it is I who have sent 
 you,' continued Felicien. ' You will ask ' 
 
 Again she interrupted him. The contest lasted a 
 moment longer. She repeated in an anxious way : 
 
 ' It is, indeed, much more simple ; it is much 
 easier ' 
 
 Suddenly she was calm. She seated herself upon a 
 stone, thoughtfully examined her shoes, took them off, 
 and then drew off her stockings, saying : 
 
 ' Look ! This is the best thing to do, after all ! Why 
 should you have any trouble about the matter ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, my good young lady ! God will reward you ! ' 
 exclaimed the mother Lemballeuse, as she turned over 
 the shoes and found they were not only excellent and 
 strong, but almost new. ' I will cut them a trifle on
 
 THE DREAM 119 
 
 the top, to make them a little larger Tiennette, 
 
 why do you not thank her, stupid creature ? ' 
 
 Tiennette snatched from the hands of Hose and 
 Jeanne the stockings they were coveting. She did not 
 open her lips ; she only gave one long, fixed, hard 
 look. 
 
 But now Angelique realised that her feet were bare, 
 and that Felicien saw them. She blushed deeply, and 
 knew not what to do. She dared not move, for, were 
 she to rise to get up, he would only see them all the 
 more. Then, frightened, she rose quickly, and without 
 realising what she was doing, began to run. In the 
 grass her flying feet were very white and small. The 
 darkness of the evening had increased, and the Clos- 
 Marie was a lake of shadow between the great trees on 
 one side and the Cathedral on the other. And on the 
 ground the only visible light came from those same 
 little feet, white and satiny as the wing of a dove. 
 
 Startled, and afraid of the water, Angelique followed 
 the bank of the Chevrotte, that she might cross it on a 
 plank which served as a bridge. But Felicien had gone 
 a shorter way through the brambles and brushwood. 
 Until now he had always been overcome by his timidity, 
 and he had turned redder than she as he saw her bare 
 feet, pure and chaste as herself. Now, in the overflow 
 of his ignorant youth, passionately fond of beauty and 
 desirous for love, he was impatient to cry out and tell 
 her of the feeling which had entirely taken possession 
 of him since he had first seen her. But yet, when she 
 brushed by him in her flight, he could only stammer, 
 with a trembling voice, the acknowledgment so long de- 
 layed and which burnt his lips ; 
 
 ' I love you.'
 
 120 THE DREAM 
 
 She stopped in surprise. For an instant she stood 
 still, and, slightly trembling, looked at him. Her anger 
 and the hate she thought she had for him all vanished 
 at once, and melted into a most delicious sentiment of 
 astonishment. What had he said, what was the word 
 he had just pronounced, that she should be so overcome 
 by it ? She knew that he loved her ; yet when he said 
 so, the sound of it in her ear overwhelmed her with an 
 inexplicable joy. It resounded so deeply through her 
 whole being, that her fears came back and were en- 
 larged. She never would dare reply to him ; it was 
 really more than she could bear ; she was oppressed. 
 
 He, grown more bold, his heart touched and drawn 
 nearer to hers by their united deeds of charity, re- 
 peated : 
 
 ' I love you.' 
 
 And she, fearing the lover, began to run. That was 
 surely the only way to escape such a danger ; yet it was 
 also a happiness, it was all so strange. The Chevrotte 
 was gaily singing, and she plunged into it like a startled 
 fawn. Among its pebbles her feet still ran on, under 
 the chill of the icy water. The garden-gate was at last 
 reached, it closed, and she disappeared.
 
 THE DREAM 121 
 
 FOR two days Angelique was conscience-smitten. As 
 soon as she was alone, she sobbed as if she had done 
 something wrong. And this question, which she could 
 not answer, came constantly to her mind : Had she 
 sinned in listening to this young man ? Was she lost, 
 like the dreadful women in the Legend, who, having 
 been tempted, had yielded to the Devil ? Was life to- 
 day as it was centuries ago ? The words, so softly 
 uttered, ' I love you,' still resounded with such a tumult 
 in her ears, and she was confused, yet pleased by them 
 to such a degree, that they must certainly have come 
 from some terrible power hidden in the depth of the 
 invisible. But she knew not in fact, how could she 
 have known anything in the ignorance and solitude in 
 which she had grown up ? Her anguish was redoubled 
 by this mysterious and inexplicable struggle within 
 her. 
 
 Had she sinned in making the acquaintance of 
 Felicien, and then in keeping it a secret ? She recalled 
 to her mind, one by one, all the details of her daily ex- 
 perience during the past few weeks ; she argued with 
 her innocent scruples. 
 
 What was sin, in short ? Was it simply to meet 
 to talk and afterwards to tell a falsehood to one'a
 
 122 THE DREAM 
 
 parents ? But that could not be the extent of the evil. 
 Then why was she so oppressed ? Why, if not guilty, 
 did she suddenly seem to have become quite another 
 p erson as agitated as if a new soul -had been given 
 her ? Perhaps it was sin that had made her so weak 
 and uncomfortable. Her heart was full of vague, un- 
 defined longings so strange a medley of words, and 
 also of acts, in the future, that she was frightened by 
 them, without in the least understanding' them. The 
 blood mounted to her face, and exquisitely coloured her 
 cheeks, as she heard again the sweet, yet appalling 
 words, ' I love you ' ; and she reasoned no longer, but 
 sobbed again, doubting evident facts, fearing the com- 
 mission of a fault in the beyond in that which had 
 neither name nor form. 
 
 But that which especially distressed her now was 
 that she had not made a confidante of Hubertine. 
 Could she only have asked her what she wished to 
 know, no doubt the latter with a word would have ex- 
 plained the whole mystery to her. Then it seemed to 
 her as if the mere fact of speaking to someone of her 
 trouble would have cured her. But the secret had 
 become too weighty ; to reveal it would be more than 
 she could bear, for the shame would be too great. She 
 became quite artful for the moment, affected an air of 
 calmness, when in the depths of her soul a tempest was 
 raging. If asked why she was so pre-occupied, she 
 lifted her eyes with a look of surprise as she replied 
 that she was thinking of nothing. Seated before the 
 working-frame, her hands mechanically drawing the 
 needle back and forth, very quiet to all outward appear- 
 ance, she was, from morning till evening, distracted by 
 one thought. To be loved! to be loved! And for
 
 THE DREAM 123 
 
 herself, on her side, was she in love ? This was still an 
 obscure question, to which, in her inexperience, she found 
 no answer. She repeated it so constantly that at last 
 it made her giddy, the words lost all their usual mean- 
 ing, and everything seemed to be in a whirl, which 
 carried her away. With an effort she recovered herself, 
 and realised that, with needle in hand, she was still 
 embroidering with her accustomed application, although 
 mechanically, as if in a half-dream. Perhaps these 
 strange symptoms were a sign that she was about to 
 have a severe illness. One evening she had such an 
 attack of shivering when she went to bed that she 
 thought she would never be able to recover from it. 
 That idea was at the same time both cruel and sweet. 
 She suffered from it as if it were too great a joy. Even 
 the next day her heart beat as if it would break, and 
 her ears were filled with a singing sound, like the ring- 
 ing of a distant bell. What could it mean ? Was she 
 in love, or was she about to die ? Thinking thus, she 
 smiled sweetly at Hubertine, who, in the act of waxing 
 her thread, was looking at her anxiously. 
 
 Moreover, Angelique had made a vow that she 
 would never again see Felicien. She no longer ran the 
 risk of meeting him among the brambles and wild 
 grasses in the Clos-Marie, and she had even given up 
 her daily visits to the poor. Her fear was intense lest, 
 were they to find themselves face to face, something 
 terrible might come to pass. In her resolution there 
 was mingled, besides a feeling of penitence, a wish to 
 punish herself for some fault she might unintentionally 
 have committed. So, in her days of rigid humiliation, 
 she condemned herself not even to glance once through 
 the window, so sure was she of seeing on the banks of
 
 1-4 THE 
 
 the Chevrotte the one whom she dreaded. But, after 
 awhile, being sorely tempted, she looked out, and if it 
 chanced that he were not there, she was sad and low- 
 spirited until the following day. 
 
 One morning, when Hubert was arranging a dal- 
 matic, a ring at the door-bell obliged him to go down- 
 stairs. It must be a customer ; no doubt an order for 
 some article, as Hubertine and Angelique heard the 
 hum of voices which came through the doorway at the 
 head of the stairs, which remained open. Then they 
 looked up in great astonishment ; for steps were mount- 
 ing, and the embroiderer was bringing someone with 
 him to the workroom, a most unusual occurrence. And 
 the young girl was quite overcome as she recognised 
 Felicien. He was dressed simply, like a journeyman 
 artist, whose hands are white. Since she no longer 
 went to him he had come to her, after days of vain ex- 
 pectation and of anxious uncertainty, during which he 
 had constantly said to himself that she did not yet love 
 him, since she remained hidden from him. 
 
 ' Look, my dear child, here is something which will 
 be of particular interest to you,' explained Hubert. 
 1 Monsieur wishes to give orders for an exceptional 
 piece of work. And, upon my word, that we might 
 talk of it at our ease, I preferred that he should come 
 up here at once. This is my daughter, sir, to whom 
 you must show your drawing.' 
 
 Neither he nor Hubertine had the slightest sus- 
 picion that this was not the first time the young people 
 had met. They approached them only from a senti- 
 ment of curiosity to see. But Felicien was, like An- 
 gelique, almost stifled with emotion and timidity. As 
 he unrolled the design, his hands trembled, and he was
 
 THE DREAM 125 
 
 obliged to speak very slowly to hide the change in his 
 voice. 
 
 ' It is to be a mitre for Monseigneur the Bishop. 
 Yes, certain ladies in the city who wished to make him 
 this present charged me with the drawing of the 
 different parts, as well as with the superintendence of 
 its execution. I am a painter of stained glass, but I 
 also occupy myself a great deal with ancient art. You 
 will see that I have simply reconstituted a Gothic mitre.' 
 
 Angelique bent over the great sheet of parchment 
 which he had spread before her, and started slightly as 
 she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh ! it is Saint Agnes.' 
 
 It was indeed the youthful martyr of but thirteen 
 years of age ; the ' naked virgin clothed with her hair, 
 that had grown so long only her little hands and feet 
 were seen from under it, just as she was upon the pillar 
 at one of the doors of the cathedral ; particularly, how- 
 ever, as one found her in the interior of the church, in 
 an old wooden statue that formerly was painted, but 
 was to-day a light fawn colour, all gilded by age. She 
 occupied the entire front of the mitre, half floating, as 
 she was carried towards heaven borne by the angels ; 
 while below her, stretched out into the distance, was a 
 fine., delicate landscape. The other sides and the lap- 
 pets were enriched with lance-shaped ornaments of an 
 exquisite style. 
 
 ' These ladies,' continued Felicien, ' wish to make 
 the present on the occasion of the Procession of the 
 Miracle, and naturally I thought it my duty to choose 
 Saint Agnes.' 
 
 'The idea was a most excellent one,' interposed 
 Hubert.
 
 126 THE DREAM 
 
 And Hubertine added, in her turn : 
 
 ' Monseigneur will be deeply gratified.' 
 
 The so-called Procession of the Miracle, which takes 
 place each year on July 28, dates from the time of 
 Jean V. d'Hautecoeur, who instituted it as a thanks- 
 giving to God for the miraculous power He had given, 
 to him and to his race to save Beaumont from the 
 plague. According to the legend, the Hautecceurs are 
 indebted for this remarkable gift to the intervention of 
 Saint Agnes, of whom they were the greatest admirers ; 
 and, since the most ancient time, it has been the custom 
 on the anniversary of her fete to^ake down the old 
 statue of the saint and carry it slowly in a solemn pro- 
 cession through the streets of the town, in the pious 
 belief that she still continues to disperse and drive away 
 all evils. 
 
 ' Ah,' at last murmured Angelique, her eyes on the 
 design, ' the Procession of the Miracle. But that will 
 come in a few days, and we shall not have time enough 
 to finish it.' 
 
 The Huberts shook their heads. In truth, so deli- 
 cate a piece of work required the most minute care and 
 attention. Yet Hubertine turned towards her daugh- 
 ter as she said : 
 
 ' I could help you, my dear. I might attend to the 
 ornaments, and then you will only have the figure to 
 do.' 
 
 Angelique continued to closely examine the figure 
 of the saint, and was deeply troubled. She said to 
 herself, ' No, no.' She refused ; she would not give her- 
 self the pleasure of accepting. It would be inexcusable 
 on her part thus to be an accomplice in a plan, for it 
 was evident that Felicien was keeping something back.
 
 THE DREAM 127 
 
 She was perfectly sure that lie was not poor, and that 
 he wore a workman's dress simply as a disguise ; and 
 this affected simplicity, all this history, told only that 
 he might approach her, put her on her guard, amused 
 and happy though she was, in reality, transfiguring him, 
 seeing in him the royal prince that he should be ; so 
 thoroughly did she live in the absolute certainty of the 
 entire realisation of her dream, sooner or later". 
 
 ' No,' she repeated, in a half-whisper, ' we should 
 not have the needed time.' 
 
 And without lifting her eyes she continued, as if 
 speaking to herself: 
 
 ' For the saint, we could use neither the close em- 
 broidery nor the lace openwork. It would not be worthy 
 her. It should be an embroidery in gold, shaded by silk.' 
 
 ' Exactly,' said Felicien. ' That is what I had 
 already thought of, for I knew that Mademoiselle had 
 re-found the secret of making it. There is still quite a 
 pretty little fragment of it at the sacristy.' 
 
 Hubert was quite excited. 
 
 ' Yes, yes ! it was made in the fifteenth century, 
 and the work was done by one of my far-off ancestresses. 
 .... Shaded gold ! Ah, Monsieur, there was never 
 anything equal to that in the whole world. But, un- 
 fortunately, it took too much time, it cost altogether 
 too dear, and, in addition, only a real artist ever suc- 
 ceeded in it. Think of it ; it is more than two hundred 
 years since anyone has ever attempted such embroidery. 
 And if my daughter refuses, you will be obliged to 
 give it up entirely, for she is the only person who is 
 qualified to undertake it. I do not know of anyone else 
 who has the delicacy of fingers and the clearness of 
 eye necessary for it.'
 
 128 THE DREAM 
 
 Hubertine, who, since they had spoken of the style 
 of the work, realised what a great undertaking it was, 
 said, in a quiet, decided tone : 
 
 ' It would be utterly impossible to do it in a fort- 
 night. It would need the patience and skill of a fairy 
 to accomplish it.' 
 
 But Angelique, who had not ceased studying all the 
 features of the beautiful martyr, had ended by making 
 a discovery which delighted her beyond expression. 
 Agnes resembled her. In designing from the old 
 statue, Felicien certainly thought of her, and this idea 
 that she was in his mind, always present with him, 
 that he saw her everywhere softened her resolution to 
 avoid him. At last she looked up ; she noticed how 
 eager he was, and his eyes glistened with so earnest a 
 supplication that she was conquered. Still, with the 
 intuitive half-malice, the love of tormenting, this 
 natural science which comes to all young girls, even 
 when they are entirely ignorant of life, she did not 
 wish to have the appearance of yielding too readily. 
 
 ' It is impossible,' she repeated. ' I could not do it 
 for anyone.' 
 
 Felicien was in despair. He was sure he understood 
 the hidden meaning in her words. It was he whom 
 she had refused, as well as the work. As he was about 
 to go out of the room, he said to Hubert : 
 
 ' As for the pay, you could have asked any price you 
 wished. These ladies gave me leave to offer as much 
 as three thousand francs.' 
 
 The household of the Huberts was in no way a selfish 
 one ; yet so great a sum startled each member of it. 
 The husband and wife looked at each other inquiringly. 
 Was it not a pity to lose so advantageous an offer ?
 
 THE DREAM 129 
 
 ' Three thousand francs,' repeated Angelique, with 
 her gentle voice ; ' did you say three thousand francs, 
 Monsieur ? ' 
 
 And she, to whom money was nothing, since she had 
 never known its value, kept back a smile, a mocking 
 smile, which scarcely drew the corners of her mouth, 
 rejoicing that she need not seem to yield to the pleasure 
 of seeing him, and glad to give him a false opinion of 
 herself. 
 
 ' Oh, Monsieur, if you can give three thousand francs 
 for it, then I accept. I would not do it for everyone, 
 but from the moment that one is willing to pay so well, 
 why, that is different. If it is necessary, I can work on 
 it at night, as well as during the day.' 
 
 Hubert and Hubertine then objected, wishing to 
 refuse in their turn, for fear the fatigue might be too 
 great for her. 
 
 ' No,' she replied. ' It is never wise to send away 
 money that is brought to you. You can depend upon 
 me, Monsieur. Your mitre will be ready the evening 
 before the procession.' 
 
 Felicien left the design and bade them good-day, for 
 he was greatly disappointed, and he had no longer the 
 courage to give any new explanations in regard to the 
 work, as an excuse for stopping longer. What would 
 he gain by doing so ? It was certainly true that she 
 did not like him, for she had pretended not to recognise 
 him, and had treated him as she would any ordinary 
 customer, whose money alone is good to take. At first 
 he was angry, as he accused her of being mean-spirited 
 and grasping. So much the better ! It was ended 
 between them, this unspoken romance, and he would 
 never think of her again. Then, as he always did 
 
 K
 
 I3 o THE DREAM 
 
 think of her, he at last excused her, for was she not 
 dependent upon her work to live, and ought she not to 
 gain her bread ? 
 
 Two days later he was very unhappy, and he began 
 to wander around the house, distressed that he could 
 not see her. She no longer went out to walk, she did 
 not even go to the balcony, or to the window, as before. 
 He was forced to acknowledge that if she cared not for 
 him, if in reality she was mercenary, in spite of all, his 
 love' for her increased daily, as one loves when only 
 twenty years of age, without reasoning, following 
 merely the drawing of one's heart, simply for the joy 
 and the grief of loving. 
 
 One morning he caught a glimpse of her for a 
 moment, and realised that he could not give her up. 
 Now she was his chosen one and no other. Whatever 
 she might be, bad or good, ugly or pretty, poor or rich, 
 he would give up his life rather than not be able to 
 
 claim her. 
 
 The third day his sufferings were so great that, not- 
 withstanding all his wise resolves, he returned to the 
 house of the embroiderers. 
 
 After having rung the bell, he was received as 
 before, downstairs, by Hubert, who, on account of the 
 want of clearness in his explanations in regard to his 
 visit, concluded the best thing to be done was to allow 
 him to go upstairs again. 
 
 < My daughter, Monsieur, wishes to speak to you on 
 certain points of the work that I do not quite under- 
 stand.' 
 
 Then Felicien stammered, ' If it would not disturb 
 
 Mademoiselle too much, I would like to see how far 
 
 These ladies advised me to personally superintend the
 
 THE DREAM 131 
 
 work that is, if by doing so I should not be in any- 
 one's way.' 
 
 Angelique's heart beat violently when she saw him 
 come in. She almost choked, but, making a great 
 effort, she controlled herself. The blood did not even 
 mount her cheeks, and with an appearance of calm in- 
 difference, she replied : 
 
 ' Oh, nothing ever disturbs me, Monsieur. I can 
 work equally well before anyone. As the design is 
 yours, it is quite natural that you should wish to follow 
 the execution of it.' 
 
 Quite discountenanced by this reception, Felicien 
 would not have dared to have taken a seat, had not 
 Hubertine welcomed him cordially, as she smiled in her 
 sweet, quiet way at this excellent customer. Almost 
 immediately she resumed her work, bending over the 
 frame where she was embroidering on the sides of the 
 mitre the Gothic ornaments in guipure, or open lace- 
 work. 
 
 On his side, Hubert had just taken down from the 
 wall a banner which was finished, had been stiffened, 
 and for two days past had been hung up to dry, and 
 which now he wished to relax. No one spoke; the 
 three workers kept at their tasks as if no other person 
 had been in the room with them. 
 
 In the midst of this charming quiet, the young man 
 little by little grew calmer. When the clock struck 
 three, the shadow of the Cathedral was already very 
 long, and a delicate half-light entered by the window, 
 which was wide open. It was almost like the twilight 
 hour, which commenced early in the afternoon for this 
 little house, so fresh and green from all the verdure 
 that was about it, as it stood by the side of the colossal 
 
 K 2
 
 I32 N THE DREAM 
 
 church. A slight sound of steps was heard on the 
 pavement outside ; it was a school of young girls being 
 taken to Confession. 
 
 In the workroom, the tools, the time-stained walls, 
 everything which remained there immovable, seemed to 
 sleep in the repose of centuries, and from every corner 
 came freshness and rest. A great square of white 
 light, smooth and pure, fell upon the frame over which 
 Hubertine and Angelique were bending, with their 
 delicate profiles in the fawn-coloured reflection of the 
 
 gold. 
 
 'Mademoiselle,' began Felicien, feeling very awk- 
 ward, as he realised that he must give some reason for 
 his visit' I wish to say, Mademoiselle, that for the 
 hair it seems to me it would be better to employ gold 
 rather than silk.' 
 
 She raised her head, and the laughing expression of 
 her eyes clearly signified that he need not have taken 
 the trouble of coming if he had no other recommenda- 
 tion to make. And she looked down again as she 
 replied, in a half-mocking tone : 
 
 There is no doubt about that, Monsieur.' 
 He was indeed ridiculous, for he remarked then for 
 the first time that it was exactly what she was doing. 
 Before her was the design he had made, but tinted with 
 water-colours, touched up with gold, with all the 
 delicacy of an old miniature, a little softened, like what 
 one sees in some prayer books of the fifteenth century. 
 And she copied this image with the patience and the 
 skill of an artist working with a magnifying glass. 
 After having reproduced it with rather heavy strokes 
 upon the white silk, tightly stretched and lined with 
 heavy linen, she covered this silk with threads of gold
 
 THE DREAM 133 
 
 carried from the bottom to the top, fastened simply at 
 the two ends, so that they were left free and close to each 
 other. "When using these same threads as a woof, she 
 separated them with the point of her needle to find the 
 design below. She followed this same drawing, re- 
 covered the gold threads with stitches of silk across, 
 which she assorted according to the colours of the 
 model. In the shaded parts the silk completely hid the 
 gold ; in the half-lights the stitches of silk were farther 
 and farther apart, while the real lights were made by 
 gold alone, entirely uncovered. It was thus the shaded 
 gold, that most beautiful of all work, the foundation 
 being modified by the silks, making a picture of mellow 
 colours as if warmed from beneath by a glory and a 
 mystic light. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' suddenly said Hubert, who began to stretch 
 out the banner by separating with his fingers the cords 
 of the trellis, ' the masterpiece of a woman who em- 
 broidered in the olden time was always in this difficult 
 work. To become a member of the Corporation she 
 had to make, as it is written in the statutes, a figure by 
 itself in shaded gold, a sixth part as tall as if life-size. 
 You would have been received, my Angelique.' 
 
 Again there was an unbroken silence. Felicien 
 watched her constantly, as she stooped forward, absorbed 
 in her task, quite as if she were entirely alone. For 
 the hair of the saint, contrary to the general rule, she 
 had had the same idea as he ; that was, to use no silk, 
 but to re-cover gold with gold, and she kept ten needles 
 at work with this brilliant thread of all shades, from 
 the dark red of dying embers, to the pale, delicate 
 yellow tint of the leaves of the forest trees in the 
 autumn. Agnes was thus covered from her neck tQ her
 
 I3 4 THE DREAM 
 
 ankles with a stream of golden hair. It began at the 
 back of her head, covered her body with a thick 
 mantle, flowed in front of her from the shoulders in 
 two waves which united under the chin, and fell down 
 to her feet in one wavy sheet. It was, indeed, the 
 miraculous hair, a fabulous fleece, with heavy twists 
 and curls, a glorious, starry efflorescence, the warm and 
 living robe of the saint, perfumed with its pure 
 nudity. 
 
 That day Felicien could do nothing but watch 
 Angelique as she embroidered the curls, following the 
 exact direction of their rolling with her little pointed 
 stitches, and he never wearied of seeing the hair grow 
 and radiate under her magic needle. Its weight, and 
 the great quivering with which it seemed to be unrolled 
 at one turn, disturbed him. 
 
 Hubertine, occupied in sewing on spangles, hiding 
 the thread with which each one was attached with a 
 tiny round of gold twist, lifted up her head from time 
 to time and gave him a calm motherly look, whenever 
 she was obliged to throw into the waste-basket a spangle 
 that was not well made. 
 
 Hubert, who had just taken away the side pieces of 
 wood, that he might unstitch the banner from the frame, 
 was about folding it up carefully. And at last, Feli- 
 cien, whose embarrassment was greatly increased by 
 this unbroken silence, realised that it was best for him 
 to take leave, since as yet he had not been able to think 
 of any of the suggestions which he had said he intended 
 to make. 
 
 He rose, blushed, and stammered : 
 ' I will return another day. I find that I have so 
 badly succeeded in reproducing the charming design of
 
 THE DREAM 135 
 
 the head of the saint that you may perhaps have need 
 of some explanations from me.' 
 
 Angelique looked him fully in the face with her 
 sweet, great eyes. 
 
 ' Oh, no, not at all. But come again, Monsieur. 
 Do not hesitate to do so, if you are in the least anxious 
 about the execution of the work.' 
 
 He went away, happy from the permission given 
 him, but chilled by the coldness of manner of the young 
 girl. Yes, he realised that she did not now, and never 
 would, love him. That being the case, what use was 
 there in his seeing her ? Yet on the morrow, as well 
 as on the following days, he did not fail to go to the 
 little house on the Rue des Orfevres. The hours which 
 he could not pass there were sad enough, tortured as 
 he was by his uncertainties, distressed by his mental 
 struggles. He was never calm, except when he was 
 near her as she sat at her frame. Provided that she was 
 by his side, it seemed to him that he could resign himself 
 to the acceptance of the fact that he was disagreeable 
 to her. 
 
 Every morning he arrived at an early hour, spoke 
 of the work, then seated himself as if his presence there 
 were absolutely necessary. Then he was in a state of 
 enchantment simply to look at her, with her finely cut 
 features, her motionless profile, which seemed bathed in 
 the liquid golden tints of her hair ; and he watched in 
 ecstasy the skilful play of her flexible hands, as she 
 moved them up and down in the midst of the needlefuls 
 of gold or silk. She had become so habituated to his 
 presence that she was quite at her ease, and treated 
 him as a comrade. Nevertheless, he always felt that 
 there was between them something unexpressed which
 
 136 THE DREAM 
 
 grieved him to the heart, he knew not why. Occasion- 
 ally she looked up, regarding him with an amused, 
 half-mocking air, and with an inquiring, impatient 
 expression in her face. Then, finding he was intensely 
 embarrassed, she at once became very cold and dis- 
 tant. 
 
 But Felicien had discovered one way in which he 
 could rouse her, and he took advantage of it. It was 
 this to talk to her of her art, of the ancient master- 
 pieces of embroidery he had seen, either preserved 
 among the treasures of cathedrals, or copies of which 
 were engraved in books. For instance, there were the 
 superb copes : that of Charlemagne, in red silk, with 
 the great eagles with unfurled wings ; and the cope of 
 Sion, which is decorated with a multitude of saintly 
 figures. Then the dalmatic, which is said to be the 
 most beautiful piece of embroidery in the whole world ; 
 the Imperial dalmatic, on which is celebrated the glory 
 of Jesus Christ upon the earth and in heaven, the 
 Transfiguration, and the Last Judgment, in which the 
 different personages are embroidered in silks of various 
 colours, and in silver and gold. Also, there is a won- 
 derful tree of Jesse, an orfrey of silk upon satin, which 
 is so perfect it seems as if it were detached from a 
 window of the fifteenth century ; Abraham at the foot, 
 then David, Solomon, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and at 
 the very top the Saviour. 
 
 Among the admirable chasubles he had seen, one in 
 particular was touching in its simplicity. It repre- 
 sented Christ on the Cross, and the drops of blood from 
 His side and His feet were made by little splashes of 
 red silk on the cloth of gold, while in the foreground 
 was Mary, tenderly supported by Saint John,
 
 THE DREAM 137 
 
 On another one, which is called the chasuble of 
 Naintre", the Virgin is seated in majesty, with richly- 
 wrought sandals on her feet, and holding the Infant 
 Jesus on her knees. Others, and still others of marvel- 
 lous workmanship were alluded to, venerable not only 
 from their great age and the beautiful faith that they 
 expressed, but from a richness unknown in our time, 
 preserving the odour of the incense of tabernacles and 
 the mystic light which seemed to come from the slightly- 
 faded gold. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' sighed Angelique, ' all those exquisite things 
 are finished now. We can only find certain tones to 
 remind us of their perfection.' 
 
 With feverish hands and sparkling eyes she stopped 
 working when Felicien related to her the history of the 
 most noted men and women who were embroiderers in 
 the olden time Simonne de Gaules, Colin Jolye, and 
 others whose names have come down to us through the 
 ages. Then, after a few moments, she took up her 
 needles again, and made them fly vigorously, as she 
 appeared transfigured, and guarded on her face the 
 traces of the delight her artist nature had received in 
 listening to all these accounts. Never had she seemed 
 to him more beautiful, so enthusiastic was she, so 
 maidenly and so pure, seated there in the brighter sur- 
 roundings of so many coloured silks, applying herself 
 with unfailing exactitude to her work, into the slightest 
 details of which she put her whole soul. When he 
 had left off speaking he looked at her earnestly, until 
 roused by the silence, she realised the excited state 
 into which all these histories had thrown her, and 
 became as embarrassed as if she had done something 
 wrong.
 
 138 THE DREAM 
 
 1 Oh, dear, look ; all my silks are entangled again ! 
 Mother, please not to move about so much.' 
 
 Hubertine, who had not stirred at all, was amused, 
 but simply smiled without saying anything. At first 
 she had been rather disturbed by the constant attentions 
 of the young man, and had talked the matter over 
 thoroughly with Hubert one evening in their room. 
 But they could not help being drawn towards him, 
 and as in every respect his appearance was good and 
 his manners perfectly respectful, they concluded it 
 was not necessary to object to interviews from which 
 Angelique derived so much happiness. So matters 
 were allowed to take their way, and she watched over 
 the young people with a loving air of protection. 
 
 Moreover, she herself for many days had been op- 
 pressed by the lamenting caresses of her husband, who 
 seemed never to weary of asking her if he had been 
 forgiven. This month was the anniversary of the time 
 when they had lost their child, and each year at this 
 date they had the same regrets and the same longings ; 
 he, trembling at her feet, happy to realise that he was 
 pardoned; she, loving and distressed, blaming herself 
 for everything, and despairing that Fate had been inex- 
 orable to all their prayers. They spoke of all this to 
 no one, were the same to outsiders in every way, but 
 this increase of tenderness between them came from 
 their room like a silent perfume, disengaged itself from 
 their persons at the least movement, by each word, and 
 by their way of looking at each other, when it seemed 
 as if for the moment they almost exchanged souls. All 
 this was like the grave accompaniment, the deep con- 
 tinuous bass, upon which sang in clear notes the two 
 hearts of the young couple.
 
 THE DREAM 139 
 
 One week had passed, and the work on the mitre 
 advanced. These daily meetings had assumed a great 
 and sweet familiarity. 
 
 1 The forehead should be very high, should it not ? 
 Without any trace of eyebrows ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, very high, and not the slightest shade. Quite 
 like an old miniature.' 
 
 ' Will you pass me the white silk ? ' 
 
 ' Wait a minute, that I may thread it.' 
 
 He helped her, 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 hence- 
 forth eternally united one to the other. It was suffi- 
 cient for them to have lived until now. 
 
 ' Father, what are you doing thab 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, re- 
 mote as if in dreamy depths, in this country of good,
 
 140 THE DREAM 
 
 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 de- 
 livered, 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 ? But how ? She 
 could not tell, she never would know ; simply from her 
 whole heart came the cry that she did indeed love him. 
 The light had come to her at last ; this new, overpower- 
 ing joy overwhelmed her like the most ardent rays of 
 the sun. 
 
 For a long time her tears flowed, but not from 
 sorrow. On the contrary, she was filled with an inex-
 
 THE DREAM 141 
 
 plicable confusion of happiness that was indefinable, 
 regretting now, more deeply than ever, that she had not 
 made a confidante of Hubertine. To-day her secret 
 burdened her, and she made an earnest vow to herself 
 that henceforth she would be as cold as an icicle to- 
 wards Felicien, and would suffer everything rather than 
 allow him to see her tenderness. He should never know 
 it. To love him, merely to love him, without even 
 acknowledging it, that was the punishment, the trial she 
 must undergo to pardon her fault. It would be to her 
 in reality a delicious suffering. She thought of the 
 martyrs of whom she had read in the ' Golden Legend,' 
 and it seemed to her that she was their sister in tortur- 
 ing herself in this way, and that her guardian angel, 
 Agnes, would look at her henceforward with sadder, 
 sweeter eyes than ever. 
 
 The following day Angelique finished the mitre. 
 She had embroidered with split silk, light as gossamer, 
 the little hands and feet, which were the only points of 
 white, naked flesh that came out from the royal mantle 
 of golden hair. She perfected the face with all the 
 delicacy of the purest lily, wherein the gold seemed like 
 the blood in the veins under the delicate, silken skin. 
 And this face, radiant as the sun, was turned heaven- 
 ward, as the youthful saint was borne upward by the 
 angels toward the distant horizon of the blue plain. 
 
 When Felicien entered that day, he exclaimed with 
 admiration : 
 
 ' Oh ! how exactly she looks like you.' 
 
 It was an involuntary expression ; an acknowledg- 
 ment of the resemblance he had purposely put in the 
 design. He realised the fact after he had spoken, and 
 blushed deeply.
 
 142 THE DREAM 
 
 1 That is indeed true, my little one ; she has the 
 same beautiful eyes that you have,' said Hubert, who 
 had come forward to examine the work. 
 
 Hubertine merely smiled now, having made a similar 
 remark many days before, and she was surprised and 
 .grieved when she heard Angelique reply in a harsh, 
 disagreeable tone of voice, like what she sometimes had 
 in her fits of obstinacy years ago : 
 
 ' My beautiful eyes ! Why will you make fun of me 
 in that way ? I know as well as you do that I am very 
 ugly.' 
 
 Then, getting up, she shook out her dress, over- 
 acting her assumed character of a harsh, avaricious girl. 
 
 ' Ah, at last ! It is really finished ! I am thankful, 
 for it was too much of a task, too heavy a burden on my 
 shoulders. Do you know, I would never undertake to 
 make another one for the same price ? ' 
 
 Felicien listened to her in amazement. Could it be 
 that after all she still cared only for money ? Had he 
 been mistaken when he thought at times she was so ex- 
 quisitely tender, and so passionately devoted to her 
 artistic work ? Did she in reality wish for the pay her 
 labour brought her ? and was she so indifferent that she 
 rejoiced at the completion of her task, wishing neither 
 to see nor to hear of it again ? For several days he had 
 been discouraged as he sought in vain for some pretext 
 of continuing, later on, visits that gave him such plea- 
 sure. But, alas ! it was plain that she did not care for 
 him in the least, and that she tiever would love him. 
 His suffering was so great that he grew very pale and 
 could scarcely speak. 
 
 ' But, Mademoiselle, will you not make up the 
 mitre ? '
 
 THE DREAM 143 
 
 ' No, mother can do it so much better than I can. 
 I am too happy at the thought that I have nothing more 
 to do with it.' 
 
 'But do you not like the work which you do so 
 well?' 
 
 ' I ? I do not like anything in the world.' 
 
 Hubertine was obliged to speak to her sternly, and 
 tell her to be quiet. She then begged Felicien to be so 
 good as to pardon her nervous child, who was a little 
 weary from her long-continued application. She added 
 that the mitre would be at his disposal at an early hour 
 on the following morning. It was the same as if she 
 had asked him to go away, but he could not leave. He 
 stood and looked around him in this old workroom, 
 filled with shade and with peace, and it seemed to him 
 as if he were being driven from Paradise. He had spent 
 so many sweet hours there in the illusion of his brightest 
 fancies, that it was like tearing his very heart-strings 
 to think all this was at an end. What troubled him 
 the worst was his inability to explain matters, and that 
 he could only take with him such a fearful uncertainty. 
 At last he said good-day, resolved to risk everything at 
 the first opportunity rather than not to know the truth. 
 
 Scarcely had ho closed the door when Hubert 
 asked : 
 
 ' What is the matter with you, my dear child ? Are 
 you ill?' 
 
 ' No, indeed. It is simply that I am tired of having 
 that young man here. I do not wish to see him 
 again.' 
 
 Then Hubertine added : ' Very well ; you will not 
 see him again. But nothing should ever prevent one 
 from being polite.'
 
 144 THE DREAM 
 
 Angelique, making some trivial excuse, hurried up 
 to her room as quickly as possible. Then she gave free 
 course to her tears. Ah, how intensely happy she was, 
 yet how she suffered ! Her poor, dear beloved ; he was 
 sad enough when he found he must leave her! But 
 she must not forget that she had made a vow to the 
 saints, that although she loved him better than life, he 
 should never know it.
 
 THE DREAM 145 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Ox the evening of this same day, immediately after 
 leaving the dinner-table, Angelique complained of not 
 being at all well, and went up at once to her room. 
 The agitation and excitement of the morning, her 
 struggles against her true self, had quite exhausted 
 her. She made haste to go to bed, and covering her 
 head with the sheet, with a desperate feeling of dis- 
 appearing for ever if she could, again the tears came 
 to her relief. 
 
 The hours passed slowly, and soon it was night a 
 warm July night, the heavy, oppressive quiet of which 
 entered through the window, which had been left wide 
 open. In the dark heavens glistened a multitude of 
 stars. It must have been nearly eleven o'clock, and 
 the moon, already grown quite thin in its last quarter, 
 would not rise until midnight. 
 
 And in the obscure chamber, Angelique still wept 
 nervously a flow of inexhaustible tears, seemingly with- 
 out reason, when a slight noise at her door caused her 
 to lift up her head. 
 
 There was a short silence, when a voice called her 
 tenderly. 
 
 ' Angelique ! Angelique ! My darling child ! ' 
 
 She recognised the voice of Hubertine. Without 
 
 L
 
 146 THE DREAM 
 
 doubt the latter, in her room with her husband, had just 
 heard the distant sound of sobbing, and anxious, half- 
 undressed, she had come upstairs to find out what was 
 the matter with her daughter. 
 
