Angelique feared, however, that he was only acting a part. What
part? It was still a mystery to her, and likely to be; she had but
one criterion to discover his real thoughts. The offer of his hand
in marriage was the only test she relied upon to prove her acquittal
in the mind of Bigot of all complicity with the death of Caroline.
But Bigot was far from making the desired offer of his hand. That
terrible night in the secret chamber of Beaumanoir was not absent
from his mind an hour. It could never be forgotten, least of all in
the company of Angelique, whom he was judging incessantly, either
convicting or acquitting her in his mind as he was alternately
impressed by her well-acted innocent gaiety or stung by a sudden
perception of her power of deceit and unrivalled assurance.
So they went on from day to day, fencing like two adepts in the art
of dissimulation, Bigot never glancing at the murder, and speaking
of Caroline as gone away to parts unknown, but, as Angelique
observed with bitterness, never making that a reason for pressing
his suit; while she, assuming the role of innocence and ignorance of
all that had happened at Beaumanoir, put on an appearance of
satisfaction, or pretending still to fits of jealousy, grew fonder
in her demeanor and acted as though she assumed as a matter of
course that Bigot would now fulfill her hopes of speedily making her
his bride.
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