seven o’clock in the morning
In the sky the clouds , delicate as gauze , seemed to float away in the limpid blueness of the atmosphere . Then Angelique , whose look had mechanically fallen upon her wild rose-bush , at last noticed it with its puny leaves . She smiled sadly as she said : `` You were right , mother dear ; it will never be in blossom . '' At seven o'clock in the morning Angelique was at her work as usual . The days followed each other , and every forenoon found her seated before the chasuble she had left on the previous evening . Nothing appeared to be changed outwardly ; she kept strictly her promise , shut herself up , and made no attempt whatever to see Felicien . This did not seem to depress her at all , but she kept her bright , youthful look , smiling sweetly at Hubertine when occasionally she saw her eyes fixed upon her as if astonished .