PREPARER'S NOTE

 This eBook was prepared from the edition published by the Societe des Beaux-Arts in 1905 for the Comedie d'Amour Series. Registered copy Number 153 of 500. 

[Illustration: Comedie d'Amour Series]

 A LOVE EPISODE

 BY

 EMILE ZOLA

 ILLUSTRATED BY DANTAN

[Illustration: Emile Zola]

 ZOLA AND HIS WRITINGS

Emile Zola was born in Paris, April 2, 1840. His father was FrancoisZola, an Italian engineer, who constructed the Canal Zola in Provence. Zola passed his early youth in the south of France, continuing hisstudies at the Lycee St. Louis, in Paris, and at Marseilles. His solepatrimony was a lawsuit against the town of Aix. He became a clerk inthe publishing house of Hachette, receiving at first the modesthonorarium of twenty-five francs a week. His journalistic career, though marked by immense toil, was neither striking nor remunerative. His essays in criticism, of which he collected and published severalvolumes, were not particularly successful. This was evidently not hisfield. His first stories, _Les Mysteres de Marseilles_ and _Le Voeud'Une Morte_ fell flat, disclosing no indication of remarkable talent. But in 1864 appeared _Les Contes a Ninon_, which attracted wideattention, the public finding them charming. _Les Confessions deClaude_ was published in 1865. In this work Zola had evidently struckhis gait, and when _Therese Raquin_ followed, in 1867, Zola was fullylaunched on his great career as a writer of the school which he called"Naturalist. " _Therese Raquin_ was a powerful study of the effects ofremorse preying upon the mind. In this work the naturalism wasgenerally characterized as "brutal, " yet many critics admitted that itwas absolutely true to nature. It had, in fact, all the gruesomeaccuracy of a clinical lecture. In 1868 came _Madeleine Ferat_, anexemplification of the doctrine of heredity, as inexorable as the"Destiny" of the Greek tragedies of old. 

And now dawned in Zola's teeming brain the vast conception of a"Naturalistic Comedy of Life. " It was to be Balzac "naturalized, " soto speak. The great cycle should run through the whole gamut of humanpassions, foibles, motives and interests. It should consist of humandocuments, of painstaking minuteness of detail and incontrovertibletruth. 

The idea of destiny or heredity permeates all the works of thisportentously ambitious series. Details may be repellant. One shouldnot "smell" a picture, as the artists say. If one does, he gets animpression merely of a small blotch of paint. The vast canvas shouldbe studied as a whole. Frailties are certainly not the whole of humannature. But they cannot be excluded from a comprehensive view of it. The "_Rougon-Macquart_ series" did not carry Zola into the Academy. But the reputation of Moliere has managed to survive a similarexclusion, and so will the fame of Zola, who will be bracketed withBalzac in future classifications of artistic excellence. Fortwenty-two years, from _La Fortune des Rougon_, in 1871, to _DocteurPascal_ in 1893, the series continued to focus the attention of theworld, and Zola was the most talked about man in the literature of theepoch. _La Fortune des Rougon_ was introductory. _La Curee_ discussedsociety under the second Empire. _Le Ventre de Paris_ described thegreat market of Paris. _La Conquete de Plassans_ spoke of life in thesouth of France. _La Faute de l'Abbe Mouret_ treated of the results ofcelibacy. _Son Excellence Eugene Rougon_ dealt with official life. _L'Assommoir_ was a tract against the vice of drunkenness. Some thinkthis the strongest of the naturalist series. Its success wasprodigious. In this the marvellous talent of Zola for minutedescription is evinced. _Une Page d'Amour_ (A Love Episode) appearedin 1878. Of _Nana_, 1880, three hundred thousand copies were quicklysold. _Pot-Bouille_ portrayed the lower _bourgeoisie_ and theirservants. _Au Bonheur des Dames_ treated of the great retail shops. _La Joie de Vivre_ came in 1884. _Germinal_ told of mining and themisery of the proletariat. _L'Oeuvre_ pictured the life of artists andauthors. _La Terre_ portrayed, with startling realism, the lowestpeasant life. _Le Reve_, which followed, was a reaction. It was agraceful idyl. _Le Reve_ was termed "a symphony in white, " and wasconsidered as a concession to the views of the majority of the FrenchAcademy. _La Bete Humaine_ exhausted the details of railway life. _L'Argent_ treats of financial scandals and panics. _La Debacle_, 1892, is a realistic picture of the desperate struggles of theFranco-Prussian war. _Le Docteur Pascal_, 1893, a story of theemotions, wound up the series. Through it all runs the thread ofheredity and environment in their influence on human character. 

But Zola's work was not finished. A series of three romances on citiesshowed a continuance of power. They are _Lourdes_, _Rome_, and_Paris_. After the books on the three cities Zola planned a sort oftetralogy, intended to sum up his social philosophy, which he calledthe "Four Gospels. " _Feconditie_ is a tract against race suicide. Theothers of this series are entitled _Travail_, _Verite_ and _Justice_, the latter projected but not begun. 

The attitude which Zola took in reference to the wretched Dreyfusscandal will add greatly to his fame as a man of courage and a loverof truth. From this filthy mess of perjury and forgery Zola'sintrepidity and devotion to justice arise clear and white as a lilyfrom a cesspool. 

Several of Zola's books have been dramatized. 

Zola died suddenly at his home in Paris, in September, 1902. Hereceived a public funeral, Anatole France delivering an oration at thegrave. There is every indication that Zola's great reputation as anartist and philosopher will increase with the passing of the years. 

C. C. STARKWEATHER. 

 A LOVE EPISODE

 CHAPTER I. 

The night-lamp with a bluish shade was burning on the chimney-piece, behind a book, whose shadows plunged more than half the chamber indarkness. There was a quiet gleam of light cutting across the roundtable and the couch, streaming over the heavy folds of the velvetcurtains, and imparting an azure hue to the mirror of the rosewoodwardrobe placed between the two windows. The quiet simplicity of theroom, the blue tints on the hangings, furniture, and carpet, served atthis hour of night to invest everything with the delightful vaguenessof cloudland. Facing the windows, and within sweep of the shadow, loomed the velvet-curtained bed, a black mass, relieved only by thewhite of the sheets. With hands crossed on her bosom, and breathinglightly, lay Helene, asleep--mother and widow alike personified by thequiet unrestraint of her attitude. 

In the midst of the silence one o'clock chimed from the timepiece. Thenoises of the neighborhood had died away; the dull, distant roar ofthe city was the only sign of life that disturbed those Trocaderoheights. Helene's breathing, so light and gentle, did not ruffle thechaste repose of her bosom. She was in a beauteous sleep, peaceful yetsound, her profile perfect, her nut-brown hair twisted into a knot, and her head leaning forward somewhat, as though she had fallen asleepwhile eagerly listening. At the farther end of the room the open doorof an adjoining closet seemed but a black square in the wall. 

Still there was not a sound. The half-hour struck. The pendulum gavebut a feeble tick-tack amid the general drowsiness that brooded overthe whole chamber. Everything was sleeping, night-lamp and furniturealike; on the table, near an extinguished lamp, some woman's handiworkwas disposed also in slumber. Helene in her sleep retained her air ofgravity and kindliness. 

Two o'clock struck, and the stillness was broken. A deep sigh issuedfrom the darkness of the closet. There was a rustling of linen sheets, and then silence reigned again. Anon labored breathing broke throughthe gloom. Helene had not moved. Suddenly, however, she started up, for the moanings and cries of a child in pain had roused her. Dazedwith sleep, she pressed her hands against her temples, but hearing astifled sob, she leaped from her couch on to the carpet. 

"Jeanne! my Jeanne! what ails you? tell me, love, " she asked; and asthe child remained silent, she murmured, while running towards thenight-light, "Gracious Heaven! why did I go to bed when she was soill?"

Quickly she entered the closet, where deep silence had again fallen. The feeble gleam of the lamp threw but a circular patch of light onthe ceiling. Bending over the iron cot, she could at first make outnothing, but amidst the bed-clothes, tossed about in disorder, the dimlight soon revealed Jeanne, with limbs quite stiff, her head flungback, the muscles of her neck swollen and rigid. Her sweet face wasdistorted, her eyes were open and fixed on the curtain-rod above. 

"My child!" cried Helene. "My God! my God! she is dying. "

Setting down the lamp, Helene touched her daughter with tremblinghands. The throbbing of the pulse and the heart's action seemed tohave died away. The child's puny arms and legs were stretched outconvulsively, and the mother grew frantic at the sight. 

