The next morning, just at the usual hour, Angelica entered the back
parlour, where Sillon and Devery were working side by side. They both
looked up in a sort of stern surprise, and waited for her to speak
first.
She stood before them, a quivering smile on her lips. She seemed on the
verge of tears; but after a silent moment she raised her eyes to look at
them with a sublime and touching bravery.
"Can I come back?" she asked.
They were both speechless.
"I don’t want to explain," she said, in a trembling voice. "Not ever!
But if I can come back, I’ll--go on--just the same."
Miss Sillon got up.
"Certainly!" she said pleasantly. "If you like, we’ll go on--in the old
way. We’ll forget all this. Don’t you think so, Devery?"
"Of course!" said Devery.
But no matter how they tried, their cordiality was strained, their looks
averted. They knew, all three of them, that it would be a long time
before this thing could be forgotten. Half of the letters of "Angélique"
had gone from the windows--and how much more had gone as well?
But at least their friendship endured. They neither questioned her nor
blamed her; they simply took her back, as whole-heartedly as was
possible to them. Whatever incredible and discreditable occurrence may
have interrupted that dazzling wedding, they would not repudiate her.
She went to her cupboard, took out the box in which she had kept her
odds and ends, and, sitting down at her old table, spread out the
glittering, gay scraps before her.
"I’m going to stick to business now!" she said, with a sob.