What good would it do her to know who he was, from whence he came, or whither he was going?
Some morning he would prove to be that which she expected him to be.

A shower of gold would stream from the roof of the Cathedral, a triumphal march would break forth in the distant rumblings of the organ, and all would come true.

She did not stay to ask herself how he could always be there, day and night.

Yet it was evident either that he must live in one of the neighbouring houses, or he must pass by the lane des Guerdaches, which ran by the side of the Bishop's park to the Rue Magloire.
Then a charming hour passed by.

She bent forward, she rinsed her linen, her face almost touching the fresh water; but each time she took a different piece she raised her head, and cast towards the church a look, in which from the agitation of her heart, was a little good-natured malice.