"My child is dying! Help, help!" she stammered. "My child! my child!"

She wandered back to her room, brushing against the furniture, andunconscious of her movements; then, distracted, she again returned tothe little bed, throwing herself on her knees, and ever appealing forhelp. She took Jeanne in her arms, rained kisses on her hair, andstroked her little body, begging her to answer, and seeking one word--only one word--from her silent lips. Where was the pain? Would shehave some of the cooling drink she had liked the other day? Perhapsthe fresh air would revive her? So she rattled on, bent on making thechild speak. 

"Speak to me, Jeanne! speak to me, I entreat you!"

Oh, God! and not to know what to do in this sudden terror born of thenight! There was no light even. Then her ideas grew confused, thoughher supplications to the child continued--at one moment she wasbeseeching, at another answering in her own person. Thus, the paingripped her in the stomach; no, no, it must be in the breast. It wasnothing at all; she need merely keep quiet. Then Helene tried tocollect her scattered senses; but as she felt her daughter stark andstiff in her embrace, her heart sickened unto death. She tried toreason with herself, and to resist the yearning to scream. But all atonce, despite herself, her cry rang out

"Rosalie, Rosalie! my child is dying. Quick, hurry for the doctor. "

Screaming out these words, she ran through dining-room and kitchento a room in the rear, where the maid started up from sleep, givingvent to her surprise. Helene speeded back again. Clad only in hernight-dress she moved about, seemingly not feeling the icy cold of theFebruary night. Pah! this maid would loiter, and her child would die!Back again she hurried through the kitchen to the bedroom before aminute had elapsed. Violently, and in the dark, she slipped on apetticoat, and threw a shawl over her shoulders. The furniture in herway was overturned; the room so still and silent was filled with theechoes of her despair. Then leaving the doors open, she rushed downthree flights of stairs in her slippers, consumed with the thoughtthat she alone could bring back a doctor. 

After the house-porter had opened the door Helene found herself uponthe pavement, with a ringing in her ears and her mind distracted. However, she quickly ran down the Rue Vineuse and pulled the door-bellof Doctor Bodin, who had already tended Jeanne; but a servant--afteran interval which seemed an eternity--informed her that the doctor wasattending a woman in childbed. Helene remained stupefied on thefootway; she knew no other doctor in Passy. For a few moments sherushed about the streets, gazing at the houses. A slight but keen windwas blowing, and she was walking in slippers through the light snowthat had fallen during the evening. Ever before her was her daughter, with the agonizing thought that she was killing her by not finding adoctor at once. Then, as she retraced her steps along the Rue Vineuse, she rang the bell of another house. She would inquire, at all events;some one would perhaps direct her. She gave a second tug at the bell;but no one seemed to come. The wind meanwhile played with herpetticoat, making it cling to her legs, and tossed her dishevelledhair. 

At last a servant answered her summons. "Doctor Deberle was in bedasleep. " It was a doctor's house at which she had rung, so Heaven hadnot abandoned her! Straightway, intent upon entering, she pushed theservant aside, still repeating her prayer:

"My child, my child is dying! Oh, tell him he must come!"

The house was small and seemed full of hangings. She reached the firstfloor, despite the servant's opposition, always answering his protestwith the words, "My child is dying!" In the apartment she entered shewould have been content to wait; but the moment she heard the doctorstirring in the next room she drew near and appealed to him throughthe doorway:

"Oh, sir, come at once, I beseech you. My child is dying!"

When the doctor at last appeared in a short coat and without aneckcloth, she dragged him away without allowing him to finishdressing. He at once recognized her as a resident in the next-doorhouse, and one of his own tenants; so when he induced her to cross agarden--to shorten the way by using a side-door between the two houses--memory suddenly awoke within her. 

"True, you are a doctor!" she murmured, "and I knew it. But I wasdistracted. Oh, let us hurry!"

On the staircase she wished him to go first. She could not haveadmitted the Divinity to her home in a more reverent manner. UpstairsRosalie had remained near the child, and had lit the large lamp on thetable. After the doctor had entered the room he took up this lamp andcast its light upon the body of the child, which retained its painfulrigidity; the head, however, had slipped forward, and nervoustwitchings were ceaselessly drawing the face. For a minute he lookedon in silence, his lips compressed. Helene anxiously watched him, andon noticing the mother's imploring glance, he muttered: "It will benothing. But she must not lie here. She must have air. "

Helene grasped her child in a strong embrace, and carried her away onher shoulder. She could have kissed the doctor's hand for his goodtidings, and a wave of happiness rippled through her. Scarcely, however, had Jeanne been placed in the larger bed than her poor littleframe was again seized with violent convulsions. The doctor hadremoved the shade from the lamp, and a white light was streamingthrough the room. Then, opening a window, he ordered Rosalie to dragthe bed away from the curtains. Helene's heart was again filled withanguish. "Oh, sir, she is dying, " she stammered. "Look! look! Ah! Iscarcely recognize her. "

The doctor did not reply, but watched the paroxysm attentively. 

"Step into the alcove, " he at last exclaimed. "Hold her hands toprevent her from tearing herself. There now, gently, quietly! Don'tmake yourself uneasy. The fit must be allowed to run its course. "

They both bent over the bed, supporting and holding Jeanne, whoselimbs shot out with sudden jerks. The doctor had buttoned up his coatto hide his bare neck, and Helene's shoulders had till now beenenveloped in her shawl; but Jeanne in her struggles dragged a cornerof the shawl away, and unbuttoned the top of the coat. Still they didnot notice it; they never even looked at one another. 

[Illustration: Jeanne's Illness]

At last the convulsion ceased, and the little one then appeared tosink into deep prostration. Doctor Deberle was evidently ill at ease, though he had assured the mother that there was no danger. He kept hisgaze fixed on the sufferer, and put some brief questions to Helene asshe stood by the bedside. 

"How old is the child?"

"Eleven years and six months, sir, " was the reply. 

Silence again fell between them. He shook his head, and stooped toraise one of Jeanne's lowered eyelids and examine the mucus. Then heresumed his questions, but without raising his eyes to Helene. 

"Did she have convulsions when she was a baby?"

"Yes, sir; but they left her after she reached her sixth birthday. Ah!she is very delicate. For some days past she had seemed ill at ease. She was at times taken with cramp, and plunged in a stupor. "

"Do you know of any members of your family that have suffered fromnervous affections?"

"I don't know. My mother was carried off by consumption. "

Here shame made her pause. She could not confess that she had agrandmother who was an inmate of a lunatic asylum. [*] There wassomething tragic connected with all her ancestry. 

[*] This is Adelaide Fouque, otherwise Aunt Dide, the ancestress of the Rougon-Macquart family, whose early career is related in the "Fortune of the Rougons, " whilst her death is graphically described in the pages of "Dr. Pascal. "

"Take care! the convulsions are coming on again!" now hastilyexclaimed the doctor. 

Jeanne had just opened her eyes, and for a moment she gazed around herwith a vacant look, never speaking a word. Her glance then grew fixed, her body was violently thrown backwards, and her limbs becamedistended and rigid. Her skin, fiery-red, all at once turned livid. Her pallor was the pallor of death; the convulsions began once more. 

"Do not loose your hold of her, " said the doctor. "Take her otherhand!"

He ran to the table, where, on entering, he had placed a smallmedicine-case. He came back with a bottle, the contents of which hemade Jeanne inhale; but the effect was like that of a terrible lash;the child gave such a violent jerk that she slipped from her mother'shands. 

"No, no, don't give her ether, " exclaimed Helene, warned by the odor. "It drives her mad. "

The two had now scarcely strength enough to keep the child undercontrol. Her frame was racked and distorted, raised by the heels andthe nape of the neck, as if bent in two. But she fell back again andbegan tossing from one side of the bed to the other. Her fists wereclenched, her thumbs bent against the palms of her hands. At times shewould open the latter, and, with fingers wide apart, grasp at phantombodies in the air, as though to twist them. She touched her mother'sshawl and fiercely clung to it. But Helene's greatest grief was thatshe no longer recognized her daughter. The suffering angel, whose facewas usually so sweet, was transformed in every feature, while her eyesswam, showing balls of a nacreous blue. 

"Oh, do something, I implore you!" she murmured. "My strength isexhausted, sir. "

She had just remembered how the child of a neighbor at Marseilles haddied of suffocation in a similar fit. Perhaps from feelings of pitythe doctor was deceiving her. Every moment she believed she feltJeanne's last breath against her face; for the child's haltingrespiration seemed suddenly to cease. Heartbroken and overwhelmed withterror, Helene then burst into tears, which fell on the body of herchild, who had thrown off the bedclothes. 

