He sat down to the card-table. Adelaide took side with the
painter, saying that he did not know piquet, and needed a
partner.
All through the game Madame de Rouville and her daughter
exchanged looks of intelligence, which alarmed Hippolyte all the
more because he was winning; but at last a final hand left the
lovers in the old lady's debt.
To feel for some money in his pocket the painter took his hands
off the table, and he then saw before him a purse which Adelaide
had slipped in front of him without his noticing it; the poor
child had the old one in her hand, and, to keep her countenance,
was looking into it for the money to pay her mother. The blood
rushed to Hippolyte's heart with such force that he was near
fainting.
The new purse, substituted for his own, and which contained his
fifteen gold louis, was worked with gilt beads. The rings and
tassels bore witness to Adelaide's good taste, and she had no
doubt spent all her little hoard in ornamenting this pretty piece
of work. It was impossible to say with greater delicacy that the
painter's gift could only be repaid by some proof of affection.
Hippolyte, overcome with happiness, turned to look at Adelaide
and her mother, and saw that they were tremulous with pleasure
and delight at their little trick. He felt himself mean, sordid,
a fool; he longed to punish himself, to rend his heart. A few
tears rose to his eyes; by an irresistible impulse he sprang up,
clasped Adelaide in his arms, pressed her to his heart, and stole
a kiss; then with the simple heartiness of an artist, "I ask for
her for my wife!" he exclaimed, looking at the Baroness.
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