She had not
taken a moment's rest since the early morning, but had shown no signs of
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 movement 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 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 a