The doctor meantime was gently kneading the base of the neck with hislong supple fingers. Gradually the fit subsided, and Jeanne, after afew slight twitches, lay there motionless. She had fallen back in themiddle of the bed, with limbs outstretched, while her head, supportedby the pillow, inclined towards her bosom. One might have thought heran infant Jesus. Helene stooped and pressed a long kiss on her brow. 

"Is it over?" she asked in a whisper. "Do you think she'll haveanother fit?"

The doctor made an evasive gesture, and then replied:

"In any case the others will be less violent. "

He had asked Rosalie for a glass and water-bottle. Half-filling theglass with water, he took up two fresh medicine phials, and countedout a number of drops. Helene assisted in raising the child's head, and the doctor succeeded in pouring a spoonful of the liquid betweenthe clenched teeth. The white flame of the lamp was leaping up highand clear, revealing the disorder of the chamber's furnishings. Helene's garments, thrown on the back of an arm-chair before sheslipped into bed, had now fallen, and were littering the carpet. Thedoctor had trodden on her stays, and had picked them up lest he mightagain find them in his way. An odor of vervain stole through the room. The doctor himself went for the basin, and soaked a linen cloth in it, which he then pressed to Jeanne's temples. 

"Oh, madame, you'll take cold!" expostulated Rosalie as she stoodthere shivering. "Perhaps the window might be shut? The air is tooraw. "

"No, no!" cried Helene; "leave the window open. Should it not be so?"she appealed to the doctor. 

The wind entered in slight puffs, rustling the curtains to and fro;but she was quite unconscious of it. Yet the shawl had slipped off hershoulders, and her hair had become unwound, some wanton tressessweeping down to her hips. She had left her arms free and uncovered, that she might be the more ready; she had forgotten all, absorbedentirely in her love for her child. And on his side, the doctor, busywith his work, no longer thought of his unbuttoned coat, or of theshirt-collar that Jeanne's clutch had torn away. 

"Raise her up a little, " said he to Helene. "No, no, not in that way!Give me your hand. "

He took her hand and placed it under the child's head. He wished togive Jeanne another spoonful of the medicine. Then he called Heleneclose to him, made use of her as his assistant; and she obeyed himreverently on seeing that her daughter was already more calm. 

"Now, come, " he said. "You must let her head lean against yourshoulder, while I listen. "

Helene did as he bade her, and he bent over her to place his earagainst Jeanne's bosom. He touched her bare shoulder with his cheek, and as the pulsation of the child's heart struck his ear he could alsohave heard the throbbing of the mother's breast. As he rose up hisbreath mingled with Helene's. 

"There is nothing wrong there, " was the quiet remark that filled herwith delight. "Lay her down again. We must not worry her more. "

However, another, though much less violent, paroxysm followed. FromJeanne's lips burst some broken words. At short intervals two freshattacks seemed about to convulse her, and then a great prostration, which again appeared to alarm the doctor, fell on the child. He hadplaced her so that her head lay high, with the clothes carefullytucked under her chin; and for nearly an hour he remained therewatching her, as though awaiting the return of a healthy respiration. On the other side of the bed Helene also waited, never moving a limb. 

Little by little a great calm settled on Jeanne's face. The lamp casta sunny light upon it, and it regained its exquisite though somewhatlengthy oval. Jeanne's fine eyes, now closed, had large, bluish, transparent lids, which veiled--one could divine it--a sombre, flashing glance. A light breathing came from her slender nose, whileround her somewhat large mouth played a vague smile. She slept thus, amidst her outspread tresses, which were inky black. 

"It has all passed away now, " said the doctor in a whisper; and heturned to arrange his medicine bottles prior to leaving. 

"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Helene, approaching him, "don't leave me yet;wait a few minutes. Another fit might come on, and you, you alone, have saved her!"

He signed to her that there was nothing to fear; yet he tarried, withthe idea of tranquillizing her. She had already sent Rosalie to bed;and now the dawn soon broke, still and grey, over the snow whichwhitened the housetops. The doctor proceeded to close the window, andin the deep quiet the two exchanged a few whispers. 

"There is nothing seriously wrong with her, I assure you, " said he;"only with one so young great care must be taken. You must see thather days are spent quietly and happily, and without shocks of anykind. "

"She is so delicate and nervous, " replied Helene after a moment'spause. "I cannot always control her. For the most trifling reasons sheis so overcome by joy or sorrow that I grow alarmed. She loves me witha passion, a jealousy, which makes her burst into tears when I caressanother child. "

"So, so--delicate, nervous, and jealous, " repeated the doctor as heshook his head. "Doctor Bodin has attended her, has he not? I'll havea talk with him about her. We shall have to adopt energetic treatment. She has reached an age that is critical in one of her sex. "

Recognizing the interest he displayed, Helene gave vent to hergratitude. "How I must thank you, sir, for the great trouble you havetaken!"

The loudness of her tones frightened her, however; she might have wokeJeanne, and she bent down over the bed. But no; the child was soundasleep, with rosy cheeks, and a vague smile playing round her lips. The air of the quiet chamber was charged with languor. The whilomdrowsiness, as if born again of relief, once more seized upon thecurtains, furniture, and littered garments. Everything was steepedrestfully in the early morning light as it entered through the twowindows. 

Helene again stood up close to the bed; on the other side was thedoctor, and between them lay Jeanne, lightly sleeping. 

"Her father was frequently ill, " remarked Helene softly, continuingher answer to his previous question. "I myself enjoy the best ofhealth. "

The doctor, who had not yet looked at her, raised his eyes, and couldscarcely refrain from smiling, so hale and hearty was she in everyway. She greeted his gaze with her own sweet and quiet smile. Herhappiness lay in her good health. 

However, his looks were still bent on her. Never had he seen suchclassical beauty. Tall and commanding, she was a nut-brown Juno, of anut-brown sunny with gleams of gold. When she slowly turned her head, its profile showed the severe purity of a statue. Her grey eyes andpearly teeth lit up her whole face. Her chin, rounded and somewhatpronounced, proved her to be possessed of commonsense and firmness. But what astonished the doctor was the superbness of her whole figure. She stood there, a model of queenliness, chastity, and modesty. 

On her side also she scanned him for a moment. Doctor Deberle's yearswere thirty-five; his face was clean-shaven and a little long; he hadkeen eyes and thin lips. As she gazed on him she noticed for the firsttime that his neck was bare. Thus they remained face to face, withJeanne asleep between them. The distance which but a short time beforehad appeared immense, now seemed to be dwindling away. Then Heleneslowly wrapped the shawl about her shoulders again, while the doctorhastened to button his coat at the neck. 

"Mamma! mamma!" Jeanne stammered in her sleep. She was waking, and onopening her eyes she saw the doctor and became uneasy. 

"Mamma, who's that?" was her instant question; but her mother kissedher, and replied: "Go to sleep, darling, you haven't been well. It'sonly a friend. "

The child seemed surprised; she did not remember anything. Drowsinesswas coming over her once more, and she fell asleep again, murmuringtenderly: "I'm going to by-by. Good-night, mamma, dear. If he is yourfriend he will be mine. "

The doctor had removed his medicine-case, and, with a silent bow, heleft the room. Helene listened for a while to the child's breathing, and then, seated on the edge of the bed, she became oblivious toeverything around her; her looks and thoughts wandering far away. Thelamp, still burning, was paling in the growing sunlight. 

 CHAPTER II. 

Next day Helene thought it right and proper to pay a visit of thanksto Doctor Deberle. The abrupt fashion in which she had compelled himto follow her, and the remembrance of the whole night which he hadspent with Jeanne, made her uneasy, for she realized that he had donemore than is usually compassed within a doctor's visit. Still, for twodays she hesitated to make her call, feeling a strange repugnancetowards such a step. For this she could give herself no reasons. Itwas the doctor himself who inspired her with this hesitancy; onemorning she met him, and shrunk from his notice as though she were achild. At this excess of timidity she was much annoyed. Her quiet, upright nature protested against the uneasiness which was takingpossession of her. She decided, therefore, to go and thank the doctorthat very day. 

