Nothing came up. A cow could be heard lowing on the bluffs to her
lost calf. The morning twitter of birds became an aggressive and
sickening sound.
"Where is he?" demanded Angelique, creeping also to her trembling knees.
"Where is monsieur the colonel?"
Both men gave her the silent, frightened testimony of their rolling
eyes, but Wachique lay along the floor with hidden face. Not a bubble
broke the yellow sheet smothering and keeping him down.
As the driving of steel it went through Angelique that the aching and
passion and ferocity which rose in her were love. She loved that man
under the water; she so loved him that she must go down after him; for
what was life, with him there? She must have loved him when she was a
child, and he used to take off his hat to her, saying, "Good-day,
mademoiselle." She must have felt a childish jealousy of the woman
called Madame Menard, who had once owned him,--had owned the very
coloring of his face, the laugh in his eye, the mastery of his presence
among men.
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