Her voice betrayed no emotion. She smiled like a girl pleased to go to a ball. The dress was of white silk, trimmed with sweet briar,--white flowers, with the hearts touched with red. And when she stood in the middle of the room, she was like a large bouquet of virginal whiteness. Her bare arms and her bare neck continued the whiteness of the silk. "Oh! how beautiful you are! How beautiful you are!" repeated the old Françoise. "And your garland,--wait!" She searched for it, and was about to put her hand on the curtains to look on the bed. Julien almost let out a cry of anguish. But Therese, without haste, always smiling before the mirror, said:-- "It is there, on the chest. Give it to me. And don't touch my bed. I put some things on it, and you would mix them all up." Françoise helped her to arrange the branch of sweet briar like a crown, with its flexible end drooping to the back of her neck. Françoise stood admiring her. She was ready and putting on her gloves. "Ah! well," cried Françoise, "there are no holy Virgins in the church as white as you." This compliment caused the young girl to smile again. She gave a last glance into the mirror, and started for the door, saying,-- "Come along; let us go down. You can put out the candles." In the sudden darkness, Julien heard the door close and Therese's gown rustle along the corridor. The deep night was a veil before his eyes, but he preserved the sensation of that bare foot near him. He remained there, unconscious of the lapse of time, weighed down by thoughts heavy as sleep, when the door opened. By the rustle of silk, he knew it was Therese. She did not come in; she simply put something on the chest of drawers, while she murmured:-- "Here; you have not dined. You must eat, you understand." The gown rustled away again. Julien shook himself and got up. He suffocated in the alcove; he could no longer remain near that bed, beside Colombel. The clock struck eight,--he had four hours to wait! He walked about muffling his footsteps. A feeble light, from the starlit night, made it possible to distinguish the dark masses of furniture. Three times, he thought he heard a sigh issue from the alcove. He stopped, terrified. Then, when he listened intently, he found it was sounds from the festivities below,--dance music, the laughing murmur of a crowd. He closed his eyes; and, suddenly, instead of the blackness of the room, he saw brilliant lights, a flaming drawing-room, in which was Therese, in her white silk, waltzing to an amorous air. The whole house vibrated to joyous music. He was alone, in this horrible corner, shaking with fear!