All that was noble and loyal in him rose
triumphant from beneath the devastating ashes of his own shame.
Soon his mood calmed down, his look grew less wan and haggard.
Hearing Jeanne's discreet and mouselike steps in the next room, he
rose quickly and hid the letter in the pocket of his coat.
She came in and inquired anxiously about Marguerite; a hurriedly
expressed excuse from him, however, satisfied her easily enough.
She wanted to be alone with Armand, happy to see that he held his
head more erect to-day, and that the look as of a hunted creature
had entirely gone from his eyes.
She ascribed this happy change to Marguerite, finding it in her
heart to be grateful to the sister for having accomplished what
the fiancee had failed to do.
For awhile they remained together, sitting side by side, speaking
at times, but mostly silent, seeming to savour the return of
truant happiness. Armand felt like a sick man who has obtained a
sudden surcease from pain. He looked round him with a kind of
melancholy delight on this room which he had entered for the first
time less than a fortnight ago, and which already was so full of
memories.
Those first hours spent at the feet of Jeanne Lange, how exquisite
they had been, how fleeting in the perfection of their happiness!
Now they seemed to belong to a far distant past, evanescent like
the perfume of violets, swift in their flight like the winged steps
of youth.
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