Bigot glanced superciliously at the note. “Do you mean to go, Angélique?” asked he.
“No; although, had I no feelings but my own to consult, I would certainly go.”
“Whose feelings do you consult, Angélique,” asked the Intendant, “if not your own?”
“Oh, don't be flattered,—the Grand Company's! I am loyal to the association without respect to persons.”
“So much the better,” said he. “By the way, it would not be amiss to keep Le Gardeur away from the festival. These Philiberts and the heads of the Honnêtes Gens have great sway over him.”
“Naturally; they are all his own kith and kin. But I will draw him away, if you desire it. I cannot prevent his going, but I can find means to prevent his staying!” added she, with a smile of confidence in her power.
“That will do, Angélique,—anything to make a breach between them!”
While there were abysses in Bigot's mind which Angélique could not fathom, as little did Bigot suspect that, when Angélique seemed to flatter him by yielding to his suggestions, she was following out a course she had already decided upon in her own mind from the moment she had learned that Cecile Tourangeau was to be at the festival of Belmont, with unlimited opportunities of explanation with Le Gardeur as to her treatment by Angélique.
The Intendant, after some pleasant badinage, rose and took his departure, leaving Angélique agitated, puzzled, and dissatisfied, on the whole, with his visit. She reclined on the seat, resting her head on her hand for a long time,—in appearance the idlest, in reality the busiest, brain of any girl in the city of Quebec. She felt she had much to do,—a great sacrifice to make,—but firmly resolved, at whatever cost, to go through with it; for, after all, the sacrifice was for herself, and not for others.