Jeanne's attack had taken place during the small hours of Wednesdaymorning; it was now Saturday, and the child was quite well again. Doctor Bodin, whose fears concerning her had prompted him to make anearly call, spoke of Doctor Deberle with the respect that an olddoctor with a meagre income pays to another in the same district, whois young, rich, and already possessed of a reputation. He did notforget to add, however, with an artful smile, that the fortune hadbeen bequeathed by the elder Deberle, a man whom all Passy held inveneration. The son had only been put to the trouble of inheritingfifteen hundred thousand francs, together with a splendid practice. "He is, though, a very smart fellow, " Doctor Bodin hastened to add, "and I shall be honored by having a consultation with him about theprecious health of my little friend Jeanne!"

About three o'clock Helene made her way downstairs with her daughter, and had to take but a few steps along the Rue Vineuse before ringingat the next-door house. Both mother and daughter still wore deepmourning. A servant, in dress-coat and white tie, opened the door. Helene easily recognized the large entrance-hall, with its Orientalhangings; on each side of it, however, there were now flower-stands, brilliant with a profusion of blossoms. The servant having admittedthem to a small drawing-room, the hangings and furniture of which wereof a mignonette hue, stood awaiting their pleasure, and Helene gaveher name--Madame Grandjean. 

Thereupon the footman pushed open the door of a drawing-room, furnished in yellow and black, of dazzling effect, and, moving aside, announced:

"Madame Grandjean!"

Helene, standing on the threshold, started back. She had just noticedat the other end of the room a young woman seated near the fireplaceon a narrow couch which was completely covered by her ample skirts. Facing her sat an elderly person, who had retained her bonnet andshawl, and was evidently paying a visit. 

"I beg pardon, " exclaimed Helene. "I wished to see Doctor Deberle. "

She had made the child enter the room before her, and now took her bythe hand again. She was both astonished and embarrassed in meetingthis young lady. Why had she not asked for the doctor? She well knewhe was married. 

Madame Deberle was just finishing some story, in a quick and rathershrill voice. 

"Oh! it's marvellous, marvellous! She dies with wonderful realism. Sheclutches at her bosom like this, throws back her head, and her faceturns green. I declare you ought to see her, Mademoiselle Aurelie!"

Then, rising up, she sailed towards the doorway, rustling her skirtsterribly. 

"Be so kind as to walk in, madame, " she said with charminggraciousness. "My husband is not at home, but I shall be delighted toreceive you, I assure you. This must be the pretty little girl who wasso ill a few nights ago. Sit down for a moment, I beg of you. "

Helene was forced to accept the invitation, while Jeanne timidlyperched herself on the edge of another chair. Madame Deberle againsank down on her little sofa, exclaiming with a pretty laugh, "Yes, this is my day. I receive every Saturday, you see, and Pierrethen announces all comers. A week or two ago he ushered in a colonelsuffering from the gout. "

"How silly you are, my dear Juliette!" expostulated MademoiselleAurelie, the elderly lady, an old friend in straitened circumstances, who had seen her come into the world. 

There was a short silence, and Helene gazed round at the luxury of theapartment, with its curtains and chairs in black and gold, glitteringlike constellations. Flowers decorated mantel-shelf, piano, and tablesalike, and the clear light streamed through the windows from thegarden, in which could be seen the leafless trees and bare soil. Theroom had almost a hot-house temperature; in the fireplace one largelog was glowing with intense heat. After another glance Helenerecognized that the gaudy colors had a happy effect. Madame Deberle'shair was inky-black, and her skin of a milky whiteness. She was short, plump, slow in her movements, and withal graceful. Amidst all thegolden decorations, her white face assumed a vermeil tint under herheavy, sombre tresses. Helene really admired her. 

"Convulsions are so terrible, " broke in Madame Deberle. "My Lucien hadthem when a mere baby. How uneasy you must have been, madame! However, the dear little thing appears to be quite well now. "

As she drawled out these words she kept her eyes on Helene, whosesuperb beauty amazed and delighted her. Never had she seen a womanwith so queenly an air in the black garments which draped the widow'scommanding figure. Her admiration found vent in an involuntary smile, while she exchanged glances with Mademoiselle Aurelie. Theiradmiration was so ingenuously and charmingly expressed, that a faintsmile also rippled over Helene's face. 

Then Madame Deberle stretched herself on the sofa. "You were not atthe first night at the Vaudeville yesterday, madame?" she asked, asshe played with the fan that hung from her waist. 

"I never go to the theatre, " was Helene's reply. 

"Oh! little Noemi was simply marvellous! Her death scene is sorealistic! She clutches her bosom like this, throws back her head, andher face turns green. Oh! the effect is prodigious. "

Thereupon she entered into a minute criticism of the actress'splaying, which she upheld against the world; and then she passed tothe other topics of the day--a fine art exhibition, at which she hadseen some most remarkable paintings; a stupid novel about which toomuch fuss was being made; a society intrigue which she spoke of toMademoiselle Aurelie in veiled language. And so she went on from onesubject to another, without wearying, her tongue ever ready, as thoughthis social atmosphere were peculiarly her own. Helene, a stranger tosuch society, was content to listen, merely interjecting a remark orbrief reply every now and then. 

At last the door was again thrown open and the footman announced:"Madame de Chermette! Madame Tissot!"

Two ladies entered, magnificently dressed. Madame Deberle rose eagerlyto meet them, and the train of her black silk gown, heavily deckedwith trimmings, trailed so far behind her that she had to kick it outof her way whenever she happened to turn round. A confused babel ofgreetings in shrill voices arose. 

"Oh! how kind of you! I declare I never see you!"

"You know we come about that lottery. "

"Yes: I know, I know. "

"Oh! we cannot sit down. We have to call at twenty houses yet. "

"Come now, you are not going to run away at once!"

And then the visitors finished by sitting down on the edge of a couch;the chatter beginning again, shriller than ever. 

"Well! what do you think of yesterday at the Vaudeville?"

"Oh! it was splendid!"

"You know she unfastens her dress and lets down her hair. All theeffect springs from that. "

"People say that she swallows something to make her green. "

"No, no, every action is premeditated; but she had to invent and studythem all, in the first place. "

"It's wonderful. "

The two ladies rose and made their exit, and the room regained itstranquil peacefulness. From some hyacinths on the mantel-shelf waswafted an all-pervading perfume. For a time one could hear the noisytwittering of some sparrows quarrelling on the lawn. Before resumingher seat, Madame Deberle proceeded to draw down the embroidered tulleblind of a window facing her, and then returned to her sofa in themellowed, golden light of the room. 

"I beg pardon, " she now said. "We have had quite an invasion. "

Then, in an affectionate way, she entered into conversation withHelene. She seemed to know some details of her history, doubtless fromthe gossip of her servants. With a boldness that was yet full of tact, and appeared instinct with much friendliness, she spoke to Helene ofher husband, and of his sad death at the Hotel du Var, in the Rue deRichelieu. 

"And you had just arrived, hadn't you? You had never been in Parisbefore. It must be awful to be plunged into mourning, in a strangeroom, the day after a long journey, and when one doesn't know a singleplace to go to. "

Helene assented with a slow nod. Yes, she had spent some very bitterhours. The disease which carried off her husband had abruptly declareditself on the day after their arrival, just as they were going outtogether. She knew none of the streets, and was wholly unaware whatdistrict she was in. For eight days she had remained at the bedside ofthe dying man, hearing the rumble of Paris beneath her window, feelingshe was alone, deserted, lost, as though plunged in the depths of anabyss. When she stepped out on the pavement for the first time, shewas a widow. The mere recalling of that bare room, with its rows ofmedicine bottles, and with the travelling trunks standing aboutunpacked, still made her shudder. 

"Was your husband, as I've been told, nearly twice your age?" askedMadame Deberle with an appearance of profound interest, whileMademoiselle Aurelie cocked her ears so as not to lose a syllable ofthe conversation. 

"Oh, no!" replied Helene. "He was scarcely six years older. "

Then she ventured to enter into the story of her marriage, telling ina few brief sentences how her husband had fallen deeply in love withher while she was living with her father, Monsieur Mouret, a hatter inthe Rue des Petites-Maries, at Marseilles; how the Grandjean family, who were rich sugar-refiners, were bitterly opposed to the match, onaccount of her poverty. She spoke, too, of the ill-omened and secretwedding after the usual legal formalities, and of their hand-to-mouthexistence, till the day an uncle on dying left them some ten thousandfrancs a year. It was then that Grandjean, within whom an intensehatred of Marseilles was growing, had decided on coming to Paris, tolive there for good. 

"And how old were you when you were married?" was Madame Deberle'snext question. 