 ' Angelique, are you ill, my dear ? ' 
 
 Retaining her breath, the young girl made no 
 answer. She did not wish to be unkind, but her one 
 absorbing idea at this moment was of solitude. To be 
 alone was the only possible alleviation of her trouble. 
 A word of consolation, a caress, even from her mother, 
 would have distressed her. She imagined that she saw 
 her standing at the other side of the door, and from the 
 delicacy of the rustling movement on the tiled floor 
 she thought she must be barefooted. Two or three 
 minutes passed, and she knew the kind watcher had 
 not left her place, but that, stooping, and holding with 
 her beautiful hands the clothing so carelessly thrown 
 over her, she still listened at the keyhole. 
 
 Hubertine, hearing nothing more, not even a sigh, 
 did not like to call again. She was very sure that she 
 had heard sobs ; but if the child had at last been able 
 to sleep, what good would it do to awaken her ? She 
 waited, however, another moment, troubled by the 
 thought of a grief which her daughter hid from her, 
 confusedly imagining what it might be from the tender 
 emotion with which her heart seemed filled from sym- 
 pathy. At last she concluded to go down as she had 
 come up, quietly, her hands being so familiar with every 
 turning that she needed no candle, and leaving behind 
 her no other sound than the soft, light touch of her 
 bare feet. 
 
 Then, sitting up in bed, Angelique in her turn 
 listened. So profound was the outward silence that
 
 THE DREAM 147 
 
 she could clearly distinguish the slight pressure of the 
 heel on the edge of each step of the stairway. At the 
 foot, the door of the chamber was opened, then closed 
 again ; afterward, she heard a scarcely-distinct murmur, 
 an affectionate, yet sad blending of voices in a half- 
 whisper. No doubt it was what her father and mother 
 were saying of her ; the fears and the hopes they had in 
 regard to her. For a long time that continued, although 
 they must have put out their light and gone to bed. 
 
 Never before had any night sounds in this old house 
 mounted in this way to her ears. Ordinarily, she slept 
 the heavy, tranquil sleep of youth ; she heard nothing 
 whatever after placing her head upon her pillow ; whilst 
 now, in the wakefulness caused by the inner combat 
 against an almost overpowering sentiment of affection 
 which she was determined to conquer, it seemed to 
 her as if the whole house were in unison with her, that 
 it was also in love, and mourned like herself. Were 
 not the Huberts, too, sad, as they stifled their tears 
 and thought of the child they had lost long ago, whose 
 place, alas ! had never been filled ? She knew nothing 
 of this in reality, but she had a sensation in this warm 
 night of the watch of her parents below her, and 01 
 the disappointment in their lives, which they could not 
 forget, notwithstanding their great love for each other, 
 which was always as fresh as when they were young. 
 
 Whilst she was seated in this way, listening in 
 the house that trembled and sighed, Angelique lost all 
 self-control, and again the tears rolled down her face, 
 silently, but warm and living, as if they were her life's 
 blood. One question above all others had troubled her 
 since the early morning, and had grieved her deeply. 
 Was she right in having sent away Felicieii in despair, 
 
 i. 2
 
 148 THE DREAM 
 
 stabbed to the heart by her coldness, and with the 
 thought that she did not love him ? She knew that 
 she did love him, yet she had willingly caused him to 
 suffer, and now in her turn she was suffering intensely. 
 Why should there be so much pain connected with 
 love ? Did the saints wish for tears ? Could it be 
 that Agnes, her guardian angel, was angry in the know- 
 ledge that she was happy ? Now, for the first time, 
 she was distracted by a doubt. Before this, whenever 
 she thought of the hero she awaited, and who must 
 come sooner or later, she had arranged everything much 
 more satisfactorily. When the right time arrived he 
 was to enter her very room, where she would immedi- 
 ately recognise and welcome him, when they would 
 both go away together, to be united for evermore. But 
 how different was the reality ! He had come, and, in- 
 stead of what she had foreseen, their meeting was most 
 unsatisfactory ; they were equally unhappy, and were 
 eternally separated. To what purpose ? Why had 
 this result come to pass ? Who had exacted from her 
 so strange a vow, that, although he might be very dear 
 to her, she was never to let him know it ? 
 
 But, yet again, Angelique was especially grieved 
 from the fear that she might have been bad and done 
 some very wrong thing. Perhaps the original sin that 
 was in her had manifested itself again as when she was 
 a little girl ! She thought over all her acts of pretended 
 indifference : the mocking air with which she had re- 
 ceived Felicien, and the malicious pleasure she took in 
 giving him a false idea of herself. And the astonish- 
 ment at what she had done, added to a cutting remorse 
 for her cruelty, increased her distress. Now, her whole 
 heart was filled with a deep infinite pity for the suffer-
 
 THE DREAM 149 
 
 ing she had caused him without really meaning to 
 do so. 
 
 She saw him constantly before her, as he was when 
 he left the house in the morning : the despairing ex- 
 pression of his face, his troubled eyes, his trembling 
 lips ; and in imagination she followed him through the 
 streets, as lie went home, pale, utterly desolate, and 
 wounded to the heart's core by her. Where was he 
 now ? Perhaps at this hour he was really ill ! 
 
 She wrung her hands in agony, distressed that she 
 cculd not at once repair the evil she had done. Ah ! 
 how she revolted at the idea of having made another 
 suffer, for she had always wished to be good, and to 
 render those about her as happy as possible. 
 
 Twelve o'clock would ere long ring out from the 
 old church-tower ; the great elms of the garden of the 
 Bishop's palace hid the moon, which was just appearing 
 above the horizon, and the chamber was still dark. 
 Then, letting her head fall back upon the pillow, 
 Angelique dwelt no longer upon these disturbing ques- 
 tions, as she wished to go to sleep. But this she could 
 not do ; although she kept her eyes closed, her mind 
 was still active ; she thought of the flowers which every 
 night during the last fortnight she had found when she 
 went upstairs upon the balcony before her window. 
 Each evening it was a lovely bouquet of violets, which 
 Felicien had certainly thrown there from the Clos-Marie. 
 She recollected having told him that flowers generally 
 gave her a sick headache, whilst violets alone had the 
 singular virtue of calming her, and so he had sent her 
 quiet nights, a perfumed sleep refreshed by pleasant 
 dreams. This evening she had placed the bouquet by 
 her bedside. All at once she had the happy thought
 
 ISO THE DREAM 
 
 of taking it into her bed with her, putting it near her 
 cheek, and, little by little, being soothed with its sweet 
 breath. The purple blossoms did indeed do her good. 
 Not that she slept, however ; but she lay there with 
 closed eyes, penetrated by the refreshing odour that 
 came from his gift ; happy to await events, in a repose 
 and confident abandonment of her whole being. 
 
 But suddenly she started. It was past midnight. 
 She opened her eyes, and was astonished to find her 
 chamber filled with a clear bright light. Above the 
 great elms the moon rose slowly, dimming the stars in 
 the pale sky. Through the window she saw the apse 
 of the cathedral, almost white, and it seemed to her as 
 if it were the reflection of this whiteness which entered 
 her room, like the light of the dawn, fresh and pure. 
 The whitewashed walls and beams, all this blank nudity 
 was increased by it, enlarged, and moved back as if it 
 were unreal as a dream. 
 
 She still recognised, however, the old, dark, oaken 
 furniture the wardrobe, the chest and the chairs, with 
 the shining edges of their elaborate carvings. The 
 bedstead alone this great square, royal couch seemed 
 new to her, as if she saw it for the first time, with its 
 high columns supporting its canopy of old-fashioned, 
 rose-tinted cretonne, now bathed with such a sheet of ' 
 deep moonlight that she half thought she was on a 
 cloud in the midst of the heavens, borne along by a 
 flight of silent, invisible wings. For a moment she 
 felt the full swinging of it ; it did not seem at all strange 
 or unnatural to her. But her sight soon grew accus- 
 tomed to the reality ; her bed was again in its usual 
 corner, and she was in it, not moving her head, her 
 eyes alone turning from side to side, as she lay in the
 
 THE DREAM 151 
 
 midst of this lake of beaming rays, with the bouquet of 
 violets upon her lips. 
 
 Why was it that she was thus in a state of waiting ? 
 Why could she not sleep ? She was now sure that she 
 expected someone. That she had grown quite calm 
 was a sign that her hero was about to appear. This 
 consoling light, which put to flight the darkness of all 
 bad dreams, announced his arrival. He was on his 
 way, and the moon, whose brightness almost equalled 
 that of the sun, was simply his forerunner. She must 
 be ready to greet him. 
 
 The chamber was as if hung with white velvet now, 
 so they could see each other well. Then she got up, 
 dressed herself thoroughly, putting on a simple white 
 gown of foulard, the same she had worn the day of their 
 excursion to the ruins of Hautecoeur. She did not 
 braid her hair, but let it hang over her shoulders. She 
 put a pair of slippers upon her bare feet, and drawing 
 an armchair in front of the window, seated herself, and 
 waited in patience. 
 
 Angelique did not pretend to know how he would 
 appear. Without doubt, he would not come up the stairs, 
 and it might be that she would simply see him over the 
 Clos-Marie, while she leaned from the balcony. Still, 
 she kept her place on the threshold of the window, as 
 it seemed to her useless to go and watch for him just 
 yet. So vague was her idea of real life, so mystic was 
 love, that she did not understand in her imaginative 
 nature why he might not pass through the walls, like 
 the saints in the legends. Why should not miracles 
 come now, as in the olden days, for had not all this 
 been ordained from the beginning ? 
 
 Not for a moment did she think she was alone to
 
 152 THE DREAM 
 
 receive him. No, indeed ! she felt as if she were sur- 
 rounded by the crowd of virgins who had always been 
 near her, since her early youth. They entered on the 
 rays of the moonlight, they came from the great dark 
 trees with their blue-green tops in the Bishop's garden, 
 from the most intricate corners of the entanglement of 
 the stone front of the Cathedral. From- all the familiar 
 and beloved horizon of the Chevrotte, from the willows, 
 the grasses, and bushes, the young girl heard the 
 dreams which came back to her, the hopes, the desires, 
 the visions, all that which she had put of herself into 
 inanimate objects as she saw them daily, and which 
 they now returned to her. Never had the voices of the 
 invisible unknown spoken so clearly. She listened to 
 them as they came from afar, recognising particularly 
 in this warm, beautiful night, so calm that there was 
 not the slightest movement in the air, the delicate 
 sound which she was wont to call the fluttering of the 
 robe of Agnes, when her dear guardian angel came to 
 her side. She laughed quietly to know that she was 
 now by her, and waiting with the others who were near 
 her. 
 
 Time passed, but it did not seem long to Angelique. 
 She was quite unconscious of what was passing around 
 her. It appeared to her perfectly natural, and exactly 
 as it had been foretold, when at last she saw Felicien 
 striding over the balustrade of the balcony. 
 
 His tall figure came out in full relief before the 
 background of the white sky ; he did not approach the 
 open window, but remained in its luminous shadow. 
 
 ' Do not be afraid. It is I. I have come to see 
 you.' 
 
 She was not in the slightest way alarmed ; she
 
 THE DREAM 153 
 
 simply thought that he was exact to the hour of meet- 
 ing, and said calmly: 
 
 ' You mounted by the timber framework, did you not ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, by the framework.' 
 
 The idea of this way made her laugh, and he him- 
 self was amused by it. He had in fact pulled himself 
 up by the pent-house shed ; then, climbing along the 
 principal rafters from there, whose ends were supported 
 by the string-course of the first story, he had without 
 difficulty reached the balcony. 
 
 ' I was expecting you. Will you not come nearer 
 me? ' 
 
 Felicien, who had arrived in a state of anger, not 
 knowing how he had dared to come, but with many 
 wild ideas in his head, did not move, so surprised and 
 delighted was he by this unexpected reception. As he 
 had come at last, Angelique was now certain that the 
 saints did not prohibit her from loving, for she heard 
 them welcoming him with her by a laugh as delicate 
 as a breath of the night. Where in the world had she 
 ever found so ridiculous an idea as to think that Agnes 
 would be angry with her ! On the contrary, Agnes 
 was radiant with a joy that she felt as it descended on 
 her shoulders and enveloped her like a caress from two 
 great wings. All those who had died for love showed 
 great compassion for youthful troubles, and only re- 
 turned to earth on summer nights, that, although in- 
 visible, they might watch those young hearts who were 
 sorrowful from affection. 
 
 ' But why do you not come to me ? I was waiting 
 for you.' 
 
 Then, hesitatingly, Felicien approached. He had 
 been so excited, so carried away by anger at her indif-
 
 154 THE DREAM 
 
 ference, that he had said she should be made to love 
 him, and that, were it necessary, he would carry her 
 away even against her will. And lo ! now finding her 
 so gentle as he penetrated almost to the eotrance of 
 this chamber, so pure and white, he became subdued at 
 once, and as gentle and submissive as a child. 
 
 He took three steps forward. But he was afraid, 
 and not daring to go farther, he fell on his knees at the 
 end of the balcony. 
 
 ' Could you but know,' he said, ' the abominable 
 tortures I have passed through. I have never imagined 
 a worse suffering. Really, the only true grief is to 
 think that you are not beloved by the person to whom 
 you have given your affection. I would willingly give 
 up all else ; would consent to be poor, dying from 
 hunger, or racked by pain ; but I will not pass another 
 day with this terrible doubt gnawing at my heart, of 
 thinking that you do not love me. Be good, I pray 
 you, and pity me.' 
 
 She listened to him, silent, overcome with com- 
 passion, yet very happy withal. 
 
 ' This morning you sent me away in such a dread- 
 ful manner ! I had fancied to myself that you had 
 changed your feelings towards me, and that, appreciat- 
 ing my affection, you liked me better. But, alas ! I 
 found you exactly as you had been on the first day, 
 cold, indifferent, treating me as you would have done 
 any other simple customer who passed, recalling me 
 harshly to the commonplaces of life. On the stair- 
 way I staggered. Once outside, I ran, and was afraid 
 I might scream aloud. Then, the moment I reached 
 home, it seemed to me I should stifle were I to enter 
 the house. So I rushed out into the fields, walking
 
 THE DREAM 155 
 
 by chance first on one side of the road and then on 
 another. Evening came, and I was still wandering up 
 and down. But the torment of spirit moved faster 
 than ever and devoured me. When one is hopelessly 
 in love, it is impossible to escape from the pains ac- 
 companying one's affection. Listen ! ' he said, and he 
 touched his breast ; ' it is here that you stabbed me, 
 and the point of the knife still' continues to penetrate 
 deeper and deeper.' 
 
 He gave a long sigh at the keen recollection of his 
 torture. 
 
 ' I found myself at last in a thicket, overcome by 
 my distress, like a tree that has been drawn up by the 
 roots. To me, the only thing that existed in life, in the 
 future, was yon. The thought that you might never 
 be mine was more than I could bear. Already my feet 
 were so weary that they would no longer support me. 
 I felt that my hands were growing icy cold, and my 
 head was filled with the strangest fancies. And that 
 is why I am here. I do not know at all how I came, 
 or where I found the necessary strength to bring 
 me to you. You must try to forgive me ; but had I 
 been forced to do so, I would have broken open doors 
 with my fists, I would have clambered up to this bal- 
 cony in broad daylight, for my will was no longer under 
 my control, and I was -quite wild. Now, will you not 
 pardon me ? ' 
 
 She was a little in the shadow, and he, on his knees 
 in the full moonlight, could not see that she had grown 
 very pale in her tender repentance, and was too touched 
 by his story to be able to speak. He thought that she 
 was still insensible to his pleadings, and he joined his 
 hands together most beseechingly.
 
 i$6 THE DREAM 
 
 ' All my interest in .you commenced long ago. It 
 was one night when I saw you for the first time, 
 here at your window. You were only a vague, white 
 shadow ; I could scarcely distinguish one of your fea- 
 tures, yet I saw you and imagined you just as you are 
 in reality. But I was timid and afraid, so for several 
 days I wandered about here, never daring to try to 
 meet you in the open day. And, in addition, since 
 this is a confession, I must tell you everything; you 
 pleased me particularly in this half mystery ; it would 
 have disturbed me to have you come out from it, for 
 my great happiness was to dream of you as if you were 
 an apparition, or an unknown something to be wor- 
 shipped from afar, without ever hoping to become 
 acquainted with you. Later on, I knew who you 
 were, for after all it is difficult to resist the temptation 
 to know what may be the realisation of one's dream. 
 It was then that my restlessness commenced. It has 
 increased at each meeting. Do you recollect the first 
 time that we spoke to each other in the field near by, 
 on that forenoon when I was examining the painted 
 window ? Never in my life did I feel so awkward as 
 then, and it was not strange that you ridiculed me so. 
 Afterwards I frightened you, and realised that I con- 
 tinued to be very unfortunate in following you, even in 
 the visits you made to the poor people. Already I 
 ceased to be master of my own actions, and did things 
 that astonished me beyond measure, and which, under 
 usual circumstances, I would not have dared attempt. 
 For instance, when I presented myself here with the 
 order for a mitre, I was pushed forward by an involun- 
 tary force, as, personally, I dared not do it, knowing 
 that I might make you angry. But at present I cannot
 
 THE DREAM 157 
 
 regain my old self, I can only obey my impulses. I 
 know that you do not like me, and yet, as you see, in 
 spite of it all I have come back to you, that I may hear 
 you tell rne so. If you would but try to understand 
 how miserable I am. Do not love me if it is not in 
 your heart to do so. I must accept my fate. But at 
 least allow me to love you. Be as cold as you please, 
 be hateful if you will i shall adore you whatever you 
 may choose to be. I only ask to be able to see you, 
 even without any hope ; merely for the joy of living 
 thus at your feet.' 
 
 Felicien stopped, disheartened, losing all courage 
 as he thought he would never find any way of touching 
 her heart. And he did not see that Angelique smiled, 
 half hidden as she was by the open window-sash. It 
 was an invincible smile, that, little by little, spread over 
 her whole face. Ah ! the dear fellow ! How simple 
 and trusting he was as he outpoured the prayer of his 
 heart, filled with new longings and love, in bowing 
 before her, as before the highest ideal of all his youth- 
 ful dreams. 
 
 To think that she had ever been so foolish as at first 
 to try to avoid all meetings with him, and then, later 
 on, had determined that although she could not help 
 loving him, he should never know it ! Such folly oil 
 her part was quite inexplicable. Since love is right, 
 and is the fate of all, what good could be gained by 
 making martyrs of them both ? 
 
 A complete silence ensued, and in her enthusiastic, 
 imaginative, nervous state, she heard, louder than ever, 
 in the quiet of the warm night, the voices of the saints 
 about her, who said love was never forbidden when it 
 was so ardent and true as this. Behind her back a
 
 158 THE DREAM 
 
 bright flash of light had suddenly appeared ; scarcely a 
 breath, but a delicate wave from the moon upon the 
 chamber floor. An invisible finger, no doubt that of 
 her guardian angel, was placed upon her mouth, as if to 
 unseal her lips and relieve her from her vow. Hence- 
 forth she could freely unburden herself and tell the 
 truth. All that which was powerful and tender in her 
 surroundings now whispered to her words which seemed 
 to come from the infinite 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 uncer- 
 tain 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 forgetten 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
 
 THE DREAM 159 
 
 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 r.s 
 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 
 wilfully unhappy ? Whilst in reality I longed to wel- 
 come you and to receive you with open hands, there 
 seemed to be in the depths of my nature another woman 
 than myself, who revolted, who was afraid of and mis- 
 trusted you whose delight it was to torture you with 
 uncertainty, in the vague idea of setting up a quarrel, 
 the cause of which, in a time long passed, had been 
 quite forgotten. I am not always good ; often in my
 
 160 THE DREAM 
 
 soul tilings seem to creep up that I cannot explain or 
 account for. The worst of all was that I dared to speak 
 to you of money. Fancy it, then ! Of money ! I, who 
 have never thought of it, who would accept chariots of 
 it, only for the pleasure of making it rain down as I 
 wished, among the needy ! What a malicious amuse- 
 ment I gave myself in thus calumniating my character. 
 Will you ever forgive me ? '
 
 THE DREAM 161 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FELICIEN was at her feet. Until now he had kept his 
 place in the remote corner of the balcony. But in the 
 intense happiness she gave him in thus unfolding the 
 innermost secrets of her soul he had drawn himself on 
 his knees towards her, as he approached the window. 
 This great, illimitable joy was so unlocked for, that 
 he yielded to it in all the infinitude of its hopes for the 
 future. 
 
 He half whispered : 
 
 'Ah, dear soul, pure, kind, and beautiful, your 
 wonderful goodness has cured me as with a breath ! I 
 know not now if I have ever suffered. And, in your 
 turn, you will now have to pardon me, for I have an 
 acknowledgment to make to you. I must tell you who 
 I am.' 
 
 He was troubled at the thought he could no longer 
 disguise himself or his position, since she had confided 
 so freely and entirely in him. It would be disloyal in 
 the highest degree to do so. Yet he hesitated, lest he 
 might, after all, lose her, were she to be anxious about 
 the future when at last she knew the facts. 
 
 And she waited for him to speak again, a little 
 malicious in spite of herself. 
 
 In a very low voice he continued : 
 
 M
 
 ,6 2 THE DREAM 
 
 ' I have told a falsehood to your parents.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know it,' she said as she smiled. 
 
 ' No, you do not know it ; you could not possibly 
 know it, for all that happened too long ago. I only 
 paint 011 glass for my own pleasure, and as a simple 
 amusement ; you really ought to be told of that.' 
 
 Then, with a quick movement, she put her hand on 
 his mouth, as if she wished to prevent this explana- 
 tion. 
 
 ' I do not care to hear any more. I have been 
 expecting you. I knew that sooner or later you would 
 come, and you have done so. That is all-sufficient.' 
 
 They talked no longer for a while. That little hand 
 over his lips seemed almost too great a happiness for 
 
 him. 
 
 ' When the right time comes, then I shall know all. 
 Yet I assure you that I am ignorant of nothing con- 
 nected with you, for everything had been revealed to 
 me before our first meeting. You were to be, and can 
 be, only the handsomest, the richest, and the most noble 
 of men, the one above all others ; for that has ever been' 
 my dream, and in the sure certainty of its full accom- 
 plishment I wait calmly. You are the chosen hero who 
 it was ordained should come, and I am yours.' 
 
 A second time she interrupted herself in the tremor 
 of the words she pronounced. She did not appear to 
 say them by herself alone ; they came to her as if sent 
 by the beautiful night from the great white heavens, 
 from the old trees, and the aged stones sleeping outside 
 and dreaming aloud the fancies of the young girl. From 
 behind her voices also whispered them to her, the voices 
 of her friends in the ' Golden Legend,' with whom she 
 had peopled the air and the space around her. In this
 
 THE DREAM 163 
 
 atmosphere she had ever lived mysticism, in which 
 she revelled until it seemed fact on one side, and the 
 daily work of life on the other. Nothing seemed strange 
 to her. 
 
 Now but one word remained to be said that which 
 would express all the long waiting, the slow creation of 
 affection, the constantly increasing fever of restlessness. 
 It escaped from her lips like a cry from a distance, from 
 the white flight of a bird mounting upward in the light 
 of the early dawn, in the pure whiteness of the chamber 
 behind her. 
 
 ' I love you.' 
 
 Angelique, her two hands spread out, bent forward 
 towards Felicien. And he recalled to himself the even- 
 ing when she ran barefooted through the grass, making 
 so adorable a picture that he pursued her in order to 
 stammer in her ear these same words : ' I love you.' 
 He knew that now she was simply replying to him with 
 the same cry of affection, the eternal cry, which at last 
 came from her freely-opened heart. 
 
 ' Yes, I love you. I am yours. Lead the way, and 
 I will follow you wherever it may be.' 
 
 In this surrender of her soul she gave herself to him 
 fully and entirely. It was the hereditary flame relighted 
 within her the pride and the passion she thought had 
 been conquered, but which awoke at the wish of her 
 beloved. He trembled before this innocence, so ardent 
 and so ingenuous. He took her hands gently, and 
 crossed them upon her breast. For a moment he 
 looked at her, radiant with the intense happiness her 
 confession had given him, unwilling to wound her deli- 
 cacy in the slightest degree, and not thinking of yield- 
 ing to the temptation of even kissing her hair. 
 
 M2
 
 164 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 ' You love me, and you know that I love you ! Ah ! 
 what bliss there is in such knowledge.' 
 
 But they were suddenly drawn from their ecstatic 
 state by a change about them. What did it all mean ? 
 They realised that now they were looking at each other 
 under a great white light. It seemed to them as if the 
 brightness of the moon had been increased, and was as 
 resplendent as that of the sun. It was in reality the 
 daybreak, a slight shade of which already tinged with 
 purple the tops of the elm-trees in the neighbouring 
 gardens. What? It could not be possible that the 
 dawn had come ? They were astonished by it, for they 
 did not realise so long a time had passed since they 
 began to talk together on the balcony. She had as yet 
 told him nothing, and he had so many things he wished 
 
 to say ! 
 
 ' Oh, stay one minute more, only one minute ! ' he 
 
 exclaimed. 
 
 The daylight advanced still faster the smiling 
 morning, already warm, of what was to be a hot day in 
 summer. One by one the stars were extinguished, and 
 with them fled the wandering visions, and all the host 
 of invisible friends seemed to mount upward and to 
 glide away on the moon's rays. 
 
 Now, in the full, clear light, the room behind them 
 had only its ordinary whiteness of walls and ceiling, 
 and seemed quite empty with its old-fashioned furniture 
 of dark oak. The velvet hangings were no longer 
 there, and the bedstead had resumed its original shape, 
 as it stood half hidden by the falling of one of its cur- 
 tains. 
 
 * Do stay ! Let me be near you only one minute 
 
 more ! '
 
 THE DREAM 165 
 
 Angelique, having risen, refused, and begged 
 Felicien to leave immediately. Since the day had 
 come, she had grown confused and anxious. The 
 reality was now here. At her right hand, she seemed 
 to hear a delicate movement of win-gs, whilst her hair 
 was gently blown, although there was not the slightest 
 breath of wind. Was it not Saint Agnes, who, having 
 remained until the last, was now forced to leave, driven 
 away by the sun ? 
 
 ' No, leave me, I beg of you. I am unwilling you 
 should stay longer.' 
 
 Then Felicien, obedient, withdrew. 
 To know that he was beloved was enough for him, 
 and satisfied him. Still, before leaving the balcony, he 
 turned, and looked at her again fixedly, as if he wished 
 to carry away with him an indelible remembrance of 
 her. They both smiled at each other as they stood thus, 
 bathed with light, in this long caressing look. 
 At last he said : 
 ' I love you.' 
 
 And she gently repeated : 
 ' I love you.' 
 
 That was all, and he had in a moment, with the 
 agility of a bird, gone down the woodwork of the corner 
 of the building, while she, remaining on the balcony, 
 leaned on the balustrade and watched him, with her 
 tender, beautiful eyes. She had taken the bouquet of 
 violets and breathed the perfume to cool her feverish- 
 ness. When, in crossing the Clos-Marie, he lifted his 
 head, he saw that she was kissing the flowers. 
 
 Scarcely had Felicien disappeared behind the wil- 
 lows, when Angelique was disturbed by hearing below 
 the opening of the house-door. Four o'clock had just
 
 1 66 THE DREAM 
 
 struck, and no one was in the habit of getting up until 
 two hours later. Her surprise increased when she 
 recognised Hubertine, as it was always Hubert who 
 went down the first. She saw her follow slowly the 
 walks of the narrow garden, her arms hanging listlessly 
 at her sides, as if, after a restless, sleepless night, a 
 feeling of suffocating, a need of breathing the fresh air, 
 had made her leave her room so early. And Hubertine 
 was really very beautiful, with her clothes so hastily 
 put on ; and she seemed very weary happy, but in the 
 deepest grief. 
 
 The morning of the next day, on waking from a 
 sound sleep of eight hours, one of those sweet, deep, 
 refreshing sleeps that come after some great happiness, 
 Angelique ran to her window. The sky was clear, the 
 air pure, and the fine weather had returned after a 
 heavy shower of the previous evening. Delighted, she 
 called out joyously to Hubert, who was just opening 
 the blinds below her : 
 
 ' Father ! father ! do look at the beautiful sunlight ; 
 Oh, how glad I am, for the procession will be 
 superb ! ' 
 
 Dressing herself as quickly as possible, she hurried 
 to go downstairs. It was on that day, July 28, 
 that the Procession of the Miracle would pass through 
 the streets of the upper town. Every summer at this 
 date it was also a festival for the embroiderers ; all work 
 was put aside, no needles were threaded, but the day 
 was passed in ornamenting the house, after a traditional 
 arrangement that had been transmitted from mother to 
 daughter for four hundred years. 
 
 All the while that she was taking her coffee, 
 Angelique talked of the hangings.
 
 THE DREAM 167 
 
 ' Mother, we must look at them at once, to see if 
 they are in good order.' 
 
 1 We have plenty of time before us, my dear,' replied 
 Hubertine, in her quiet way. ' We shall not put them 
 up until afternoon.' 
 
 The decorations in question consisted of three large 
 panels of the most admirable ancient embroidery, which 
 the Huberts guarded with the greatest care as a sacred 
 family relic, and which they brought out once a jear 
 on the occasion of the passing of this special pro- 
 cession. 
 
 The previous evening, according to a time-honoured 
 custom, the Master of the Ceremonies, the good Abbe 
 Cornille, had gone from door to door to notify the 
 inhabitants of the route which would be taken by the 
 bearers of the statue of Saint Agnes, accompanied by 
 Monseigneur the Bishop, carrying the Holy Sacrament. 
 For more than five centuries this route had been the 
 same. The departure was made from the portal of Saint 
 Agnes, then by the Hue des Orfevres to the Grand 
 Rue, to the Rue Basse, and after having gone through 
 the whole of the lower town, it returned by the Rue 
 Magloire and the Place du Cloitre, to reappear again 
 at the great front entrance of the Church. And the 
 dwellers on all these streets, vicing with each other in 
 their zeal, decorated their windows, hung upon their 
 walls their richest possessions in silks, satins, velvets, 
 or tapestry, and strewed the pavements with flowers, 
 particularly \vith the leaves of roses and carnations. 
 
 Angelique was very impatient until permission had 
 been given her to take from the drawers, where they 
 had been quietly resting for the past twelve months, the 
 three pieces of embroidery.
 
 1 68 THE DREAM 
 
 ' They are in perfect order, mother. Nothing has 
 happened to them,' she said, as she looked at them, en- 
 raptured. 
 
 She had with the greatest care removed the mass of 
 silk paper that protected them from the dust, and they 
 now appeared in all their beauty. The three were 
 consecrated to Mary. The Blessed Virgin receiving the 
 visit of the Angel of the Annunciation; the Virgin 
 Mother at the foot of the Cross ; and the Assumption of 
 the Virgin. They were made in the fifteenth century, 
 of brightly coloured silks wrought on a golden back- 
 ground, and were wonderfully well preserved. The 
 family had always refused to sell them, although very 
 large sums had been offered by different churches, and 
 they were justly proud of their possession. 
 
 ' Mother dear, may I not hang them up to-day ? ' 
 All these preparations required a great deal of time. 
 Hubert was occupied the whole forenoon in cleaning the 
 front of the old building. He fastened a broom to 
 the end of a long stick, that he might dust all the 
 wooden panels decorated with bricks, as far as the 
 framework of the roof ; then with a sponge he washed 
 all the sub-basement of stone, and all the parts of the 
 stairway tower that he could reach. When that was 
 finished, the three superb pieces of embroidery were put 
 in their places. Angelique attached them, by their 
 rings to venerable nails that were in the walls; the 
 Annunciation below the window at the left, the Assump- 
 tion below the window at the right, while for the 
 Calvary, the nails for that were above the great window 
 of the first story, and she was obliged to use a step-ladder 
 that she might hang it there in its turn. She had 
 already embellished the window with flowers, so that
 
 THE DREAM 169 
 
 the ancient dwelling seemed to have gone back to the 
 far-away time of its youth, with its embroideries of gold 
 and of silk glistening in the beautiful sunshine of this 
 festive day. 
 
 After the noon breakfast the activity increased in 
 every direction, and the whole Rue des Orfdvres was 
 now in excitement. To avoid the great heat, the pro- 
 cession would not move until five o'clock, but after 
 twelve the town began to be decorated. Opposite the 
 Huberts', the silversmith dressed his shop with draperies 
 of an exquisite light blue, bordered with a silver fringe ; 
 while the wax-chandler, who was next to him, made use 
 of his window-curtains of red cotton, which looked more 
 brilliant than ever in the broad light of day. At each 
 house there were different colours ; a prodigality of 
 stuffs, everything that people owned, even to rugs of all 
 descriptions, were blowing about in the weary air of this 
 hot summer afternoon. The street now seemed clothed, 
 sparkling, and almost trembling with gaiety, as if changed 
 into a gallery of fete open to the sky. All its inhabitants 
 were rushing to and fro, pushing against each other, 
 speaking loud, as if in their own homes ; some of them 
 carrying their arms full of objects, others climbing, 
 driving nails, and calling vociferously. In addition to 
 all this was the reposoir, or altar, that was being prepared 
 at the corner of the Grand Rue, the arrangements for 
 which called for the services of all the women of the 
 neighbourhood, who eagerly offered their vases and 
 candlesticks. 
 
 Angelique ran down to carry the two candelabra, of 
 the style of the Empire, which they had on the mantel- 
 shelf of their parlour. She had not taken a moment's 
 rest since the early morning, but had shown no signs of
 
 I 7 o THE DREAM 
 
 fatigue, being, on the contrary, supported and carried 
 above herself by her great inward happiness. And as 
 she came back from her errand, her hair blown all 
 about her face by the wind, Hubert began to tease her 
 as she seated herself to strip off the leaves of the roses, 
 and to put them in a great basket. 
 
 ' You could not do any more than you have done 
 were it your wedding-day, my dear. Is it, then, that 
 you are really to be married now ? ' 
 
 'But yes! oh, yes! Why not?' she answered 
 gaily. 
 
 Hubertine smiled in her turn, 
 
 ' While waiting, my daughter, since the house is so 
 satisfactorily arranged, the best thing for us to do is to 
 go upstairs and dress.' 
 
 ' In a minute, mother. Look at my full basket.' 
 She had finished taking the leaves from the roses 
 which she had reserved to throw before Monseigneur. 
 The petals rained from her slender fingers ; the basket 
 was running over with its light, perfumed contents. 
 Then, as she disappeared on the narrow stairway of the 
 tower, she said, while laughing heartily : 
 
 ' We will be quick. I will make myself beautiful as 
 a star ! ' 
 
 The afternoon advanced. Now the feverish move- 
 ment in Beaumont-l'Eglise was calmed ; a peculiar air 
 of expectation seemed to fill the streets, which were all 
 ready, and where everyone spoke softly, in hushed, 
 whispering voices. The heat had diminished, as the 
 sun's rays grew oblique, and between the houses, so 
 closely pressed the one against the others, there fell 
 from the pale sky only a warm, fine shadow of a gentle, 
 serene nature. The air of meditation was profound, as
 
 THE DREAM 171 
 
 if the old town had become simply a continuation of the 
 Cathedral ; the only sound of carriages that could be 
 heard came up from Beaumont-la- Ville, the new town 
 on the banks of the Ligneul, where many of the factories 
 were not closed, as the proprietors disdained taking part 
 in this ancient religious ceremony. 
 
 Soon after four o'clock the great bell of the northern 
 tower, the one whose swinging stirred the house of the 
 Huberts, began to ring ; and it was at that very 
 moment that Hubertine and Angelique reappeared. 
 The former had put on a dress of pale buff linen, 
 trimmed with a simple thread lace, but her figure was 
 so slight and youthful in its delicate roundness that she 
 looked as if she were the sister of her adopted daughter. 
 Angelique wore her dress of white foulard, with its soft 
 ruchings at the neck and wrists, and nothing else ; 
 neither earrings nor bracelets, only her bare wrists and 
 throat, soft in their satiny whiteness as they came out 
 from the delicate material, light as the opening of a 
 flower. An invisible comb, put in place hastily, 
 scarcely held the curls of her golden hair, which was 
 carelessly dressed. She was artless and proud, of a 
 most touching simplicity, and, indeed, ' beautiful as a 
 star.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' she said, ' the bell ! that is to show that 
 Monseigneur has left his palace.' 
 
 The bell continued to sound loud and clear in the great 
 purity of the atmosphere. The Huberts installed them- 
 selves at the wide-opened window of the first story, the 
 mother and daughter being in front, with their elbows 
 resting on the bar of support, and the husband and father 
 standing behind them. These were their accustomed 
 places ; they could not possibly have found better, as
 
 1 7 2 THE DREAM 
 
 they would be the very first to see the procession as it 
 came from the farther end of the church, without miss- 
 ing even a single candle of the marching-past. 
 
 ' Where is my basket ? ' asked Angelique. 
 
 Hubert was obliged to take and pass to her the 
 basket of rose-leaves, which she held between her arms, 
 pressed against her breast. 
 
 ' Oh that bell ! ' she at last murmured ; ' it seems as 
 if it would lull us to sleep ! ' 
 
 And still the waiting continued in the little vibrating 
 house, sonorous with the musical movement ; the street 
 and the great square waited, subdued by this great 
 trembling, whilst the hangings on every side blew about 
 more quietly in the air of the coming evening. The 
 perfume of roses was very sweet. 
 
