Esperance shook her pretty
head laughing, while Maurice exhibited his sketch and announced to his
cousin his desire to paint her portrait.
"How pleased my father will be," she cried. "I thank you in advance
for the joy that you will give him."
The conversation became general, animated, merry, just what was to be
expected at their happy age. Soon after the train stopped; they had
arrived at Brussels.
Jean Perliez jumped lightly on to the platform. Mlle. Frahender
adjusted her hat, after having carefully folded up her bonnet, and
Maurice helped Marguerite to count the pieces of luggage. Just as
Esperance was getting out to help her old companion, she had a feeling
of reaction, her face grew pale with fright at an impression she could
not define: two long arms were stretched towards her. And she recalled
the hallucination or vision she had seen in her own mirror at home, on
the day when she had tried to interrogate destiny.
Count Albert Styvens was standing on the platform before her, holding
out his arms, his hands open. Totally dazed without understanding
herself why it should be so, the young girl closed her eyes. She felt
herself lifted, and set down upon the ground. Although the movement
had been one of perfect respect, she felt angry with this man for
having imposed his will upon her. When she looked at him he was
already speaking to Mlle. Frahender, whom he recollected having seen
in Esperance's room at the Vaudeville.
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