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 between 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 possibly 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 twilight, 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 recover 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 slightest
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 Tiennett