 Another half-hour passed. Then at the same 
 moment the two halves of the portal of Saint Agnes 
 were opened, and they perceived the very depths of the 
 church, dark in reality, but dotted with little bright 
 spots from the tapers. First the bearer of the Cross 
 appeared, a sub-deacon in a tunic, accompanied by the 
 acolytes, each one of whom held a lighted candle in his 
 hand. Behind them hurried along the Master of the 
 Ceremonies, the good Abbe Cormlle, who, after having 
 assured himself that everything was in perfect order in 
 the street, stopped under the porch, and assisted a 
 moment at the passing out, in order to be sure that the 
 places assigned to each section had been rightly taken. 
 The various societies of laymen opened the march : 
 charitable associations, schools, by rank of seniority, and 
 numerous public organisations. There were a great 
 many children : little girls all in white, like brides, and 
 little bareheaded boys, with curly hair, dressed in
 
 THE DREAM 173 
 
 their best, like princes, already looking in every direc- 
 tion to find where their mothers were. A splendid 
 fellow, nine years of age, walked by himself in the 
 middle, clad like Saint John the Baptist, with a sheep- 
 skin over his thin, bare shoulders. Four little girls, 
 covered with pink ribbons, bore a shield on which was 
 a sheaf of ripe wheat. Then there were young girls 
 grouped around a banner of the Blessed Virgin ; ladies 
 in black, who also had their special banner of crimson 
 silk, on which was embroidered a portrait of Saint 
 Joseph. There were other and still other banners, in 
 velvet or in satin, balanced at the end of gilded batons. 
 The brotherhoods of men were no less numerous ; peni- 
 tents of all colours, but especially the grey penitents in 
 dark linen suits, wearing cowls, and whose emblem 
 made a great sensation a large cross, with a wheel, to 
 which were attached the instruments of the Passion. 
 
 Angelique exclaimed with tenderness when the 
 children came by : 
 
 ' Oh, the blessed darlings ! Do look at them all ! ' 
 One, no higher than a boot, scarcely three years of 
 age, proudly tottered along on his little feet, and looked 
 so comical that she plunged her hands into her basket 
 and literally covered him with flowers. He quite dis- 
 appeared under them for an instant ; he had roses in 
 his hair and on his shoulders. The exquisite little 
 laughing shout he uttered was enjoyed on every side, 
 and flowers rained down from all the windows as the 
 cherub passed. In the_humming silence of the street 
 one could now only hear the deafened sound of the 
 regular movement of feet in the procession, while 
 flowers by the handful still continued to fall silently upon 
 the pavement. Very soon there were heaps of them.
 
 I 74 THE DREAM 
 
 But now, reassured upon the good order of the lay- 
 men, the Abbe Cornille grew impatient and disturbed, 
 inasmuch as the procession had been stationary for 
 nearly two minutes, and he walked quickly towards the 
 head of it, bowing and smiling at the Huberts as he 
 passed. 
 
 ' What has happened ? What can prevent them 
 from continuing ? ' said Angelique, all feverish from 
 excitement, as if she were waiting for some expected 
 happiness that was to come to her from the other end 
 that was still in the church. 
 
 Hubertine answered her gently, as usual : 
 ' There is no reason why they should run.' 
 ' There is some obstruction evidently ; perhaps it is 
 a reposoir that is still unfinished,' Hubert added. 
 
 The young girls of the Society of the Blessed Virgin, 
 the ' daughters of Mary ' as they are called, had already 
 commenced singing a canticle, and their clear voices 
 rose in the air, pure as crystal. Nearer and nearer the 
 double ranks caught the movement and recommenced 
 their march.
 
 THE DREAM 175 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AFFER the civilians, the clergy began to leave the church, 
 the lower orders coming first. All, in surplices, covered 
 their heads with their caps, under the porch ; and each 
 one held a large, lighted wax taper ; those at the right 
 in their right hand, and those at the left in their left 
 hand, outside the rank, so there was a double row of 
 flame, almost deadened by the brightness of the 
 day. First were representatives from the great semi- 
 naries, the parishes, and then collegiate churches ; then 
 came the beiieficed clergymen and clerks of the Cathedra^ 
 followed by the canons in white pluvials. In their 
 midst were the choristers, in capes of red silk, who 
 chanted the anthem in full voice, and to whom all the 
 clergy replied in lower notes. The hymn, 'Pange 
 Lingua,' was grandly given. The street was now filled 
 with a rustling of muslin from the flying winged sleeves 
 of the surplices, which seemed pierced all over with tiny 
 stars of pale gold from the flames of the candles. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' at last Angelique half sighed, ' there is Saint 
 Agnes ! ' 
 
 She smiled at the saint, borne by four clerks in 
 white surplices, on a platform of white velvet heavily 
 ornamented with lace. Each year it was like a new 
 surprise to her, as she saw her guardian angel thus
 
 17 6 THE DREAM 
 
 brought out from the shadows where she had been 
 growing old for centuries, quite like another person under 
 the brilliant sunshine, as if she were timid and blushing 
 in her robe of long, golden hair. She was really so old, 
 yet still very young, with her small hands, her little, 
 slender feet, her delicate, girlish face, blackened by 
 
 time. 
 
 But Monseigneur was to follow her. Already the 
 swinging of the censers could be heard coming from the 
 depths of the church. 
 
 There was a slight murmuring of voices as Angelique 
 repeated : 
 
 ' Monseigneur, Monseigneur,' and with her eyes still 
 upon the saint who was going by, she recalled to mind 
 at this moment the old histories. The noble Marquesses 
 d'Hautecoeur delivering Beaumont from the plague, 
 thanks to the intervention of Agnes, then Jean V. and 
 all those of his race coming to kneel before her image, to 
 pay their devotions to the saint, and she seemed to see 
 them all, the lords of the miracle, coming one by one 
 like a line of princes. 
 
 A large space had been left empty. Then the 
 chaplain charged with the care of the crozier advanced, 
 holding it erect, the curved part being towards him. 
 Afterward came two censer-bearers, who walked back- 
 wards and swung the censers gently from side to side, 
 each one having near him an acolyte charged with the 
 incense-box. There was a little difficulty before they 
 succeeded in passing by one of the divisions of the door 
 the great canopy of royal scarlet velvet, decorated with 
 a heavy fringe of gold. But the delay was short, order 
 was quickly re-established, and the designated officials 
 took the supports in hand. Underneath, between his
 
 THE DREAM 177 
 
 deacons of honour, Monseigneur walked, bareheaded, 
 his shoulders covered with a white scarf, the two ends of 
 which enveloped his hands, which bore the Holy Sacra- 
 ment as high as possible, and without touching it. 
 
 Immediately the incense-bearers resumed their 
 places, and the censers sent out in haste, fell back again 
 in unison with the little silvery sound of their chains. 
 
 But Angelique started as she thought, where had she 
 ever seen anyone who looked like Monseigneur ? She 
 certainly knew his face before, but had never been 
 struck by it as to-day ! All heads were bowed in 
 solemn devotion. But she was so uneasy, she simply 
 bent down and looked at him. He was tall, slight, 
 and noble-looking ; superb in his physical strength, not- 
 withstanding his sixty years. His eyes were piercing as 
 those of an eagle; his nose, a little prominent, only seemed 
 to increase the sovereign authority of his face, which was 
 somewhat softened by his white hair, that was thick and 
 curly. She noticed the pallor of his complexion, and it 
 seemed to her as if he suddenly flushed from some un- 
 known reason. Perhaps, however, it was simply a 
 reflection from the great golden-rayed sun which he 
 carried in his covered hands, and which placed him in a 
 radiance of mystic light. 
 
 Certainly, he to-day made her think of someone, but 
 of whom ? As soon as he left the church, Monseigneur 
 had commenced a psalm, which he recited in a low voice, 
 alternating the verses thereof with his deacons. And 
 Angelique trembled when she saw him turn his eyes 
 towards their window, for he seemed to her so severe, 
 so haughty, and so cold, as if he were condemning the 
 vanity of all earthly affection. He turned his face 
 towards the three bands of ancient embroidery Mary 
 
 N
 
 I 7 8 THE DREAM 
 
 and the Angel, Mary at the foot of the Cross, Mary 
 being borne to Heaven and his face brightened. 
 Then he lowered his eyes and fixed them upon her, but 
 she was so disturbed she could not tell whether his 
 glance was harsh or gentle ; at all events it was only ' 
 for a moment, for quickly regarding the Holy Sacrament, 
 his expression was lost in the light which came from the 
 great golden vessel. The censers still swung back and 
 forth with a measured rhythm, while a little blue cloud 
 mounted in the air. 
 
 But Angelique's heart now beat so rapidly she could 
 scarcely keep still. Behind the canopy she had just 
 seen a chaplain, his fingers covered with a scarf, who 
 was carrying the mitre as devoutly as if it were a sacred 
 object, Saint Agnes flying heavenward with the two 
 angels, the work of her hands, and into each stitch of 
 which she had put such deep love. Then, among the 
 laymen who followed, in the midst of functionaries, of 
 officers, of magistrates, she recognised Felicien in the 
 front rank, slight and graceful, with his curly hair, his 
 rather large but straight nose, and his black eyes, the 
 expression of which was at the same time proud and 
 gentle. She expected him ; she was not at all surprised 
 to find him transformed into a prince ; her heart simply 
 was overflowing with joy. To the anxious look which 
 he gave her, as of imploring forgiveness for his falsehood, 
 she replied -by a lovely smile. 
 
 ' But look ! ' exclaimed Hubertine, astonished at 
 what she saw, ' is not that the young man who came to 
 our house about the mitre ? ' 
 
 She had also recognised him, and was much disturbed 
 when, turning towards the young girl, she saw the latter 
 transfigured, in ecstacy, avoiding a reply.
 
 THE DREAM 179 
 
 { Then he did not tell us the truth about himself? 
 But why? Do you know the reason? Tell me, my 
 dear, do you know who this young man is ? ' 
 
 Yes, perhaps in reality she did know. An inner 
 voice answered all these questions. But she dared not 
 speak ; she was unwilling to ask herself anything. At 
 the right time and at the proper place the truth would 
 be made clear. She thought it was approaching, and 
 felt an increase of pride of spirit, and of great love. 
 
 ' But what is it ? What has happened ? ' asked 
 Hubert, as he bent forward and touched the shoulder of 
 his wife. 
 
 He was never present at the moment of an occur- 
 rence, but always appeared to come from a reverie to the 
 realisation of what passed about him. When the young 
 man was pointed out to him, he did not recognise him 
 at all. 
 
 ( Is it he ? I think not. No, you must be mis- 
 taken ; 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 incenso 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.
 
 t8o THE DREAM 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 air one realised that all civil life was suspended,
 
 THE DREAM 181 
 
 as if God had left His house, and everyone was awaiting 
 His return before resuming their daily occupations. 
 Opposite them the blue draperies of the silversmith, and 
 the red curtains of the wax-chandler, still barred the 
 interior of their shops and hid the contents from view. 
 The streets seemed empty ; there was no reverberation 
 from one to the other, except that of the slow march of 
 the clergy, whose progress could easily be realised from 
 every corner of the town. 
 
 ' Mother ! mother ! I assure you that now they are at 
 the corner of the Rue Magloire. They will soon come 
 up the hill.' 
 
 She was mistaken, for it was only half-past six, and 
 the procession never came back before a quarter-past 
 seven. She would have known well, had she not been 
 over-impatient, that the canopy must be only at the 
 lower wharf of the Ligneul. But she was too excited to 
 think. 
 
 ' Oh ! mother dear ! do let us hurry, or we may not 
 find any places.' 
 
 { Come, make haste then, little one,' at last Huber- 
 tine said, smiling in spite of herself. ' We shall cer- 
 tainly be obliged to wait a great while, but never 
 mind.' 
 
 ' As for me, I will remain at home,' said Hubert. 
 * I can take down and put away the embroidered panels, 
 and then I will set the table for dinner.' 
 
 The church seemed empty to them, as the Blessed 
 Sacrament was no longer there. All the doors were 
 wide open, like those of a house in complete disorder, 
 where one is awaiting the return of the master. Very 
 few persons came in ; the great altar alone, a sarcopha- 
 gus of the severe Bomanesque style, glittered as if burn-
 
 1 82 THE DREAM 
 
 ing at the end of the nave, covered as it was with stars 
 from the flame of many candles; all the rest of the 
 enormous building the aisles, the chapels, and the 
 arches -seemed filled with shadow under the coniing-on 
 of the evening darkness. 
 
 Slowly, in order to gain a little patience, Angelique 
 and Hubertine walked round the edifice. Low down, it 
 seemed as if crushed, thickset columns supported the 
 semicircular arches of the side-aisles. They walked 
 the whole length of the dark chapels, which were buried 
 almost as if they were crypts. Then, when they crossed 
 over, before the great entrance portal, under the tri- 
 forium of the organ, they had a feeling of deliverance as 
 they raised their eyes towards the high, Gothic windows 
 of the nave, which shot up so gracefully above the 
 heavy Romanesque coursed work. But they continued 
 by the southern side-aisle, and the feeling of suffocation 
 returned again. At the cross of the transept four 
 enormous pillars made the four corners, and rose to a 
 great height, then struck off to support the roof. There 
 was still to be found a delicate purple-tinted light, the 
 farewell of day, through the rose windows of the side 
 fronts. They had crossed the three steps which . led to 
 the choir, then they turned by the circumference of the 
 apse, which was the very oldest part of the building, 
 and seemed most sepulchral. They stopped one moment 
 and leaned against the ancient grating, which entirely 
 surrounded the choir, and which was most elaborately 
 wrought, that they might look at the flaming altar, 
 where each separate light was reflected in the old 
 polished oak of the stalls, most marvellous stalls, covered 
 with rare sculptures. So at last they came back to the 
 point from which they started, lifting up their heads as
 
 THE DREAM 183 
 
 if they breathed more freely from the heights of the 
 nave, which the growing shades at night drove farther 
 away, and enlarged the old walls, on which were faint 
 remains of paintings and of gold. 
 
 ' I know perfectly well that we are altogether too 
 early,' said Hubertine. 
 
 Angelique, without replying, said, as if to her- 
 self: 
 
 ' How grand it is ! ' 
 
 It really seemed to her as if she had never known 
 the church before, but that she had just seen it for the 
 first time. Her eyes wandered over the motionless sea 
 of chairs, then went to the depth of the chapels, where 
 she could only imagine were tombs and old funereal 
 stones, on account of the increased darkness therein. 
 But she saw at last the Chapel Hautecceur, where she 
 recognised the window which had been repaired, with 
 its Saint George, that now looked vague as a dream, in 
 the dusk. She was unusually happy. 
 
 At last there was a gentle shaking through .the 
 whole building, and the great clock struck. Then the 
 bell began to ring. 
 
 ' Ah ! now,' she said, ' look, for they are really coming 
 up the Rue Magloire.' 
 
 This time it was indeed so. A crowd invaded the 
 church, the aisles were soon filled, and one realised that 
 each minute the procession approached nearer and nearer. 
 The noise increased with the pealing of the bells, with a 
 certain rushing movement of air by the great entrance, 
 the portal of which was wide open. 
 
 Angelique, leaning on Hubertine's shoulder, made 
 herself as tall as possible by standing upon the points of 
 her feet, as she looked towards this arched open space,
 
 1 84 THE DREAM 
 
 the roundness of whose top was perfectly defined in the 
 pale twilight of the Place du Cloitre. The first to ap- 
 pear was, of course, the bearer of the Cross, accompanied 
 by his two acolytes with their candelabra ; and behind 
 them the Master of the Ceremonies hurried along the 
 good Abbe Cornille, who now seemed quite out of 
 breath and overcome by fatigue. At the threshold of 
 the door, the silhouette of each new arrival was thrown 
 out for a second, clear and strong, then passed quickly 
 away in the darkness of the interior. There were the 
 laymen, the schools, the associations, the fraternities, 
 whose banners, like sails, wavered for an instant, then 
 suddenly vanished in the shade. One saw again the 
 pale ' daughters of Mary,' who, as they entered, still 
 sang with their voices like those of seraphim. 
 
 The Cathedral had room for all. The nave was 
 slowly filled, the men being at the right and the women 
 at the left. But night had come. The whole place 
 outside was dotted with bright points, hundreds of 
 moving lights, and soon it was the turn for the clergy, 
 the tapers that were held outside the ranks making a 
 double yellow cord as they passed through the door. 
 The tapers seemed endless as they succeeded each other 
 and multiplied themselves ; the great seminary, the 
 parishes, and the Cathedral ; the choristers still singing 
 the anthem, and the canons in their white pluvials. 
 Then little by little the church became lighted up, 
 seemed inhabited, illuminated, overpowered by hundreds 
 of stars, like a summer sky. 
 
 Two chairs being unoccupied, Angelique stood upon 
 one of them. 
 
 ' Get down, my dear,' whispered Hubertine, ' for 
 that is forbidden,'
 
 THE DREAM 185 
 
 But she tranquilly remained there, and did not 
 move. 
 
 ' Why is it forbidden ? I must see, at all events. 
 Oh ! how exquisite all this is ! ' 
 
 At last she prevailed upon her mother to get upon 
 the other chair. 
 
 Now the whole Cathedral was glowing with a reddish 
 yellow light. This billow of candles which crossed it 
 illuminated the lower arches of the side-aisles, the depth 
 of the chapels, and glittered upon the glass of some 
 shrine or upon the gold of some tabernacle. The rays 
 even penetrated into the apse, and the sepulchral crypts 
 were brightened up by them. The choir was a mass of 
 flame, with its altar on fire, its glistening stalls, and its 
 old railing, whose ornamentation stood out boldly. And 
 the flight of the nave was stronger marked than ever, 
 with the heavy curved pillars below, supporting the 
 round arches, while above, the numbers of little columns 
 grew smaller and smaller as they burst forth among the 
 broken arches of the ogives, like an inexpressible 
 declaration of faith and love which seemed to come from 
 the lights. In the centre, under the roof, along the 
 ribs of the nave, there was a yellow cloud, a thick odour 
 of wax, from the multitude of little tapers. 
 
 But now, above the sound of feet and the moving of 
 chairs, one heard again the falling of the chains of the 
 censers. Then the organ pealed forth majestically, a 
 glorious burst of music that filled to overflowing the 
 highest arches as if with the rumbling of thunder. It 
 was at this instant that Monseigneur arrived on the 
 Place du Cloitre. The statue of Saint Agnes had 
 reached the apse, still borne by the surpliced clerks, and 
 her face looked very calm under the light, as if she were
 
 186 THE DREAM 
 
 more than happy to return to her dreams of four cen- 
 turies. At last, preceded by the crosier, and followed 
 by the mitre, Monseigneur entered with his deacons 
 under the canopy, still having his two hands covered 
 with a white scarf, and holding the Blessed Sacrament 
 in the same position as at first. The canopy, which was 
 borne down the central aisle, was stopped at the railing 
 of the choir, and there, on account of a certain unavoid- 
 able confusion, the Bishop was for a moment made to 
 approach the persons who formed his suite. Since 
 Felicien had reappeared, Angelique had looked at him 
 constantly. It so happened that on account of the 
 pressure he was placed a little at the right of the canopy, 
 and at that moment she saw very near together the 
 white head of Monseigneur and the blonde head of the 
 young man. That glance was a revelation ; a sudden 
 light came to her eyes ; she joined her hands together as 
 she said aloud : 
 
 ' Oh ! Monseigneur, the son of Monseigneur ! ' 
 
 Her secret escaped her. It was an involuntary cry, 
 the certainty which revealed itself in this sudden fact of 
 their resemblance. Perhaps, in the depths of her mind, 
 she already knew it, but she would never have dared to 
 have said so ; whilst now it was self-evident, a fact of 
 which there could be no denial. From everything 
 around her, from her own soul, from inanimate objects, 
 from past recollections, her cry seemed repeated. 
 
 Hubertine, quite overcome, said in a whisper, ' This 
 young man the son of Monseigneur ? ' 
 
 Around these two the crowd had gradually accumu- 
 lated. They were well known and were greatly ad- 
 mired ; the mother still adorable in her simple toilette 
 of linen, the daughter with the angelic grace of a cheru-
 
 THE DREAM 187 
 
 bim, in her gown of white foulard, as light as a feather. 
 They were so handsome and in such full view, as they 
 stood upon their chairs, that from every direction eyes 
 were turned towards them, and admiring glances given 
 them. 
 
 ' But yes, indeed, my good lady,' said the mere 
 Lemballeuse, who chanced to be in the group ; ' but yes, 
 he is the son of Monseigneur. But how does it happen 
 that you have not already heard of it ? And not only 
 that, but he is a wonderfully handsome young man, and 
 so rich ! Rich ! yes indeed, he could buy the whole town 
 if he wished to do so. He has millions and millions ! ' 
 
 Hubertine turned very pale as she listened. 
 
 ' You must have heard his history spoken of? ' con- 
 tinued the beggar-woman. ' His mother died soon after 
 his birth, and it was on that account that Monseigneur 
 concluded to become a clergyman. Now, however, after 
 all these years, he sent for his son to join him. He is, 
 in fact, Felicien VII. d'Hautecceur, with a title as if he 
 were a real prince. 
 
 Then Hubertine was intensely grieved. But Angel- 
 ique beamed with joy before the commencement of 
 the realisation of her dream. She was not in the 
 slightest degree astonished, for she had always known 
 that he would be the richest, the noblest, and the hand- 
 somest of men. So her joy was intense and perfect, 
 without the slightest anxiety for the future, or suspicion 
 of any obstacle that could possibly come between them. 
 In short, he would in his turn now make himself known, 
 and would tell everything. As she had fancied, gold 
 would stream down with the little nickering flames of 
 the candles. The organs would send forth their most 
 glorious music on the occasion of their betrothal. The
 
 1 88 THE DREAM 
 
 line of the Hautecoeurs would continue royally from the 
 beginning of the legend Norbert I., Jean V., Felicien 
 III., Jean XII., then the last, Felicien VII., who just 
 turned towards her his noble face. He was the descen- 
 dant of the cousins of the Virgin, the master, the superb 
 son, showing himself in all his beauty at the side of his 
 father. 
 
 Just then Felicien smiled sweetly at her, and she 
 did not see the angry look of Monseigneur, who had re- 
 marked her standing on the chair, above the crowd, 
 blushing in her pride and love. 
 
 ' Oh, my poor dear child ! ' sighed Hubertine. 
 
 But the chaplain and the acolytes were ranged on 
 the right and the left, and the first deacon having taken 
 the Holy Sacrament from the hands of Monseigneur, he 
 placed it on the altar. It was the final Benediction 
 the Tantum ergo sung loudly by the choristers, the in- 
 censes of the boxes burning in the censers, the strange, 
 brusque silence during the prayer and in the midst of 
 the lighted church, overflowing with clergy and with 
 people, under the high, springing arches, Monseigneur 
 remounted to the altar, took again in his two hands the 
 great golden sun, which he waved back and forth in the 
 air three times, with a slow sign of the Cross.
 
 THE DREAM 189 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THAT same evening, on returning from church, Angelique 
 thought to herself, ' I shall see him again very soon, 
 for he will certainly be in the Clos-Marie, and I will go 
 there to meet him.' 
 
 Without having exchanged a word with each other, 
 they appeared to have silently arranged this interview. 
 The family dined as usual in the kitchen, but it was eight 
 o'clock before they were seated at the table. Hubert, 
 quite excited by this day of recreation and of fete, was 
 the only one who had anything to say. Hubertine, un- 
 usually quiet, scarcely replied to her husband, but kept 
 her looks fixed upon the young girl, who ate heartily 
 and with a good appetite, although she scarcely seemed 
 to pay any attention to the food, or to know that she put 
 her fork to her mouth, so absorbed was she by her fancies. 
 And under this candid forehead, as under the crystal of 
 the purest water, Hubertine read her thoughts clearly, 
 and followed them as they formed themselves in her 
 mind one by one. 
 
 At nine o'clock they were greatly surprised by a 
 ringing of the door-bell. It proved to be the Abbe 
 Cornille, who, notwithstanding his great fatigue, had 
 come to tell them that Monseigneur the Bishop had 
 greatly admired the three old panels of marvellous 
 embroidery.
 
 190 THE DREAM 
 
 ' Yes, indeed ! and he spoke of them so enthusiasti- 
 cally to me that I was sure it would please you to know 
 it.' 
 
 Angelique, who had roused up on hearing the name 
 of Monseigneur, fell back again into her reveries as 
 soon as the conversation turned to the procession. Then 
 after a few minutes she got up. 
 
 ' But where are you going, dear ? ' asked Hubertine. 
 
 This question startled her, as if she herself knew not 
 why she had left her seat. 
 
 ' I am going upstairs, mother, for I am very tired.' 
 
 In spite of this plausible excuse, Hubertine imagined 
 the true reason that influenced her. It was the need 
 of being by herself, the haste of communing alone with 
 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 Oornille, 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 un-
 
 THE DREAM 191 
 
 dressing, 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 Cor- 
 nille take his leave. Soon after, the Huberts, in their 
 turn, came upstairs. Then it seemed to her as if some- 
 one 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, Angel- 
 ique 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 lower rooms, she passed through the kitchen 
 to go out into the garden, and again forgot to fasten the 
 shutters. Then she walked rapidly towards the little
 
 1 92 THE DREAM 
 
 gate of the Clos-Marie, which she also left wide open 
 after her. Notwithstanding the obscurity and the 
 dense shadows in the field, she did not hesitate an 
 instant, but went direct to the little plank which served 
 as a bridge to the Chevrotte, crossed it, guiding herself 
 by feeling the way, as if in a familiar place, where every 
 tree and bush were well known to her. Turning to the 
 right, under a great willow-tree, she had only to put 
 out her hands to have them earnestly grasped by 
 Felicien, whom she knew would be there in waiting 
 for her. 
 
 For a minute, without speaking, Angelique pressed 
 Felicien's hands in hers. They could not see each other, 
 for the sky was covered with a misty cloud of heat, and 
 the pale moon, which had just risen, had not yet lighted 
 it up. At length she spoke in the darkness, her heart 
 filled to overflowing with her great happiness : 
 
 ' Oh, my dear seigneur, how I love you, and how 
 grateful I am to you ! ' 
 
 She laughed aloud at the realisation of the fact that 
 at last she knew him ; she thanked him for being 
 younger, more beautiful, and richer even than she had 
 expected him to be. Her gaiety was charming ; it was 
 a cry of astonishment and of gratitude before this present 
 of love, this fulfilment of her dreams. 
 
 ' You are the king. You are my master ; and lo ! 
 here am I, your slave. I belong to you henceforth, and 
 my only regret is that I am of so little worth. But I 
 am proud of being yours ; it is sufficient for you to love 
 me, and that I may be in my turn a queen. It was 
 indeed well that I knew you were to come, and so 
 waited for you ; my heart is overflowing with joy since 
 finding that you are so great, so far above me. Ah !
 
 THE DREAM 193 
 
 my dear seigneur, how I thank you, and how I love 
 you.' 
 
 Gently he put his arm around her as he said : 
 
 ' Come and see where I live.' 
 
 He made her cross the Clos-Marie, among the wild 
 grass and herbs, and then she understood for the first 
 time in what way he had come every night into the field 
 from the park of the Bishop's Palace. It was through 
 an old gate, that had been unused for a long time, and 
 which this evening he had left half open. Taking 
 Angelique's hand, he led her in that way into the great 
 garden of the Monseigneur. 
 
 The rising moon was half-hidden in the sky, under 
 a veil of warm mist, and its rays fell down upon them 
 with a white, mysterious light. There were ' no stars 
 visible, but the whole vault of heaven was filled with a 
 dim lustre, which quietly penetrated everything in" this 
 serene night. Slowly they walked along on the borders 
 of the Chevrotte, which crossed the park ; but it was no 
 longer the rapid rivulet rushing over a pebbly descent 
 it was a quiet, languid brook, gliding along through 
 clumps of trees. Under this mass of luminous vapour, 
 between the bushes which seemed to bathe and float 
 therein, it was like an Elysian stream which unfolded 
 itself before them. 
 
 Angelique soon resumed her gay chattering. 
 
 ' I am so proud and so happy to be here on your arm.' 
 
 Felicien, touched by such artless, frank simplicity, 
 listened with delight as she talked unrestrainedly, con- 
 cealing nothing, but. telling all her inmost thoughts, as 
 she opened her heart to him. Why should she even 
 think of keeping anything back ? She had never harmed 
 anyone, so she had only good things to say. 
 

 
 I94 THE DREAM 
 
 1 Ah, my dear child, it is I who ought to be exceed- 
 ingly grateful to you, inasmuch as you are willing to 
 love me a little in so sweet a way. Tell me once more 
 how much you love me. Tell me exactly what you 
 thought when you found out at last who I really was.' 
 
 But with a pretty, impatient movement she inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 ' No, no ; let us talk of you, only of you. Am 1 
 really of any consequence ? At all events, what matters 
 it who I am or what I think ! For the moment you 
 are the only one of importance.' 
 
 And keeping as near him as possible, going more 
 slowly along the sides of the enchanted river, she 
 questioned him incessantly, wishing to learn everything 
 about him, of his childhood, his youth, and the twenty 
 years he had passed away from his father. ' I already 
 know that your mother died when you were an infant, 
 and that you grew up under the care of an uncle who 
 is a clergyman. I also know that Monseigneur refused 
 to see you again.' 
 
 Then Felicien answered, speaking in a very low 
 tone, with a voice that seemed as if it came from the 
 far-away past : 
 
 ' Yes, my father idolised my mother, and it seemed 
 to him as if I were guilty, since my birth had cost her 
 her life. My uncle brought me up in entire ignorance of 
 my family, harshly too, as if I had been a poor child 
 confided to his cave. I had no idea of my true position 
 until very recently. It is scarcely two years, in fact, 
 since it was revealed to me. But I was not at all 
 surprised in hearing the truth ; it seemed as if I had 
 always half-realised that a great fortune belonged to me. 
 All regular work weariel me ; I was good for nothing
 
 THE DREAM 195 
 
 except to run about the fields and amuse myself. At last 
 I took a great fancy for the painted windows of our 
 little church.' Angelique interrupted him by laughing 
 gaily, and he joined her in her mirth for a moment. 
 
 ' I became a workman like yourself. I had fully 
 decided to earn my living by painting on glass, and 
 was studying for that purpose, when all this fortune 
 poured down upon me. My father was intensely dis- 
 appointed when my uncle wrote him that I was a good- 
 for-nothing fellow, and that I would never consent to 
 enter into the service of the Church. It had been his 
 expressed wish that I should become a clergyman ; 
 perhaps he had an idea that in so doing I could atone 
 for the death of my mother. He became, however, 
 reconciled at last, and wished for me to be here and 
 remain near him. Ah ! how good it is to live, simply 
 to live,' he exclaimed. ' Yes, to live to love, and to be 
 loved in return.' 
 
 This trembling cry, which resounded in the clear 
 night air, vibrated with the earnest feeling of his healthy 
 youth. It was full of passion, of sympathy for his dead 
 mother, and of the intense ardour he had thrown into 
 this, his first love, born of mystery. It filled all his 
 spirit, his beauty, his loyalty, his ignorance, and his 
 earnest desire of life. 
 
 ' Like you,' he continued, ' I was, indeed, expecting 
 the unknown, and the evening when you first appeared 
 at the window I also recognised you at once. Tell me 
 all that you have ever thought, and what you were in 
 the habit of doing in the days that have passed.' But 
 again she refused, saying gently : 
 
 ' No ; speak only of yourself. I am eager to know 
 every petty incident of your life, so please keep nothing 
 
 02
 
 196 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 back. In that way I shall realise that you belong to 
 me, and that I love you in the past as well as in the 
 present.' 
 
 She never would have been fatigued in listening to 
 him as he talked of his life, but was in a state of joyous 
 ecstasy in thus becoming thoroughly acquainted with 
 him, adoring him like a little child at the feet of some 
 saint. Neither of them wearied of repeating the same 
 things: how much they loved each other and how 
 dearly they were beloved in return. The same words 
 returned constantly to their lips, but they always 
 seemed new, as they assumed unforeseen, immeasurable 
 depths of meaning. Their happiness increased as they 
 thus made known the secrets of their hearts, and 
 lingered over the music of the words that passed their 
 lips. He confessed to her the charm her voice had 
 alwavs been to him, so much so that as soon as he 
 heard it he became at once her devoted slave. She 
 acknowledged the delicious fear she always had at 
 seeing his pale face flush at the slightest anger or dis- 
 
 pleasure. 
 
 They had now left the misty banks of the Chevrotte, 
 arm-in-arm they entered under the shadows of the 
 
 great elm-trees. 
 
 ' Oh ! this beautiful garden,' whispered Angelique, 
 happy to breathe in the freshness which fell from the 
 trees" ' For years I have wished to enter it ; and now 
 I am here with you yes, I am here.' 
 
 It did not occur to her to ask him where he was 
 leading her, but she gave herself up to his guidance, 
 underthe darkness of these Centenarian trees. The 
 ground was soft under their feet ; the archway of leaves 
 above them was high, like the vaulted ceiling of a
 
 THE DREAM 197 
 
 church. There was neither sound nor breath, only the 
 beating of their own hearts. 
 
 At length he pushed open the door of a little 
 pavilion, and said to her : ' Go in ; this is my home.' 
 
 It was there that his father had seen fit to instal 
 him all by himself, in this distant corner of the park. 
 On the first floor there was a hall, and one very large 
 room, which was now lighted by a great lamp. Above 
 was a complete little apartment. 
 
 ' You can see for yourself,' he continued smilingly, 
 ' that you are at the house of an artisan. This is my 
 shop.' 
 
 It was a working-room indeed ; the caprice of a 
 wealthy young man, who amused himself in his leisure 
 hours by painting on glass. He had re-found the 
 ancient methods of the thirteenth century, so that he 
 could fancy himself as being one of the primitive glass- 
 workers, producing masterpieces with the poor, un- 
 finished means of the older time. An ancient table 
 answered all his purposes. It was coated with moist, 
 powdered chalk, upon which he drew his designs in red, 
 and where he cut the panes with heated irons, disdain- 
 ing the modern use of a diamond point. The muffle, a 
 little furnace made after the fashion of an old model, 
 was just now quite heated ; the baking of some picture 
 was going on, which was to be used in repairing another 
 stained window in the Cathedral ; and in cases on every 
 side were glasses of all colours which he had ordered to 
 be made expressly for him, in blue, yellow, green, and 
 red, in many lighter tints, marbled, smoked, shaded, 
 pearl-coloured, and black. But the walls of the room 
 were hung with admirable stuffs, and the working 
 materials disappeared in the midst of a marvellous
 
 I9 8 THE DREAM 
 
 luxury of furniture. In one corner, on an old tabernacle 
 which served as a pedestal, a great gilded statue of the 
 Blessed Virgin seemed to smile upon them. 
 
 ' So you can work you really can work,' repeated 
 Angelique with childish joy. 
 
 She was very much amused with the little furnace, 
 and insisted upon it that he should explain to her 
 everything connected with his labour. Why he con- 
 tented himself with the examples of the old masters, 
 who used glass coloured in the making, which he shaded 
 simply with black; the reason he limited himself to 
 little, distinct figures, to the gestures and draperies of 
 which he gave a decided character ; his ideas upon the 
 art of the glass-workers, which in reality declined as 
 soon as they began to design better, to paint, and to 
 enamel it; and his final opinion that a stained-glass 
 window should be simply a transparent mosaic, in 
 which the brightest colours should be arranged in the 
 most harmonious order, so as to make a delicate, shaded 
 bouquet. But at this moment little did she care for 
 the art in itself. These things had but one interest for 
 her now that they were connected with him, that they 
 seemed to bring her nearer to him and to strengthen 
 the tie between them. 
 
 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'how happy we shall be to- 
 gether. You will paint, while I embroider.' 
 
 He had just retaken her hands, in the centre of this 
 great room, in the luxury of which she was quite at her 
 ease, as it seemed to be her natural surrounding, where 
 her ^race would be fully developed. Both of them re- 
 mained silent for a moment. Then she was, as usual, 
 the first to speak. 
 
 Now everything is decided upon, is it not?'
 
 THE DREAM 199 
 
 ' What ? ' lie smilingly asked, ' what do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Our marriage.' 
 
 He hesitated an instant. His face, which had been 
 very pale, flushed quickly. She was disturbed at such 
 a change. 
 
 ' Have I made you angry in any way ? ' 
 
 But he had already conquered himself, and pressed 
 her hands tenderly, with a grasp that seemed to cover 
 everything. 
 
 ' Yes, it is decided upon, and it is sufficient for you 
 to wish for a thing that it should be done, no matter 
 how many obstacles may oppose it. Henceforward my 
 one great desire in life will be to obey you.' 
 
 Then her face beamed with perfect happiness and 
 delight. 
 
 She did not have a single doubt. All seemed to her 
 quite natural, to be so well-arranged that it could be 
 finished on the morrow with the same ease as in many 
 of the miracles of the ' Golden Legend.' The idea never 
 occurred to her that there could be the slightest hin- 
 drance or the least delay. Since they really loved each 
 other, why should they be any longer separated ? It 
 was the most simple thing in the world for two persons 
 who loved each other to be married. She was so secure 
 in her happiness that she was perfectly calm. 
 
 ' Since it is agreed upon,' she said jokingly, ' give 
 me your hand.' 
 
 He took her little hand and kissed it, as he said : 
 
 ' It is all arranged.' 
 
 She then hastened to go away, in the fear of being 
 surprised by the dawn, and also impatient to relieve 
 her mind of her secret. He wished to accompany 
 her.
 
 200 THE DREAM 
 
 1 No, no,' she replied. ' We should not get back 
 before daylight. I can easily find the way. Good-bye 
 until to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Until to-morrow, then.' 
 
 Felicien obeyed, and watched Angelique as she ran, 
 first under the shady elms, then along the banks of the 
 Chevrotte, which were now bathed in light. Soon she 
 closed the gate of the park, then darted across the Clos- 
 Marie, through the high grass. While on her way, she 
 thought it would be impossible to wait until sunrise, 
 but that she would rap at the door of the Huberts' 
 room as soon as she reached home, that she might wake 
 them up and tell them everything. She was in such 
 an expansion of happiness, such a turmoil of sincerity, 
 that she realised she was incapable of keeping five 
 minutes longer this great secret which had been hers 
 for so long a time. She entered into their garden and 
 closed the gate. 
 
 And there, near the Cathedral, Angelique saw 
 Hubertine, who waited for her in the night, seated 
 upon the stone bench, which was surrounded by a small 
 cluster of lilac-bushes. Awakened, warned by some 
 inexpressible feeling, she had gone upstairs, then down 
 again, and on finding all the doors open, that of the 
 chamber as well as that of the house, she had under- 
 stood what had happened. So, uncertain what it was 
 best to do, or where to go, in the fear lest she might 
 aggravate matters, she sat down anxiously. 
 
 Angelique immediately ran to her, without em- 
 barrassment, kissed her repeatedly, her heart beat- 
 ing with joy as she laughed merrily at the thought 
 that she had no longer need of hiding anything from 
 her.
 
 THE DREAM 201 
 
 ' Oh, mother mine, everything is arranged ! We 
 are to be married very soon, and I am so happy.' 
 
