was hers. He fancied that he recognized Angelique in spite of a brown
merino pelisse that wrapped her, and he nudged his father's elbow.

"Yes, there she is," said the Count, after looking where his son
pointed, and then, by an expressive glance, he directed his attention
to the pale face of an elderly woman who had already detected the
strangers, though her false eyes, deep set in dark circles, did not
seem to have strayed from the prayer-book she held.

Angelique raised her face, gazing at the altar as if to inhale the
heavy scent of the incense that came wafted in clouds over the two
women. And then, in the doubtful light that the tapers shed down the
nave, with that of a central lamp and of some lights round the
pillars, the young man beheld a face which shook his determination. A
white watered-silk bonnet closely framed features of perfect
regularity, the oval being completed by the satin ribbon tie that
fastened it under her dimpled chin. Over her forehead, very sweet
though low, hair of a pale gold color parted in two bands and fell
over her cheeks, like the shadow of leaves on a flower. The arches of
her eyebrows were drawn with the accuracy we admire in the best
Chinese paintings. Her nose, almost aquiline in profile, was
exceptionally firmly cut, and her lips were like two rose lines
lovingly traced with a delicate brush. Her eyes, of a light blue, were
expressive of innocence.

Though Granville discerned a sort of rigid reserve in this girlish
face, he could ascribe it to the devotion in which Angelique was rapt.
The solemn words of prayer, visible in the cold, came from between
rows of pearls, like a fragrant mist, as it were. The young man
involuntarily bent over her a little to breathe this diviner air. This