The Dream | Page 9

she would strike her feet and her hands together, and
seemed ready to tear her clothing, or to bite anyone who approached
her. At such moments they drew away from her, for she was like a little
monster ruled by the evil sprit within her.
Who could she be? Where did she come from? Almost always these
abandoned children are the offspring of vice. Twice they had resolved
to give her up and send her back to the Asylum, so discouraged were
they and so deeply did they regret having taken her. But each time
these frightful scenes, which almost made the house tremble, ended in
the same deluge of tears, and the same excited expressions and acts of
penitence, when the child would throw herself on the floor, begging
them so earnestly to punish her that they were obliged to forgive her.
Little by little, Hubertine gained great authority over her. She was
peculiarly adapted for such a task, with her kind heart, her gentle
firmness, her common-sense and her uniform temper. She taught her
the duty of obedience and the sin of pride and of passion. To obey was
to live. We must obey God, our parents, and our superiors. There was a
whole hierarchy of respect, outside of which existence was unrestrained
and disorderly. So, after each fit of passion, that she might learn
humility, some menial labour was imposed upon her as a penance, such

as washing the cooking-utensils, or wiping up the kitchen floor; and,
until it was finished, she would remain stooping over her work, enraged
at first, but conquered at last.
With the little girl excess seemed to be a marked characteristic in
everything, even in her caresses. Many times Hubertine had seen her
kissing her hands with vehemence. She would often be in a fever of
ecstasy before the little pictures of saints and of the Child Jesus, which
she had collected; and one evening she was found in a half- fainting
state, with her head upon the table, and her lips pressed to those of the
images. When Hubertine confiscated them there was a terrible scene of
tears and cries, as if she herself were being tortured. After that she was
held very strictly, was made to obey, and her freaks were at once
checked by keeping her busy at her work; as soon as her cheeks grew
very red, her eyes dark, and she had nervous tremblings, everything
was immediately made quiet about her.
Moreover, Hubertine had found an unexpected aid in the book given by
the Society for the Protection of Abandoned Children. Every three
months, when the collector signed it, Angelique was very low-spirited
for the rest of the day. If by chance she saw it when she went to the
drawer for a ball of gold thread, her heart seemed pierced with agony.
And one day, when in a fit of uncontrollable fury, which nothing had
been able to conquer, she turned over the contents of the drawer, she
suddenly appeared as if thunderstruck before the red-covered book. Her
sobs stifled her. She threw herself at the feet of the Huberts in great
humility, stammering that they had made a mistake in giving her shelter,
and that she was not worthy of all their kindness. From that time her
anger was frequently restrained by the sight or the mention of the book.
In this way Angelique lived until she was twelve years of age and ready
to be Confirmed. The calm life of the household, the little old-
fashioned building sleeping under the shadow of the Cathedral,
perfumed with incense, and penetrated with religious music, favoured
the slow amelioration of this untutored nature, this wild flower, taken
from no one knew where, and transplanted in the mystic soil of the
narrow garden. Added to this was the regularity of her daily work and

the utter ignorance of what was going on in the world, without even an
echo from a sleepy quarter penetrating therein.
But, above all, the gentlest influence came from the great love of the
Huberts for each other, which seemed to be enlarged by some unknown,
incurable remorse. He passed the days in endeavouring to make his
wife forget the injury he had done her in marrying her in spite of the
opposition of her mother. He had realised at the death of their child that
she half accused him of this punishment, and he wished to be forgiven.
She had done so years ago, and now she idolised him. Sometimes he
was not sure of it, and this doubt saddened his life. He wished they
might have had another infant, and so feel assured that the obstinate
mother had been softened after death, and had withdrawn her
malediction. That, in fact, was their united desire--a