harming, with a shade of
conscious superiority.

But Angelot understood, when he remembered it, the Prefect's remark that
the Emperor found Monsieur de Sainfoy "a little half-hearted."

However, from that evening, Angelot ceased to think of Monsieur de
Sainfoy as the unknown cousin, his father's friend, the master of
Lancilly; he was Helene's father, and thus to be, next to herself, the
most important personage in poor Angelot's world. For it is not to be
imagined that those few minutes, or even one of them, were spent in
noting the contrast between the cousins, or in considering the Comte's
manner to Madame de la Mariniere, and hers to him. There in the light of
the candles, curtseying to the unknown cousin with a simple reverence,
accepting her kiss with a faint smile of pleasure, stood the loveliest
woman that young Angelot had ever seen, ever dreamed of--if his dreams
had been occupied with such matters at all! Helene was taller than
French women generally; taller than his mother, very nearly as tall as
himself. She was like a lily, he thought; one of those white lilies that
grew in the broad border under the box hedge, and with which his mother
decked the Virgin's altar, not listening at all to the poor old Cure
when he complained that the scent made his head ache. Helene had thrown
off the hooded cloak that covered her white gown; the lovely masses of
fair hair seemed almost too heavy for her small, bent head.

"No wonder they wanted a _coiffeur_! Oh, why was I not here to fetch
him!" thought Angelot.

The beauty of whiteness of skin and perfect regularity of feature is
sometimes a little cold; but Helene was flushed with her walk in the
warm night, her lips were scarlet; and if her grey eyes were strangely
sad and wistful, they were also so beautiful in size, shape, and
expression that Angelot felt he could gaze for ever and desire no
change.

He started and blushed when his own name roused him from staring
breathlessly at Mademoiselle Helene, who since the lights came had
given him one or two curious, half-veiled glances.

"And now let me congratulate you on this fine young man," said Monsieur
de Sainfoy in his pleasant voice. "The age of my Georges, is he not?
Yes, I remember his christening. His first name was Ange--I thought it a
little confiding, you know, but no doubt it is justified. I forgot the
rest--and I do not know why you have turned him into Angelot?"

Madame de la Mariniere smiled; this was