She did not wish to be unkind, but her one absorbing idea at this moment was of solitude.
To be alone was the only possible alleviation of her trouble.

A word of consolation, a caress, even from her mother, would have distressed her.
She imagined that she saw her standing at the other side of the door, and from the delicacy of the rustling movement on the tiled floor she thought she must be barefooted.

Two or three minutes passed, and she knew the kind watcher had not left her place, but that, stooping, and holding with her beautiful hands the clothing so carelessly thrown over her, she still listened at the keyhole.
Hubertine, hearing nothing more, not even a sigh, did not like to call again.

She was very sure that she had heard sobs; but if the child had at last been able to sleep, what good would it do to awaken her?
She waited, however, another moment, troubled by the thought of a grief which her daughter hid from her, confusedly imagining what it might be from the tender emotion with which her heart seemed filled from sympathy.

At last she concluded to go down as she had come up, quietly, her hands being so familiar with every turning that she needed no candle, and leaving behind her no other sound than the soft, light touch of her bare feet.
Then, sitting up in bed, Angelique in her turn listened.