 Before replying, Hubertine examined her closely. 
 But her fears vanished instantly before the limpid eyes 
 and the pure lips of this exquisite young girl. Yet 
 she was deeply troubled, and great tears rolled down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 1 My poor, dear child,' she whispered, as she had 
 done the previous evening in church. 
 
 Astonished to see her in such a way, she who 
 was always so equable, who never wept, Angelique 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ' But what is the matter, dear mother ? It is, 
 indeed, true that I have not done right, inasmuch as 
 I have not made you my confidante. But you would 
 pardon me if you knew how much I have suffered from 
 it, and how keen my remorse has been. Since at first 
 I did not speak, later on I did not dare to break the 
 silence. Will you forgive me ? ' 
 
 She had seated herself near her mother, and had 
 placed her arm caressingly around her waist. The old 
 bench seemed almost hidden in this moss-covered 
 corner of the Cathedral. Above their heads the lilacs 
 made a little shade, while near them was the bush of 
 eglantine which the young girl had set out in the hope 
 that it might bear roses ; but, having been neglected 
 for some time, it simply vegetated, and had returned to 
 its natural state. 
 
 ' Mother, let me tell you everything now. Come, 
 libteii to me, please.'
 
 202 THE DREAM 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THEN, in a low tone, Angelique began her story. She 
 related in a flow of inexhaustible words all that had 
 happened, calling up the most minute details, grow- 
 ing more and more excited at the recollection of them. 
 She omitted nothing, but searched her memory as if it 
 were for a confession. She was not at all embarrassed, 
 although her cheeks grew very red and her eyes 
 sparkled with flashes of pride ; yet she did not raise 
 her voice, but continued to talk earnestly in a half- 
 whisper. 
 
 At length Hubertine interrupted her, speaking also 
 
 very low : 
 
 ' Ah, my dear ! now you are too excited. You have 
 indeed to correct yourself, for you are carried away by 
 your feelings, as if by a great wind. Ah, my vain, 
 my headstrong child, you are always the same little girl 
 who refused to wash up the kitchen floor, and who kissed 
 her own hands.' 
 
 Angelique could not prevent herself from laughing. 
 
 ' No, do not laugh. It may be that by-and-by you 
 will not have tears enough to weep. My poor darling, 
 this marriage can never take place/ 
 
 Again her gaiety burst out in a long musical 
 laugh.
 
 THE DREAM 203 
 
 ' But mother, mother, what are you saying ? Do 
 you wish to punish me by teasing me ? It is a very 
 simple matter. This evening Felicien is to talk of it 
 with his father. To-morrow he will come to arrange 
 everything with you.' 
 
 Could it be true that she believed all this ? 
 Hubertine was distressed, and knew not what to do. At 
 last she concluded it was best to be pitiless and tell her ; 
 that it would be impossible for a little embroiderer 
 without money and without name to marry Felicien 
 d'Hautecoeur. A young man who was worth so many 
 millions ! The last descendant of one of the oldest 
 families of France ! No, that could never be. 
 
 But at each new obstacle Angelique tranquilly 
 replied : ' But why not ? ' It would be a real scandal, a 
 marriage beyond all ordinary conditions of happiness. 
 Did she hope, then, to contend against all the world ? 
 ' But why not ? ' Monseigneur is called very strict 
 and very haughty, proud of his name, and severe in his 
 criticisms in regard to all marks of affection. Could 
 she dare to expect to bend him ? 
 
 ' But why not ? ' And, unshakable in her faith, in 
 her firm, ingenuous manner she said : ' It is very odd, 
 dear mother, that you should think people all so bad ! 
 Especially when I have just assured you that every- 
 thing is well under way, and is sure to come out all right. 
 Do you not recollect that only two months ago you 
 scolded me, and ridiculed my plans ? Yet I was right, 
 and everything that I expected has come to pass.' 
 
 ' But, unhappy child, wait for the end ! ' 
 
 Hubertine thought of the past, and was angry with 
 herself, as she now reflected, more bitterly than ever 
 before, that Angelique had been brought up in such
 
 204 THE DREAM 
 
 ignorance. Again she predicted to her the hard lessons 
 of the reality of life, and she would have liked to have 
 explained to her some of the cruelties and abomina- 
 tions of the world, but, greatly embarrassed, she could 
 not find the necessary words. What a grief it would be 
 to her if some day she were forced to accuse herself of 
 having brought about the unhappiness of this child, who 
 had been kept alone as a recluse, and allowed to dwell 
 in the continued falsehood of imagination and dreams ! 
 
 'Listen to me, dearest. You certainly would not 
 wish to marry this young man against the wish of us 
 all, and without the consent of his father ? ' 
 
 Angelique had grown very serious. She looked her 
 mother in the face, and in a serious tone replied : 
 
 1 Why should I not do so ? I love him, and he loves 
 me.' 
 
 With a pang of anguish, Hubertine took her again 
 in her arms, clasped her tenderly, but convulsively, and 
 looked at her earnestly, but without speaking. The pale 
 moon had disappeared from sight behind the Cathedral, 
 and the flying, misty clouds were now delicately coloured 
 in the heavens by the approach of the dawn. They 
 were both of them enveloped in this purity of the early 
 morn, in the great fresh silence, which was alone dis- 
 turbed by the little chirping of the just-awakening birds. 
 
 ' But alas ! my dear child, happiness is only found in 
 obedience and in humility. For one little hour of 
 passion, or of pride, we sometimes are obliged to suffer 
 all our lives. If you wish to be contented on this earth, 
 be submissive, be ready to renounce and give up every- 
 thing.' 
 
 But feeling that she was still rebellious under her 
 embrace, that which she had never said to anyone, that
 
 THE DREAM 205 
 
 which she still hesitated to speak of, almost involun- 
 tarily escaped from her lips : 
 
 ' Listen to me once more, my dear child. Yon think 
 that we are happy, do yon not, your father and I. We 
 should indeed be so had not our lives been embittered 
 by a great vexation.' 
 
 She lowered her voice still more, as she related 
 with a trembling breath their history. The marriage 
 without the consent of her mother, the death of their 
 infant, and their vain desire to have another child, which 
 was evidently the punishment of their fault. Still, they 
 adored each other. They had lived by working, had 
 wanted for nothing ; but their regret for the child they 
 had lost was so ever-present that they would have been 
 wretchedly unhappy, would have quarrelled, and perhaps 
 even have been separated, had it not been that her 
 husband was so thoroughly good, while for herself she 
 had always tried to be just and reasonable. 
 
 ' Reflect, my daughter. Do not put any stumbling- 
 block in your path which will make you suffer later on. 
 
 Be humble, obey, check the impulse of your heart as much 
 
 as possible.' 
 
 Subdued at last, Angelique restrained her tears, but 
 
 grew very pale as she listened, and interrupted her by 
 
 saying : 
 
 ' Mother, you pain me terribly. I love him, and I 
 
 am sure that he loves me.' 
 
 Then she allowed her tears to flow. She was quite 
 
 overcome by all she had listened to, softened, and with 
 
 an expression in her eyes as if deeply wounded by the 
 
 glimpse given her of the probable truth- of the case. 
 
 Yet she could suffer, and would willingly die, if need be, 
 
 for her love.
 
 2o6 THE DREAM 
 
 Then Hubertine decided to continue. 
 ' I do not wish to pain you too deeply at once, yet 
 it is absolutely necessary that you should know the 
 whole truth. Last evening, after you had gone upstairs, 
 I had quite a talk with the Abbe Cornille, and he ex- 
 plained to me why Monseigneur, after great hesitation, 
 had at last decided to call his son to Beaumont. One 
 of his greatest troubles was-the impetuosity of the young 
 man, the uncontrollable haste which he manifested to 
 plunge into the excitement of life, without listening to 
 the advice of his elders. After having with pain re- 
 nounced all hope of making him a priest, his father 
 found that he could not establish him in any occupation 
 suitable to his rank and his fortune. He would never 
 be anything but a headstrong fellow, restless, wandering, 
 yielding to his artistic tastes when so inclined. He was 
 alarmed at seeing in his son traits of character like those 
 from which he himself had so cruelly suffered. At last, 
 from fear that he might take some foolish step, and fall 
 in love with someone beneath him in position, he wished 
 to have him here, that he might be married at once. 
 
 ' Very well,' said Angelique, who did not yet under- 
 stand. 
 
 ' Such a marriage had been proposed even before his 
 arrival, and all preliminaries were settled yesterday, so 
 that the Abbe Cornille formally announced that in the 
 autumn Felicien would wed Mademoiselle Claire de 
 Voincourt. You know very well the Hotel de Voincourt 
 there, close to the Bishop's Palace. The family are very 
 intimate with Monseigneur. On both sides, nothing 
 better could be hoped for, either in the way of name or of 
 fortune. The Abbe himself highly approves of the union.' 
 The young girl no longer listened to these reasons
 
 THE DREAM 207 
 
 of the fitness of things. Suddenly an image appeared 
 to come before her eyes that of Claire. She saw her, 
 as she had occasionally had a glimpse of her in the 
 alleys of the Park during the winter, or as she had seen 
 her on fete days in the Cathedral. A tall young lady, 
 a brunette, very handsome, of a much more striking 
 beauty than her own, and with a royal bearing and ap- 
 pearance. Notwithstanding her haughty air, she was 
 said to be very good and kind. 
 
 ' So he is to marry this elegant young lady, who is 
 not only beautiful but very rich,' she murmured. 
 
 Then, as if suddenly pierced by a sharp agony, she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ' He uttered a falsehood ! He did not tell me 
 this ! ' 
 
 She recollected now the momentary hesitation of 
 Felicien, the rush of blood which had coloured his cheeks 
 when she spoke to him of their marriage. The shock 
 was so great that she turned deadly pale, and her head 
 fell heavily on her mother's shoulders. 
 
 ' My darling, my dear darling ! This is. indeed, a 
 cruel thing ; I know it well. But it would have been 
 still worse had you waited. Take courage, then, and 
 draw at once the knife from the wound. Repeat to 
 yourself, whenever the thought of this young man comes 
 to you, that never would Monseigneur, the terrible Jean 
 XII., whose intractable pride, it appears, is still recollected 
 by all the world, give his son, the last of his race, to a 
 little embroiderer, found under a gateway and adopted 
 by poor people like ourselves.' 
 
 In her weakness, Angelique heard all this without 
 making any objection. What was it she felt pass over 
 her face ? A cold breath coming from a distance, from
 
 208 THE DREAM 
 
 far above the roofs of the houses, seemed to freeze her 
 blood. Was it true that her mother was telling her of 
 this misery of the world, this sad reality, in the same 
 way that parents relate the story of the wolf to unreason- 
 able children ? She would never forget the shock and 
 the grief of this first experience of a bitter disappointment. 
 Yet, however, she already excused Felicien. He had 
 told no falsehood ; he simply had been silent. Were 
 his father to wish him to marry this young girl, no doubt 
 he would refuse to do so. But as yet he had not dared 
 to rebel. As he had not said anything to her of the 
 matter, perhaps it was because he had just made up 
 his mind as to what it was best for him to do. Before this 
 sudden vanishing away of her air- castles, pale and weak 
 from the rude touch of the actual life, she still kept her 
 faith, and trusted, in spite of all, in the future realisa- 
 tion of her dream. Eventually the fair promises for the 
 future would come to pass, even although now her pride 
 was crushed and she sank down into a state of humilia- 
 tion and resignation. 
 
 ' Mother, it is true that I have done wrong, but I 
 will never sin again. I promise you that I will be 
 patient, and submit myself without a murmur of revolt 
 to whatever Heaven wishes me to be.' 
 
 It was true grace which spoke within her. The 
 trial was great, but she was able to conquer, from the 
 effects of the education she had received and the excel- 
 lent example of the home life in which she had 
 grown up. Why should she doubt the morrow, when 
 until this present moment everyone near her had been 
 so generous and so tender towards her ? She prayed 
 that she might be able to have the wisdom of Catherine, 
 the meekness of Elizabeth, the chastity of Agnes; and
 
 THE DREAM 209 
 
 re-comforted by the aid of the saints, she was sure that 
 they alone would help her to triumph over every trouble. 
 Was it not true that her old friends the Cathedral, the 
 Clos-Marie, and the Chevrotte, the little fresh house of 
 the Huberts, the Huberts themselves, all who loved her, 
 would defend her, without her being obliged to do any- 
 thing, except to be obedient and good ? 
 
 ' Then, dear child, you promise me that you will 
 never act contrary to our wishes, and above all against 
 those of Monseigneur ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, mother, I promise.' 
 
 ' You also promise me not to see this young man 
 again, and no longer to indulge in the foolish idea of 
 marrying him ? ' 
 
 At this question her courage failed her. She almost 
 felt the spirit of rebellion rise again within her, as she 
 thought of the depth of her love. But in a moment she 
 bowed her head and was definitely conquered. 
 
 ' I promise to do nothing to bring about a meeting 
 with him, and to take no steps towards our mar- 
 riage.' 
 
 Hubertine, touched to the heart, pressed the young 
 girl most affectionately in her arms as she thanked her 
 for her obedience. Oh! what a dreadful thing it was, 
 when wishing to do good to the child she so tenderly 
 loved, she was forced to make her suffer so intensely. 
 She was exhausted, and rose up hastily, surprised that 
 daylight had come. The little cry of the birds had in- 
 creased in every direction, although as yet none were to 
 be seen in flight. In the sky the clouds, delicate as 
 gauze, seemed to float away in the limpid blueuess of 
 the atmosphere. 
 
 Then Angelique, whose look had mechanically fallen
 
 2IO THE DREAM 
 
 upon her wild rose-bush, at last noticed it with its puny 
 leaves. She smiled sadly as she said : 
 
 ' You were right, mother dear ; it will never be in 
 
 blossom.' 
 
 At seven o'clock in the morning Angelique was at 
 her work as usual. The days followed each other, and 
 every forenoon found her seated before the chasuble she 
 had left on the previous evening. Nothing appeared to 
 be changed outwardly ; she kept strictly her promise, 
 shut herself up, and made no attempt whatever to see 
 Felicien. This did not seem to depress her at all, but 
 she kept her bright, youthful look, smiling sweetly at 
 Hubertine when occasionally she saw her eyes fixed 
 upon her as if astonished. However, in this enforced 
 silence she thought only of him ; he was always in her 
 
 mind. 
 
 Her hope remained firm, and she was sure that in 
 spite of all obstacles everything would come out all 
 right in the end. In fact, it was this feeling of cer- 
 tainty that gave her such an air of courage, of haughty 
 rectitude, and of justice. 
 
 Hubert from time to time scolded her. 
 
 ' You are over-doing, my dear ; you are really grow- 
 ing pale. I hope at least that you sleep well at 
 
 night.' 
 
 Oh yes, father ! like a log ! Never in my life did 
 
 I feel better than now.' 
 
 But Hubertine, becoming anxious in her turn, pro- 
 posed that they should take a little vacation, and said : 
 
 ' If you would like it, my child, we will shut up the 
 house, and we will go, all three of us, to Paris for a while.' 
 
 ' Oh ! mother mine, of what are you thinking ? 
 What would become of all our orders for work ? You
 
 THE DREAM 211 
 
 know I ain never in better health than when closely 
 occupied.' 
 
 In reality, Angelique simply awaited a miracle, some 
 manifestation of the Invisible which would give her to 
 Felicien. In addition to the fact that she had promised 
 to do nothing, what need was there of her striving, since 
 in the beyond some unknown power was always working 
 for her ? So, in her voluntary inaction, while feigning 
 indifference, she was continually on the watch, listening 
 to the voices of all that quivered around her, and to the 
 little familiar sounds of this circle in which she lived 
 and which would assuredly help her. Something must 
 eventually come from necessity. As she leaned over 
 her embroidery-frame, not far from the open window, 
 she lost not a trembling of the leaves, not a murmur of 
 the Chevrotte. The slightest sighs from the Cathedral 
 came to her, magnified tenfold by the eagerness of her 
 attention ; she even heard the' slippers of the beadle as 
 he walked round the altar when putting out the tapers. 
 Again at her side she felt the light touch of mysterious 
 wings ; she knew that she was aided by the unknown, 
 and at times she even turned suddenly, thinking that a 
 phantom had whispered in her ear the way of gaining 
 the hoped-for victory. But days passed and no change 
 came. 
 
 At night, that she need not break her word, Angel- 
 ique at first did not go out upon the balcony, for fear of 
 being tempted to rejoin Felicien, were she to see him 
 below her. She remained quietly waiting in her cham- 
 ber. Then, as the leaves even scarcely stirred, but 
 seemed to sleep, she ventured out, and began to question 
 the dark shadows as before. 
 
 From whence would the miracle come ? Without 
 
 P2
 
 2,2 THE DREAM 
 
 doubt, in the Bishop's garden would be seen a flaming 
 hand, which would beckon to her to approach. 
 
 Or, perhaps, the sign would appear in the Cathedral, 
 the great organs of which would peal forth, and would 
 call her to the altar. 
 
 Nothing would have surprised her: neither the 
 doves of the ' Golden Legend ' bringing the words of bene- 
 diction, nor the intervention of saints, who would enter 
 through the walls, to tell her that Monseigneur wished 
 to see her. The only thing at which she wondered was 
 the slowness of the working of the marvel. Like the 
 day, the nights succeeded nights, yet nothing, nothing 
 manifested itself. 
 
 At the close of the second week, that which aston- 
 ished Angelique above all was that she had not seen 
 Felicien. She, it was true, had pledged herself to take 
 no steps towards meeting him, yet, without having said 
 so to anyone, she thought he would do all in his power 
 to find her. But the Clos-Marie remained deserted, and 
 he no longer walked among the wild grasses therein. 
 Not once during the past fortnight had she had a glimpse 
 of him by day, or even seen his shadow in the evening. 
 Still her faith remained unshaken ; that he did not come 
 was simply that he was occupied in making his prepara- 
 tions to rejoin her. However, as her surprise increased 
 there was at length mingled with it a beginning of 
 anxiety. 
 
 At last, one evening the dinner, was sad at the em- 
 broiderer's, and as soon as it was over Hubert went out, 
 under the pretext of having an important commission to 
 attend to, so Hubertine remained alone with Angelique 
 in the kitchen. She looked at her for a long time with 
 moistened eyes, touched by such courage. During the
 
 THE DREAM 213 
 
 past fortnight not one word had been exchanged between 
 them in reference to those things with which their 
 hearts were full, and she was deeply moved by the 
 strength of character and loyalty her daughter displayed 
 in thus keeping her promise. A sudden feeling of deep 
 tenderness made her open her arms, and the young girl 
 threw herself upon her breast, and in silence they clasped 
 each other in a loving embrace. 
 
 Then, when Hubertine was able to speak, she 
 said : 
 
 ' Ah ! my poor child, I have been impatient to be 
 alone with you, for you must know that now all is at an 
 end ; yes, quite at an end.' 
 
 Startled, Angelique rose quickly, exclaiming : 
 
 1 What ! is Felicien dead ? ' 
 
 ' No ! oh no ! ' 
 
 ' If he will never come again, it is only that he is 
 dead.' 
 
 So Hubertine was obliged to explain to her that the 
 day after the procession she had been to see him, and 
 had made him also promise that he would keep away 
 from them until he had the full authorisation of 
 Mon seigneur to do otherwise. It was thus a definite 
 leave-taking, for she knew a marriage would be utterly 
 impossible. She had made him almost distracted as she 
 explained to him how wrongly he had done in thus com- 
 promising a young, ignorant, confiding child, whom he 
 would not be allowed to make his wife ; and then he 
 had assured her, that if he could not see her again, he 
 would die from grief, rather than be disloyal. 
 
 That same evening he confessed everything to his 
 father. 
 
 ' You see, my dear,' continued Hubertine, ' you are
 
 2I 4 THE DREAM 
 
 so courageous that I can repeat to you all I know with- 
 out hesitation. Oh ! if you realised, my darling, how I 
 pity you, and what admiration I have for you since I 
 have found you so strong, so brave in keeping silent and. 
 in appearing gay when your heart was heavily burdened. 
 But you will have need of even more firmness ; yes, 
 much more, my dear. This afternoon I have seen the 
 Abbe Cornille, and he gives me no encouragement what- 
 ever. Monseigneur refuses to listen to the subject, so 
 there is no more hope.' 
 
 She expected a flood of tears, and she was astonished 
 to see her daughter reseat herself tranquilly, although 
 she had turned very pale. The old oaken table had 
 been cleared, and a lamp lighted up this ancient ser- 
 vants' hall, the quiet of which was only disturbed by 
 the humming of the boiler. 
 
 ' Mother, dear, the end has not yet come. Tell me 
 everything, I beg of you. Have I not a right to know 
 all, since I am the one above all others most deeply in- 
 terested in the matter ? ' 
 
 And she listened attentively to that which Huber- 
 tine thought best to tell her of what she had learned from 
 the Abbe, keeping back only certain details of the life 
 which was as yet an unknown thing to this innocent 
 child.
 
 THE DREAM 215 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SINCE the return of his son to him Monseigneur's days 
 had been full of trouble. After having banished him 
 from his presence almost immediately upon the death of 
 his wife, and remaining without seeing him for twenty 
 years, lo ! he had now come back to him in the pleni- 
 tude and lustre of youth, the living portrait of the one 
 he had so mourned, with the same delicate grace and 
 beauty. This long exile, this resentment against a child 
 whose life had cost that of the mother, was also an act 
 of prudence. He realised it doubly now, and regretted 
 that he had changed his determination of not seeing him 
 again. Age, twenty years of prayer, his life as clergy- 
 man, had not subdued the unregenerate man within him. 
 It was simply necessary that this son of his, this child 
 of the wife he had so adored, should appear with his 
 laughing blue eyes, to make the blood circulate so 
 rapidly in his veins as if it would burst them, as he 
 seemed to think that the dead had been brought to life 
 again. He struck his breast, he sobbed bitterly in 
 penitence, as he remembered that the joys of married life 
 and the ties springing therefrom were prohibited to the 
 priesthood. The good Abbe Cornille had spoken of all 
 this to Hubertine in a low voice and with trembling lips. 
 Mysterious sounds had been heard, and it was whispered
 
 2i6 THE DREAM 
 
 that Monseigneur shut himself up after twilight, and 
 passed nights of combat, of tears and of cries, the violence 
 of which, although partly stifled by the hangings of his 
 room, yet frightened the members of his household. 
 He thought that he had forgotten ; that he had con- 
 quered passion ; but it reappeared with the violence of 
 a tempest, reminding him of the terrible man he had 
 been formerly the bold adventurer, the descendant of 
 brave, legendary chieftains. Each evening on his knees 
 he flayed his skin with haircloth, he tried to banish the 
 phantom of the regretted wife by calling from its coffin 
 the skeleton which must now be there. But she 
 constantly appeared before him, living, in the delicious 
 freshness of youth, such as she was when very young he 
 had first met her and loved her with the devoted affection 
 of maturity. The torture then recommenced as keen 
 and intense as on the day after her death : he mourned 
 her, he longed for her with the same revolt against God 
 Who had taken her from him ; he was unable to calm 
 himself until the break of day, when quite exhausted by 
 contempt of himself and disgust of all the world. Oh ! 
 this passion, this old Adam that he wished to crush in 
 order to re-enter with humility into the sweet peace of 
 Divine love ! When he went out of his room Monseigneur 
 resumed his severe attitude, his expression was calm 
 and haughty, and his face was only slightly pale. The 
 morning when Felicien had made his confession he 
 listened to him without interruption, controlling himself 
 with so great an effort that not a fibre of his body 
 quivered, and he looked earnestly at him, distressed 
 beyond measure to see him, so young, so handsome, so 
 eager, and so like himself in this folly of impetuous love. 
 It was no longer with bitterness, but it was his absolute
 
 THE DREAM 217 
 
 will, his hard duty to save his son from the ills which 
 had caused him so much suffering, and he would destroy 
 the passion in his child as he wished to kill it in himself. 
 This romantic history ended by giving him great anxiety. 
 Could it be true that a poor girl a child without a 
 name, a little embroiderer, first seen under a pale ray of 
 moonlight, had been transfigured into a delicate Virgin 
 of the Legends, and adored with a fervent love as if in 
 a dream ? At each new acknowledgment he thought 
 his anger was increased, as his heart beat with such an 
 inordinate emotion, and he redoubled his attempts at 
 self-control, knowing not what cry might come to his 
 lips. He had finished by replying with the single word, 
 ' Never ! ' Then Felicien threw himself on his knees 
 before him, implored him, and pleaded his cause as well 
 as that of Angelique, in the trembling of respect and of 
 terror with which the sight of his father always filled 
 him. Until then he had approached him only with 
 fear. He besought him not to oppose his happiness, 
 without even daring to lift his eyes towards his saintly 
 personag'e. With a submissive voice he offered to go 
 away, no matter where ; to leave all his great fortune to 
 the Church, and to take his wife so far from there that 
 they would never be seen again. He only wished to 
 love and to be loved, unknown. Monseigneur shook 
 from trembling as he repeated severely the word, ' Never! ' 
 He had pledged himself to the Voincourts, and he would 
 never break his engagement with them. Then Felicien, 
 quite discouraged, realising that he was very angry, went 
 away, fearing lest the rush of blood, which empurpled 
 his cheeks, might make him commit the sacrilege of an 
 open revolt against paternal authority. 
 
 ' My child,' concluded Hubertine, ' you can easily
 
 2i8 THE DREAM 
 
 understand that you must no longer think of this young 
 man, for you certainly would not wish to act in oppo- 
 sition to the wishes of Monseigneur. I knew that 
 beforehand, but I preferred that the facts should speak 
 for themselves, and that no obstacle should appear to 
 come from me.' 
 
 Angelique had listened to all this calmly, with her 
 hands listlessly clasped in her lap. Scarcely had she 
 even dropped her eyelids from time to time, as with 
 fixed looks she saw the scene so vividly described 
 Felicien at the feet of Mouseigneur, speaking of her in 
 an overflow of tenderness. She did not answer immedi- 
 ately, but continued to think seriously, in the dead 
 quiet of the kitchen, where even the little bubbling 
 sound of the water in the boiler was no longer heard. 
 She lowered her eyes and looked at her hands, which, 
 under the lamplight, seemed as if made of beautiful 
 ivory. Then, while the smile of perfect confidence came 
 back to her lips, she said simply : 
 
 ' If Monseigneur refuses, it is because he waits to 
 know me.' 
 
 That night Angelique slept but little. The idea 
 that to see her would enable at once Monseigneur to 
 decide in her favour haunted her. There was in it no 
 personal, feminine vanity, but she was under the influ- 
 ence of a deep, intense love, and her true affection for 
 Felicien was so evident, she was sure that when his 
 father realised it he could not be so obstinate as to make 
 them both unhappy. Many times she turned restlessly 
 in her bed as she pictured what would happen. Before 
 her closed eyes Monseigneur constantly passed in his 
 violet-coloured robe. Perhaps it was, indeed, through 
 him, and by him, that the expected miracle was to
 
 THE DREAM 219 
 
 appear. The warm night was sleeping without, and 
 she eagerly listened for the voices, trying to know what 
 the trees, the Chevrotte, the Cathedral, her chamber 
 itself, peopled with such friendly shadows, advised her 
 to do. But there was only an indistinct humming, and 
 nothing precise came to her. It seemed, however, as if 
 mysterious whispers encouraged her to persevere. At 
 last she grew impatient of these too slow certitudes, and 
 as she fell asleep she surprised herself by saying : 
 ' To-morrow I will speak to Monseigneur.' 
 When she awoke, her proposed plan seemed not only 
 quite natural but necessary. It was ingenuous and 
 brave ; born of a proud and great purity. 
 
 She knew that at five o'clock on every Saturday 
 afternoon Monseigneur went to kneel in the Chapel 
 Hautecocur, where he liked to pray alone, giving him- 
 self up entirely to the past of his race and to himself, 
 seeking a solitude which was respected by all connected 
 with the Cathedral. As it fortunately happened, this 
 was a Saturday. She quickly came to a decision. At 
 the Bishop's Palace, not only would she be apt to find 
 it difficult to be received, but, on the other hand, 
 there were always so many people about she would be 
 ill at ease ; whilst it would be so simple to await him in 
 the chapel, and to introduce herself to Monseigneur as 
 soon as he appeared. That day she embroidered with 
 her usual application and composure. Firm in her wish, 
 sure of doing the right thing, she had no impatient 
 fever of expectation. When it was four o'clock she spoke 
 of going to see the mere Gabet, and went out, dressed 
 as for an ordinary walk, wearing her little garden-hat 
 tied carelessly under her chin. She turned to the 
 left, and pushing open the linted, stuffed door of the
 
 2 2o THE DREAM 
 
 portal of Saint Agnes, let it fall back heavily behind 
 her. 
 
 The church was empty ; alone, the confessional of 
 Saint Joseph was still occupied by a penitent, the edge 
 of whose black dress was just seen as one passed. An- 
 gelique, who had been perfectly self-possessed until now, 
 began to tremble as she entered this sacred, cold solitude, 
 where even the little sound of her steps seemed to echo 
 terribly. Why was it that her heart grew so oppressed ? 
 She had thought she was quite strong, and the day had 
 passed most peacefully she was so sure of being right 
 in her desire to be happy. But now that she was 
 ignorant of what might happen she turned pale as if 
 guilty, quite frightened at thinking that she was to see 
 Monseigneur, and that in truth she had come there ex- 
 pressly to speak to him. She went quietly to the 
 Chapel Hautecoeur, where she was obliged to remain 
 leaning against the gate. 
 
 This chapel was one of the most sunken and dark 
 of the old Romanesque apse. Like a cave hewn in a 
 rock, straight and bare, with the simple nerves of its 
 low, vaulted ceiling, it had but one window, that of 
 stained glass, on which was the Legend of St. George, 
 and in whose panes the red and blue so predominated 
 that they made a lilac-coloured light, as if it were 
 twilight. The altar, in black and white marble, was 
 unornamented, and the whole place, with its picture of 
 the Crucifixion, and its two chandeliers, seemed like a 
 tomb. The walls were covered with commemorative 
 tablets, a collection from top to bottom of stones 
 crumbling from age, on which the deeply-cut inscrip- 
 tions could still be read. 
 
 Almost stifled, Angelique waited, motionless. A
 
 THE DREAM 221 
 
 beadle passed, who did not even see her, so closely hud 
 she pressed herself against the interior of the iron 
 railing. She still saw the dress of the penitent who 
 was at the confessional near the entrance. Her eyes, 
 gradually accustomed to the half-light, were mechanically 
 fixed upon the inscriptions, the characters of which she 
 ended by deciphering. Certain names struck her, 
 calling back to her memory the legends of the Chateau 
 d'Hautecoaur, of Jean V. le Grand, of Kaoul III., and of 
 Herve VII. 
 
 She soon found two others, those of Laurette and of 
 Balbine, which brought tears to her eyes, so nervous 
 was she from trouble and anxiety Laurette, who fell 
 from a ray of moonlight, on. her way to rejoin her 
 betrothed, and Balbine, who died from sudden joy at the 
 return of her husband, whom she thought had been 
 killed in the war. They both of them came back at night 
 and enveloped the Castle with their immense, flowing 
 white robes. Had she not seen them herself the day of 
 their visit to the ruins, as they floated, towards evening, 
 above the towers in the rosy pallor of the dusk ? Ah ! 
 how willingly she would die as they did, although but 
 sixteen years of age, in the supreme happiness of the 
 realisation of her dream ! 
 
 A loud noise which reverberated under the arches 
 made her tremble. It was the priest who came out 
 from the confessional of Saint Joseph and shut the door 
 after him. She was surprised at no longer seeing the 
 penitent, who had already gone. And when in his turn 
 the clergyman went out by way of the sacristy, she 
 realised that she was absolutely alone in the vast solitude 
 of the Cathedral. At the loud sound of the door of the 
 confessional, as it creaked on its hinges, she thought
 
 222 THE DREAM 
 
 that Monseigneur was coining. It was nearly half an 
 hour since she had expected him, yet she did not realise 
 it, for her excitement prevented her from taking any 
 note of time. 
 
 Soon a new name drew her eyes towards the tablets 
 Felicien III., who went to Palestine, carrying a candle 
 in his hand, to fulfil a vow of Philippe le Bel. And 
 her heart beat with pride as she saw before her, mentally, 
 the youthful Felicien VII., the descendant of all these 
 worthies, the fair-haired nobleman whom she adored, 
 and by whom she was so tenderly loved. She suddenly 
 became filled with pride and fear. Was it possible that 
 she herself was there, in the expectation of bringing 
 about a prodigy ? Opposite her there was a fresher 
 plaque of marble, dating from the last century, the black 
 letters upon which she could easily read. Norbert 
 Louis Ogier, Marquis d'Hautecoeur, Prince of Mirande 
 and of Rouvres, Count 'of Ferrieres, of Montegu and of 
 Saint Marc, and also of Villemareuil, Chevalier of the 
 four Royal Orders of Saint Esprit, Saint Michel, Notre 
 Dame de Carmel and Saint Louis, Lieutenant in the 
 Army of the King, Governor of Normandy, holding 
 office as Captain-General of the Hunting, and Master of 
 the Hounds. All these were the titles of Felicien's 
 grandfather, and yet she had come, so simple, with her 
 working-dress and her fingers worn by the needle, in 
 hopes of marrying the grandson of this dead dignitary ! 
 There was a slight sound, scarcely a rustling, ou the 
 flagstones. She turned and saw Monseigneur, and 
 remained motionless at this silent approach without the 
 pomp and surroundings she had vaguely expected. He 
 entered into the chapel, tall, erect, and noble -looking, 
 dressed in purple, with his pale face, his rather large
 
 THE DREAM 223 
 
 nose, and his superb eyes, which still seemed youthful 
 in their expression. At first he did not notice her 
 against the black gate. Then, as he was about to kneel 
 down, he saw her before him at his feet. 
 
 With trembling limbs, overcome by respect and fear, 
 Angelique had fallen upon her knees. He seemed to 
 her at this moment like the Eternal Father, terrible in 
 aspect and absolute master of her destiny. But her 
 heart was still courageous, and she spoke at once. 
 
 ' Oh! Monseigneur, I have come ' 
 
 As for the Bishop, he had risen immediately. He 
 had a vague recollection of her ; the young girl, seen 
 first at her window on the day of the procession, and 
 re-found a little later standing on a chair in the church ; 
 this little embroiderer, with whom his son was so 
 desperately in love. He uttered no word, he made no 
 gesture. He waited, stern and stiff. 
 
 ' Oh ! Monseigneur, I have como on purpose that 
 you may see me. You have, it is true, refused to accept 
 me, but you do not know me. And now, here I am. 
 Please look at me before you repel me again. I am the 
 one who loves, and am also beloved, and that is all. 
 Nothing beyond this affection. Nothing but a poor 
 child, found at the door of this church. You see me at 
 your feet, little, weak, and humble. If I trouble you it 
 will be very easy for you to send me away. You have 
 ' ouly to lift your little finger to crush me. But think 
 of my tears ! Were you to know how I have suffered, 
 you would be compassionate. I wished, Monseigneur, 
 to plead my cause in my turn. I love, and that is why 
 I kneel before you, to tell you so, I am ignorant in 
 many ways ; I only know I love. All my strength and 
 all my pride is centred in that fact. Is not that suffi-
 
 224 THE DREAM 
 
 cient ? It certainly makes one great and good to be 
 able to say that one really loves.' 
 
 She continued with sighs, and in broken phrases, to 
 confess everything to him, in an unaffected outpouring 
 of ardent feeling. It was a true affection that thus 
 acknowledged itself. She dared to do so because she 
 was innocent and pure. Little by little she raised her 
 head. 
 
 ' We love each other, Monseigneur. Without doubt 
 he has already told you how all this came to pass. As 
 for me, I have often asked myself the question without 
 being able to reply to it. But we love each other, and if 
 it is a crime to do so, pardon it, I beseech you, for it 
 came from afar, from everything in short that surrounded 
 us. When I realised that I loved him, it was already 
 too late to prevent it. Now, is it possible to be angry 
 on that account ? You can keep him with you, make 
 him marry some other person, but you cannot prevent 
 him from giving me his heart. He will die without 
 me, as I shall if obliged to part from him. When he 
 is not by my side I feel that he is really near me, and 
 that we will never be entirely separated, since we carry 
 each other's life with us. I have only to close my eyes 
 to re-see him when I wish, so firmly is his image im- 
 pressed on my soul. Our whole natures are thus closely 
 united for life. And could you wish to draw us away 
 from this union ? Oh ! Monseigneur, it is divine ; do 
 not try to prevent us loving each other ! ' 
 
 He looked at her in her simple working-dress, PO 
 fresh, so unpretending, and attractive. He listened to 
 her as she repeated the canticle of their love in a voice 
 that both fascinated and troubled him, and which grew 
 stronger by degrees. But as her garden-hat fell upon
 
 THE DREAM 225 
 
 her shoulders, her exquisite hair seemed to make a halo 
 around her head of fine gold, and she appeared to him, 
 indeed, like one of those legendary virgins of the old 
 prayer-books, so frail was she, so primitive, so absorbed 
 in her deep feeling of intense and pure affection. 
 
 ' Be good, be merciful, Monseigneur. You are the 
 master. Do allow us to be happy ! ' 
 
 She implored him, and finding that he remained un- 
 moved, without speaking, she again bowed down her 
 head. 
 
 Oh ! this unhappy child at his feet ; this odour of 
 youth that came up from the sweet figure thus bent 
 before him ! There he saw, as it were again, the beauti- 
 ful light locks he had so fondly caressed in the days 
 gone by. She, whose memory still distressed him after 
 twenty years of penitence, had the same fresh youthful- 
 ness, the same proud expression, and the same lily-like 
 grace. She had re-appeared ; it was she herself who 
 now sobbed and besought him to be tender and merci- 
 ful. 
 
 Tears had come to Angelique, yet she continued to 
 outpour her heart. 
 
