"I know you, madame, by your acts of kindness, by the nobleness and delicacy of your heart. One must needs be deaf not to know you, blind not to understand you; and the calling down of one more blessing on your head cannot surprise you, provided that it be done humbly by one forever prostrate at your feet."
Julie felt that the atmosphere she breathed was beginning to glow. She instinctively tried to recover her self-possession, but could not find the necessary courage to run away from that perilous interview.
"Are you also pleased," she said, "to recover the house in which you grew up?"
"Pleased for my poor mother's sake, oh! yes, madame; but on my own account—no!"
"Are you attached to Paris?"
"No, not at all; but——"
Julien's glowing, melting eyes said plainly enough what his thoughts were. Julie understood only too well. She tried to change the subject; she looked at the artist's pictures, she praised his talent, which was revealed to her simultaneously with his love, and she thought that she was telling him that she understood his art; but really it was his passion that she understood, and each word they uttered betrayed the all-absorbing thought that was in their minds. They both suddenly became so confused that they had no idea what they were talking about, and Madame d'Estrelle pounced upon Monsieur Antoine's lily in order to seem to be talking about something.
"Ah! what a lovely flower," she said, "and how sweet it smells!"
"Do you like it?" cried Julien.
And with the heedless impetuosity of a lover drunk with joy, he broke the stalk of the Antonia Thierrii, and presented the superb flower to Julie.