One evening as she was kissing her hands, a habit which she still at
times indulged in, she suddenly blushed and turned away, although she
was quite alone, for it seemed as if the little saint must have seen
her. Agnes was her guardian angel.

Thus, at fifteen Angelique was an adorable child. Certainly, neither the
quiet, laborious life, nor the soothing shadows of the Cathedral, nor
the legends of the beautiful saints, had made her an angel, a creature
of absolute perfection. She was often angry, and certain weaknesses of
character showed themselves, which had never been sufficiently guarded
against; but she was always ashamed and penitent if she had done wrong,
for she wished so much to be perfect. And she was so human, so full of
life, so ignorant, and withal so pure in reality.

One day, on returning from a long excursion which the Huberts allowed
her to take twice a year, on Pentecost Monday and on Assumption Day,
she took home with her a sweetbriar bush, and then amused herself by
replanting it in the narrow garden. She trimmed it and watered it well:
it grew and sent out long branches, filled with odour. With her usual
intensity, she watched it daily, but was unwilling to have it grafted,
as she wished to see if, by some miracle, it could not be made to bear
roses. She danced around it, she repeated constantly: "This bush is like
me; it is like me!" And if one joked her upon her great wild-rose bush,
she joined them in their laughter, although a little pale, and with
tears almost ready to fall. Her violet-coloured eyes were softer than
ever, her half-opened lips revealed little white teeth, and her oval
face had a golden aureole from her light wavy hair. She had grown
tall without being too slight; her neck and shoulders were exquisitely
graceful; her chest was full, her waist flexible; and gay, healthy, of