 ' And, Monseigneur, it is not only that I love him, 
 but I also love the nobility of his name, the lustre of his 
 royal fortune. Yes, I know well that being nothing, that 
 having nothing, it seems as if I were only desirous of 
 his money. In a way, it is true it is also for his wealth 
 that I wish to marry him. I tell you this because it is 
 necessary that you should know me thoroughly. Ah ! 
 to become rich by him and with him, to owe all my 
 happiness to him, to live in the sweetness and splendour 
 of luxury, to be free in our loving home, and to have no 
 more sorrow, no misery around us ! That is my ideal ! 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE DREAM 
 
 Since lie has loved me I fancy myself dressed in heavy 
 brocades, as ladies were in olden days ; I have on my 
 arms and around my neck strings of pearls and precious 
 stones ; I have horses and carriages ; groves in which I 
 take long walks, followed by pages. Whenever I think 
 of him my dream recommences, and I say to myself, " This 
 must all come to pass, for it perfects my desire to become 
 a queen." Is it, then, Monseigneur, a bad thing to love 
 him more because he can gratify all my childish wishing 
 by showering down miraculous floods of gold upon me 
 as in fairy-tales ? ' 
 
 He saw then that she rose up proudly, with a charm- 
 ing, stately air of a true princess, in spite of her real 
 simplicity. And she was always exactly like the fair 
 maiden of other years, with the same flower-like 
 delicacy, the same tender tears, clear as smiles. A 
 species of intoxication came from her, the warm breath 
 of which mounted to his face the same shadow of a 
 remembrance which made him at night throw himself 
 on his devotional chair, sobbing so deeply that he dis- 
 turbed the sacred silence of the Palace. Until three 
 o'clock in the morning of this same day he had contended 
 with himself again, and this long history of love, this 
 story of passion, would only revive and excite his incur- 
 able wound. But behind his impassiveness nothing was 
 seen, nothing betrayed his effort at self-control and his 
 attempt to conquer the beating of his heart. Were he 
 to lose his life's blood, drop by drop, no one should see 
 it flow, and he now simply became paler, was silent and 
 immovable. 
 
 At last this great persistent silence made Angelique 
 desperate, and she redoubled her prayers. 
 
 ' I put myself in your hands, Monseigneur. Do
 
 ; 1 put myself in your hands, Afonseigiunr.'
 
 THE DREAM 227 
 
 with me whatever you think best ; but have pity when 
 deciding my fate.' 
 
 Still, as he continued silent, he terrified her, and 
 seemed to grow taller than ever as he stood before 
 her in his fearful majesty. The deserted Cathedral, 
 whose aisles were already dark, with its high vaulted 
 arches where the daylight seemed dying, made the agony 
 of this silence still harder to bear. In the chapel, where 
 the commemorative slabs could no longer be seen, there 
 remained only the Bishop in his purple cassock, that now 
 looked black, and his long white face, which alone seemed 
 to have absorbed all the light. She saw his bright eyes 
 fixed upon her with an ever-increasing depth of expres- 
 sion, and shrunk from them, wondering if it were 
 possible that anger made them shine in so strange a way. 
 
 ' Monseigneur, had I not come to-day, I should have 
 eternally reproached myself for having brought about 
 the unhappiness of us both from my want of courage. 
 Tell me then, oh, tell me that I was right in doing so, 
 and that you will give us your consent ! ' 
 
 What use would there be in discussing the matter 
 with this child? He had already given his son the 
 reasons for his refusal, and that was all-sufficient. That 
 he had not yet spoken was only because he thought he 
 had nothing to say. She, no doubt, understood him, 
 and she seemed to wish to raise herself up that she might 
 be able to kiss his hands. But he threw them behind 
 him violently, and she was startled at seeing his white 
 face become suddenly crimson, from a rush of blood to 
 his head. 
 
 1 Monseigneur ! Monseigneur ! ' 
 
 At last he opened his lips, to say to her just one word, 
 the same he had said to his son : 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE DREAM 
 
 ' Never ! ' 
 
 And without remaining to pray that day, as was 
 his wont, he left the chapel, and with slow steps soon 
 disappeared behind the pillars of the apse. 
 
 Falling on the flagstones, Angelique wept for a long 
 time, sobbing deeply in the great peaceful silence of the 
 empty church.
 
 THE DREAM 229 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THAT same evening in the kitchen, after they left the 
 dinner-table, Angelique confessed everything to Hubert, 
 telling him of her interview with the Bishop, and of the 
 latter's refusal. She was very pale, but not at all excited. 
 
 Hubert was quite overcome. What ? Could it be 
 possible that his dear child already suffered ? That she 
 also had been so deeply wounded in her affections ? His 
 eyes were filled with tears from his sympathy with her, 
 as they were both of that excessively sensitive nature 
 that at the least breath they were carried away by their 
 imaginations. 
 
 ' Ah ! my poor darling, why did you not consult me ? 
 I would willingly have accompanied you, and perhaps I 
 might have persuaded Monseigneur to yield to your 
 prayers.' 
 
 With a look Hubertine stopped him. He was really 
 unreasonable. Was it not much better to seize this 
 occasion to put an end at once to all ideas of a marriage 
 which would be impossible ? She took the young girl 
 in her arms, and tenderly kissed her forehead. 
 
 ' Then, now it is ended, my dear child ; all ended ? ' 
 
 Angelique at first did not appear to understand what 
 was said to her. Soon the words returned to her as if 
 from a distance. She looked fixedly before her, seem-
 
 230 THE DREAM 
 
 ing anxious to question the empty space, and at last she 
 replied : 
 
 ' Without doubt, mother.' 
 
 Indeed, on the morrow she seated herself at the 
 work-frame and embroidered as she was wont to do. 
 She took up her usual routine of daily work, and did 
 not appear to suffer. Moreover, no allusion was made 
 to the past ; she no longer looked from time to time out 
 of the window into the garden, and, gradually losing 
 her paleness, the natural colour came back to her cheeks. 
 The sacrifice appeared to have been accomplished. 
 
 Hubert himself thought it was so, and, convinced of 
 the wisdom of Hubertine, did all in his power to keep 
 Felicien at a distance. The latter, not daring to openly 
 revolt against his father, grew feverishly impatient, to 
 such a degree that he almost broke the promise he had 
 made to wait quietly without trying to see Angelique 
 again. He wrote to her, and the letters were intercepted. 
 He even went to the house one morning, but it was 
 Hubert alone who received him. Their explanatory 
 conversation saddened them both to an equal degree, so 
 much did the young man appear to suffer when the 
 embroiderer told him of his daughter's calmness and her 
 air of forgetfulness. He besought him to be loyal, and 
 to go away, that he might not again throw the child into 
 the fearful trouble of the last few weeks. 
 
 Felicien again pledged himself to be patient, but he 
 violently refused to take back his word, for he was still 
 hopeful that he might persuade his father in the end. 
 He could wait ; he would let affairs remain in their 
 present state with the Voincourts, where he dined twice 
 a week, doing so simply to avoid a direct act of open 
 rebellion.
 
 THE DREAM 231 
 
 And as he left the house he besought Hubert to 
 explain to Angelique why he had consented to the 
 torment of not seeing her for the moment ; he thought 
 only of her, and the sole aim of everything he did was 
 to gain her at last. 
 
 When her husband repeated this conversation to her, 
 Hubertine grew very serious. Then, after a short silence, 
 she asked : 
 
 ' Shall you tell our daughter what he asked you to 
 say to her ? ' 
 
 ' I ought to do so.' 
 
 She was again silent, but finally added : 
 
 ' Act according to your conscience. But he is now 
 under a delusion. He will eventually be obliged to 
 yield to his father's wishes, and then our poor, dear little 
 girl will die in consequence.' 
 
 Hubert, overcome with grief, hesitated. But after 
 contending with himself, he concluded to repeat no- 
 thing. Moreover, he became a little reassured each day 
 when his wife called his attention to Angelique's tranquil 
 appearance. 
 
 * You see well that the wound is healing. She is 
 learning to forget.' 
 
 But she did not forget ; she also was simply wait- 
 ing. All hope of human aid having died within her, she 
 now had returned to the idea of some wonderful prodigy. 
 There would surely be one, if God wished her to be 
 happy. She had only to give herself up entirely into 
 His hands ; she believed that this new trial had been 
 sent to her as a punishment for having attempted to 
 force His will in intruding upon Monseigneur. With- 
 out true grace mankind was weak, and incapable of 
 success. Her need of that grace made her humble,
 
 2 32 THE DREAM 
 
 bringing to her as an only hope the aid of the Invisible ; 
 so that she gave up acting for herself, but left everything 
 to the mysterious forces which surrounded her. Each 
 evening at lamplight she recommenced her reading of 
 the ' Golden Legend,' being as delighted with it as when 
 she was a young child. She doubted none of the miracles 
 related therein, being convinced that the power of the 
 Unknown is without limit for the triumph of pure souls. 
 
 Just at this time the upholsterer of the Cathedral 
 ordered of the Huberts a panel of the very richest 
 embroidery for the throne of Monseigneur the Bishop. 
 This panel, one yard and a half in width and three 
 yards in length, was to be set in old carved wood, and 
 on it were to be represented two angels of life-size, 
 holding a crown, on which were to be the arms of the 
 Hautecocurs. It was necessary that the embroidery 
 should be in bas-relief, a work which not only required 
 great artistic knowledge, but also needed physical 
 strength, to be well done. When proposed to the 
 Huberts, they at first declined the offer, being not only 
 fearful of fatiguing Angelique, but especially dreading 
 that she would be saddened by the remembrances which 
 would be brought to her mind as she wrought thread 
 after thread during the several weeks. But she in- 
 sisted upon accepting the command, and every morning 
 applied herself to her task with an extraordinary energy. 
 It seemed as if she found her happiness in tiring herself, 
 and that she needed to be physically exhausted in order 
 to be calm. 
 
 So in the old workroom life continued in the same 
 regular way, as if their hearts had not even for a 
 moment beaten more quickly than usual. Whilst 
 Hubert occupied himself with arranging the frames, or
 
 THE DREAM 233 
 
 drew the patterns, or stretched or relaxed the materials, 
 Hubertine helped Angel ique, both of them having their 
 hands terribly tired and bruised when evening came. 
 For the angels and the ornaments it had been necessary 
 at the beginning to divide each subject into several 
 parts, which were treated separately. In order to per- 
 fect the most salient points, Angelique first took 
 spools of coarse unbleached thread, which she re-covered 
 with the strong thread of Brittany in a contrary 
 direction ; and as the need came, making use of a heavy 
 pair of shears, as well as of a roughing-chisel, she 
 modelled these threads, shaped the drapery of the 
 angels, and detached the details of the ornaments. In 
 all this there w r as a real work of sculpture. At last, 
 when the desired form was obtained, with the aid of 
 Hubertine she threw on masses of gold thread, which 
 she fastened down with little stitches of silk. Thus 
 there was a bas-relief of gold, incomparably soft and 
 bright, shining like a sun in the centre of this dark, 
 smoky room. The old tools were arranged in the same 
 lines as they had been for centuries the punches, the 
 awls, the mallets, and the hammers ; on the work-frame 
 the little donkey waste-basket and the tinsel, the thim- 
 bles and the needles, moved up and down as usual, 
 while in the different comers, where they ended by 
 growing rusty, the diligent, the hand spinning-wheel, 
 and the reel for winding, seemed to sleep in the peace- 
 ful quiet which entered through the open window. 
 
 Days passed. Angelique broke many needles be- 
 tween morning and evening, so difficult was it to sew 
 down the gold, through the thickness of the waxed 
 threads. To have seen her, one would have said she was 
 so thoroughly absorbed by her hard work that she could
 
 234 THE DREAM 
 
 think of nothing else. At nine o'clock she was ex- 
 hausted by fatigue, and, going to bed, she sank at once 
 into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When her embroidery gave 
 her mind a moment's leisure, she was astonished not to see 
 Felicien. Although she took no step towards seeking 
 him, it seemed to her that he ought to have tried every 
 possible way to come to her. Yet she approved of his 
 wisdom in acting as he did, and would have scolded 
 him had he tried to hasten matters. No doubt he also 
 looked for something supernatural to happen. It was 
 this expectation upon which she now lived, thinking 
 each night that it would certainly come on the morrow. 
 Until now she had never rebelled. Still, at times she 
 lifted up her head inquiringly, as if asking c What ! has 
 nothing yet come to pass ? ' And then she pricked her 
 finger so deeply that her hand bled, and she was 
 obliged to take the pincers to draw the needle out. 
 When her needle would break with a sharp little sound, 
 as if of glass, she did not even make a movement of 
 impatience. 
 
 Hubertine was very anxious on seeing her apply 
 herself so desperately to her work, and as the time for 
 the great washing had come again, she forced her to 
 leave her panel of embroidery, that she might have four 
 good days of active outdoor life in the broad sun- 
 light. The mere Gabet, now free from her rheumatism, 
 was able to help at the soaping and rinsing. It was a 
 regular fete in the Clos-Marie, these last August days, 
 in which the weather was splendid, the sky almost 
 cloudless, while a delicious fragrance came up from the 
 Chevrotte, the water of which as it passed under the 
 willows was almost icy cold. The first day Angelique 
 was very gay, as she beat the linen after plunging it
 
 THE DREAM 235 
 
 in the stream ; enjoying to the full the river, the elms, 
 the old ruined mill, the wild herbs, and all those 
 friendly surroundings, so filled with pleasant memories. 
 Was it not there she had become acquainted with 
 Felicien, who under the moonlight had at first seemed so 
 mysterious a being, and who, later on, had been so adora- 
 bly awkward the morning when he ran after the dress- 
 ing-sacque that was being carried away by the current ? 
 As she rinsed each article, she could not refrain from 
 glancing at the gateway of the Bishop's garden, which 
 until recently had been nailed up. One evening she 
 had passed through it on his arm, and who could tell 
 but he might suddenly now open it and come to take 
 her to the presence of his father ? This hope enchanted 
 her as she applied herself to her work in the midst 
 of the frothy foam that at times almost covered 
 her. 
 
 But the next day, as the mere Gabet brought the 
 last barrow of linen, which she spread out on the grass 
 with Angelique, she interrupted her interminable chat- 
 tering upon the gossip of the neighbourhood to say 
 maliciously : 
 
 ' By the way, you know that Monseigneur is to 
 marry his son ? ' 
 
 The young girl, who was just smoothing out a sheet, 
 knelt down in the grass, her strength leaving her all at 
 once, from the rudeness of the shock. 
 
 ' Yes, everyone is talking of it. The son of Mon- 
 seigneur will in the autumn marry Mademoiselle de 
 Voincourt. It seems that everything was decided upon 
 and arranged yesterday.' 
 
 She remained on her knees, as a flood of confused 
 ideas passed through her brain, and a strange humming
 
 236 THE DREAM 
 
 was in her ears. She was not at all surprised at the 
 news, and she realised it must be true. Her mother 
 had already warned her, so she ought to have been pre- 
 pared for it. She did not yet even doubt Felicien's 
 love for her, as that was her faith and her strength. 
 But at the present moment, that which weakened her 
 so greatly and excited vher to the very depths of her 
 being was the thought that, trembling before the com- 
 mands of his father, he could at last yield from weari- 
 ness, and consent to wed one whom he did not love. 
 Then he would be lost to her whom he really adored. 
 Never had she thought such an act on his part possible ; 
 but now she saw him obliged by his filial duty and his 
 sense of obedience to make them both unhappy for ever. 
 Still motionless, her eyes fixed upon the little gate, she 
 at lasb revolted against the facts, feeling as if she must 
 go and shake the bars, force them open with her hands, 
 run to Felicien, and, aiding him by her own courage, 
 persuade him not to yield. She was surprised to hear 
 herself reply to the mere Gabet, in the purely mechanical 
 instinct of hiding her trouble : 
 
 'Ah ! then he is to marry Mademoiselle Claire. She 
 is not only very beautiful, but it is said she is also very 
 good.' 
 
 Certainly, as soon as the old woman went away, she 
 must go and find him. She had waited long enough ; 
 she would break her promise of not seeing him as if it 
 were a troublesome obstacle. What right had anyone 
 to separate them in this way ? Everything spoke to 
 her of their affection the Cathedral, the fresh water, and 
 the old elm-trees under which they had been so happy. 
 Since their affection had grown on this spot, it was 
 there that she wished to find him again, to go with him
 
 THE DREAM 237 
 
 arm-in-arm far away, so far that no one would ever see 
 them. 
 
 ' That is all,' said at last the mere Gabet, as she 
 hung the last napkins on a bush. ' In two hours they 
 will be dry. Good-night, mademoiselle, as you no longer 
 have need of me.' 
 
 Now, standing in the midst of this efflorescence of 
 linen that shone on the green grass, Angelique thought 
 of that other day, when, in the tempest of wind, among 
 the flapping of the sheets and tablecloths, they unfolded 
 so ingenuously the secrets of their lives to each other. 
 Why had he discontinued his visits to her ? Why had 
 he not come to meet her during her healthy exercise of 
 the past three days ? But it would not be long before 
 she would run to him, and when he had clasped her in 
 his arms, he would know well that he was hers, and hers 
 only. She would not even need to reproach him for his 
 apparent weakness ; it would be enough for her to show 
 herself to make him realise that their happiness was in 
 being together. 
 
 He would dare everything for her sake when once 
 she had rejoined him. 
 
 An hour passed, and Angelique walked slowly be- 
 tween the pieces of linen, all white herself from the 
 blinding reflection of the sun ; and a confused sentiment 
 awoke in her breast, which, growing stronger and 
 stronger, prevented her from going over to the gate, as 
 she had wished to do. She was frightened before this 
 commencement of a struggle. What did it mean ? She 
 certainly could act according to her own will. Yet 
 something new, inexplicable, thwarted her and changed 
 the simplicity of her passion. It was such a simple 
 thing to go to a beloved one ; yet she could not pos-
 
 238 THE DREAM 
 
 sibly do so now, being kept back by a tormenting 
 doubt. Also, since she had given her promise, perhaps 
 it would be wrong to break it. In the evening, when 
 the whole ' wash ' was dry, and Hubertine came to help 
 her to take it to the house, she was still undecided what 
 to do, and concluded to reflect upon it during the night. 
 With her arms filled to overflowing with linen, white as 
 snow, and smelling fresh and clean, she cast an anxious 
 look towards the Clos-Marie, already bathed in the twi- 
 light, as if it were a friendly corner of Nature refusing 
 to be her accomplice. 
 
 In the morning Angelique was greatly troubled 
 when she awoke. Several other nights passed without 
 her having come to any decision. She could not re- 
 cover her ease of mind until she had the certainty that 
 she was still beloved. "Were her faith in that unshaken 
 she would be perfectly at rest. If loved, she could bear 
 anything. A fit of being charitable had again taken 
 possession of her, so that she was touched by the slight- 
 est suffering, and her eyes were filled with tears ready 
 to overflow at any moment. The old man Mascart 
 made her give him tobacco, and the Chouarts drew 
 from her everything they wished, even to preserved 
 fruits. But the Lemballeuses also profited by her gifts, 
 and Tiennette had been seen dancing at the fetes, 
 dressed in one of ' the good young lady's ' gowns. And 
 one day, as she was taking to the grandmother some 
 chemises promised her the previous evening, she saw 
 from a distance, in the midst of the poor family, Madame 
 de Voincourt and her daughter Claire, accompanied by 
 Felicien. The latter, no doubt, had taken them there. 
 She did not show herself, but r&turned home at 
 once, chilled to the heart. Two days later she saw the
 
 S/ic sa-ni from a distance Claire, accompanied by Feliden.
 
 THE DREAM 239 
 
 two again as they came out from the Chateau ; then 
 one morning the old man Mascart told her of a visib 
 he had received from the handsome young gentleman and 
 two ladies. Then she abandoned her poor people, who 
 seemed no longer to have claims upon her, since Felicien 
 had taken them and given them to his new friends. She 
 gave up her walks for fear she might see them, and thus 
 be so deeply wounded that her sufferings would be in- 
 creased tenfold. She felt as if something were dying 
 within her, as if, little by little, her very life was passing 
 away. 
 
 One evening, after one of these meetings, when 
 alone in her chamber, stifling from anguish, she uttered 
 this cry : 
 
 ' But he loves me no longer.' 
 
 She saw before her, mentally, Claire de Voincourt, 
 tall, beautiful, with her crown of black hair, and he was 
 at her side, slight, proud, and handsome. Were they 
 not really created for each other, of the same race, so 
 well mated that one might think they were already 
 married ? 
 
 ' He no longer loves me ! Oh ! he no longer loves 
 me ! ' 
 
 This exclamation broke from her lips as if it were 
 the ruin of all her hopes, and, her faith once shaken, 
 everything gave way without her being able to examine 
 the facts of the case or to regard them calmly. The 
 previous evening she believed in something, but that 
 had now passed by. A breath, coming from she knew 
 not where, had been sufficient, and all at once by a single 
 blow she had fallen into the greatest despair that of 
 thinking she was not beloved. He had indeed spoken 
 wisely when he told her once that this was the only real
 
 240 THE DREAM 
 
 grief, the one insupportable torture. Now her turn 
 had come. Until then she had been resigned, she felt 
 so strong and confident as she awaited the miracle. But 
 her strength passed away with her faith ; she was tor- 
 mented by her distress like a child ; her whole being 
 seemed to be only an open wound. And a painful 
 struggle commenced in her soul. 
 
 At first she called upon her pride to help her ; she 
 was too proud to care for him any more. She tried to 
 deceive herself, she pretended to be free from all care, as 
 she sang while embroidering the Hautecreur coat of 
 arms, upon which she was at work. But her heart was 
 so full it almost stifled her, and she was ashamed to 
 acknowledge to herself that she was weak enough to 
 love him still in spite of all, and even to love him more 
 than ever. For a week these armorial bearings, as they 
 grew thread by thread under her fingers, filled her with 
 a terrible sorrow. Quartered one and four, two and 
 three, of Jerusalem and d'Hautecoeur ; of Jerusalem, 
 which is argent, a cross potence, or, between four cross- 
 crosslets of the last ; and d'Hautecoeur, azure, on a 
 castle, or, a shield, sable, charged with a human heart, 
 argent ; the whole accompanied by three fleurs-de-lys, 
 or, two at the top and one in the point. The enamels 
 were made of twist, the metals of gold and silver thread. 
 What misery it was to feel that her hands trembled, and 
 to be obliged to lower her head to hide her eyes, that 
 were blinded with tears, from all this brightness. She 
 thought only of him ; she adored him in the lustre of 
 his legendary nobility. And when she embroidered the 
 motto of the family, ' Si Dieu veult, je veuxj in black silk 
 on a streamer of silver, she realised that she was his 
 slave, and that never again could she reclaim him.
 
 "THE DREAM 241 
 
 Then tears prevented her from seeing, while mechani- 
 cally she continued to make little stitches in her work. 
 After thia it was indeed pitiable. Angelique loved 
 in despair, fought against this hopeless affection, which 
 she could not destroy. She still wished to go to Felicien , 
 to reconquer him by throwing her arms around his neck ; 
 and thus the contest was daily renewed. Sometimes 
 she thought she had gained control over her feelings, so 
 great a silence appeared to have fallen within and around 
 her. She seemed to see herself as if in a vision, a 
 stranger in reality, very little, very cold, and kneeling 
 like an obedient child in the humility of renunciation. 
 Then it was no longer herself, but a sensible young girl, 
 made so by her education and her home life. Soon a 
 rush of blood mounted to her face, making her dizzy ; her 
 perfect health, the ardent feelings of her youth, seemed 
 to gallop like runaway colts, and she resaw herself, proud 
 and passionate, in all the reality of her unknown origin. 
 Why, then, had she been so obedient ? There was no 
 true duty to consult, only free-will. Already she had 
 planned her flight, and calculated the most favourable 
 hour for forcing open the gate of the Bishop's garden. 
 But already, also, the agony, the grave uneasiness, the 
 torment of a doubt had come back to her. Were she 
 to yield to evil she would suffer eternal remorse in con- 
 sequence. Hours, most abominable hours, passed in 
 this uncertainty as to what part she should take under 
 this tempestuous wind, which constantly threw her 
 from the revolt of her love to the horror of a fault. And 
 she came out of the contest weakened by each victory 
 over her heart. 
 
 One evening, as she was about leaving the house to 
 go to join Felicien, she suddenly thought of "her little 
 
 R
 
 242 THE DREAM 
 
 book from the Society of Aid to Abandoned Children. 
 She was so distressed to find that she no longer had 
 strength to resist her pride. She took it from the 
 depths of the chest of drawers, turned over its leaves, 
 whispered to herself at each page the lowness of her 
 birth, so eager was she in her need of humility. Father 
 and mother unknown ; no name ; nothing but a date 
 and a number ; a complete neglect, like that of a wild 
 plant that grows by the roadside ! Then crowds of 
 memories came to her : the rich pastures of the Mievre 
 and the cows she had watched there ; the flat route of 
 Soulanges, where she had so often walked barefooted ; 
 and Maman Nini, who boxed her ears when she stole 
 apples. Certain pages specially attracted her by their 
 painful associations : those which certified every three 
 months to the visits of the under-inspector and of the 
 physician, whose signatures were sometimes accom- 
 panied by observations or information, as, for instance, 
 a severe illness, during which she had almost died ; a 
 claim from her nurse on the subject of a pair of shoes 
 that had been burnt; and bad marks that had been 
 given her for her uncontrollable temper. It was, in 
 short, the journal of her misery. But one thing dis- 
 turbed her above all others the report in reference to 
 the breaking of the necklace she had worn until she 
 was six years of age. She recollected that she had in- 
 stinctively hated it, this string of beads of bone, cut in 
 the shape of little olives, strung on a silken cord, and 
 fastened by a medallion of plaited silver, bearing the 
 date of her entrance into the ' Home ' and her number. 
 She considered it as a badge of slavery, and tried 
 several times to break it with her little hands, without 
 any fear as to the consequences of doing so. Then,
 
 THE DREAM 243 
 
 when older, she complained that it choked her. For a 
 year longer she was obliged to wear it. Great, indeed, 
 was her joy when, in the presence of the mayor of the 
 parish, the inspector's aid had cut the cord, replacing 
 this sign of individuality by a formal description, in 
 which allusion was made to her violet-coloured eyes 
 and her fine golden hair. Yet she always seemed to 
 feel around her neck this collar, as if she were an animal 
 that was marked in order that she might be recognised 
 if she went astray ; it cut into her flesh and stifled her. 
 When she came to that page on this day, her humility 
 came back to her, she was frightened, and went up to 
 her chamber, sobbing as if unworthy of being loved. 
 At two other times this little book saved her. At last 
 it lost its power, and could not help her in checking 
 her rebellious thoughts. 
 
 Now, her greatest temptation came to her at night. 
 Before going to bed, that her sleep might be calm, she 
 imposed upon herself the task of resuming reading the 
 Legends. But, resting her forehead on her hands, not- 
 withstanding all her efforts she could understand 
 nothing. The miracles stupefied her ; she saw only a 
 discoloured flight of phantoms. Then in her great bed, 
 after a most intense prostration, she started suddenly 
 from her sleep, in agony, in the midst of the darkness. 
 She sat upright, distracted ; then knelt among the half 
 thrbwn-back clothes, as the perspiration started from 
 her forehead, while she trembled from head to foot. 
 Clasping her hands together, she stammered in prayer, 
 ' Oh ! my God ! Why have You forsaken me ? ' 
 
 Her great distress was to realise that she was alone 
 in the obscurity at such moments. She had dreamed 
 of Felicien, she was eager to dress herself and go to join
 
 244 THE DREAM 
 
 him, before anyone could come to prevent her from 
 fleeing. It was as if the Divine grace were leaving 
 her, as if God ceased to protect her, and even the ele- 
 ments abandoned her. In despair, she called upon the 
 unknown, she listened attentively, hoping for some sign 
 from the invisible. But there was no reply; the air 
 seemed empty. There were no more whispering voices, 
 no more mysterious rustlings. Everything seemed to 
 be dead the Clos-Marie, with the Chevrotte, the wil- 
 lows, the elm-trees in the Bishop's garden, and the 
 Cathedral itself. Nothing remained of the dreams she 
 had placed there ; the white flight of her friends in 
 passing away left behind them only their sepulchre. 
 She was in agony at her powerlessness, disarmed, like 
 a Christian of the Primitive Church overcome by original 
 sin. as soon as the aid of the supernatural had departed. 
 In the dull silence of this protected corner she heard 
 this evil inheritance come back, howling triumphant 
 over everything. If in ten minutes more no help came 
 to her from figurative forces, if things around her did 
 not rouse up and sustain her, she would certainly suc- 
 cumb and go to her ruin. ' My God ! my God ! why 
 have You abandoned me ? ' Still kneeling on her 
 bed, slight and delicate, it seemed to her as if she were 
 dying. 
 
 Each time, until now, at the moment of her greatest 
 distress she had been sustained by a certain freshness. 
 It was the Eternal Grace which had pity upon her, and 
 restored her illusions. She jumped out on to the floor 
 with her bare feet, and ran eagerly to the window. 
 Then at last she heard the voices rising again ; invisible 
 wings brushed against her hair, the people of the ' Golden 
 Legend ' came out from the trees and the stones, and
 
 THE DREAM 245 
 
 crowded around her. Her purity, her goodness, all that 
 which resembled her in Nature, returned to her and 
 saved her. Now she was no longer afraid, for she knew 
 that she was watched over. Agnes had come back with 
 the wandering, gentle virgins, and in the air she 
 breathed was a sweet calmness, which, notwithstanding 
 her intense sadness, strengthened her in her resolve to 
 die rather than fail in her duty or break her promise. 
 At last, quite exhausted, she crept back into her bed, 
 falling asleep again with the fear of the morrow's trials, 
 constantly tormented by the idea that she must succumb 
 in the end, if her weakness thus increased each day. 
 
 In fact, a languor gained fearfully upon Angelique 
 since she thought Felicien no longer loved her. She 
 was deeply wounded and silent, uncomplaining ; she 
 seemed to be dying hourly. At first it showed itself by 
 weariness. She would have an attack of want of breath, 
 when she was forced to drop her thread, and for a mo- 
 ment remain with her eyes half closed, seeing nothing, 
 although apparently looking straight before her. Then 
 she left off eating, scarcely taking even a little milk ; 
 and she either hid her bread or gave it to the neigh- 
 bours' chickens, that she need not make her parents 
 anxious. A physician having been called, found no 
 acute disease, but considering her life too solitary, 
 simply recommended a great deal of exercise. It was 
 like a gradual fading away of her whole being ; a dis- 
 appearing by slow degrees, an obliterating of her 
 physique from its immaterial beauty. Her form floated 
 like the swaying of two great wings ; a strong light 
 seemed to come from her thin face, where the soul was 
 burning. She could now come down from her chamber 
 only in tottering steps, as she supported herself by
 
 246 THE DREAM 
 
 putting her two hands against the wall of the stairway. 
 But as soon as she realised she was being looked at, 
 she made a great effort, and even persisted in wishing 
 to finish the panel of heavy embroidery for the Bishop's 
 seat. Her little, slender hands had no more strength, 
 and when she broke a needle she could not draw ifc 
 from the work with the pincers. 
 
 One morning, when Hubert and Hubertine had been 
 obliged to go out, and had left her alone at her work, 
 the embroiderer, coming back first, had found her on the 
 floor near the frame, where she had fallen from her 
 chair after having fainted away. She had at last suc- 
 cumbed before her task, one of the great golden angels 
 being still unfinished. Hubert took her in his arms, and 
 tried to place her on her feet. But she fell back again, 
 and did not recover consciousness. 
 
 ' My darling ! My darling ! Speak to me ! Have 
 pity on me ! ' 
 
 At last she opened her eyes and looked at him in 
 despair. Why had he wished her to come back to life ! 
 She would so gladly die ! 
 
 ' What is the matter with you, my dear child ? 
 Have you really deceived us? Do you still love 
 him?'* 
 
 She made no answer, but simply looked at him with 
 intense sadness. Then he embraced her gently, took 
 her in his arms, and carried her up to her room. 
 Having placed her upon her bed, when he saw how white 
 and frail she was he wept that he had had so cruel a 
 task to perform as to keep away from her the one whom 
 she so loved. 
 
 * But I would have given him to you, my dear ! 
 Why did you say nothing to me ? '
 
 THE DREAM 247 
 
 She did not speak ; her eyelids closed, and she ap- 
 peared to fall asleep. He remained standing, his looks 
 fixed upon the thin, lily-white countenance, his heart 
 bleeding with pity. Then, as her breathing had become 
 quiet, he went downstairs, as he heard his wife come 
 in. 
 
 He explained everything to her in the working- 
 room. Hubertine had just taken off her hat and gloves, 
 and he at once told her of his having found the child on 
 the floor in a dead faint, that she was now sleeping on 
 her bed, overcome with weakness, and almost lifeless. 
 
 ' We have really been greatly mistaken. She thinks 
 constantly of this young man, and it is killing her by 
 inches. Ah ! if you knew what a shock it gave me, 
 and the remorse which has made me almost distracted, 
 since I have realised the truth of the case, and carried 
 her upstairs in so pitiable a state. It is our fault. We 
 have separated them by falsehoods, and I am not only 
 ashamed, but so angry with myself it makes me ill. 
 But what ? Will you let her suffer so, without saying 
 anything to save her ? ' 
 
 Still Hubertine was as silent as Angelique, and, 
 pale from anxiety, looked at him calmly and soothingly. 
 But he, always an excitable man, was now so overcome 
 by what he had just seen that, forgetting his usual sub- 
 mission, he was almost beside himself, could not keep 
 still, but threw his hands up and down in his feverish 
 agitation. 
 
 'Very well, then! I will speak, and I will tell her 
 that Felicien loves her, and that it is we who have had 
 the cruelty to prevent him from returning, in deceiving 
 him also. Now, every tear she sheds cuts me to the 
 heart. Were she to die, I should consider myself as
 
 248 THE DREAM 
 
 having been her murderer. I wish her to be happy. 
 Yes ! happy at any cost, no matter how, but by all 
 possible means.' 
 
 He had approached his wife, and he dared to cry 
 out in the revolt of his tenderness, being doubly irri- 
 tated by the sad silence she still maintained. 
 
 ' Since they love each other, it is they alone who 
 should be masters of the situation. There is surely 
 nothing in the world greater than to love and be beloved. 
 Yes, happiness is always legitimate.' 
 
 At length Hubertine, standing motionless, spoke 
 slowly : 
 
 ' You are willing, then, that he should take her from 
 us, are you not ? That he should marry her notwith- 
 standing our opposition, and without the consent of his 
 father ? Would you advise them to do so ? Do you 
 think that they would be happy afterwards, and that 
 love would suffice them ? ' 
 
 And without changing her manner she continued in 
 the same heart-broken voice : 
 
 1 On my way home I passed by the cemetery, and 
 an undefinable hope made me enter there again. 1 
 knelt once more on the spot that is worn by our knees, 
 and I prayed there for a long time.' 
 
 Hubert had turned very pale, and a cold chill replaced 
 the fever of a few moments before. Certainly he knew 
 well the tomb of the unforgiving mother, where they 
 had so often been in tears and in submission, as they 
 accused themselves of their disobedience, and besought 
 the dead to send them her pardon from the depths of 
 the earth. They had remained there for hours, sure 
 that if the grace they demanded were ever granted them 
 they would be cognisant of it a.t once. That for which
 
 THE DREAM 249 
 
 they pleaded, that for which they hoped, was for another 
 infant, a child of pardon, the only sign which would 
 assure them that at last they themselves had been for- 
 given. But all was in vain. The cold, hard mother, 
 was deaf to all their entreaties, and left them under the 
 inexorable punishment of the death of their firstborn, 
 whom she had taken and carried away, and whom she 
 refused to restore to them. 
 
 ' I prayed there for a long time/ repeated Hubertine. 
 ' I listened eagerly to know if there would not be some 
 slight movement.' 
 
 Hubert questioned her with an anxious look. 
 
 ' But there was nothing no ! 110 sound came up to 
 me from the earth, and within me there was no feeling 
 of relief. Ah ! yes, it is useless to hope any longer. 
 It is too late. We brought about our own unhappiness.' 
 
 Then, trembling, he asked : 
 
 ' Do you accuse me of it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, you are to blame, and I also did wrong in 
 following you. We disobeyed in the beginning, and 
 all our life has been spoiled in consequence of that one 
 false step.' 
 
 ' But are you not happy ?' 
 
 ' No, I am not happy. A woman who has no child 
 can never be happy. To love merely is not enough. 
 That love must be crowned and blest.' 
 
 He had fallen into a chair, faint and overcome, as 
 tears came to his eyes. Never before had she reproached 
 him for the ever-open wound which marred their lives, 
 and she who always after having grieved him by an 
 involuntary allusion to the past had quickly recovered 
 herself and consoled him, this time let him suffer, look- 
 ing at him as she stood near, but making no sign,
 
 250 THE DREAM, 
 
 taking no step towards him. He wept bitterly, ex- 
 claiming in the midst of his tears : 
 
 ' Ah ! the dear child upstairs it is she you condemn. 
 You are not willing that Felicien should marry her, as 
 I married you, and that she should suffer as you have 
 
 done.' 
 
 She answered simply by a look : a clear, affectionate 
 glance, in which he read the strength and simplicity of 
 her heart. 
 
 ' But you said yourself, my dear, that our sweet 
 daughter would die from grief if matters were not 
 changed. Do you, then, wish for her death ?' 
 
 ' Yes. Her death now would be preferable to an 
 unhappy life.' 
 
 He left his seat, and clasped her in his arms as they 
 both sobbed bitterly. For some minutes they embraced 
 each other. Then he conquered himself, and she in her 
 turn was obliged to lean upon his shoulder, that he 
 might comfort her and renew her courage. They were 
 indeed distressed, but were firm in their decision to 
 keep perfectly silent, and, if it were God's will that their 
 child must die in consequence, they must accept it sub- 
 missively, rather than advise her to do wrong. 
 
 From that day Angelique was obliged to keep in her 
 room. Her weakness increased so rapidly and to such 
 a degree that she could no longer go down to the work- 
 room. Did she attempt to walk, her head became dizzy 
 at once and her limbs bent under her. At first, by the 
 aid of the furniture, she was able to get to the balcony. 
 Later, she was obliged to content herself with going 
 from her armchair to her bed. Even that distance 
 seemed long to her, and she only tried it in the morning 
 and evening, she was so exhausted.
 