"Seventeen. "

"You must have been very beautiful. "

The conversation suddenly ceased, for Helene had not seemed to hearthe remark. 

"Madame Manguelin!" announced the footman. 

A young, retiring woman, evidently ill at ease, was ushered in. MadameDeberle scarcely rose. It was one of her dependents, who had called tothank her for some service performed. The visitor only remained for afew minutes, and left the room with a courtesy. 

Madame Deberle then resumed the conversation, and spoke of Abbe Jouve, with whom both were acquainted. The Abbe was a meek officiating priestat Notre-Dame-de-Grace, the parish church of Passy; however, hischarity was such that he was more beloved and more respectfullyhearkened to than any other priest in the district. 

"Oh, he has such pious eloquence!" exclaimed Madame Deberle, with asanctimonious look. 

"He has been very kind to us, " said Helene. "My husband had formerlyknown him at Marseilles. The moment he heard of my misfortune he tookcharge of everything. To him we owe our settling in Passy. "

"He has a brother, hasn't he?" questioned Juliette. 

"Yes, a step-brother, for his mother married again. Monsieur Rambaudwas also acquainted with my husband. He has started a large businessin the Rue de Rambuteau, where he sells oils and other Southernproduce. I believe he makes a large amount of money by it. " And sheadded, with a laugh: "The Abbe and his brother make up my court. "

Jeanne, sitting on the edge of her chair, and wearied to death, nowcast an impatient look at her mother. Her long, delicate, lamb-likeface wore a pained expression, as if she disliked all thisconversation; and she appeared at times to sniff the heavy, oppressiveodors floating in the room, while casting suspicious side-glances atthe furniture, as though her own exquisite sensibility warned her ofsome undefined dangers. Finally, however, she turned a look oftyrannical worship on her mother. 

Madame Deberle noticed the child's uneasiness. 

"Here's a little girl, " she said, "who feels tired at being serious, like a grown-up person. There are some picture-books on the table, dear; they will amuse you. "

Jeanne took up an album, but her eyes strayed from it to glanceimploringly at her mother. Helene, charmed by her hostess's excessivekindness, did not move; there was nothing of the fidget in her, andshe would of her own accord remain seated for hours. However, as theservant announced three ladies in succession--Madame Berthier, Madamede Guiraud, and Madame Levasseur--she thought she ought to rise. 

"Oh! pray stop, " exclaimed Madame Deberle; "I must show you my son. "

The semi-circle round the fireplace was increasing in size. The ladieswere all gossiping at the same time. One of them declared that she wascompletely broken down, as for five days she had not gone to bed tillfour o'clock in the morning. Another indulged in a diatribe againstwet nurses; she could no longer find one who was honest. Next theconversation fell on dressmakers. Madame Deberle affirmed no womantailor could fit you properly; a man was requisite. Two of the ladies, however, were mumbling something under their breath, and, a silenceintervening, two or three words became audible. Every one then brokeinto a laugh, while languidly waving their fans. 

"Monsieur Malignon!" announced the servant. 

A tall young man, dressed in good style, was ushered in. Someexclamations greeted him. Madame Deberle, not taking the trouble torise, stretched out her hand and inquired: "Well! what of yesterday atthe Vaudeville?"

"Vile!" was his reply. 

"What! vile! She's marvellous when she clutches her bosom and throwsback her head--"

"Stop! stop! The whole thing is loathsome in its realism. "

And then quite a dispute commenced. It was easy to talk of realism, but the young man would have no realism at all. 

"I would not have it in anything, you hear!" said he, raising hisvoice. "No, not in anything! it degrades art. "

People would soon be seeing some fine things on the stage, indeed! Whydidn't Noemi follow out her actions to their logical conclusion? Andhe illustrated his remark with a gesture which quite scandalized theladies. Oh, how horrible! However, when Madame Deberle had declaredthat the actress produced a great effect, and Madame Levasseur hadrelated how a lady had fainted in the balcony, everybody agreed thatthe affair was a great success; and with this the discussion stoppedshort. 

The young man sat in an arm-chair, with his legs stretched out amongthe ladies' flowing skirts. He seemed to be quite at home in thedoctor's house. He had mechanically plucked a flower from a vase, andwas tearing it to pieces with his teeth. Madame Deberle interruptedhim:

"Have you read that novel which--"

He did not allow her to finish, but replied, with a superior air, thathe only read two novels in the year. 

As for the exhibition of paintings at the Art Club, it was not worthtroubling about; and then, every topic being exhausted, he rose andleaned over Juliette's little sofa, conversing with her in a lowvoice, while the other ladies continued chatting together in ananimated manner. 

At length: "Dear me! he's gone, " exclaimed Madame Berthier turninground. "I met him only an hour ago in Madame Robinot's drawing-room. "

"Yes, and he is now going to visit Madame Lecomte, " said MadameDeberle. "He goes about more than any other man in Paris. " She turnedto Helene, who had been following the scene, and added: "A verydistinguished young fellow he is, and we like him very much. He hassome interest in a stockbroking business; he's very rich besides, andwell posted in everything. "

The other ladies, however, were now going off. 

"Good-bye, dear madame. I rely upon you for Wednesday. "

"Yes, to be sure; Wednesday. "

"Oh, by the way, will you be at that evening party? One doesn't knowwhom one may meet. If you go, I'll go. "

"Ah, well! I'll go, I promise you. Give my best regards to Monsieur deGuiraud. "

When Madame Deberle returned she found Helene standing in the middleof the drawing-room. Jeanne had drawn close to her mother, whose handsshe firmly grasped; and thus clinging to her caressingly and almostconvulsively, she was drawing her little by little towards thedoorway. 

"Ah, I was forgetting!" exclaimed the lady of the house; and ringingthe bell for the servant, she said to him: "Pierre, tell Miss Smithsonto bring Lucien here. "

During the short interval of waiting that ensued the door was againopened, but this time in a familiar fashion and without any formalannouncement. A good-looking girl of some sixteen years of age enteredin company with an old man, short of stature but with a rubicund, chubby face. 

"Good-day, sister, " was the girl's greeting, as she kissed MadameDeberle. 

"Good-day, Pauline! good-day, father!" replied the doctor's wife. 

Mademoiselle Aurelie, who had not stirred from her seat beside thefire, rose to exchange greetings with Monsieur Letellier. He owned anextensive silk warehouse on the Boulevard des Capucines. Since hiswife's death he had been taking his younger daughter about everywhere, in search of a rich husband for her. 

"Were you at the Vaudeville last night?" asked Pauline. 

"Oh, it was simply marvellous!" repeated Juliette in parrot-fashion, as, standing before a mirror, she rearranged a rebellious curl. 

"It is annoying to be so young; one can't go to anything!" saidPauline, pouting like a spoiled child. "I went with papa to thetheatre-door at midnight, to find out how the piece had taken. "

"Yes, and we tumbled upon Malignon, " said the father. 

"He was extremely pleased with it. "

"Really!" exclaimed Juliette. "He was here a minute ago, and declaredit vile. One never knows how to take him. "

"Have you had many visitors to-day?" asked Pauline, rushing off toanother subject. 

"Oh, several ladies; quite a crowd! The room was never once empty. I'mdead-beat--"

Here she abruptly broke off, remembering she had a formal introductionto make

"My father, my sister--Madame Grandjean. "

The conversation was turning on children and the ailments which givemothers so much worry when Miss Smithson, an English governess, appeared with a little boy clinging to her hand. Madame Deberlescolded her in English for having kept them waiting. 

"Ah! here's my little Lucien!" exclaimed Pauline as she dropped on herknees before the child, with a great rustling of skirts. 

"Now, now, leave him alone!" said Juliette. "Come here, Lucien; comeand say good-day to this little lady. "

The boy came forward very sheepishly. He was no more than seven yearsold, fat and dumpy, and dressed as coquettishly as a doll. As he sawthat they were all looking at him with smiles, he stopped short, andsurveyed Jeanne, his blue eyes wide open with astonishment. 

"Go on!" urged his mother. 

He turned his eyes questioningly on her and advanced a step, evincingall the sullenness peculiar to lads of his age, his head lowered, histhick lips pouting, and his eyebrows bent into a growing frown. Jeannemust have frightened him with the serious look she wore standing therein her black dress. She had not ceased holding her mother's hand, andwas nervously pressing her fingers on the bare part of the arm betweenthe sleeve and glove. With head lowered she awaited Lucien's approachuneasily, like a young and timid savage, ready to fly from his caress. But a gentle push from her mother prompted her to step forward. 

