happy come what might. And she was happy: a plucky creature judging others by her own lofty standards, whose nerves and woman's instinct may be alarmed for a moment, without allowing a breath to disturb the serenity of her soul.
She played and sang until lunch-time. After lunch, she strolled in her garden and picked some flowers. When she went in, she found Guillaume waiting for her in the drawing-room:
"You ... you ...!" she murmured, half-swooning with emotion.
She was obliged to sit down and they remained at some distance from each other, not daring to raise their eyes. It seemed to Gilberte as though her whole life would not be enough to take in all the joy that wrapped her round. How right had she been to be happy in spite of all things and to prepare herself for this greater happiness, which she could never have borne, had she been sad and suspicious.