 THE DREAM 251 
 
 However, she still worked, giving up the embroidery 
 in bas-relief as being too difficult, and simply making 
 use of coloured silks. She copied flowers after Nature, 
 from a bunch of hydrangeas and hollyhocks, which, 
 having no odour, she could keep in her room. The 
 bouquet was in full bloom in a large vase, and often she 
 would rest for several minutes as she looked at it with 
 pleasure, for even the light silks were too heavy for her 
 fingers. In two days she had made one flower, which 
 was fresh and bright as it shone upon the satin ; but 
 this occupation was her life, and she would use her 
 needle until her last breath. Softened by suffering, 
 emaciated by the inner fever that was consuming her, 
 she seemed now to be but a spirit, a pure and beautiful 
 flame that would soon be extinguished. 
 
 Why was it necessary to struggle any longer if 
 Felicien did not love her ? Now she was dying with 
 this conviction ; not only had he no love for her to-day, 
 but perhaps he had never really cared for her. So long 
 as her strength lasted she had contended against her 
 heart, her health, and her youth, all of which urged her 
 to go and join him. But now that she was unable to 
 move, she must resign herself and accept her fate. 
 
 One morning, as Hubert placed her in her easy 
 chair, and put a cushion under her little, motionless 
 feet, she said, with a smile : 
 
 'Ah ! I am sure of being good now, and not trying 
 to run away.' 
 
 Hubert hastened to go downstairs, that she might 
 not see his tears.
 
 252 THE DREAM 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IT was impossible for Angelique to sleep that night. 
 A nervous wakefulness kept her burning eyelids from 
 closing, and her extreme weakness seemed greater than 
 ever. The Huberts had gone to their room, and at last, 
 when it was near midnight, so great a fear came over 
 her that she would die if she were to remain longer in 
 bed, she preferred to get up, notwithstanding the im- 
 mense effort required to do so. 
 
 She was almost stifled. Putting on a dressing-gown 
 and warm slippers, she crept along slowly as far as the 
 window, which she opened wide. The winter was some- 
 what rainy, but of a mild dampness ; so the air was 
 pleasant to breathe. She sank back into her great arm- 
 chair, after having turned up the wick of a lamp which 
 was on a table near her, and which was always allowed 
 to be kept burning during the entire night. There, by 
 the side of the volume of the ' Golden Legend,' was the 
 bouquet of hydrangeas and hollyhocks which she had 
 begun to copy. That she might once more attach her- 
 self to the life which she realised was fast passing from 
 her she had a sudden fancy to work, and drawing her 
 frame forward, she made a few stitches with her trem- 
 bling fingers. The red silk of the rose-tremiere seemed 
 of a deeper hue than ever, in contrast with her white
 
 THE DREAM 253 
 
 hands : it was almost as if it were the blood from 
 her veins which was quietly flowing away drop by 
 drop. 
 
 But she, who for two hours had turned in vain from 
 side to side in the burning bedclothes, yielded almost 
 immediately to sleep as soon as she was seated. Her 
 head drooped a little toward her right shoulder, being 
 supported by the back of her chair, and the silk remain- 
 ing in her motionless hands, a looker-on would have 
 thought she was still embroidering. White as snow, 
 perfectly calm, she slept under the light of the lamp in 
 the chamber, still and quiet as a tomb. The faded, 
 rosy draperies of the great royal couch were paler than 
 ever in their shady corner, and the gloom of the walls 
 of the room was only relieved by the great chest of 
 drawers, the wardrobe, and the chairs of old carved 
 oak. Minutes passed ; her slumber was deep and 
 dreamless. 
 
 At last there was a slight sound, and Felicien 
 suddenly appeared on the balcony, pale, trembling, 
 and, like herself, looking very worn and thin, and his 
 countenance distressed. When he saw her reclin- 
 ing in the easy chair, pitiable and yet so beautiful to 
 look at, he rushed at once into the chamber, and his 
 heart grew heavy with infinite grief as he went forward, 
 and, falling on his knees before her, gazed at her with 
 an expression of utter despair. Could it be that she 
 was so hopelessly ill ? Was it unhappiness that had 
 caused her to be so weak, and to have wasted away to 
 such a degree that she appeared to him light as air 
 while she lay there, like a feather which the slightest 
 breath would blow away ? In her sleep, her suffering 
 and her patient resignation were clearly seen. He in
 
 254 THE DREAM 
 
 fact would have known her only by her lily-like grace, 
 the delicate outlines of her neck, her drooping shoulders, 
 and her oval face, transfigured like that of a youthful 
 virgin mounting towards heaven. Her exquisite hair 
 was now only a mass of light, and her pure soul shone 
 under the soft transparency of her skin. She had all 
 the ethereal beauty of the saints relieved from their 
 bodies. He was both dazzled and distressed ; the violent 
 shock rendered him incapable of moving, and, with hands 
 clasped, he remained silent. She did not awake as he 
 continued to watch her. 
 
 A little air from the half-closed lips of Felicien must 
 ha^e passed across Angelique's face, as all at once she 
 opened her great eyes. Yet she did not start, but in 
 her turn looked at him with a smile, as if he were a 
 vision. Yes, it was he ! She recognised him well, 
 although he was greatly changed. But she did not 
 think she was awake, for she often saw him thus in her 
 dreams, and her trouble was increased^ when, rousing 
 from her sleep, she realised the truth. 
 
 He held his hands out towards her and spoke : 
 ' My dearest, I love you. I was told that you were 
 ill, and came to you immediately. Look at me ! Here 
 I am, and I love you.' 
 
 She straightened herself up quickly. She shuddered, 
 as with a mechanical movement she passed her fingers 
 over her eyes. 
 
 ' Doubt no longer, then. See me at your feet, and 
 realise that I love you now, as I have ever done.' 
 Then she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh ! is it you ? I had given up expecting you, and 
 yet you are here.' 
 
 With her feeble, trembling hands, she had taken his,
 
 THE DREAM 255 
 
 thus assuring herself that he was not a fanciful vision of 
 her sleep. 
 
 He continued : 
 
 ' You have always loved me, and I love you for ever. 
 Yes, notwithstanding everything; and more deeply 
 even than I should have ever thought it possible to 
 do.' 
 
 It was an unhoped-for excess of happiness, and in 
 this first minute of absolute joy they forgot everything 
 else in the world, giving themselves up to the delight- 
 ful certainty of their mutual affection, and their ability 
 to declare it. The sufferings of the past, the obstacles 
 of the future, had disappeared as if by magic. They 
 did not even think of asking how it was that they had 
 thus come together. But there they were, mingling 
 their tears of joy together as they embraced each other 
 with the purest of feelings : he was overcome with pity 
 that she was so worn by grief and illness that she 
 seemed like a mere shadow in his arms. In the en- 
 chantment of her surprise she remained half-paralysed, 
 trembling from exhaustion, radiant with spiritual beauty, 
 as she lay back in her great easy chair, so physically 
 weary that she could not raise herself without falling 
 again, but intoxicated with this supreme contentment. 
 
 ' Ah, dear Seigneur, my only remaining wish is 
 gratified. I longed to see you before death came.' 
 
 He lifted up his head, as with a despairing move- 
 ment, and said : 
 
 ' Do not speak of dying. It shall not be. I am here, 
 and I love you.' 
 
 She smiled angelically. 
 
 ' I am not afraid to die now that you have assured 
 me of your affection. The idea no longer terrifies me.
 
 256 THE DREAM 
 
 I could easily fall asleep in this way, while leaning on 
 your shoulders. Tell me once more that you love 
 me.' 
 
 ' I love you as deeply to-day as I loved you yester- 
 day, and as I will love you on the morrow. Do not 
 doubt it for one moment, for it is for eternity! Oh, 
 yes, we will love each other for ever and ever.' 
 
 Angelique was enraptured, and with vague eyes 
 looked directly before her, as if seeing something be- 
 yond the cold whiteness of the chamber. But evidently 
 she aroused herself, as if just awaking from sleep. In 
 the midst of this great felicity which had appeased her, 
 she had now had time for reflection. The true facts of 
 the case astonished her. 
 
 ' You have loved me ! Yet why did you not at once 
 come to see me ? ' 
 
 * Your parents said that you cared for me no longer. 
 I also nearly died when learning that. At last, I 
 was determined to know the whole truth, and was sent 
 away from the house, the door being absolutely closed 
 against me, and I was forbidden to return.' 
 
 O 
 
 ' Then they shut the door in your face ? Yet my 
 mother told me that you did not love me, and I could 
 but believe her, since, having seen you several times 
 with that young lady, Mademoiselle Claire, I thought 
 naturally you were obeying your father.' 
 
 ' No. I was waiting. But it was cowardly on my 
 part thus to tremble before him. My great mistake has 
 been to allow the matter to go so far ; for my duty was 
 to have trusted only in you, to have insisted upon seeing 
 you personally, and to have acted with you.' 
 
 There was a short silence. Angelique sat erect for 
 an instant, as if she had received a blow, and her ex-
 
 THE DREAM 257 
 
 pression grew cold and hard, and her forehead was cut 
 by an angry wrinkle. 
 
 ' So we have both of us been deceived. Falsehoods 
 have been told in order to separate us from each other. 
 Notwithstanding our mutual love, we have been tortured 
 to such a degree that they have almost killed us both. 
 Very well, then ! It is abominable, and it frees us 
 from the promises we made. We are now at liberty to 
 act as we will.' 
 
 An intense feeling of contempt so excited her that 
 she stood up on her feet. She no longer realised that 
 she was ill, but appeared to have regained her strength 
 miraculously in the reawakening of ail the passion and 
 pride of her nature. To have thought her dream ended, 
 and all at once to have refound it in its full beauty and 
 vitality, delighted her. To be able to say that they 
 had done nothing unworthy their love, but that it was 
 other persons who had been the guilty ones, was a 
 comfort. This growth of herself, this at last certain 
 triumph, exalted her and threw her into a supreme 
 rebellion. 
 
 She simply said : 
 
 ' Come, let us go.' 
 
 And she walked around the room, brave in the 
 return of her energy and her will. She had already 
 selected a mantle to throw over her shoulders. A lace 
 scarf would be sufficient for her head. 
 
 Felicien uttered one cry of joy as she thus antici- 
 pated his desire. He had merely thought of this flight, 
 but had not had the boldness to dare propose it ; and 
 how delightful indeed it would be to go away together, 
 to disappear, and thus put an end to all cares, to over- 
 come all obstacles. The sooner it was done the better,
 
 258 THE DREAM 
 
 for then they would avoid having to contend with 
 reflection or afterthought. 
 
 ' Yes, darling, let us go immediately. I was coming 
 to take you. I know where we can find a carriage. 
 Before daylight we will be far away : so far that no one 
 will ever be able to overtake us.' 
 
 She opened her drawers, but closed them again 
 violently, without taking anything therefrom, as her 
 excitement increased. Could it be possible that she 
 had suffered such torture for so many weeks ! , She had 
 done everything in her power to drive him from her 
 mind, to try to convince herself that he cared no more 
 for her, until at last she thought she had succeeded in 
 doing so. But it was of no use, and all this abominable 
 work must be done over again. No ! she could never 
 have strength sufficient for that. Since they loved 
 each other, the simplest thing in the world to do was to 
 be married, and then no power on earth could separate 
 them. 
 
 ' Let me see. What ought I to take ? Oh ! how 
 foolish I have been with all my childish scruples, when 
 I think that others have lowered themselves so much 
 as even to tell us falsehoods ! Yes ! even were I to 
 have died, they would not have called you to me. But, 
 tell me, must I take linen and dresses ? See, here is a 
 warmer gown. What strange ideas, what unnumbered 
 obstacles, they put in my head. There was good on 
 one side and evil on the other : things which one might 
 do, and again that which one should never do ; in short, 
 such' a complication of matters, it was enough to make 
 one wild. They were all falsehoods : there was no truth 
 in any of them. The only real happiness is to live to 
 love the one who loves you, and to obey the promptings
 
 THE DREAM 259 
 
 of the heart. You are the personification of fortune, 
 of beauty, and of youth, my dear Seigneur ; my only 
 pleasure is in you. I give myself to you freely, and you 
 may do with me what you wish.' 
 
 She rejoiced in this breaking-out of all the here- 
 ditary tendencies of her nature, which she thought had 
 died within her. Sounds of distant music excited her. 
 She saw as it were their royal departure : this son of a 
 prince carrying her away as in a fairy-tale, and making 
 her queen of some imaginary realm ; and she was ready 
 to follow him with her arms clasped around his neck, 
 her head upon his breast, with such a trembling from 
 intense feeling that her whole body grew weak from 
 happiness. To be alone together, just they two, to 
 abandon themselves to the galloping of horses, to flee 
 away, and to disappear in each other's arms. What 
 perfect bliss it would be ! 
 
 ' Is it not better for me to take nothing ? What 
 good would it do in reality ? ' 
 
 He, partaking of her feverishness, was already at the 
 door, as he replied : 
 
 1 No, no ! Take nothing whatever. Let us go at 
 once.' 
 
 ' Yes, let us go. That is the best thing to 
 do.' 
 
 And she rejoined him. But she turned round, 
 wishing to give a last look at the chamber. The lamp 
 was burning with the same soft light, the bouquet of 
 hydrangeas and hollyhocks was blooming as ever, and 
 in her work-frame the unfinished rose, bright and 
 natural as life, seemed to be waiting for her. But the 
 room itself especially affected her. Never before had it 
 seemed so white and pure to her ; the walls, the bed, 
 
 8 2
 
 a6o THE DREAM 
 
 the air even, appeared as if filled with a clear, white 
 breath. 
 
 Something within her wavered, and she was obliged 
 to lean heavily against the back of a chair that was near 
 her and not far from the door. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' asked Felicien anxiously. 
 
 She did not reply, but breathed with great difficulty. 
 Then, seized with a trembling, she could no longer 
 bear her weight on her feet, but was forced to sit 
 down. 
 
 { Do not be anxious ; it is nothing. I only want to 
 rest for a minute and then we will go.' 
 
 They were silent. She continued to look round the 
 room as if she had forgotten some valuable object there, 
 but could not tell what it was. It was a regret, at first 
 slight, but which rapidly increased and filled her heart 
 by degrees, until it almost stifled her. She could no 
 longer collect her thoughts. Was it this mass of white- 
 ness that kept her back ? She had always adored 
 white, even to such a degree as to collect bits of silk 
 and revel over them in secret. 
 
 ' One moment, just one moment more, and we will 
 go away, my dear Seigneur.' 
 
 But she did not even make an effort to rise. Very 
 anxious, he again knelt before her. 
 
 ' Are you suffering, my dear ? Cannot I do some- 
 thing to make you feel better ? If you are shivering 
 because you are cold, I will take your little feet in my 
 hands, and will so warm them that they will grow strong 
 and be able to run.' 
 
 She shook her head as she replied : 
 
 ' No, no, I am not cold. I could walk. But please 
 wait a little, just a single minute.'
 
 THE DREAM 261 
 
 He saw well that invisible chains seemed again to 
 have taken possession of her limbs, and, little by little, 
 were attaching themselves so strongly to her that very 
 soon, perhaps, it would be quite impossible for him to 
 draw her away. Yet, if he did not take her from there 
 at once, if they did not flee together, he thought of the 
 inevitable contest with his father on the morrow, of the 
 distressing interview before which he had recoiled for 
 weeks past. Then he became pressing, and besought 
 her most ardently. 
 
 ' Come, dear, the highways are not light at this 
 hour ; the carriage will bear us away in the darkness, 
 and we will go on and on, cradled in each other's arms, 
 sleeping as if warmly covered with down, not fearing 
 the night's freshness ; and when the day dawns we will 
 continue our route in the sunshine, as we go still farther 
 on, until we reach the country where people are always 
 happy. No one will know us there ; we will live 
 by ourselves, lost in some great garden, having no other 
 care than to love each other more deeply than ever at 
 the coming of each new day. We shall find flowers as 
 large as trees, fruits sweeter than honey. And we will 
 live on nothing, for in the midst of this eternal spring, 
 dear soul, we will live on our kisses.' 
 
 She trembled under these burning words, with which 
 he heated her face, and her whole being seemed to be 
 fainting away at the representation of these promised 
 
 joys- 
 
 ' Oh ! in a few minutes I w r ill be ready ; but wait a 
 little longer.' 
 
 'Then, if journeying fatigues us, we will come back 
 here. We will rebuild the Chateau d'Hautecosur, and 
 we will pass the rest of our lives there. That is my
 
 262 THE DREAM 
 
 ideal dream. If it is necessary, we will spend willingly 
 all our fortune therein. Once more shall its donjon 
 overlook from its height the two valleys. We will 
 make our home in the Pavilion d'Honneur, between the 
 Tower of David and the Tower of Charlemagne. The 
 colossal edifice shall be restored as in the days of its 
 primitive power: the galleries, the dwellings, the chapels, 
 shall appear in the same barbaric luxury as before. 
 And I shall wish for us to lead the life of olden times ; 
 you a princess and I a prince, surrounded by a large 
 company of armed vassals and of pages. Our walls of 
 fifteen feet of thickness will isolate us, and we shall be 
 as our ancestors were, of whom it is written in the 
 Legend. When the sun goes down behind the hills 
 we will return from hunting, mounted on great white 
 horses, greeted respectfully by the peasants as they 
 kneel before us. The horn will resound in welcome, 
 the drawbridge will be lowered for us. In the even- 
 ing, kings will dine at our table. At night, our couch 
 will be on a platform surmounted by a canopy like a 
 throne. While we sleep peacefully in purple and gold, 
 soft music will be played in the distance.' 
 
 Quivering with pride and pleasure, she smiled now, 
 but soon, overcome by the great suffering that again 
 took possession of her, her lips assumed a mournful 
 expression and the smile disappeared. As with a 
 mechanical movement of her hands she drove away the 
 tempting pictures he called forth, he redoubled his 
 ardour, and wished to make her his by seizing her and 
 carrying her away in his arms. 
 
 ' Come, dear. Come with me. Let us go, and for- 
 get everything but our united happiness.' 
 
 Disengaging herself brusquely, she escaped him,
 
 THE DREAM 263 
 
 with an instinctive rebellion, and trying to stand up, 
 this cry came at last from her : 
 
 ' No, no ! I cannot go. I no longer have the power 
 to do so.' 
 
 However, again lamenting her fate, still torn by the 
 contest in her soul, hesitating and stammering, she 
 again turned towards him imploringly. 
 
 ' I beg you to be good and not hurry me too much, 
 but wait awhile. I would so gladly obey you, in order 
 to prove to you my love ; I would like above all to go 
 away on your arm to that beautiful far-away country, 
 where we could live royally in the castle of your dreams. 
 It seems to me an easy thing to do, so often have I my- 
 self planned our flight. Yet now, what shall I say to 
 you ? It appears to me quite an impossibility ; it is as 
 if a door had suddenly been walled up between us and 
 prevented me from going out.' 
 
 He wished to try to fascinate her again, but she 
 quieted him with a movement of her hands. 
 
 ' No ; do not say anything more. It is very singular, 
 but in proportion as you utter such sweet, such tender 
 words, which ought to convince me, fear takes posses- 
 sion of me and chills me to the heart. My God ! What 
 is the matter with me ? It is really that which you say 
 which drives me from you. If you continue, I can no 
 longer listen to you ; you will be obliged to go away. 
 Yet wait wait a little longer ! ' 
 
 She walked very slowly about the room, anxiously 
 seeking to resume her self-control, while he looked at 
 her in despair. 
 
 ' I thought to have loved you no longer ; but it was 
 certainly only a feeling of pique, since just now, as soon 
 as I found you again at my feet, my heart beat rapidly,
 
 264 THE DREAM 
 
 and my first impulse was to follow you as if I were 
 your slave. Then, if I love you, why am I afraid 
 of you ? What is it that prevents me from leaving 
 this room, as if invisible hands were holding me back 
 by my whole body, and even by each hair of my 
 head ? ' 
 
 She had stopped near her bed ; then she went 
 as far as the wardrobe, then to the different articles 
 of furniture, one after the other. They all seemed 
 united to her person by invisible ties. Especially the 
 walls of the room, the great whiteness of the mansard 
 roof, enveloped her with a robe of purity, that she could 
 leave behind her only with tears ; and henceforth all 
 this would be a part of her being ; the spirit of her sur- 
 roundings had entered into her. And she realised this 
 fact stronger than ever when she found herself opposite 
 her working-frame, which was resting at the side of the 
 table under the lamplight. Her heart softened as she 
 saw the half- made rose, which she would never finish 
 were she to go away in this secret, criminal manner. 
 The years of work were brought back to her mind : 
 those quiet, happy years, during which life had been 
 one long experience of peace and honesty, so that now 
 she rebelled at the thought of committing a fault and 
 of thus fleeing in the arms of her lover. Each day in 
 this little, fresh house of the embroiderers, the active 
 and pure life she had led there, away from all worldly 
 temptations, had, as it were, made over all the blood in 
 her veins. 
 
 Then Felicien, realising that in some inexplicable 
 way Angelique was being reconquered and brought to 
 her better self, felt the necessity of hastening their de- 
 parture. He seized her hands and said ;
 
 THE DREAM 265 
 
 'Come, dear. Time passes quickly. If we wait 
 much longer it will be too late.' 
 
 She looked at him an instant, and then in a flash 
 realised her true position. Freeing herself from his 
 grasp she exclaimed, resolutely and frankly : 
 
 1 It is already too late. You can see for yourself 
 that I am unable now to follow you. Once my nature 
 was so proud and passionate that I could have thrown 
 my two arms around your neck in order that you might 
 carry me away all the more quickly. But now I am no 
 longer the same person. I am so changed that I do not 
 recognise myself. Yes, I realise now that it is this 
 quiet corner where I have been brought up, and the 
 education that has been given me, that has made me 
 what I am at present. Do you then yourself hear 
 nothing ? Do you not know that everything in this 
 chamber calls upon me to stay ? And I do not rebel 
 in the least against this demand, for my joy at last is 
 to obey.' 
 
 Without speaking, without attempting to discuss 
 the question with her, he tried to take her hands again, 
 and to lead her like an intractable child. Again she 
 avoided him and turned slowly toward the window. 
 
 ' No, I beseech you to leave me. It is not my hand 
 that you wish for, it is my heart ; and also that, of my 
 own free will, I shall at once go away with you. But I 
 tell you plainly that I do not wish to do so. A while 
 ago I thought to have been as eager for flight as you 
 are. But sure of my true self now, I know it was only 
 the last rebellion, the agony of the old nature within 
 me, that has just died. Little by little, without my 
 knowledge, the good traits of my character have been 
 c]rawn together and strongly united : humility, duty,
 
 266 THE DREAM 
 
 and renunciation. So at each return of hereditary tend- 
 ency to excess, the struggle has been less severe, and 
 I have triumphed over temptation more easily. Now, 
 at last, everything assures me that the supreme contest 
 has just taken place ; that henceforth it is finished for 
 ever. I have conquered myself, and my nature is freed 
 from the evil tendencies it had. Ah ! dear Seigneur, I 
 love you so much ! Do not let us do the slightest thing 
 to mar our happiness. To be happy it is always neces- 
 sary to submit.' 
 
 As he took another step towards her, she was at the 
 threshold of the great window, which was now wide 
 open on to the balcony. She had stopped him with a 
 half-smile as she said : 
 
 ' You would not like to force me to throw myself 
 down from here. Listen, and understand me when I 
 say to you that everything which surrounds me is on 
 my side. I have already told you that for a long time 
 objects themselves have spoken to me. I hear voices in 
 all directions, and never have they been so distinct as 
 at this momeut. Hear ! it is the whole Clos-Marie that 
 encourages me not to spoil my life and yours by giving 
 myself to you without the consent of your father. This 
 singing voice is the Chevrotte, so clear and so fresh 
 that it seems to have put within me a purity like crystal 
 since I have lived so near it. This other voice, like 
 that of a crowd, tender and deep, it is that of the entire 
 earth the grasses, the trees, all the peaceable life of 
 this sacred corner which has so constantly worked for 
 the good of my soul. 
 
 ' And there are other voices which come from still 
 farther away, from the elms of the garden of Monsei- 
 gneur, and from this horizon of branches, the smallest of
 
 THE DREAM 267 
 
 which interests itself in me, and wishes for me to be 
 victorious. 
 
 ' Then, again, this great, sovereign voice, it is that 
 of my old friend, the Cathedral, who, eternally awake, 
 both day and night, has taught me many important 
 things. Each one of the stones in the immense build- 
 ing, the little columns in the windows, the bell-towers 
 of its piers, the flying buttresses of its apse, all have a 
 murmur which I can distinguish, a language which I 
 understand. Listen to what they say : that hope re- 
 mains even in death. When one is really humble, love 
 alone remains and triumphs. And at last, look ! The 
 air itself is filled with the whisperings of spirits. See, 
 here are my invisible companions, the virgins, who are 
 ever near me and aid me. Listen, listen ! ' 
 
 Smiling, she had lifted up her hand with an air of 
 the deepest attention, and her whole being was in 
 ecstasy from the scattered breathings she heard. They 
 were the virgins of the ' Golden Legend ' that her imagi- 
 nation called forth, as in her early childhood, and whose 
 mystic flight came from the old book with its quaint 
 pictures, that was placed on the little table. Agnes 
 was first, clothed with her beautiful hair, having on her 
 finger the ring of betrothal to the Priest Paulin. Then 
 all the others came in turn. Barbara with her tower 
 Genevieve with her sheep ; Cecilia with her viol ; 
 Agatha with her wounded breast; Elizabeth begging 
 on the highways, and Catherine triumphing over the 
 learned doctors. She did not forget the miracle that 
 made Lucy so heavy that a thousand men and five yoke 
 of oxen could not carry her away : nor the Governor 
 who became blind as he tried to embrace Anastasia. 
 Then others who seemed flying through the quiet night,
 
 268 THE DREAM 
 
 still bearing marks of the wounds inflicted upon them 
 by their cruel martyrdom, and from which rivers of 
 milk were flowing instead of blood. Ah ! to die from 
 love like them, to die in the purity of youth at the first 
 kiss of a beloved one ! 
 
 Felicien had approached her. 
 
 ' I am the one person who really lives, Angelique, 
 and you cannot give me up for mere fancies.' 
 
 ' Dreams ! fancies ! ' she murmured. 
 
 ' Yes; for if in reality these visions seem to surround 
 you, it is simply that you yourself have created them 
 all. Come, dear ; no longer put a part of your life 
 into objects about you, and they will be quiet.' 
 
 She gave way to a burst of enthusiastic feeling. 
 
 ' Oh no ! Let them speak. Let them call out 
 louder still ! They are my strength ; they give me the 
 courage to resist you. It is a manifestation of the 
 Eternal Grace, and never has it overpowered me so 
 energetically as now. If it is but a dream, a dream 
 which I have placed in my surroundings, and which 
 comes back to me at will, what of it ? It saves me, 
 it carries me away spotless in the midst of dangers. 
 Listen yourself. Yield, and obey like me. I no longer 
 have even a wish to follow you.' 
 
 In spite of her weakness, she made a great effort 
 and stood up, resolute and firm. 
 
 ' But you have been deceived,' he said. ' Even 
 falsehood has been resorted to in order to separate us ! ' 
 
 ' The faults of others will not excuse our own.' 
 
 ' Ah ! You have withdrawn your heart from me, 
 and you love me no longer.' 
 
 ' I love you. I oppose you only on account of our 
 love and for our mutual happiness. Obtain the con*
 
 THE DREAM 269 
 
 sent of your father ; then come for me, and I will fol- 
 low you no matter where/ 
 
 ' My father ! You do not know him. God only 
 could ever make him yield. Tell me, then, is this 
 really to be the end of everything ? If my father orders 
 me to marry Claire de Yoincourt, must I in that case 
 obey him ? ' 
 
 At this last blow Angelique tottered. Was no tor- 
 ture to be spared her? She could not restrain this 
 heai'tbroken cry : 
 
 ' Oh ! that is too much ! My sufferings are greater 
 than I can bear. I beseech you go away quickly and 
 do not be so cruel. Why did you come at all ? I was 
 resigned. I had learned to accept the misfortune of 
 being no longer loved by you. Yet the moment that I 
 am reassured of your affection, all my martyrdom re- 
 commences ; and how can you expect me to live now ? ' 
 
 Felicien, not aware of the depth of her despair, and 
 thinking that she had yielded simply to a momentary 
 feeling, repeated his question : 
 
 ' If my father wishes me to marry her ' 
 
 She struggled heroically against her intense suffer- 
 ing ; she succeeded in standing up, notwithstanding 
 that her heart was crushed, and dragging herself slowly 
 towards the table, as if to make room for him to pass 
 her, she said : 
 
 ' Marry her, for it is always necessary to obey.' 
 
 In his turn he was now before the window, ready to 
 take his departure, because she had sent him away 
 from her. 
 
 ' But it will make you die if I do so.' 
 
 She had regained her calmess, and, smiling sadly, 
 she replied :
 
 270 THE DREAM 
 
 ' Oh ! that work is nearly done already.' 
 
 For one moment more he looked at her, so pale, so 
 thin, so wan ; light as a feather, to be carried away by 
 the faintest breath. Then, with a brusque movement 
 of furious resolution, he disappeared in the night. 
 
 When he was no longer there, Angelique, leaning 
 against the back of her armchair, stretched her hands 
 out in agony towards the darkness, and her frail body 
 was shaken by heavy sobs, and cold perspiration came 
 out upon her face and neck. 
 
 ' My God ! ' This, then, was the end, and she would 
 never see him again. All her weakness and pain had 
 come back to her. Her exhausted limbs no longer 
 supported her. It was with great difficulty that she 
 could regain her bed, upon which she fell helpless, but 
 calm in spirit from the assurance that she had done 
 right. 
 
 The next morning they found her there, dying. 
 The lamp had just gone out of itself, at the dawn ot 
 day, and everything in the chamber was of a triumphal 
 whiteness.
 
 7 HE DREAM 271 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ANGELIQUE was dying. 
 
 It was ten o'clock one cold morning towards the 
 end of the winter, the air was sharp, and the clear 
 heavens were brightened up by the beautiful sunshine. 
 In her great royal bed, draped with its old, faded, rose- 
 coloured chintz, she lay motionless, having been uncon- 
 scious during the whole night. Stretched upon her 
 back, her little ivory-like hands carelessly thrown upon 
 the sheet, she no longer even opened her eyes, and her 
 finely-cut profile looked more delicate than ever under 
 the golden halo of her hair; in fact, anyone who had 
 seen her would have thought her already dead, had it 
 not been for the slight breathing movement of her 
 lips. 
 
 The day before, Angelique, realising that she was 
 very ill, had confessed, and partaken of the Communion. 
 Towards three o'clock in the afternoon the good Abbe 
 Cornille had brought to her the sacred Viaticum. Then 
 in the evening, as the chill of death gradually crept 
 over her, a great desire came to her to receive the 
 Extreme Unction, that celestial remedy, instituted for 
 the cure of both the soul and body. Before losing 
 consciousness, her last words, scarcely murmured, were 
 understood by Hubertine, as in hesitating sentences she
 
 272 THE DREAM 
 
 expressed her wisb for the holy oils. ' Yes oh yes ! 
 as quickly as possible before it is too late.' 
 
 But death advanced. They had waited until day, 
 and the Abbe, having been notified, was about to 
 come. 
 
 Everything was now ready to receive the clergyman. 
 The Huberts had just finished arranging the room. 
 Under the gay sunlight, which at this early morning 
 hour struck fully upon the window-panes, it looked pure 
 as the dawn in the nudity of its great white walls. 
 The table had been covered with a fresh damask cloth. 
 At the right and the left of the crucifix two large 
 wax- tapers were burning in the silver candelabrum 
 which had been brought up from the parlour, and there 
 were also there the consecrated wafers, the asperges 
 brush, a ewer of water with its basin and a napkin, and 
 two plates of white porcelain, one ot which was filled 
 with long bits of cotton, and the other with little cornets 
 of paper. The greenhouses of the lower town had 
 been thoroughly searched, but the only inodorous 
 flowers that had been found were the peonies great 
 white peonies, enormous tufts of which adorned the 
 table, like a shimmering of white lace. And in the 
 midst of this intense whiteness, Angelique, dying, with 
 closed eyes, still breathed gently with a half-perceptible 
 breath. 
 
 The doctor, who had made his first morning visit, 
 had said that she could not live through the day. She 
 might, indeed, pass away at any moment, without even 
 having come to her senses at all. The Huberts, resolute 
 and grave, waited in silent despair. Notwithstanding 
 their grief and tears, it was evidently necessary that 
 this should be the end. If they had ever wished for
 
 THE DREAM 273 
 
 this death, preferring to lose their dear child rather 
 than to have her rebellious, it was evident that God 
 also wished it with them, and now, that in this last 
 trying moment they were quite powerless, they could 
 only submit themselves to the inevitable. They re- 
 gretted nothing, although their sorrow seemed greater 
 than they could bear. Since she, their darling, had 
 been there, suffering from her long illness, they had 
 taken the entire care of her day and night, refusing all 
 aid offered them from outside. They were still there 
 alone in this supreme hour, and they waited. 
 
 Hubert, scarcely knowing what he did, walked 
 mechanically to the porcelain stove, the door of which 
 he opened, for the gentle roaring of the flaming wood 
 sounded to him like a plaintive moan ; then there was 
 a perfect silence. The peonies seemed even to turn 
 paler in the soft heat of the room. 
 
 Hubertine, stronger than her husband, and still 
 fully conscious of all she did, listened to the sounds of 
 the Cathedral as they came to her from behind the 
 walls. During the past moment the old stones had 
 vibrated from the swinging of the bell of the great 
 tower. It must certainly be the Abbe Cornille leaving 
 the church with the sacred oils, she thought ; so she 
 went downstairs, that she might receive him at the 
 door of the house. 
 
 Two minutes later, the narrow stairway of the little 
 tower was filled with a great murmuring sound. Then 
 in the warm chamber, Hubert, struck with astonish- 
 rnent, suddenly began to tremble, whilst a religious fear, 
 mingled with a faint hope, made him fall upon his 
 knees. Instead of the old clergyman whom they had 
 expected, it was Monseigneur who entered. Yes ! 
 
 T
 
 274 THE DREAM 
 
 Mon seigneur, in lace surplice, having the violet stole, 
 and carrying the silver vessel in which was the oil 
 for the sick, which he himself had blessed on Holy 
 Thursday. His eagle-like eyes were fixed, as he looked 
 straight before him ; his beautiful pale face was really 
 majestic under the thick, curly masses of his white 
 hair. Behind him walked the Abbe Cornille, like a 
 simple clerk, carrying in one hand a crucifix, and under 
 the other arm a book of ritual service. 
 
 Standing for a moment upon the threshold, the 
 Bishop said in a deep, grave voice : 
 
 ' Pax Jiuic domui.' l 
 
 ' Et omnibus habitantilms in ea,' 2 replied the priest 
 in a lower tone. 
 
 When they had entered, Hubertine, who had come 
 up the stairs after them, she also trembling from sur- 
 prise and emotion, went and knelt by the side of her 
 husband. Both of them prostrated themselves most 
 humbly, and prayed fervently from the depths of their 
 souls. 
 
 A few hours after his last visit to Angelique, Felicien 
 had had the terrible and dreaded explanation with his 
 father. Early in the morning of that same day he had 
 forced open the doors, he had penetrated even into the 
 Oratory, where the Bishop was still at prayer, after one 
 of those nights of frightful struggling against the 
 memories of the past, which would so constantly re- 
 appear before him. In the soul of this hitherto always 
 respectful son, until now kept submissive by fear, 
 rebellion against authority, so long a time stifled, 
 suddenly broke forth, and the collision of these two 
 
 1 .' Peace be to this house.' 
 A ' And to all the inhabitants thereof.'
 
 THE DREAM 275 
 
 men of the same blood, with natures equally prompt to 
 violence, was intense. The old man had left his de- 
 votional chair, and with cheeks growing purple by 
 degrees, he listened silently as he stood there in his 
 proud obstinacy. The young man, with face equally 
 inflamed, poured out everything that was in his heart, 
 speaking in a voice that little by little grew louder and 
 rebuking. He said that Angelique was not only ill, 
 but dying. He told him that in a pressing moment of 
 temptation, overcome by his deep affection, he had 
 wished to take her away with him that they might flee 
 together, and that she, with the submissive humility of 
 a saint, and chaste as a lily, had refused to accompany 
 him. Would it not be a most abominable murder to 
 allow this obedient young girl to die, because she had 
 been unwilling to accept him unless when offered to 
 her by the hand of his father ? She loved him so sin- 
 cerely that she could die for him. In fact, she could 
 have had him, with his name and his fortune, but she 
 had said 'No,' and, triumphant over her feelings, she 
 had struggled with herself in order to do her duty. 
 Now, after such a proof of her goodness, could he per- 
 mit her to suffer so much grief ? Like her, he would 
 be willing to give up everything, to die even, if it 
 might be, and he realised that he was cowardly. He 
 despised himself for not being at her side, that they 
 might pass out of life together, by the same breath. 
 Was it possible that anyone could be so cruel as to wish 
 to torment them, that they should both have so sad a 
 death, when one word, one simple word, would secure 
 them such bliss ? Ah ! the pride of name, the glory of 
 wealth, persistence in one's determination : all these 
 were nothing in comparison to the fact that by the 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE DREAM 
 
 union of two hearts the eternal happiness of two human 
 beings was assured. He joined his hands together, he 
 twisted them feverishly, quite beside himself as he 
 demanded his father's consent, still supplicating, already 
 almost threatening. But the Bishop, with face deeply 
 flushed by the mounting of his blood, with swollen lips, 
 with flaming eyes, terrible in his unexpressed anger, at 
 last opened his mouth, only to reply by this word of 
 parental authority : ' Never ! ' 
 
 Then Felicien, absolutely raving in his rebellion, 
 lost all control over himself. 
 
 He spoke of his mother, he really threatened his 
 father by the remembrance of the dead. It was she 
 who had come back again in the shape of her son to 
 vindicate and reclaim the right of affection. Could it 
 be that his father had never loved her ? Had he even 
 rejoiced in her death, since he showed himself so harsh 
 towards those who loved each other, and who wished to 
 live ? But he might well do all he could to become 
 cold in the renunciations demanded by the Church ; she 
 would come back to haunt and to torture him, because 
 he was willing to torture the child they had had, the 
 living witness of their affection for each other. She 
 would always be there, so long as their son lived. She 
 wished to reappear in the children of their child for ever. 
 And he was causing her to die over again, by refusing 
 to her son the betrothed of his choice, the one through 
 whom the race was to be continued. "When a man had 
 once been married to a woman, he should never think of 
 wedding the Church. Face to face with his father, who, 
 motionless, appeared in his fearful silence to grow 
 taller and taller, he uttered unfilial, almost murderous 
 words. Then, shocked at himself, he rushed away,
 
 THE DREAM 277 
 
 shuddering at the extent to which passion had carried 
 him. 
 