"Little lady, you will have to kiss him first, " Madame Deberle saidlaughingly. "Ladies always have to begin with him. Oh! the littlestupid. "

"Kiss him, Jeanne, " urged Helene. 

The child looked up at her mother; and then, as if conquered by thebashful looks of the little noodle, seized with sudden pity as shegazed on his good-natured face, so dreadfully confused--she smileddivinely. A sudden wave of hidden tenderness rose within her andbrightened her features, and she whispered: "Willingly, mamma!"

Then, taking Lucien under the armpits, almost lifting him from theground, she gave him a hearty kiss on each cheek. He had no furtherhesitation in embracing her. 

"Bravo! capital!" exclaimed the onlookers. 

With a bow Helene turned to leave, accompanied to the door by MadameDeberle. 

"I beg you, madame, " said she, "to present my heartiest thanks to thedoctor. He relieved me of such dreadful anxiety the other night. "

"Is Henri not at home?" broke in Monsieur Letellier. 

"No, he will be away some time yet, " was Juliette's reply. "But you'renot going away; you'll dine with us, " she continued, addressingMademoiselle Aurelie, who had risen as if to leave with MadameGrandjean. 

The old maid with each Saturday expected a similar invitation, thendecided to relieve herself of shawl and bonnet. The heat in thedrawing-room was intense, and Monsieur Letellier hastened to open awindow, at which he remained standing, struck by the sight of a lilacbush which was already budding. Pauline, meantime, had begun playfullyrunning after Lucien behind the chairs and couches, left in confusionby the visitors. 

On the threshold Madame Deberle held out her hand to Helene with afrank and friendly movement. 

"You will allow me, " said she. "My husband spoke to me about you, andI felt drawn to you. Your bereavement, your lonely life--in short, Iam very glad to have seen you, and you must not be long in comingback. "

"I give you my promise, and I am obliged to you, " said Helene, movedby these tokens of affection from a woman whom she had imagined ratherflighty. They clasped hands, and each looked into the other's facewith a happy smile. Juliette's avowal of her sudden friendship wasgiven with a caressing air. "You are too lovely not to be loved!" shesaid. 

Helene broke into a merry laugh, for her beauty never engaged herthoughts, and she called Jeanne, whose eyes were busy watching thepranks of Lucien and Pauline. But Madame Deberle detained the girl fora moment longer. 

"You are good friends henceforth, " she said; "you must just say _aurevoir_. "

Thereupon the two children blew one another a kiss with theirfinger-tips. 

 CHAPTER III. 

Every Tuesday Helene had Monsieur Rambaud and Abbe Jouve to dine withher. It was they who, during the early days of her bereavement, hadbroken in on her solitude, and drawn up their chairs to her table withfriendly freedom; their object being to extricate her, at least once aweek, from the solitude in which she lived. The Tuesday dinners becameestablished institutions, and the partakers in these little feastsappeared punctually at seven o'clock, serenely happy in dischargingwhat they deemed a duty. 

That Tuesday Helene was seated at the window, profiting by the lastgleams of the twilight to finish some needle work, pending the arrivalof her guests. She here spent her days in pleasant peacefulness. Thenoises of the street died away before reaching such a height. Sheloved this large, quiet chamber, with its substantial luxury, itsrosewood furniture and blue velvet curtains. When her friends hadattended to her installation, she not having to trouble aboutanything, she had at first somewhat suffered from all this sombreluxury, in preparing which Monsieur Rambaud had realized his ideal ofcomfort, much to the admiration of his brother, who had declined thetask. She was not long, however, in feeling happy in a home in which, as in her heart, all was sound and simple. Her only enjoyment duringher long hours of work was to gaze before her at the vast horizon, thehuge pile of Paris, stretching its roofs, like billows, as far as theeye could reach. Her solitary corner overlooked all that immensity. 

"Mamma, I can no longer see, " said Jeanne, seated near her on a lowchair. And then, dropping her work, the child gazed at Paris, whichwas darkening over with the shadows of night. She rarely romped about, and her mother even had to exert authority to induce her to go out. Inaccordance with Doctor Bodin's strict injunction, Helene made herstroll with her two hours each day in the Bois de Boulogne, and thiswas their only promenade; in eighteen months they had not gone threetimes into Paris. [*] Nowhere was Jeanne so evidently happy as in theirlarge blue room. Her mother had been obliged to renounce her intentionof having her taught music, for the sound of an organ in the silentstreets made her tremble and drew tears from her eyes. Her favoriteoccupation was to assist her mother in sewing linen for the childrenof the Abbe's poor. 

[*] Passy and the Trocadero are now well inside Paris, but at the time fixed for this story they were beyond the _barrieres_. 

Night had quite fallen when the lamp was brought in by Rosalie, who, fresh from the glare of her range, looked altogether upset. Tuesday'sdinner was the one event of the week, which put things topsy-turvy. 

"Aren't the gentlemen coming here to-night, madame?" she inquired. 

Helene looked at the timepiece: "It's a quarter to seven; they will behere soon, " she replied. 

Rosalie was a gift from Abbe Jouve, who had met her at the station onthe day she arrived from Orleans, so that she did not know a singlestreet in Paris. A village priest, an old schoolmate of Abbe Jouve's, had sent her to him. She was dumpy and plump, with a round face underher narrow cap, thick black hair, a flat nose, and deep red lips; andshe was expert in preparing savory dishes, having been brought up atthe parsonage by her godmother, servant to the village priest. 

"Here is Monsieur Rambaud at last!" she exclaimed, rushing to open thedoor before there was even a ring. 

Full and broad-shouldered, Monsieur Rambaud entered, displaying anexpansive countenance like that of a country notary. His forty-fiveyears had already silvered his hair, but his large blue eyes retaineda wondering, artless, gentle expression, akin to a child's. 

"And here's his reverence; everybody has come now!" resumed Rosalie, as she opened the door once more. 

Whilst Monsieur Rambaud pressed Helene's hand and sat down withoutspeaking, smiling like one who felt quite at home, Jeanne threw herarms round the Abbe's neck. 

"Good-evening, dear friend, " said she. "I've been so ill!"

"So ill, my darling?"

The two men at once showed their anxiety, the Abbe especially. He wasa short, spare man, with a large head and awkward manners, and dressedin the most careless way; but his eyes, usually half-closed, nowopened to their full extent, all aglow with exquisite tenderness. Jeanne relinquished one of her hands to him, while she gave the otherto Monsieur Rambaud. Both held her and gazed at her with troubledlooks. Helene was obliged to relate the story of her illness, and theAbbe was on the point of quarrelling with her for not having warnedhim of it. And then they each questioned her. "The attack was quiteover now? She had not had another, had she?" The mother smiled as shelistened. 

"You are even fonder of her than I am, and I think you'll frighten mein the end, " she replied. "No, she hasn't been troubled again, exceptthat she has felt some pains in her limbs and had some headaches. Butwe shall get rid of these very soon. "

The maid then entered to announce that dinner was ready. 

The table, sideboard, and eight chairs furnishing the dining-room wereof mahogany. The curtains of red reps had been drawn close by Rosalie, and a hanging lamp of white porcelain within a plain brass ringlighted up the tablecloth, the carefully-arranged plates, and thetureen of steaming soup. Each Tuesday's dinner brought round the sameremarks, but on this particular day Dr. Deberle served naturally as asubject of conversation. Abbe Jouve lauded him to the skies, though heknew that he was no church-goer. He spoke of him, however, as a man ofupright character, charitable to a fault, a good father, and a goodhusband--in fact, one who gave the best of examples to others. As forMadame Deberle she was most estimable, in spite of her somewhatflighty ways, which were doubtless due to her Parisian education. In aword, he dubbed the couple charming. Helene seemed happy to hear this;it confirmed her own opinions; and the Abbe's remarks determined herto continue the acquaintance, which had at first rather frightenedher. 

"You shut yourself up too much!" declared the priest. 

"No doubt, " echoed his brother. 

Helene beamed on them with her quiet smile, as though to say that theythemselves sufficed for all her wants, and that she dreaded newacquaintances. However, ten o'clock struck at last, and the Abbe andhis brother took up their hats. Jeanne had just fallen asleep in aneasy-chair in the bedroom, and they bent over her, raising their headswith satisfied looks as they observed how tranquilly she slumbered. They stole from the room on tiptoe, and in the lobby whispered theirgood-byes:

"Till next Tuesday!"

