Perhaps, in the depths of her mind, she already knew it, but she would never have dared to have said so; whilst now it was self-evident, a fact of which there could be no denial.

From everything around her, from her own soul, from inanimate objects, from past recollections, her cry seemed repeated.
Hubertine, quite overcome, said in a whisper, "This young man is the son of Monseigneur ?" Around these two the crowd had gradually accumulated.

They were well known and were greatly admired; the mother still adorable in her simple toilette of linen, the daughter with the angelic grace of a cherubim, in her gown of white foulard, as light as a feather.

They were so handsome and in such full view, as they stood upon their chairs, that from every direction eyes were turned towards them, and admiring glances given them.
"But yes, indeed, my good lady," said the _mere_ Lemballeuse, who chanced to be in the group; "but yes, he is the son of Monseigneur.

But how does it happen that you have not already heard of it?
And not only that, but he is a wonderfully handsome young man, and so rich! Rich! Yes indeed, he could buy the whole town if he wished to do so.