 When once more alone, Monseigneur, as if stabbed 
 in the full breast by a sharp weapon, turned back upon 
 himself and struggled deeply with his soul, as he knelt 
 upon his prie-Dieu. A half-rattling sound came from 
 his throat. Oh ! these frightful heart contests, these 
 invincible weaknesses of the flesh. This woman, and 
 his beloved dead, who was constantly coming back to 
 life, he adored her now, as he did the first evening when 
 he kissed her white feet ; and this son, he idolised him 
 as belonging to her, as a part of her life, which she had 
 left to him. And even the young girl, the little work- 
 ing girl whom he had repulsed, he loved her also with 
 a tenderness like that of his son for her. Now his 
 nights were inexpressibly agitated by all three. With- 
 out his having been willing to acknowledge it, had she 
 then touched him so deeply as he saw her in the great 
 Cathedral, this little embroiderer, with her golden hair, 
 her fresh pure neck, in all the perfume of her youth ? 
 He saw her again ; she passed before him, so delicate, 
 so pure in her victorious submission. No remorse could 
 have come to him with a step more certain or more 
 conquering. He might reject her with a loud voice. 
 He knew well that henceforth she held him strongly by 
 the heart with her humble hands that bore the signs of 
 work. Whilst Felicien was so violently beseeching him, 
 he seemed to see them both behind the blonde head of 
 the petitioner these two idolised women, the one for 
 whom his son prayed, and the one who had died for her 
 child. They were there in all their physical beauty, 
 in all their loving devotion, and he could not tell where 
 he had found strength to resist, so entirely did his
 
 278 THE DREAM 
 
 whole being go out towards them. Overcome, sobbing, 
 not knowing how he could again become calm, he 
 demanded from Heaven the courage to tear out his 
 heart, since this heart belonged no longer to God 
 alone. 
 
 Until evening Monseigneur continued at prayer. 
 When he at last reappeared he was white as wax, dis- 
 tressed, anxious, but still resolute. He could do nothing 
 more, but he repeated to his son the terrible word 
 ' Never ! ' It was God alone who had the right to 
 relieve him from his promise ; and God, although im- 
 plored, gave him no sign of change. It was necessary 
 to suffer. 
 
 Some days had passed. Felicien constantly wan- 
 dered round the little house, wild with grief, eager for 
 news. Each time that he saw anyone come out he 
 almost fainted from fear. Thus it happened that on the 
 morning when Hubertine ran to the church to ask for 
 the sacred oils, he learned that Angelique could not live 
 through the day. The Abbe Cornille was not at the 
 Sacristy, and he rushed about the town to find him, still 
 having a last hope that through the intervention of the 
 good man some Divine aid might come. Then, as he 
 brought back with him the sought-for clergyman, his 
 hope left him, and he had a frightful attack of doubt and 
 anger. What should he do ? In what way could he 
 force Heaven to come to his assistance ? He went 
 away, hastened to the Bishop's palace, the doors of 
 which he again forced open, and before his incoherent 
 words his father was for a moment frightened. At last 
 he understood. Angelique was dying ! She awaited 
 the Extreme Unction, and now God alone could save her. 
 The young man had only come to cry out all his agony,
 
 THE DREAM 279 
 
 to break all relations with this cruel, unnatural father, 
 and to accuse him to his face of willingly allowing this 
 death. But Monseigneur listened to him without anger : 
 upright and very serious, his eyes suddenly brightened 
 with a strange clearness, as if an inner voice had spoken 
 to him. Motioning to his son to lead the way, he fol- 
 lowed him, simply saying at last : 
 
 ' If God wishes it, I also wish it.' 
 
 Felicien trembled so that he could scarcely move. 
 His father consented, freed from his personal vow, to 
 submit himself to the goodwill of the hoped-for miracle. 
 Henceforth they, as individuals, counted for nothing. 
 God must act for himself. Tears blinded him. Whilst 
 in the Sacristy Monseigneur took the sacred oils from 
 the hands of the Abbe Cornille. He accompanied them, 
 almost staggering ; he did not dare to enter into the 
 chamber, but fell upon his knees at the threshold of the 
 door, which was open wide. 
 
 The voice of the Bishop was firm, as he said : 
 
 ' Pax hide domui.' 
 
 ' Et omnibus habitantibus in eci,' the priest replied. 
 
 Monseigneur had just placed on the white table, 
 between the two wax-candles, the sacred oils, making 
 in the air the sign of the cross, with the silver vase. 
 Then he took from the hands of the Abbe the crucifix, 
 and approached the sufferer that he might make her kiss 
 it. But Angelique was still unconscious : her eyes were 
 closed, her mouth shut, her hands rigid, and looking 
 like the little stiff figures of stone placed upon tombs. 
 He examined her for a moment, and, seeing by the 
 slight movement of her chest that she was not dead, he 
 placed upon her lips the crucifix. He waited. His 
 face preserved the majesty of a minister of penitence,
 
 28o THE DREAM 
 
 and no signs of emotion were visible when he realised 
 that not even a quivering had passed over the exquisite 
 profile of the young girl, nor in her beautiful hair. She 
 still lived, however, and that was sufficient for the re- 
 demption of her sins. 
 
 The Abbe then gave to Monseigneur the vessel of 
 holy water and the asperges brush, and while he held 
 open before him the ritual book, he threw the holy 
 water upon the dying girl, as he read the Latin words, 
 Asperges me, Domine, liyssopo et nvunddbor : lavdbis me, 
 et super nivem dealbabor. 1 
 
 The drops sprang forth in every direction, and the 
 whole bed was refreshed by them as if sprinkled with 
 dew. It rained upon her hands and upon her cheeks ; 
 but one by one the drops rolled away as if from insen- 
 sible marble. At last the Bishop turned towards the 
 assistants and sprinkled them in their turn. Hubert 
 and Hubertine, kneeling side by side, in the full union 
 of their perfect faith, bent humbly under the shower of 
 this benediction. Then Monseigneur blessed also the 
 chamber, the furniture, the white walls in all their bare 
 purity, and as he passed near the door he found himself 
 before his son, who had fallen down on the threshold, 
 and was sobbing violently, having covered his face with 
 his burning hands. With a slow movement, he raised 
 three times the asperges brush, and he purified him 
 with a gentle rain. This holy water, spread everywhere, 
 was intended at first to drive away all evil spirits, who 
 were flying by crowds, although invisible. Just at this 
 moment a pale ray of the winter sun passed over the 
 
 1 ' Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be clean : thou 
 ghalt wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."
 
 THE DREAM 281 
 
 bed, and a multitude of atoms, light specks of dust, 
 seemed to be living therein. They were innumerable 
 as they came down from an angle of the window, as 
 if to bathe with their warmth the cold hands of the 
 dying. 
 
 Going again towards the table, Monseigneur re- 
 peated the prayer, ' Exaudi nos.' l 
 
 He made no haste. It was true that death was 
 there, hovering near the old, faded chintz curtains, but 
 he knew that it was patient, and that it would wait. 
 And although in her state of utter prostration the child 
 could not hear him, he addressed her as he asked her : 
 
 ' Is there nothing upon your conscience which dis- 
 tresses you? Confess all your doubts and fears, my 
 daughter ; relieve your mind.' 
 
 She was still in the same position, and she was 
 always silent. When, in vain, he had given time for a 
 reply, he commenced the exhortation with the same full 
 voice, without appearing to notice that none of his 
 words reached her ear. 
 
 ' Collect your thoughts, meditate, demand from the 
 depths of your soul pardon from God. The Sacrament 
 will purify you, and will strengthen you anew. Your 
 eyes will become clear, your ears chaste, your nostrils 
 fresh, your mouth pure, your hands innocent.' 
 
 With eyes fixed upon her, he continued reading to 
 the end all that was necessary for him to say ; while 
 she scarcely breathed, nor did one of her closed eyelids 
 move. Then he said : 
 
 ' Recite the Creed.' 
 
 After having waited awhile, he repeated it himself: 
 
 1 ' Give ear to us.'
 
 282 THE DREAM 
 
 * Credo in umnn Deum, Patrem omnipotent-em? l 
 
 1 Amen ' replied the Abbe Cornille. 
 
 All this time the heavy sobbing of Felicien was 
 heard, as upon the landing-place he wept in the ener- 
 vation of hope. Hubert and Hubertine still prayed 
 fervently, with the same anxious waiting and desire, 
 as if they had felt descend upon them all the invisible 
 powers of the Unknown. A change now came in the 
 service, from the murmur of half-spoken prayers. Then 
 the litanies of the ritual were unfolded, the invocation 
 to all the Saints, the flight of the KyrieEleison, calling 
 Heaven to the aid of miserable humanity, mounting each 
 time with great outbursts, like the fume of incense. 
 
 Then the voices suddenly fell, and there was a deep 
 silence. Monseigneur washed his fingers in the few 
 drops of water that the Abbe poured out from the ewer. 
 At length he took the vessel of sacred oil, opened the 
 cover thereof, and placed himself before the bed. It 
 was the solemn approach of the Sacrament of this last 
 religious ceremony, by the efficacy of which are effaced 
 all mortal or venial sins not pardoned, which rest in the 
 soul after having received the other sacraments, old 
 remains of forgotten sins, sins committed unwittingly, 
 sins of languor which prevented one from being firmly 
 re-established in the grace of God. The pure white 
 chamber seemed to be like the individuals collected 
 therein, motionless, and in a state of surprise and ex- 
 pectation. Where could all these sins be found ? They 
 must certainly come from outside in this great band of 
 sun's rays, filled with dancing specks of dust, which 
 appeared to bring germs of life even to this great royal 
 
 1 ' I believe in one God, the Father Almighty.'
 
 THE DREAM 283 
 
 couch, so white and cold from the coming of death to a 
 pure young maiden. 
 
 Monseigneur meditated a moment, fixing his looks 
 again upon Angelique, assuring himself that the slight 
 breath had not ceased, struggling against all human 
 emotion, as he saw how thin she was, with the beauty 
 of an archangel, already immaterial. His voice retained 
 the authority of a divine disinterestedness, and his 
 thumb did not tremble when he dipped it into the 
 sacred oils as he commenced the unctions on the five 
 parts of the body where dwell the senses : the five 
 windows by which evil enters into the soul. 
 
 First upon the eyes, upon the closed eyelids, the 
 right and then the left ; and slowly, lightly, he traced 
 with his thumb the sign of the Cross. 
 
 ' Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam 
 misericordiam, indidgeat tili Dominus quidquid per visum 
 deliquisti* l 
 
 And the sins of the sight were redeemed ; lascivious 
 looks, immodest curiosity, the pride of spectacles, un- 
 wholesome readings, tears shed for guilty troubles. 
 
 And she, dear child, knew no other book than the 
 ' Golden Legend,' no other horizon than the apse of the 
 Cathedral, which hid from view all the rest of the world. 
 She had wept only in the struggle of obedience and the 
 renunciation of passion. 
 
 The Abbe Cornille wiped both her eyes with a bit 
 of cotton, which he afterwards put into one of the little 
 cornets of paper. 
 
 1 ' By this holy anointing and His gracious mercy, the Lord forgive 
 whatever sins thou hast committed tlirough seeing.' [This formula 
 is repeated with reference to the other senses hearing, smell, taste 
 and touch.]
 
 284 THE DREAM 
 
 Then Monseigneur anointed the ears, with their lobes 
 as delicate and transparent as pearl, first the right ear, 
 afterwards the left, scarcely moistened with the sign of 
 the cross. 
 
 ' Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam 
 misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per 
 auditum deliquisti.' ' 
 
 So all the abominations of hearing were atoned for : 
 all the words and music which corrupt, the slanders, 
 the calumnies, the blasphemies, the sinful propositions 
 listened to with complacency, the falsehoods of love 
 which aided the forgetfulness of duty, the profane 
 songs which excited the senses, the violins of the 
 orchestra which, as it were, wept voluptuously under 
 the brilliant lights. 
 
 She in her isolated life, like that of a cloistered nun 
 she had never even heard the free gossip of the 
 neighbours, or the oath of the carman as he whips his 
 horses. The only music that had ever entered her ears 
 was that of the sacred hymns, the rumblings of the 
 organs, the confused murmurings of prayers, with which 
 at times vibrated all this fresh little house, so close to 
 the side of the great church. 
 
 The Abbe, after having dried the ears with cotton, 
 put that bit also into one of the white cornets. 
 
 Monseigneur now passed to the nostrils, the right 
 and then the left, like two petals of a white rose, which 
 he purified by touching them with the sacred oil and 
 making on them the sign of the cross. 
 
 ' Per istam sanctam unctionem, et suam piissimam 
 misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid per 
 odoratum deliquisti.' 1
 
 THE DREAM 285 
 
 And the sense of smell returned to its primitive 
 innocence, cleansed from all stain : not only from the 
 carnal disgrace of perfumes, from the seduction of flowers 
 with breath too sweet, from the scattered fragrances of 
 the air which put the soul to sleep ; but yet again from 
 the faults of the interior sense, the bad examples given 
 to others, and the contagious pestilence of scandal. 
 Erect and pure, she had at last become a lily among 
 the lilies, a great lily whose perfume fortified the weak 
 and delighted the strong. In fact, she was so truly 
 delicate that she could never endure the powerful 
 odour of carnations, the musk of lilacs, the feverish 
 sweetness of hyacinths, and was only at ease with the 
 scentless blossoms, like the marguerites and the peri- 
 winkles. 
 
 Once more the Abbe, with the cotton, dried the 
 anointed parts, and slipped the little tuft into another 
 of the cornets. 
 
 Then Monseigneur, descending to the closed mouth, 
 through which the faint breath was now scarcely 
 perceptible, made upon the lower lip the sign of the 
 cross. 
 
 ' Per istam sanctam unctionem, et snam piissimam 
 misericordiam, indulgeai tibi Dominus quidquid per 
 cjustum deliquisti.' l 
 
 This time it was the pardon for the base gratifica- 
 tions of taste, greediness, too great a desire for wine, or 
 for sweets; but especially the forgiveness for sins of the 
 tongue, that universally guilty member, the provoker, 
 the poisoner, the inventor of quarrels, the inciter to 
 wars, which makes one utter words of error and false- 
 hood which at length obscure even the heavens. Yet
 
 286 THE DREAM 
 
 her whole month was only a chalice of innocence. 
 She 'Jhad never had the vice of gluttony, for she had 
 taught herself, like Elizabeth, to eat whatever was 
 set before her, without paying great attention to her 
 food. And if it were true that she lived in error, it 
 was the fault of her dream which had placed her there, 
 the hope of a beyond, the consolation of what was 
 invisible, and all the world of enchantment which 
 her ignorance had created and which had made of 
 her a saint. 
 
 The Abbe having dried the lips, folded the bit of 
 cotton in the fourth white cornet. 
 
 At last Monseigneur anointed first the right and 
 then the left palms of the two little ivory-like hands, 
 lying open upon the sheet, and cleansed them from their 
 sins with the sign of the cross. 
 
 ' Per istain sanctam undionem, et suam piissima/m 
 misericordiam, vndulgeai tibi Dominus qmdqmd per 
 tactwn deliquisti.' 
 
 And the whole body was purified, being washed 
 from its last spots those of the touch the most re- 
 pugnant of all. Pilfering, fighting, murder, without 
 counting other sins of the breast, the body, and the feet, 
 which were also redeemed by this unction. All which 
 burns in the flesh, our anger, our desires, our unruled 
 passions, the snares and pitfalls into which we run, and 
 all forbidden joys by which we are tempted. Since she 
 had been there, dying from her victory over herself, she 
 had conquered her few failings, her pride and her 
 passion, as if she had inherited original sin simply for 
 the glory of triumphing over it. She knew not, even, 
 that she had had other wishes, that love had drawn her 
 towards disobedience, so armed was she with the breast-
 
 THE DREAM 287 
 
 plate of ignorance of evil, so pure and white was her 
 soul. 
 
 The Abbe wiped the little motionless hands, and 
 putting the last puff of cotton in the remaining cornet, 
 he threw the five papers into the fire at the back of the 
 stove. 
 
 The ceremony was finished. Monseigneur washed 
 his fingers before saying the final prayer. He had now 
 only to again exhort the dying, in placing in her hand 
 the symbolic taper, to drive away the demons, and to 
 show that she had just recovered her baptismal inno- 
 cence. But she remained rigid, her eyes closed, her 
 mouth shut as if dead. The holy oils had purified her 
 body, the signs of the cross had left their traces on the 
 five windows of the soul, without making the slightest 
 wave of colour, or of life, mount to her cheeks. 
 
 Although implored and hoped for, the prodigy did 
 not appear, and the room was silent and anxious. 
 Hubert and Hubertine, still kneeling side by side, no 
 long?r prayed, but, with their eyes fixed upon their 
 darling, gazed so earnestly that they both seemed 
 motionless for ever, like the figures of the donataires 
 who await the Resurrection in a corner of an old painted 
 glass window. Felicien had drawn himself up on his 
 knees and was now at the door, having ceased from 
 sobbing, as with head erect he also might see if God 
 would always remain deaf to their prayers. Was it 
 then a mere lure ? would not this holy Sacrament bring 
 her back to life ? 
 
 For the last time Monseigneur approached the bed, 
 followed by the Abbe Comille, who held, already lighted, 
 the wax-taper which was to be placed in the -hand 
 ef the young girl. And the Bishop, not willing "to
 
 288 THE DREAM 
 
 acknowledge the state of unconsciousness in which she 
 remained, determining to go even to the end of the rite, 
 that God might have time in which to work, pronounced 
 the formula : 
 
 ' Acdpe lampadem ardentem, custodi undionem tuani, 
 ut cum Domimis ad judicandum venerit, possis occwrere 
 ei cum omnibus sanctis et vivas in saecula saeculorum.' l 
 
 1 Amen ' replied the Abbe. 
 
 But when they endeavoured to open Angelique's 
 hand and to press it round the taper, the hand, power- 
 less, as if already dead, escaped them and fell back upon 
 her breast. 
 
 Then, little by little, Monseigneur yielded to a great 
 nervous trembling. It was the emotion which, for a 
 long time restrained, now broke out within him, carry- 
 ing away with it the last rigidity of priesthood. He 
 dearly loved her, this child, from the day when she had 
 come to sob at his feet, so innocent, and showing so 
 plainly the pure freshness of her youth. Since then, 
 in his nights of distress, he had contended chiefly 
 against her, to defend himself from the overwhelming 
 tenderness with which she inspired him. At this 
 moment she was worthy of pity, with this pallor of 
 death, with an ethereal beauty which showed, however, 
 so deep a suffering that he could not look at her 
 without his heart being secretly overwhelmed with 
 distress. 
 
 He could no longer control himself. His eyelids 
 were swollen by the great tears which at last rolled 
 down his cheeks. She must not die in this way : he 
 
 1 ' Receive this light, and keep the unction thou hast received, 
 that -when the Lord shall come to judgment thou noayest meet Him 
 with all His saints, and live with Him_for ever and ever.'
 
 THE_ DREAM 289 
 
 was conquered by her touching charms even in. 
 death, and all his paternal feelings went out towards 
 her. 
 
 Then Monseigneur, recalling to mind the numerous 
 miracles of his race, the power which had been given 
 them by Heaven to heal, thought that doubtless God 
 awaited his consent as a father. He invoked Saint 
 Agnes, before whom all his ancestors had offered up 
 their devotions, and as Jean V. d'Hautecoeur prayed at 
 the bedside of those smitten by the plague and kissed 
 them, so now he prayed and kissed Angelique upon her 
 lips. 
 
 ' If God wishes, I also wish it.' 
 
 Immediately Angelique opened her e} T elids. She 
 looked at the Bishop without surprise as she awoke 
 from her long trance, and, her lips still warm from the 
 kiss, smiled upon him. These things were not strange 
 to her, for they certainly must have been realised sooner 
 or later, and it might be that she was coming out of 
 one dream only to have another still ; but it seemed 
 to her perfectly natural that Monseigneur should 
 have come to betroth her to Felicien, since the hour 
 for that ceremony had arrived. In a few minutes, 
 unaided, she sat up in the middle of her great royal 
 bed. 
 
 The Bishop, radiant, showing by his expression his 
 clear appreciation of the remarkable prodigy, repeated 
 the formula: 
 
 ' Accipe lampadem ardentem, custodi unctioncm tuam, 
 id cum Dominus ad judicanditm venerit, post's occur- 
 rerc el cum omnibus sanctis ct vivas in saecula saecu- 
 lorum.' 
 
 * Amen ' replied the Abbe. 
 
 u
 
 290 THE DREAM 
 
 Angelique had taken the lighted taper, and held it 
 up with a firm hand. Life had come back to her, like 
 the flame of the candle, which was burning clear and 
 bright, driving away the spirits of the night. 
 
 A great cry resounded through the room. Felicien 
 was standing up, as if raised by the power of the 
 miracle, while the Huberts, overwhelmed by the same 
 feeling, remained upon their knees, with wonder-stricken 
 eyes, with delighted countenances, before that which 
 they had seen. The bed had appeared to them en- 
 veloped with a brilliant light ; white masses seemed 
 still to be mounting up on the rays of the sunlight, and 
 the great walls, the whole room in fact, kept a white 
 lustre, as that of snow. 
 
 In the midst of all, Angelique, like a refreshed lily, 
 replaced upon its branch, appeared in the clear light. 
 Her fine golden hair was like a halo of glory around her 
 head, her violet-coloured eyes shone divinely, and her 
 pure face beamed with a living splendour. 
 
 Felicien, seeing that she was saved, touched by the 
 Divine grace that Heaven had vouchsafed them, ap- 
 proached her, and knelt by the side of the bed. 
 
 ' Ah ! dear soul, you recognise us now, and you will 
 live. I am yours. My father wishes it to be so, since 
 God has desired it.' 
 
 She bowed her head, smiling sweetly as she said, 
 1 Oh ! I knew it must be so, and waited for it. All that 
 I have foreseen will come to pass.' 
 
 Monseigneur, who had regained his usual proud 
 serenity, placed the crucifix once more on her lips, and 
 this time she kissed it as a submissive servant. Then, 
 with a full movement of his hands, through the room, 
 above the heads of all present, the Bishop gave the final
 
 THIt DREAM 291 
 
 benediction, while the Ehiberts and the Abbe Cornille 
 wept. 
 
 Felicien had taken one of the little hands of Angel- 
 ique, while in the other little hand the taper of 
 innocence burned bright and clear. 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE DREAM 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE marriage was fixed for the early part of March. 
 But Angelique remained very feeble, notwithstanding 
 the joy which radiated from her whole person. She 
 had wished after the first week of her convalescence to 
 go down to the work-room, persisting in her determina- 
 tion to finish the panel of embroidery in bas-relief 
 which was to be used for the Bishop's chair. 
 
 ' It would be,' she said cheerfully, ' her last, best 
 piece of work ; and besides, no one ever leaves,' she 
 added, ' an order only half-completed.' 
 
 Then, exhausted by the effort, she was again forced 
 to keep her chamber. She lived there, happy and 
 smiling, without regaining the full health of former 
 times, always white and immaterial as the sacred sacra- 
 mental oils ; going and coming with a gentle step like 
 that of a vision, and after having occasionally made the 
 exertion of walking as far as from her table to the win- 
 dow, finding herself obliged to rest quietly for hours 
 and give herself up to her sweet thoughts. At length 
 they deferred the wedding-day, thinking it better to 
 wait for her complete recovery, which must certainly 
 come if she were well nursed and cared for. 
 
 Every afternoon Felicien went up to see her. Hu- 
 bert and Hubertine were there, and they passed together
 
 THE DREAM 293 
 
 most delightful hours, during which they continually 
 made and re-made the same bright projects. Seated in 
 her great chair she laughed gaily, seemed trembling 
 with life and vivacity, as she was the first to talk of the 
 days which would be so well filled when together they 
 could take long journeys ; and of all the unknown joys 
 that would come to them after they had restored the old 
 Chateau d'Hautecceur. Anyone, to have seen her 
 then, would have considered her saved and regaining 
 her strength in the backward spring, the air of which, 
 growing warmer and warmer daily, entered by the 
 open window. In fact, she never fell back into the 
 deep gravities of her dreams, except when she was 
 entirely alone "and was not afraid of being seen. In 
 the night, voices still appeared to be near her : then it 
 seemed as if the earth were calling to her ; and at last 
 the truth was clearly revealed to her, so that she fully 
 understood that the miracle was being continued only 
 for the realisation of her dream. Was she not already 
 dead, having simply the appearance of living, thanks to 
 the respite which had been granted her from Divine 
 Grace ? This idea soothed her with deep gentleness in 
 her hours of solitude, and she did not feel a moment's 
 regret at the thought of being called away from life in 
 the midst of her happiness, so certain was she of always 
 realising to its fullest extent her anticipated joy. The 
 cheerfulness she had hitherto shown became simply a 
 little more serious ; she abandoned herself to it quietly, 
 forgetting her physical weakness as she indulged in the 
 pure delights of fancy. It was only when she heard 
 the Huberts open the door, or when Felieien came to 
 see her, that she was able to sit upright, to bring her 
 thoughts back to her surroundings, and to appear as if
 
 294 THE DREAM 
 
 she were regaining her health, laughing pleasantly 
 while she talked of their years of happy housekeeping, 
 far away, in the days to come. 
 
 Towards the end of March Angelique grew very 
 restless and much weaker. Twice, when by herself, 
 she had long fainting fits. One morning she fell at the 
 foot of her bed, just as Hubert was bringing her up a 
 cup of milk ; by a great effort of will she conquered 
 herself, and, that she might deceive him, she remained 
 on the floor and smiled, as she pretended to be looking 
 for a needle that had been dropped. The following day 
 she was gayer than usual, and proposed hastening the 
 marriage, suggesting that at all events it should not be 
 put off any later than the middle of April. All the 
 others exclaimed at this idea, asking if it would not be 
 advisable to wait awhile, since she was still so delicate. 
 There was no need of being in such a hurry. She, 
 however, seemed feverishly nervous, and insisted that 
 the ceremony should take place immediately yes, as 
 soon as possible. Hubertine, surprised at the request, 
 having a suspicion as to the true motive of this eager- 
 ness, looked at her earnestly for a moment, and turned 
 very pale as she realised how slight was the cold breath 
 which still attached her daughter to life. The dear 
 invalid had already grown calm, in her tender need of 
 consoling others and keeping them under an illusion, 
 although she knew personally that her case was hope- 
 less. Hubert and Felicien, in continual adoration 
 before their idol, had neither seen nor felt anything 
 unusual. Then Angelique, exerting herself almost 
 supernaturally, rose up, and was more charming than 
 ever, as she Blowly moved back and forth with the light 
 step of former days. She continued to speak of her
 
 THE DREAM 295 
 
 wish, saying if it were granted she would be so happy, 
 and that after the wedding she would certainly be 
 cured. Moreover, the question should be left to Mon- 
 seigneur ; he alone should decide it. That same even- 
 ing, when the Bishop was there, she explained her 
 desire to him, fixing her eyes on his, regarding him 
 steadily and beseechingly, and speaking in her sweet, 
 earnest voice, under which there was hidden an ardent 
 supplication, unexpressed in words. Monseigneur real- 
 ised it, and understood the truth, and he appointed a 
 day in the middle of April for the ceremony. 
 
 Then they lived in great commotion from the neces- 
 sary bustle attendant upon the preparations for the 
 marriage. Notwithstanding his official position as 
 guardian, Hubert was obliged to ask permission, or 
 rather the consent of the Director of Public Assistance, 
 who always represented the family council, Angelique 
 not yet being of age; and Monsieur Grandsire, the 
 Justice of the Peace, was charged with all legal details, 
 in order to avoid as much as possible the painful side of 
 the position to the young girl and to Felicien. But the 
 dear child, realising that something was being kept 
 back, asked one day to have her little book brought up 
 to her, wishing to put it herself into the hands of her 
 betrothed. She was now, and would henceforth remain, 
 in a state of such sincere humility that she wished him 
 to know thoroughly from what a low position he had 
 drawn her, to elevate her to the glory of his well- 
 honoured name and his great fortune. These were her 
 parchments, her titles to nobility ; her position was ex- 
 plained by this official document, this entry on the 
 calendar where there was only a date followed by a 
 number, She turned over all the leaves once more,
 
 2 c6 THE DREAM 
 
 then gave it to him without being confused, happy in 
 thinking that in herself she was nothing, but that she 
 owed everything to him. So deeply touched was he by 
 this act, that he knelt down, kissed her hands while 
 tears came to his eyes, as if it were she who had made 
 him the one gift, the royal gift of her heart. 
 
 For two weeks the preparations occupied all Beau- 
 mont, both the upper and the lower town being in a 
 state of great excitement therefrom. It was said that 
 twenty working-girls were engaged day and night upon 
 the trousseau. The wedding-dress alone required three 
 persons to make it, and there was to be a corbeille, or 
 present from the bridegroom, to the value of a million 
 of francs : a fluttering of laces, of velvets, of silks and 
 satins, a flood of precious stones diamonds worthy a 
 Queen. But that which excited the people more than 
 all else was the great amount given in charity, the 
 bride having wished to distribute to the poor as much 
 as she had received herself. So another million was 
 showered down upon the country in a rain of gold. At 
 length she was able to gratify all her old longings of 
 benevolence, all the prodigalities of her most exagge- 
 rated dreams, as with open hands she let fall upon the 
 wretched and needy a stream of riches, an overflow of 
 comforts. In her little white, bare chamber, confined 
 to her old armchair, she laughed with delight when the 
 Abbe Cornille brought to her the list of the distribu- 
 tions he had made. ' Give more ! Give more ! ' she 
 cried, as it seemed to her as if not enough were done. 
 She would, in reality, have liked to have seen the Pere 
 Mascart seated for ever at a table before a princely 
 banquet ; the Chouteaux living in palatial luxury; the 
 mere Gabet cured of her rheumatism, and by the aid.
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 297 
 
 of money to have renewed her youth. As for the Lem- 
 balleuse, the mother and daughters, she absolutely 
 wished to load them with silk dresses and jewellery. 
 The hail of golden pieces redoubled over the town as in 
 fairy-tales, far beyond the daily necessities, as if merely 
 for the beauty and joy of seeing the triumphal golden 
 glory, thrown from full hands, falling into the street 
 and glittering in the great sunlight of charity. 
 
 At last, on the eve of the happy day, everything 
 was in readiness. Felicien had bought a large house 
 on the Rue Magloire, at the back of the Bishop's palace, 
 which had been fitted up and furnished most luxuri- 
 ously. There were great rooms hung with admirable 
 tapestries, filled with the most beautiful articles imagin- 
 able ; a salon in old, rare pieces of hand embroidery ; a 
 boudoir in blue, soft as the early morning sky; and 
 a sleeping-room, which was particularly attractive : a 
 perfect little corner of white silk and lace nothing, in 
 short, but white, airy, and light an exquisite shim- 
 mering of purity. But Angelique had constantly 
 refused to go to see all these wonderful things, although 
 a carriage was always ready to convey her there. She 
 listened to the recital of that which had been done with 
 an enchanted smile, but she gave no orders, and did not 
 appear to wish to occupy herself with any of the arrange- 
 ments. ' No, no,' she said, for all these things seemed 
 so far away in the unknown of that vast world of which 
 she was as yet totally ignorant. Since those who loved 
 her had prepared for her so tenderly this happiness, she 
 desired to partake thereof, and to enter therein like a 
 princess coming from some chimerical country, who 
 approaches the real kingdom Avliere she is to reign for 
 ever. In the same way she preferred to know nothing,
 
 298 THE DREAM 
 
 except by hearsay, of the corbeille, which also was wait- 
 ing for her a superb gift from her betrothed, the 
 wedding outfit of fine linen, embroidered with her ci- 
 pher as marchioness, the full-dress costumes tastefully 
 trimmed, the old family jewels valuable as the richest 
 treasures of a cathedral, and the modern jewels in their 
 marvellous yet delicate mountings, precious stones of 
 every kind, and diamonds of the purest water. It was 
 sufficient to her that her dream had come to pass, and 
 that this great good future awaited her in her new 
 home, radiant in the reality of the new life that was 
 opening before her. The only thing she saw was her 
 wedding-dress, which was brought to her on the mar- 
 riage morning. 
 
 That day, when she awoke, Angelique, still alone, 
 had in her great bed a moment of intense exhaustion, 
 and feared that she would not be able to get up at all. 
 She attempted to do so, but her knees bent under her ; 
 and in contrast to the brave serenity she had shown for 
 weeks past, a fearful anguish, the last, perhaps, took 
 utter possession of her. Then, as in a few minutes 
 Hubertine came into the room, looking unusually happy, 
 she was surprised to find that she could really walk, for 
 she certainly did not do so from her own strength, but 
 aid came to her from the invisible, and friendly hands 
 sustained and carried her. They dressed her ; she no 
 longer seemed to weigh anything, but was so slight and 
 frail that her mother was astonished, and laughingly 
 begged her not to move any more if she did not wish 
 to fly quite away. During all the time of preparing 
 her toilette, the little fresh house of the Huberts, so 
 close to the side of the Cathedral, trembled under the 
 great breath of the Giant, of that which already was
 
 THE DREAM 299 
 
 humming therein of the preparations for the ceremony, 
 the nervous activity of the clergy, and especially the 
 ringing of the bells, a continuous peal of joy, with 
 which the old stones were vibrating. 
 
 In the upper town, for over an hour there had been 
 a glorious chiming of bells, as on the greatest holy days. 
 The sun had risen in all its beauty, and on this limpid 
 April morning a flood of spring rays seemed living 
 with the sonorous peals which had called together all 
 the inhabitants of the place. The whole of Beaumont 
 was in a state of rejoicing on account of the marriage 
 of this little embroiderer, to whom their hearts were so 
 deeply attached, and they were touched by the fact of 
 her royal good fortune. This bright sunlight, which 
 penetrated all the streets, was like the golden rain, the 
 gifts of fairy-tales, rolling out from her delicate hands. 
 Under this joyful light, the multitude crowded in masses 
 towards the Cathedral, filling the side-aisles of the 
 church, and coming out on to the Place du Cloitre. 
 There the great front of the building rose up, like a 
 huge bouquet of stone, in full blossom, of the most 
 ornamental Gothic, above the severe Romanesque of 
 the foundation. In the tower the bells still rung, and 
 the whole facade seemed to be like a glorification of 
 these nuptials, expressive of the flight of this poor girl 
 through all the wonders of the miracle, as it darted up 
 and flamed, with its open lace-work ornamentations, the 
 lily-like efflorescence of its little columns, its balus- 
 trades, and its arches, the niches of saints surmounted 
 with canopies, the gable ends hollowed out in trefoil 
 points, adorned with crossettes and flowers, immense 
 rose-windows opening out in the mystic radiation of 
 their mullions.
 
 300 THE DREAM 
 
 At ten o'clock the organs pealed. Angelique and 
 Felicien were there, walking with slow step towards 
 the high altar, between the closely-pressed ranks of the 
 crowd. A breath of sincere, touching admiration came 
 from every side. He, deeply moved, passed along proud 
 and serious, with his blonde beauty of a young god 
 appearing slighter than ever from his closely-fitting 
 black dress-coat. But she, above all, struck the hearts 
 of the spectators, so exquisite was she, so divinely 
 beautiful with a mystic, spiritual charm. Her dress 
 was of white watered silk, simply covered with rare 
 old Mechlin lace, which was held by pearls, a whole 
 setting of them designing the ruches of the waist and 
 the ruffles of the skirt. A veil of old English point 
 was fastened to her head by a triple crown of pearls, 
 and falling to her feet, quite covered her. That was 
 all not a flower, not a jewel, nothing but this slight 
 vision, this delicate, trembling cloud, which seemed to 
 have placed her sweet little face between two white 
 wings, like that of the Virgin of the painted glass win- 
 dow, with her violet eyes and her golden hair. 
 
 Two armchairs, covered with crimson velvet, had 
 been placed for Felicien and Angelique before the altar ; 
 and directly behind them, while the organs increased 
 their phrases of welcome, Hubert and Hubertine knelt 
 on the low benches which were destined for the family. 
 The day before an intense joy had come to them, from 
 the effects of which they had not yet recovered, and 
 they were incapable of expressing their deep, heartfelt 
 thanks for their own happiness, which was so closely 
 connected with that of their daughter. Hubertine, 
 having gone once more to the cemetery, saddened by 
 the thought of their loneliness, and the little house,
 
 THE DREAM 301 
 
 which would seem so empty after the departure of the 
 dearly-beloved child, had prayed to her mother for a 
 long time ; when suddenly she felt within her an inex- 
 plicable relief and gladness, which convinced her that 
 at last her petition had been granted. From the depths 
 of the earth, after more than twenty years, the obstinate 
 mother had forgiven them, and sent them the child of 
 pardon so ardently desired and longed for. Was this 
 the recompense of their charity towards the poor for- 
 lorn little creature whom they had found one snowy 
 day at the Cathedral entrance, and who to-day was to 
 wed a prince with all the show and pomp of the greatest 
 ceremony? They remained on their knees, without 
 praying in formulated words, enraptured with gratitude, 
 their whole souls overflowing with an excess of infinite 
 thanksgiving. And on the other side of the nave, 
 seated on his high, official throne, Monseigneur was 
 also one of the family group. He seemed filled with 
 the majesty of the God whom he represented ; he was 
 resplendent in the glory of his sacred vestments, and 
 the expression of his countenance was that of a proud 
 serenity, as if he were entirely freed from all worldly 
 passions. Above his head, on the panel of wonderful 
 embroidery, were two angels supporting the brilliant 
 coat of arms of Hautecosur. 
 