"O, by the way, " said the Abbe, returning a step or two, "I wasforgetting: Mother Fetu is ill. You should go to see her. "

"I will go to-morrow, " answered Helene. 

The Abbe had a habit of commissioning her to visit his poor. Theyengaged in all sorts of whispered talk together on this subject, private business which a word or two enabled them to settle together, and which they never referred to in the presence of other persons. 

On the morrow Helene went out alone. She decided to leave Jeanne inthe house, as the child had been troubled with fits of shivering sincepaying a visit of charity to an old man who had become paralyzed. Onceout of doors, she followed the Rue Vineuse, turned down the RueRaynouard, and soon found herself in the Passage des Eaux, a strange, steep lane, like a staircase, pent between garden walls, andconducting from the heights of Passy to the quay. At the bottom ofthis descent was a dilapidated house, where Mother Fetu lived in anattic lighted by a round window, and furnished with a wretched bed, arickety table, and a seatless chair. 

"Oh! my good lady, my good lady!" she moaned out, directly she sawHelene enter. 

The old woman was in bed. In spite of her wretchedness, her body wasplump, swollen out, as it were, while her face was puffy, and herhands seemed numbed as she drew the tattered sheet over her. She hadsmall, keen eyes and a whimpering voice, and displayed a noisyhumility in a rush of words. 

"Ah! my good lady, how I thank you! Ah, ah! oh, how I suffer! It'sjust as if dogs were tearing at my side. I'm sure I have a beastinside me--see, just there! The skin isn't broken; the complaint isinternal. But, oh! oh! the pain hasn't ceased for two days past. GoodLord, how is it possible to suffer so much? Ah, my good lady, thankyou! You don't forget the poor. It will be taken into account upabove; yes, yes, it will be taken into account!"

Helene had sat down. Noticing on the table a jug of warm _tisane_, shefilled a cup which was near at hand, and gave it to the sufferer. Nearthe jug were placed a packet of sugar, two oranges, and some othercomfits. 

"Has any one been to see you?" Helene asked. 

"Yes, yes, --a little lady. But she doesn't know. That isn't the sortof stuff I need. Oh, if I could get a little meat! My next-doorneighbor would cook it for me. Oh! oh! this pain is somethingdreadful! A dog is tearing at me--oh, if only I had some broth!"

In spite of the pains which were racking her limbs, she kept her sharpeyes fixed on Helene, who was now busy fumbling in her pocket, and onseeing her visitor place a ten-franc piece on the table, she whimperedall the more, and tried to rise to a sitting posture. Whilststruggling, she extended her arm, and the money vanished, as sherepeated:

"Gracious Heaven! this is another frightful attack. Oh! oh! I cannotstand such agony any longer! God will requite you, my good lady; Iwill pray to Him to requite you. Bless my soul, how these pains shootthrough my whole body! His reverence Abbe Jouve promised me you wouldcome. It's only you who know what I want. I am going to buy some meat. But now the pain's going down into my legs. Help me; I have nostrength left--none left at all!"

The old woman wished to turn over, and Helene, drawing off her gloves, gently took hold of her and placed her as she desired. As she wasstill bending over her the door opened, and a flush of surprisemounted to her cheeks as she saw Dr. Deberle entering. Did he alsomake visits to which he never referred?

"It's the doctor!" blurted out the old woman. "Oh! Heaven must blessyou both for being so good!"

The doctor bowed respectfully to Helene. Mother Fetu had ceasedwhining on his entrance, but kept up a sibilant wheeze, like that of achild in pain. She had understood at once that the doctor and herbenefactress were known to one another; and her eyes never left them, but travelled from one to the other, while her wrinkled face showedthat her mind was covertly working. The doctor put some questions toher, and sounded her right side; then, turning to Helene, who had justsat down, he said:

"She is suffering from hepatic colic. She will be on her feet again ina few days. "

And, tearing from his memorandum book a leaf on which he had writtensome lines, he added, addressing Mother Fetu:

"Listen to me. You must send this to the chemist in the Rue de Passy, and every two hours you must drink a spoonful of the draught he willgive you. "

The old woman burst out anew into blessings. Helene remained seated. The doctor lingered gazing at her; but when their eyes had met, hebowed and discreetly took his leave. He had not gone down a flight ereMother Fetu's lamentations were renewed. 

"Ah! he's such a clever doctor! Ah! if his medicine could do me somegood! Dandelions and tallow make a good simple for removing water fromthe body. Yes, yes, you can say you know a clever doctor. Have youknown him long? Gracious goodness, how thirsty I am! I feel burninghot. He has a wife, hasn't he? He deserves to have a good wife andbeautiful children. Indeed, it's a pleasure to see kind-hearted peoplegood acquaintances. "

Helene had risen to give her a drink. 

"I must go now, Mother Fetu, " she said. "Good-bye till to-morrow. "

"Ah! how good you are! If I only had some linen! Look at my chemise--it's torn in half; and this bed is so dirty. But that doesn't matter. God will requite you, my good lady!"

Next day, on Helene's entering Mother Fetu's room, she found Dr. Deberle already there. Seated on the chair, he was writing out aprescription, while the old woman rattled on with whimperingvolubility. 

"Oh, sir, it now feels like lead in my side--yes, just like lead! It'sas heavy as a hundred-pound weight, and prevents me from turninground. "

Then, having caught sight of Helene, she went on without a pause: "Ah!here's the good lady! I told the kind doctor you would come. Thoughthe heavens might fall, said I, you would come all the same. You're avery saint, an angel from paradise, and, oh! so beautiful that peoplemight fall on their knees in the streets to gaze on you as you pass!Dear lady, I am no better; just now I have a heavy feeling here. Oh, Ihave told the doctor what you did for me! The emperor could have doneno more. Yes, indeed, it would be a sin not to love you--a great sin. "

These broken sentences fell from her lips as, with eyes half closed, she rolled her head on the bolster, the doctor meantime smiling atHelene, who felt very ill at ease. 

"Mother Fetu, " she said softly, "I have brought you a little linen. "

"Oh, thank you, thank you; God will requite you! You're just like thiskind, good gentleman, who does more good to poor folks than a host ofthose who declare it their special work. You don't know what greatcare he has taken of me for four months past, supplying me withmedicine and broth and wine. One rarely finds a rich person so kind toa poor soul! Oh, he's another of God's angels! Dear, dear, I seem tohave quite a house in my stomach!"

In his turn the doctor now seemed to be embarrassed. He rose andoffered his chair to Helene; but although she had come with theintention of remaining a quarter of an hour, she declined to sit down, on the plea that she was in a great hurry. 

Meanwhile, Mother Fetu, still rolling her head to and fro, hadstretched out her hand, and the parcel of linen had vanished in thebed. Then she resumed:

"Oh, what a couple of good souls you are! I don't wish to offend you;I only say it because it's true. When you have seen one, you have seenthe other. Oh, dear Lord! give me a hand and help me to turn round. Kind-hearted people understand one another. Yes, yes, they understandone another. "

"Good-bye, Mother Fetu, " said Helene, leaving the doctor in solepossession. "I don't think I shall call to-morrow. "

The next day, however, found her in the attic again. The old woman wassound asleep, but scarcely had she opened her eyes and recognizedHelene in her black dress sitting on the chair than she exclaimed:

"He has been here--oh, I really don't know what he gave me to take, but I am as stiff as a stick. We were talking about you. He asked meall kinds of questions; whether you were generally sad, and whetheryour look was always the same. Oh, he's such a good man!"

Her words came more slowly, and she seemed to be waiting to see by theexpression of Helene's face what effect her remarks might have on her, with that wheedling, anxious air of the poor who are desirous ofpleasing people. No doubt she fancied she could detect a flush ofdispleasure mounting to her benefactress's brow, for her huge, puffed-up face, all eagerness and excitement, suddenly clouded over;and she resumed, in stammering accents:

"I am always asleep. Perhaps I have been poisoned. A woman in the Ruede l'Annonciation was killed by a drug which the chemist gave her inmistake for another. "

That day Helene lingered for nearly half an hour in Mother Fetu'sroom, hearing her talk of Normandy, where she had been born, and wherethe milk was so good. During a silence she asked the old womancarelessly: "Have you known the doctor a long time?"

Mother Fetu, lying on her back, half-opened her eyes and again closedthem. 

"Oh, yes!" she answered, almost in a whisper. "For instance, hisfather attended to me before '48, and he accompanied him then. "

"I have been told the father was a very good man. "

"Yes, but a little cracked. The son is much his superior. When hetouches you you would think his hands were of velvet. "

Silence again fell. 

