"Life seems to me the most glorious happiness—at this moment, certainly."
"Ah, you must not say those things. Let us wake Mademoiselle Moineau."
"No," Angelot said. "Not till you have told me why you find life sad."
"Because I do not see anything bright in it. Books tell one that youth is so happy, so gay—and as for me, ever since I was a child, I have had nothing but weariness. All that travelling about, that banishment from one's own country—ill tempers, discontent, narrow ways, hard lessons—straps and backboards because I was not strong—loneliness, not a friend of my own age—and then this horrible Paris—and things that might have happened there, if my father had not saved me—" She stopped, with a little catch in her breath, and Angelot understood, remembering the Prefect's talk at Les Chouettes, a few days before.
This was the girl they talked of sacrificing in a political marriage.
"But now that you are here—now that you have come home, you will be happy?" he said, and his voice shook a little.
"Perhaps—I hope so. Oh, you must not take me too much in earnest," Hélène said, and there was an almost imploring look in her eyes. She added quickly—"I hope I shall often see madame your mother. What a beautiful face she has—and I am sure she is good and happy."
This was a fine subject for Angelot. He talked of his mother, her religion, her charity, her heroism, while Hélène listened and asked childish questions about the life at La Marinière, to which her evening visit had attracted her strangely. And the minutes flew on, and these two cousins forgot the outside world and all its considerations in each other's eyes, and the shadows lengthened, till at last the children's voices began to come nearer. Mademoiselle Moineau snored on, it is true, but the enchanting time was coming to an end.
"Remember," Angelot said, "nothing sad or cruel can happen to you any more. You are in your own country; your own people will take care of you and love you—we are relations, remember—my father and mother and my uncle and Riette—and I, Hélène!"
He ended in the lowest whisper, and suddenly his slight brown hands closed on hers, and his dark face bent over her.