IT WAS A CRITICAL MOMENT[ToList]
"But," she added, quickly, "do you think she looks so much like me?"
"A mere suggestion," he said.
"It is curious,—very curious, mon—Cousin Jean; but do you know——"
Their heads were very close together. Unconsciously their lips met.
Mlle. Fouchette had been engaged in the work of washing dishes. It was an excuse to kill time and something to occupy her attention. As she carefully arranged everything in its place she realized that it was for the last occasion. She knew her work was done. So she made everything particularly bright and clean. The dessert dishes and glasses were still on the table, and she had stepped out cautiously and timidly to fetch them. It was a critical moment.
With the noiseless tread of a scared animal she turned back again into the kitchen, and, closing the door softly, leaned against it with ghostly face. She quickly stuffed the corner of her apron into her mouth to keep back the scream of agony that involuntarily rose to her lips. Her thin hands were tightly clinched and her body half drawn into a knot.
"Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"
Even the Saviour stumbled and fell beneath the heavy cross He had assumed to insure the happiness of others.
And Mlle. Fouchette was only a poor little, weak, nervous, ignorant woman, groping blindly along the same rugged route of her Calvary.