e 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 embroidered 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 to her 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 a
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, Felicien, whose