 Then the solemn service began. All the clergy 
 connected with the Cathedral were present to do 
 honour to their Bishop, and priests had come from the 
 different parishes to assist them. Among the crowd of 
 white surplices which seemed to overflow the grating, 
 shone the golden capes of the choristers, and the red 
 robes of the singing -boys. The almost eternal night 
 of the side-aisles, crushed down by the weight of the
 
 302 THE DREAM 
 
 heavy Romanesque chapels, was this morning slightly 
 brightened by the limpid April sunlight, which struck 
 the painted glass of the windows so that they seemed 
 to be a burning of gems, a sacred bursting into blos- 
 som of luminous flowers. But the background of the 
 nave particularly blazed with a swarming of wax-tapers, 
 tapers as innumerable as the stars of evening in a sum- 
 mer sky. In the centre, the high altar seemed on 
 fire from them, a true ' burning bush,' symbolic of the 
 flame that consumes souls ; and there were also candles 
 in large candelabra and in chandeliers, while before the 
 plighted couple, two enormous lustres with round 
 branches looked like two suns. About them was a 
 garden of masses of green plants and of living blossoms, 
 where were in flower great tufts of white azaleas, of 
 white camellias, and of lilacs. Away to the back of the 
 apse sparkled bits of gold and silver, half-seen skirts of 
 velvet and of silk, a distant dazzling of the tabernacle 
 among the sombre surroundings of green verdure. 
 Above all this burning the nave sprang out, and the 
 four enormous pillars of the transept mounted upward 
 to support the arched vaulting, in the trembling move- 
 ment of these myriads of little flames, which almost 
 seemed to pale at times in the full daylight which 
 entered by the high Gothic windows. 
 
 Angelique had wished to be married by the good 
 Abbe Cornille, and when she saw him come forward in 
 his surplice, with the white stole, followed by two clerks, 
 she smiled. This was at last the triumphant realisa- 
 tion of her dream she was wedding fortune, beauty, and 
 power far beyond her wildest hopes. The church itself 
 was singing by its organs, radiant with its wax-tapers, 
 and alive with the crowd of believers and priests, whom
 
 THE DREAM 33 
 
 she knew to be around her on every side. Never had 
 the old building been more brilliant or filled with a 
 more regal pomp, enlarged as it were in its holy, sacred 
 luxury, by an expansion of happiness. Angelique 
 smiled again in the full knowledge that death was at 
 her heart, celebrating its victory over her, in the midst 
 of this glorious joy. In entering the Cathedral she 
 had glanced at the Chapel d'Hautecceur, where slept 
 Laurette and Balbine, the ' Happy Dead,' who passed 
 away when very young, in the full happiness of their 
 love. At this last hour she was indeed perfect. Vic- 
 torious over herself, reclaimed, renewed, having no 
 longer any feeling of passion or of pride at her triumph, 
 resigned at the knowledge that her life was fast leaving 
 her, in this beautiful Hosanna of her great friend, the 
 blessed old church. When she fell upon her knees, it 
 was as a most humble, most submissive servant, entirely 
 free from the stain of original sin ; and in her renuncia- 
 tion she was thoroughly content. 
 
 The Abbe Cornille, having mounted to the altar, 
 had just come down again. In a loud voice he made 
 the exhortation ; he cited as an example the marriage 
 which Jesus had contracted with the Church ; he spoke 
 of the future, of days to come when they would live and 
 govern themselves in the true faith ; of children whom 
 they must bring up as Christians ; and then, once more, 
 in face of this hope, Angelique again smiled sweetly, 
 while Felicien trembled at the idea of all this happiness, 
 which he believed to be assured. Then came the con- 
 secrated demands of the ritual, the replies which united 
 them together for their entire existence, the decisive 
 ' Yes ' which she pronounced in a voice filled with 
 emotion from the depths of her heart, and which he
 
 304 THE DREAM 
 
 said in a much louder tone, and with a tender earnest- 
 ness. The irrevocable step was taken, the clergyman 
 had placed their right hands together, one clasping the 
 other, as he repeated the prescribed formula : ' Ego con- 
 jungo vos in matrimonium, in 'nomine Pah-is, et Filii, et 
 Spiritus Sancti.' 1 But there were still the rings to be 
 blessed, the symbols of inviolable fidelity, and of the 
 eternity of the union, which is lasting. In the silver 
 basin, above the rings of gold, the priest shook back 
 and forth the asperges brush, and making the sign of 
 the Cross over each one, said, ' Benedic, Domine, annu- 
 lum hunc.' 2 
 
 Then he presented them to the young couple, to 
 testify to them that the Church sanctified their union ; 
 that for the husband henceforth his heart was sealed, 
 and no other woman could ever enter therein ; and the 
 husband was to place the ring upon his wife's finger in 
 order to show her, in his turn, that henceforth he alone 
 among all men existed for her. This was the strict 
 union, without end, the sign of her dependence upon 
 him, which would recall to her constantly the vows she 
 had made ; it was also the promise of a long series of 
 years, to be passed together, as if by this little circle of 
 gold they were attached to each other even to the 
 grave. 
 
 And while the priest, after the final prayers, ex- 
 horted them once more, Angelique wore always the 
 sweet expression of renunciation ; she, the pure souj, 
 who knew the truth. 
 
 Then, as the Abbe Cornille withdrew, accompanied 
 
 1 I unite you in matrimony, in the name of the Father, and of 
 the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' 
 * ' Bless, Lord, this ring.'
 
 THE DREAM 35 
 
 by his clerks, the organs again burst forth with peals of 
 joy. Monseigneur, motionless until now, bent towards 
 the young couple with an expression of great mildness 
 in his eagle-like eyes. Still on their knees, the Huberts 
 lifted their heads, blinded by their tears of joy. And 
 the enormous depths of the organs' peals rolled and 
 lost themselves by degrees in a hail of little sharp notes, 
 which were swept away under the high arches, like the 
 morning song of the lark. There was a long waving 
 movement, a half-hushed sound amongst the reverential 
 crowd, who filled to overflowing even the side-aisles and 
 the nave. The church, decorated with flowers,^ glitter- 
 ing with the taper lights, seemed beaming with joy from 
 the Sacrament. 
 
 Then there were nearly two hours more of solemn 
 pomp; the Mass being sung and the incense being 
 
 burnt. 
 
 The officiating clergyman had appeared, dressed 
 in his white chasuble, accompanied by the director 
 of the ceremonies, two censer-bearers carrying the 
 censer and the vase of incense, and two acolytes bear- 
 ing the great golden candlesticks, in which were 
 lighted tapers. 
 
 The presence of Monseigneur complicated the rites, 
 the salutations, and the kisses. Every moment there 
 were bowings, or bendings of the knee, which kept the 
 wings of the surplices in constant motion. In the old 
 stalls, with their backs of carved wood, the whole chap- 
 ter of canons rose ; and then again, at other times it was 
 as if a breath from heaven prostrated at once the clergy, 
 by whom the whole apse was filled. The officiating 
 priest chanted at the altar. When he had finished, he 
 went to one side, and took his seat while the choir in its 
 
 x
 
 3o6 THE DREAM 
 
 turn for a long time continued the solemn phrases of 
 the services in the fine, clear notes of the young cho- 
 risters, light and delicate as the flutes of archangels. 
 Among these voices was a very beautiful one, unusually 
 pure and crystalline, that of a young girl, and most de- 
 licious to hear. It was said to be that of Mademoiselle 
 Claire de Voincourt, who had wished and obtained per- 
 mission to sing at this marriage, which had been so 
 wonderfully secured by a miracle. The organ which 
 accompanied her appeared to sigh in a softened manner, 
 with the peaceful calm of a 'soul at ease and perfectly 
 happy. 
 
 There were occasionally short spells of silence. Then 
 the music burst out again with formidable rollings, while 
 the master of the ceremonies summoned the acolytes 
 with their chandeliers, and conducted the censer-bearers 
 to the officiating clergyman, who blessed the incense in 
 the vases. Now there was constantly heard the move- 
 ments of the censer, with the silvery sound of the little 
 chains as they swung back and forth in the clear light. 
 There was in the air a bluish, sweet-scented cloud, 
 as they incensed the Bishop, the clergy, the altar, 
 the Gospel, each person and each thing in its turn, 
 even the close crowd of people, making the three move- 
 ments, to the right, to the left, and in front, to mark 
 the Cross. 
 
 In the meantime Angelique and Felicien, on their 
 knees, listened devoutly to the Mass, which is signifi- 
 cant of the mysterious consummation of the marriage 
 of Jesus and the Church. There had been given into 
 the hands of each a lighted caudle, symbol of the purity 
 preserved since their baptism. After the Lord's Prayer
 
 THE DREAM 307 
 
 they had remained under the veil, which is a sign of 
 subniissioo, of bashfulness, and of modesty ; and during 
 this time the priest, standing at the right-hand side of 
 the altar, read the prescribed prayers. They still held 
 the lighted tapers, which serve also as a sign of remem- 
 brance of death, even in the joy of a happy marriage. 
 And now it was finished, the offering was made, the 
 officiating clergyman went away, accompanied by the 
 director of the ceremonies, the incense-bearers, and the 
 acolytes, after having prayed God to bless the newly- 
 wedded couple, in order that they might live to see anc. 
 multiply their children, even to the third and fourth 
 generation. 
 
 At this moment the entire Cathedral seemed living 
 and exulting with joy. The March Triumphal was 
 being played upon the organs with such thunder-like 
 peals that they made the old edifice fairly tremble. The 
 entire crowd of people now rose, quite excited, and 
 straining themselves to see everything ; women even 
 mounted on the chairs, and there were closely-pressed 
 rows of heads as far back as the dark chapels of the 
 outer side-aisles. In this vast multitude every face 
 was smiling, every heart beat with sympathetic joy. 
 In this final adieu the thousands of tapers appeared to 
 burn still higher, stretching out their flames like tongues 
 of fire, vacillating under the vaulted arches. A last 
 Hosanna from the clergy rose up through the flowers 
 and the verdure in the midst of the luxury of the orna- 
 ments and the sacred vessels. But suddenly the great 
 portal under the organs was opened wide, and the 
 sombre walls of the church were marked as if by great 
 sheets of daylight. It was the clear April morning,
 
 308 THE DREAM 
 
 the living sun of the spring-tide, the Place du Cloitre, 
 which was now seen with its tidy-looking, white houses ; 
 and there another crowd, still more numerous, awaited 
 the coming of the bride and bridegroom, with a more 
 impatient eagerness, which already showed itself by 
 gestures and acclamations. The candles had grown 
 paler, and the noises of the street were drowned in the 
 music of the organs. 
 
 With a slow step, between the double hedge of the 
 worshippers, Angelique and Felicien turned towards 
 the entrance-door. After the triumphant carrying out 
 of her dream, she was now about to enter into the reality 
 of life. This porch of broad sunlight opened into the 
 world of which as yet she was entirely ignorant. She 
 retarded her steps as she looked earnestly at the rows 
 of houses, at the tumultuous crowd, at all which greeted 
 and 'claimed her. Her weakness \v as so intense that 
 her husband was obliged to almost carry her. How- 
 ever, she was still able to look pleased, as she thought 
 of the princely house, filled with jewels and with queenly 
 toilettes, where the nuptial chamber awaited her, all 
 decorated with white silk and lace. Almost suffocated, 
 she was obliged to stop when halfway down the aisle ; 
 then she had sufficient strength to take a few steps 
 more. She glanced at her wedding-ring, so recently 
 placed upon her finger, and smiled at this sign of eternal 
 union. Then, on the threshold of the great door, at 
 the top of the steps which went down into the Place du 
 Cloitre, she tottered. Had she not really arrived at 
 the summit of her happiness ? "Was not it there that 
 the joy of her life, being perfected, was to end ? 
 With a last effort she raised herself as much as pos- 
 sible, that she might put her lips upon the lips of
 
 THE DREAM 309 
 
 Felicien. And in that kiss of love she passed away 
 for ever. 
 
 But her death was without sadness. Monseigneur, 
 with his habitual movement of pastoral benediction, 
 aided this pure soul to free itself from the frail body. 
 He had regained his calmness, and had once more found 
 in the fulfilment of his sacred calling the desired-for 
 peace. 
 
 The Huberts, unconscious of what had taken place, 
 were still kneeling, grateful for the pardon at last 
 gi'anted them, and feeling as if re-entering into exist- 
 ence. For them, as well as for their beloved daughter, 
 the dream was to be accomplished. All the Cathedral 
 and the whole town were en fete. The organs sounded 
 louder than ever ; the bells pealed joyously ; the multi- 
 tude waited to greet the loving couple on the threshold 
 of the mystic church under the glorious spring sun- 
 light. 
 
 It was indeed a beautiful death. Angelique, happy 
 and pure, carried away suddenly at the moment of the 
 realisation of her fondest dream, taken into the heavenly 
 life from the dark Romanesque chapels with the flam- 
 boyant, Gothic -vaulted ceiling, from among the gilded 
 decorations and paintings of ancient times, in the full 
 Paradise of Golden Legends. What more could she 
 have asked for ? 
 
 Felicien held in his arms simply a soft and tender 
 form, from which life had departed ; this bridal robe of 
 lace and pearls seemed like the light wings of a bird, 
 still warm to the touch. For a long time he had well 
 known that he could claim but a shadow. The exqui- 
 site vision that came from the Invisible had returned to 
 the Invisible.
 
 3io THE DREAM 
 
 It was merely a semblance, which effaced itself; the 
 vanishing of an illusion. 
 
 Everything is only a dream. 
 
 And so, at the moment of supreme earthly happi- 
 ness, Angelique had disappeared in the slight breath of 
 a loving kiss. 
 
 8POTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 LONDON'
 
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 By IJ v. S. BARINQ GOULD. 
 Bed Spider. I Eve. 
 
 By W. BESANT & J. RICE. 
 My Little Girl. By Cella's Arbour. 
 Case of Mr.Lucraft. Monks of Thelema. 
 This Son of Vulcan. The Seamy Side. 
 Golden Butterfly. Ten Years' Tenant 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 By WALTER B KM A NT. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. | Herr Paulus. 
 All In a Garden Fair 
 The World Went Very Well Then. 
 For Faith and Freadom. 
 
 Dorothy Forster. 
 Uncle Jack. 
 Children of Gibeon. 
 Bell of St. Paul's. 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 
 The Holy Rose. 
 Armorel of Lyon- 
 
 esse. 
 St. Katharine's by 
 
 the Tower. 
 
 By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 The Shadow of the Sword. | Matt. 
 A Child of Nature. I Heir of Linne. 
 The Martyrdom of Madeline. 
 God and the Man. The New Abelard. 
 Love Me for Ever. Foxglove Manor. 
 Annan Water. Master of the Mine. 
 
 By 11 A 1. 1, CA1NE. 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 A Son of Hagar. I The Deemster. 
 ill OUT. & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. 
 V 11] age Comedy. 1 You Play He Falae. 
 
 By \VlLEvIF: COLLINS. 
 
 Armadale. 
 After Dark. 
 No Name. 
 Antonina. I Basil 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My 
 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 The Two Destinies. 
 Law and the Lady 
 Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science. 
 "I Say No." 
 Little Novels. 
 The Evil Genius. 
 The Legacy of CalD 
 A Rogue's Life. 
 Blind Love. 
 
 My Miscellanies. 
 Woman in White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Miss or Mrs? 
 New Magdalen. 
 
 By DUTTON COOK. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 By UIATT CRIUI. 
 Adventures of a Fair Rebel. 
 
 By WILLIAM CYPI,E8. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 ByALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 
 The Evangelist ; or, Port Salvation. 
 
 Bv ERASMUS DAWSsON. 
 
 The Fountain of Youth. 
 
 By JTAIUES E MILLE. 
 
 A Castle In Spain. 
 
 By J. LEIT1I DERWENT. 
 
 Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. 
 
 By DICK DONOVAN. 
 
 Tracked to Doom. 
 
 By .Urn. ANNIE EWARI>E. 
 
 Archie Lovell. 
 
 By O. ITIANVILLE FENN. 
 
 The Now Mistress. 
 
 By PERCY FITZGER I LD. 
 
 Fatal Zero. 
 
 By R. E. FRANCIL ? .< X. 
 
 Sucen Cophetua. I A Real Qu.-^n. 
 ne by One. | King or Knave 
 
 Prcf. by Sir R ART LE FRE RE. 
 Pandurang Hari. 
 
 By EOWARO ttARBETT* 
 The Capel Girls.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THE PICCADILLY (3/6) NOVELS continued. 
 
 li AKI.E:* .n:i:o\. 
 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 Of High Degree. 
 
 Robin Gray. 
 
 Loving a Dream. 
 
 The Flower of the Forest. 
 
 By !:. Ctl 
 The Lost Heiress. 
 Ihe Fossicker. 
 
 By CECIL GRIFFITH. 
 Corinthia Marazion. 
 
 l!> TIMMI AS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 By BRET I1ARTB. 
 A Waif of the Plains. 
 A Ward of the Golden Gate. 
 A Sappho of Green Springs. 
 Colonel Starbottle's Client. 
 
 By .III. I A IV HAWTHORNE. 
 Garth. Dust. 
 
 Ellice Quentln. Fortune's Fool. 
 Sebastian Strome. Beatrix Randolph. 
 David Poindexter's Disappearance. 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 By Sir A. U E I I *. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 By ISAAC) HENDERSON. 
 Agatha Page. 
 
 By Mm. ALFRED HUNT. 
 The Leaden Casket. | Self-Condemned. 
 That other Person. 
 
 By JEAN INGELOW. 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 By R. A SHE KINO. 
 A Drawn Game. 
 "The Wearing of the Green." 
 
 By E. LYNN I.I Vg'ON. 
 
 lone. 
 
 Paston Carew. 
 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 
 Under which Lord? 
 
 "My Love I" 
 
 The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 
 The World Well Lost. 
 
 By HENRY W. LUCY. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. Donna Quixote. 
 
 Linley Rochford. Maid of Athena. 
 Miss Misanthrope. Camiola. 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 By A GNE S MAC DONE I., I,. 
 Cuaker Cousins. 
 
 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 Life's Atonement. Val Strange. 
 Joseph's Coat. Hearts. 
 
 Coals of Fire. A Model Father. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 A Bit of Human Nature, 
 First Person Singular. 
 Cynic Fort me. 
 The Way -,f the World. 
 
 By Ml iiltAY & HE It HAN. 
 The Bishops' Bible. 
 1 -ml Jones's Alias. 
 
 By HUME NISBET. 
 "Bail Up!" 
 
 By GEORGES OHNET. 
 A Weird Gift. 
 
 By MM. OLIPHANT. 
 WhiteladiM. 
 
 THE PICCADILLY (3/6) NOVELS continued. 
 By OUIDA. 
 
 Held In Bondage. 
 Strathmore. 
 Chandos. 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Idalia. 
 
 CecilCastlemalne's 
 Gage. 
 
 Two Little Wooden 
 
 Shoes. 
 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadne. 
 Friendship. 
 Moths. I Rufflno. 
 Pipistrello. 
 
 Tricotrin. | Puck. A Village Commune 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 
 Bimbi. I Wanda. 
 
 A Dog of Flanders. Frescoes. \ Othmar. 
 Pascarel. I Signa. In Maremma. 
 Princess Naprax- Syrlin. 1 Guilderoy. 
 ine. ' Santa Barbara. 
 
 By MARGARET A. PAUL.. 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 Less Black than We're Painted. 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 In Peril and Privation. 
 The Mystery of Mirbridge. 
 The Canon's Ward. 
 
 Talk of the Town 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 The Burnt Million. 
 The Word and the 
 
 Will. 
 
 Sunny Stories. 
 PRICE. 
 I The Foreigners. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 By Proxy. 
 High Spirits. 
 Under One Roof. 
 From Exile. 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 By E. C. 
 Valentina. 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 
 By RICIIAKD PRYCE. 
 Miss Maxwell's Affections. 
 
 By CHARLES READE. 
 It Is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 The Autobiography of a Thief. 
 Put Yourself in his Place. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 Singleheart and Doubleface. 
 Good Storiesof Men and other Animals. 
 Hard Cash. Wandering Heir. 
 
 Peg Woffington. A Woman-Hater. 
 ChristieJohnstone. A Simpleton. 
 Griffith Gaunt. Readiana. 
 Foul Play. The Jilt. 
 
 A Perilous Secret. 
 
 By Mrs. J. II. RIDDELL. 
 The Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
 Weird Stories. 
 
 By F. \V. ROBINSON. 
 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 By \V. CLARK RUSSELL, 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 Alone on a Wide Wide Sea. 
 
 By JOHN SAUNDERS. 
 Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers. 
 Bound to the Wheel. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 Ry KATHARINE SAUNDERS. 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 Gideon's Rock. j Heart Salvage, 
 The High Mills. I Sebastian.
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 THE PICCADILLY (3/6) NOVELS continued. 
 
 By Ll'Ii K SHARP. 
 In a Steamer Chair. 
 
 By II A\VI,i: V M.1I ART. 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 If) R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Proud Haisie. | The Violin-player. 
 By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress. 
 By IVAN TIK; i:>Bi:i I , Ac. 
 Btories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
 THE PICCADILLY (3/6) NOVELS continued. 
 By ANTHONY TKOH I 
 
 Frau Frohmann. 
 Marion Fay. 
 
 Kept in the Dark. 
 Land-Leaguers. 
 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 By '. < . i if t -a it- r\ a 1,1:1: 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 By NAISAII TV II, i: IS. 
 
 Lady Bell. 
 
 Buried Diamonds, 
 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 
 The Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 By MARK TWAIN. 
 The American Claimant. 
 
 By .1. S. WINTER. 
 A Soldier's Children. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 
 By ARTEIWUS WARD. 
 
 Artemus Ward Complete. 
 
 By IOI> ?!<>! ABOUT. 
 
 The Fellah. 
 
 By HAMILTON AIDE. 
 
 Carr of Carrlyon. | Confidences. 
 By MARY ALBERT. 
 
 Brooke FInchley's Daughter. 
 
 By Mrs. AliBXANDBR. 
 
 Maid, Wife, or Widow? | Valerie's Fate. 
 
 By GRANT ALLEN. 
 Strange Stories. The Devil's Die. 
 Philistla. This Mortal Coil. 
 
 Babylon. In all Shades. 
 
 The Beckoning Hand. 
 For Maimie's Sake. | Tents of Shem. 
 The Great Taboo. 
 
 By ALAN ST.AUBYN. 
 A Fellow of Trinity. 
 
 By K v. S. BARING GOULD. 
 Bed Spider. I Eve. 
 
 By FRANK BARRETT. 
 Fettered for Life. 
 Between Life and Death. 
 The Sin of Olga Zassoulich. 
 Folly Morrison. ! Honest Davle. 
 Lieut. Barnabas. A Prodigal's Progress. 
 Found Guilty. I A Recoiling Vengeance. 
 For Love and Honour. 
 John Ford ; and His Helpmate. 
 By W. BESANT A- J. RK'E. 
 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 Monks of Thelcma. 
 The Seamy Side. 
 Ten Years' Tenant. 
 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 My Little Girl. 
 Case of Mr.Lucraft. 
 Golden Butterfly. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 By WALTICU BKttlNT. 
 Dorothy Forster. Uncle Jack. 
 Children of Gibeon. Herr Paulus. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. 
 All In a Garden Fair. 
 The World Went Very Well Then. 
 For Faith and Freedom. 
 To Call Her Mine. 
 The Bell of St. Paul'!, 
 Ihe Holy Rose. 
 
 By Nil E 1,81, EV BEAUCIIAMI*. 
 
 Grantley Grange. 
 
 By FREDERICK BOYLE, 
 
 Camp Notes. | Savage Life. 
 
 Chronicles of No-man's Land. 
 
 By BRET IIARTE. 
 
 Flip. I Californian Storlef 
 
 Maruja. | Gabriel Conroy, 
 
 An Heiress of Red Dog. 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 A Phyllis of the Sierras. 
 
 By HAROLD BRYDGE*. 
 
 Uncle Sam at Home. 
 
 By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 
 The Shadow of the The Martyrdom of 
 
 Sword. Madeline. 
 
 A Child of Nature. Annan Water. 
 God and the Man. The New Abeiard. 
 Love Me for Ever. Matt. 
 Foxglove Manor. The Heir of Llnne. 
 The Master of the Mine. 
 
 By HALL CAINE. 
 
 The Shadow of a Crime. 
 
 A Son of Hagar. | The Deemster. 
 
 By Commander CAMERON. 
 
 The Cruise of the " Black Prince." 
 By Mr. LOVETT CAMERON. 
 
 Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian. 
 
 By AUSTIN CLARE. 
 For the Love of a Lass. 
 
 By .Hi*. ARCHER CJLIVE. 
 Paul Ferroll. 
 Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. 
 
 Br MACLAREN COBBAN. 
 The Cure of Souls. 
 
 By C. ALLSTON COLLINS. 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 .MOIST. & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 Sweet Anne Page. I Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 A Fight with Fortune. 
 Sweet and Twenty. I Village Comedy. 
 Frances. I You Play me Fals* 
 
 Blacksmith and Scholar.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 TWO-SHII.LIHG NOVELS continued. 
 
 By UflL.Ii.li: COLLINS. 
 Armadale. My Miscellanies. 
 
 After Dark. Woman in White. 
 
 No Name. The Moonstone. 
 
 Antonina. | Basil. Man and Wife. 
 Hide and Seek. Poor Miss Finch. 
 The Dead Secret. The Fallen Leaves. 
 Queen of Hearts. Jezebel's Daughter 
 Miss or Mrs? The Slack Robe. 
 
 New Magdalen. Heart and Science. 
 The Frozen Deep. "I Say No." 
 Law and the Lady. The Evil Genius. 
 The Two Destinies. Little Novels. 
 Haunted Hotel. Legacy of Cain. 
 A Rogue's Life. Blind Love. 
 
 By M. J. COLQUUOUN. 
 Every Inch a Soldier. 
 
 By Dill ON COOK. 
 Leo. I Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. 
 Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains. 
 
 By B. M. CKOIiEiS. 
 Pretty Miss Neville. 
 A Bird of Passage. 
 Diana Barrington. 
 Proper Pride. 
 
 By WILLIAM CYPLES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By ALPHONSE DAUDET. 
 The Evangelist; or, Port Salvation. 
 
 By JAMES DE MILLE. 
 A Castle in Spain. 
 
 By .. I, KIT II DERWENT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. 
 
 By CHARLES DICKENS. 
 Sketches by Boz. Oliver Twist. 
 Pickwick Papers. Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 By DICK DONOVAN. 
 The Man-Hunter. | Caught at Last! 
 Tracked and Taken. 
 Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan? 
 The Man from Manchester. 
 A Detective's Triumphs. 
 In the Grip of the Law. 
 By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovcll. 
 By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 Felicia. I Kitty. 
 
 By EDWARD EGGLESTON. 
 
 R By' PERCY FITZGERALD. 
 
 Bella Donna. I Polly. 
 Never Forgotten. I Fatal Zaro. 
 The Second Mrs. Tillotson. 
 Seventy-five Brooke Street. 
 The Lady of Brantome. 
 By PERCY FITZGERALD 
 
 and otlurs. 
 Strange Secrets. 
 
 ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE. 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 By R. E. FRANCILLON. 
 Olympla. I Queen Cophetua. 
 
 One by One. King or Knave? 
 
 A Real Queen. | Romances of Law. 
 By HAROLD FREDERICK. 
 Beth's Brother's Wife. 
 The Lawton Girl. 
 
 JPrel. by Sir E! A KTLE FREIJE, 
 Pandurang Hari. 
 
 TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. 
 
 By IIAIN FRISWELL. 
 One of Two. 
 
 By EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 By CHARLES GIBBON. 
 
 In Honour Bound. 
 Flower of Forest. 
 Braes of Yarrow. 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 Of High Degree. 
 Mead and Stream. 
 Loving a Dream. 
 A Hard Knot. 
 Heart's Delight. 
 Blood-Money. 
 
 Robin Gray. 
 Fancy Free. 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 What will the 
 
 World Say? 
 In Love and War. 
 For the King. 
 In Pastures Green. 
 Quean of Meadow. 
 A Heart's Problem. 
 The Dead Heart. 
 
 By WILLIAM GILBERT. 
 Dr. Austin's Guests. I James Duke. 
 The Wizard of the Mountain. 
 
 By ERNEST GLANVILLE. 
 The Lost Heiress. 
 
 By HENRY GKEVILLE. 
 A Noble Woman. | Nikanor. 
 
 By JOHN IIABBERTON. 
 Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck. 
 
 By ANDREW HALLIDA Y. 
 Every-Day Papers. 
 
 By Lady DUFFUS HARDY. 
 Paul Wynter's Sacrifice. 
 
 By THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 By J. BERWICK HARWOOD. 
 Tha Tenth Earl. 
 
 By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 Garth. Sebastian Strome. 
 
 Eilice Qnentln. Dust. 
 Fortune's Fool. Beatrix Randolph, 
 Miss Cadogna. Love or a Name. 
 David Poindexter's Disappearance. 
 The Spectre of the Camera. 
 
 By Sir ARTHUR HELPS. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 By HENRY HERMAN. 
 A Leading Lady. 
 
 By Mrs. CASHEL HOEY. 
 The Lover's Creed. 
 By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER. 
 The House of Raby. 
 
 By TIGHE HOPKINS. 
 'Twixt Love and Duty. 
 
 By Mrs. HUNGERPORD. 
 A Maiden all Forlorn. 
 In Durance Ylle. I A Mental Struggle. 
 Marvel. I A Modern Circe. 
 
 By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. 
 Thornlcroft's Model. Self Condemned. 
 That Other Person. Leaden Casket. 
 
 By JEAN INGELOW. 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 By HARRIETT JAY 
 The Dark Colleen. 
 The Queen of Connaught. 
 
 By MARK KERSHAW. 
 Colonial Facts and Fictions. 
 
 By R. ASHE KING. 
 A Drawn Game. I Passion's Slav* 
 " The Wearing of the Green." 
 Bell Barry.
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 
 
 TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. 
 
 By JOHN LEYS. 
 The Lindsays. 
 
 Br E. LYNN LINTON. 
 
 Patricia Kcmball. Paston Carew. 
 
 World Well Lost. "My Love I" 
 
 UnderwhlchLord? lone. 
 
 Tho Atonement of Learn Dun das. 
 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 
 Ths Rebel of the Family. 
 
 Bowing the Wind. 
 
 By HENRY W. LUCY. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. 
 A Fair Saxon. Donna Quixote. 
 
 Linley Rochfcrd. Maid of Athens. 
 Miss Misanthrope. Camiola. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 By AGNES MACDONELL. 
 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 KATHARINF S. MACO.UOID. 
 
 The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose. 
 
 By W. II. MALLOCIt. 
 
 The New Republic. 
 By FLORENCE MARRYAT. 
 
 Open! Sesame 1 | Fighting the Air. 
 A Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 Written in Fire. 
 
 By JT. MASTERMAN. 
 
 Haifa-dozen Daughters. 
 By BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 
 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
 By LEONARD MERRICK. 
 
 The Man who was Good. 
 
 By JEAN MIDULEMASS. 
 
 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. 
 By Mrs. MOLESWORTU. 
 
 Hathercourt Rectory. 
 
 By J. E. MUDDOCK. 
 Stories Weird and Wonderful. 
 The Dead Man's Secret. 
 
 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 A Model Father. Old Blazer's Hero. 
 Joseph's Coat. Hearts. 
 
 Coals of Fire. Way of the World. 
 
 Val Strange. Cynic Fortune. 
 
 A Life's Atonement. 
 By the Gate of the Sea. 
 A Bit of Human Nature. 
 First Person Singular. 
 
 By MURRAY and HERMAN. 
 One Traveller Returns. 
 Paul Jones's Alias. 
 The Bishops' Bible. 
 
 By HENRY MURRAY. 
 A Game of Bluff. 
 
 By ALICE O' II AN I. ON. 
 The Unforeseen. 1 Chance? or Fate? 
 
 TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. 
 
 By GEORGES OIINET. 
 Doctor Rameau. A Last Love. 
 A Weird Gift. 
 
 By Mrs. OLIPHANT. 
 Whiteladies. | The Primrose Path 
 The Greatest Heiress in England. 
 By Mrs. ROISEKT O REILLY. 
 Phoebe's Fortunes. 
 
 By 01 BOA. 
 
 Held in Bondage. 
 
 Strathmore. 
 
 Chandos. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Idalia. 
 
 CecilCastlemaine's 
 
 Tricotrin. 
 
 Puck. 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 
 Pascarel. 
 
 Signa. 
 
 Princess Naprax- 
 
 ine. 
 
 In a Winter City. 
 Ariadne. 
 
 Two Little Wooden 
 Shoes. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Moths. 
 
 Pipistrello. 
 
 A Village Com- 
 mune. 
 
 Bimbi. 
 
 Wanda. 
 
 Frescoes. 
 
 In Maremma. 
 
 Othmar. 
 
 Guilderoy. 
 
 Rufflno. 
 
 Syrlin. 
 
 Ouida's Wisdom, 
 Wit, and Path js. 
 
 MARGARET AGNES PAUL,. 
 
 Gentle and Simple. 
 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 200 Reward. 
 Marine Residence, 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 By Proxy. 
 Under One Roof. 
 High Spirits. 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 From Exile. 
 For Cash Only. 
 Kit. 
 
 The Canon's Ward 
 Talk of the Town, 
 Holiday Tasks. 
 
 Bentinck's Tutor. 
 
 Murphy's Mastar. 
 
 A County Family. 
 
 At Hsr Mercy. 
 
 Cecil's Tryst. 
 
 Clyffards of Clyffe. 
 
 Foster Brothers. 
 
 Found Dead. 
 
 Best of Husbands. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 
 Humorous Stories. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingb3i'd. 
 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 
 A Woman's Yengaance. 
 
 The Family Scapegrace. 
 
 What He Cost Her. 
 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 
 Like Father, Like Son. 
 
 Married Beneath Him. 
 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 
 Less Black than We're Painted, 
 
 A Confidential Agent. 
 
 Some Private Views. 
 
 A Grape from a Thorn. 
 
 Glow-worm Tales. 
 
 Tha Mystery of Mirbridge. 
 
 Tho Burnt Million. 
 
 The Word and the Will. 
 
 A Prince of the Blood. 
 
 By C. L. PIRKIS. 
 Lady Lovelace. 
 
 By EDGAR A. POE. 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 
 By E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. I The Foreign ars. 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 Gerald.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WINDUS. 
 
 TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. 
 
 Ity CHARLES ICKAUE. 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long, 
 The Cloister and the Hearlh. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 Autobiography of a Thief. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 Singleheart and Doubleface. 
 Good Stories of Men and other Animals. 
 Hard Cash. A Simpleton. 
 
 Peg Wofflngton. Readiana. 
 Griffith Gaunt. A Woman-Hater. 
 Foul Play. The Jilt. 
 
 A Perilous Secret. 
 
 By Mi-w. J. II. RIDDELL. 
 Weird Stories. | Fairy Water. 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
 The Uninhabited House. 
 The Mystery in Palace Gardens. 
 The Nun's Curse. | Idle Tales. 
 By F. W. ROBINSON. 
 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 By JAMES RUNG'IMAN. 
 Skippers and Shellbacks. 
 Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart. 
 Schools and Scholars. 
 
 By \V. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 Round the Galley Fire. 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head. 
 In the Middle Watch. 
 A Voyage to the Cape. 
 A Book for the Hammock. 
 The Mystery of the "Ocean Star." 
 The Romance of Jenny Harlowe. 
 An Ocean Tragedy. 
 My Shipmate Louise. 
 QKORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 Gaslight and Daylight. 
 
 By JOHN 8AUNDKB8. 
 Guy Waterman. I Two Dreamers. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 By KATHARINE SAUNDKKS. 
 Joan Merry weather. Heart Salvage. 
 The High Mills. Sebastian. 
 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 
 By OI40IM.JI: 1C. SIMS. 
 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 The Ring o' Bells. 
 Mary Jane's Memoirs. 
 Mary Jane Married. 
 Tales of To-day. | Dramas of Life, 
 Tinkletop's Crime. 
 Zeph: A Circus Story. 
 
 By AKTIIIJR SfiETCIILE Y. 
 A Match in the Dark. 
 
 By II A W 1, 1C Y SMART. 
 Without Love or Licence. 
 
 By T. W. !Sl';im T. 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 The Golden Hoop. I By Devious Ways. 
 Hoodwinked, &c. | Back to Life. 
 
 TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. 
 
 By R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By R. 1,01 IS STEVENSON. 
 New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto. 
 KY BERTH A THOMAS. 
 Cressida. | Proud Maiaie. 
 
 The Violin-player. 
 
 By WALTER THORNBURY. 
 Tales for the Marines. 
 Old Stories Re-told. 
 
 T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE. 
 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 
 Anne Furness. | Mabel's Progress. 
 
 By ANTHONV TROLLOPE. 
 
 Frau Frohmann. 
 Marion Fay. 
 
 Kept in the Dark* 
 John Caldigate. 
 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 
 The American Senator. 
 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. . 
 
 The Land-Leaguers. 
 
 The Golden Lion of Granpere. 
 
 By J. T. TROWBR1DG12. 
 
 Farnell's Folly. 
 By IVAN TURGENIEFF, Ac. 
 
 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 By MARK TWAIN. 
 
 A Pleasure Trip on the Continent. 
 
 The Gilded Age. 
 
 Mark Twain's Sketches. 
 
 Tom Sawyer. | A Tramp Abroad. 
 
 The Stolen White Elephant. 
 
 Huckleberry Finn. 
 
 Life on the Mississippi. 
 
 The Prince and the Pauper. 
 
 By . C. FRASER-TYTLER. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
 By SARAH TYTLKR. 
 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 Buried Diamonds. 
 Saint Mungo'sCity. 
 
 Noblesse Oblige. 
 Disappeared. 
 Huguenot Family. 
 Blackball Ghosts. 
 
 Lady Bell. 
 
 What She Came Through. 
 
 Beauty and the Beast. 
 
 Citoyenne Jaqueline. 
 
 By .Tlr*. F. II. WILLIAMSON. 
 
 A Child Widow. 
 
 By J. . WINTER. 
 Cavalry Life. | Regimental Legends 
 
 By II. F. WOOD. 
 The Passenger from Scotland Yard. 
 The Englishman of the Rue Cain. 
 
 By Lady WOOD. 
 Sabina. 
 
 C'ELIA PARKER WOOI.I.-ICT. 
 Rachel Armstrong; or, Love & Theology. 
 
 By EDMUND V ATI- *. 
 The Forlorn Hope. 1 Land at Last. 
 Castaway. 
 
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