But it would have been still worse had you waited.

Take courage, then, and draw at once the knife from the wound.

Repeat to yourself, whenever the thought of this young man comes to you, that never would Monseigneur, the terrible Jean XII, whose intractable pride, it appears, is still recollected by all the world, give his son, the last of his race, to a little embroiderer, found under a gateway and adopted by poor people like ourselves." In her weakness, Angelique heard all this without making any objection.
What was it she felt pass over her face?
A cold breath coming from a distance, from far above the roofs of the houses, seemed to freeze her blood.

Was it true that her mother was telling her of this misery of the world, this sad reality, in the same way that parents relate the story of the wolf to unreasonable children?
She would never forget the shock and the grief of this first experience of a bitter disappointment.

Yet, however, she already excused Felicien.