"I advise you to do everything he tells you, " at last said Helene. "Heis very clever; he saved my daughter. "

"To be sure!" exclaimed Mother Fetu, again all excitement. "Peopleought to have confidence in him. Why, he brought a boy to life againwhen he was going to be buried! Oh, there aren't two persons like him;you won't stop me from saying that! I am very lucky; I fall in withthe pick of good-hearted people. I thank the gracious Lord for itevery night. I don't forget either of you. You are mingled together inmy prayers. May God in His goodness shield you and grant your everywish! May He load you with His gifts! May He keep you a place inParadise!"

She was now sitting up in bed with hands clasped, seemingly entreatingHeaven with devout fervor. Helene allowed her to go on thus for aconsiderable time, and even smiled. The old woman's chatter, in fact, ended by lulling her into a pleasant drowsiness, and when she went offshe promised to give her a bonnet and gown, as soon as she should beable to get about again. 

Throughout that week Helene busied herself with Mother Fetu. Herafternoon visit became an item in her daily life. She felt a strangefondness for the Passage des Eaux. She liked that steep lane for itscoolness and quietness and its ever-clean pavement, washed on rainydays by the water rushing down from the heights. A strange sensationthrilled her as she stood at the top and looked at the narrow alleywith its steep declivity, usually deserted, and only known to the fewinhabitants of the neighboring streets. Then she would venture throughan archway dividing a house fronting the Rue Raynouard, and trip downthe seven flights of broad steps, in which lay the bed of a pebblystream occupying half of the narrow way. The walls of the gardens oneach side bulged out, coated with a grey, leprous growth; umbrageoustrees drooped over, foliage rained down, here and there an ivy plantthickly mantled the stonework, and the chequered verdure, which onlyleft glimpses of the blue sky above, made the light very soft andgreeny. Halfway down Helene would stop to take breath, gazing at thestreet-lamp which hung there, and listening to the merry laughter inthe gardens, whose doors she had never seen open. At times an oldwoman panted up with the aid of the black, shiny, iron handrail fixedin the wall to the right; a lady would come, leaning on her parasol ason a walking-stick; or a band of urchins would run down, with a greatstamping of feet. But almost always Helene found herself alone, andthis steep, secluded, shady descent was to her a veritable delight--like a path in the depths of a forest. At the bottom she would raiseher eyes, and the sight of the narrow, precipitous alley she had justdescended made her feel somewhat frightened. 

She glided into the old woman's room with the quiet and coolness ofthe Passage des Eaux clinging to her garments. This woefully wretchedden no longer affected her painfully. She moved about there as if inher own rooms, opening the round attic window to admit the fresh air, and pushing the table into a corner if it came in her way. Thegarret's bareness, its whitewashed walls and rickety furniture, realized to her mind an existence whose simplicity she had sometimesdreamt of in her girlhood. But what especially charmed her was thekindly emotion she experienced there. Playing the part of sick nurse, hearing the constant bewailing of the old woman, all she saw and feltwithin the four walls left her quivering with deep pity. In the endshe awaited with evident impatience Doctor Deberle's customary visit. She questioned him as to Mother Fetu's condition; but from this theyglided to other subjects, as they stood near each other, face to face. A closer acquaintance was springing up between them, and they weresurprised to find they possessed similar tastes. They understood oneanother without speaking a word, each heart engulfed in the sameoverflowing charity. Nothing to Helene seemed sweeter than this mutualfeeling, which arose in such an unusual way, and to which she yieldedwithout resistance, filled as she was with divine pity. At first shehad felt somewhat afraid of the doctor; in her own drawing-room shewould have been cold and distrustful, in harmony with her nature. Here, however, in this garret they were far from the world, sharingthe one chair, and almost happy in the midst of the wretchedness andpoverty which filled their souls with emotion. A week passed, and theyknew one another as though they had been intimate for years. MotherFetu's miserable abode was filled with sunshine, streaming from thisfellowship of kindliness. 

The old woman grew better very slowly. The doctor was surprised, andcharged her with coddling herself when she related that she now felt adreadful weight in her legs. She always kept up her monotonousmoaning, lying on her back and rolling her head to and fro; but sheclosed her eyes, as though to give her visitors an opportunity forunrestrained talk. One day she was to all appearance sound asleep, butbeneath their lids her little black eyes continued watching. At last, however, she had to rise from her bed; and next day Helene presentedher with the promised bonnet and gown. When the doctor made hisappearance that afternoon the old woman's laggard memory seemedsuddenly stirred. "Gracious goodness!" said she, "I've forgotten myneighbor's soup-pot; I promised to attend to it!"

Then she disappeared, closing the door behind her and leaving thecouple alone. They did not notice that they were shut in, butcontinued their conversation. The doctor urged Helene to spend theafternoon occasionally in his garden in the Rue Vineuse. 

"My wife, " said he, "must return your visit, and she will in personrepeat my invitation. It would do your daughter good. "

"But I don't refuse, " she replied, laughing. "I do not require to befetched with ceremony. Only--only--I am afraid of being indiscreet. Atany rate, we will see. "

Their talk continued, but at last the doctor exclaimed in a tone ofsurprise: "Where on earth can Mother Fetu have gone? It must be aquarter of an hour since she went to see after her neighbor'ssoup-pot. "

Helene then saw that the door was shut, but it did not shock her atthe moment. She continued to talk of Madame Deberle, of whom she spokehighly to her husband; but noticing that the doctor constantly glancedtowards the door, she at last began to feel uncomfortable. 

"It's very strange that she does not come back!" she remarked in herturn. 

Their conversation then dropped. Helene, not knowing what to do, opened the window; and when she turned round they avoided looking atone another. The laughter of children came in through the circularwindow, which, with its bit of blue sky, seemed like a full roundmoon. They could not have been more alone--concealed from allinquisitive looks, with merely this bit of heaven gazing in on them. The voices of the children died away in the distance; and a quiveringsilence fell. No one would dream of finding them in that attic, out ofthe world. Their confusion grew apace, and in the end Helene, displeased with herself, gave the doctor a steady glance. 

"I have a great many visits to pay yet, " he at once exclaimed. "As shedoesn't return, I must leave. "

He quitted the room, and Helene then sat down. Immediately afterwardsMother Fetu returned with many protestations:

"Oh! oh! I can scarcely crawl; such a faintness came over me! Has thedear good doctor gone? Well, to be sure, there's not much comforthere! Oh, you are both angels from heaven, coming to spend your timewith one so unfortunate as myself! But God in His goodness willrequite you. The pain has gone down into my feet to-day, and I had tosit down on a step. Oh, I should like to have some chairs! If I onlyhad an easy-chair! My mattress is so vile too that I am quite ashamedwhen you come. The whole place is at your disposal, and I would throwmyself into the fire if you required it. Yes. Heaven knows it; Ialways repeat it in my prayers! Oh, kind Lord, grant their utmostdesires to these good friends of mine--in the name of the Father, theSon, and the Holy Ghost!"

As Helene listened she experienced a singular feeling of discomfort. Mother Fetu's bloated face filled her with disgust. Never before inthis stifling attic had she been affected in a like way; its sordidmisery seemed to stare her in the face; the lack of fresh air, thesurrounding wretchedness, quite sickened her. So she made all haste toleave, feeling hurt by the blessings which Mother Fetu poured afterher. 

In the Passage des Eaux an additional sorrow came upon her. Halfwayup, on the right-hand side of the path, the wall was hollowed out, andhere there was an excavation, some disused well, enclosed by arailing. During the last two days when passing she had heard thewailings of a cat rising from this well, and now, as she slowlyclimbed the path, these wailings were renewed, but so pitifully thatthey seemed instinct with the agony of death. The thought that thepoor brute, thrown into the disused well, was slowly dying there ofhunger, quite rent Helene's heart. She hastened her steps, resolvingthat she would not venture down this lane again for a long time, lestthe cat's death-call should reach her ears. 

The day was a Tuesday. In the evening, on the stroke of seven, asHelene was finishing a tiny bodice, the two wonted rings at the bellwere heard, and Rosalie opened the door. 

"His reverence is first to-night!" she exclaimed. "Oh, here comesMonsieur Rambaud too!"

They were very merry at dinner. Jeanne was nearly well again now, andthe two brothers, who spoiled her, were successful in procuring herpermission to eat some salad, of which she was excessively fond, notwithstanding Doctor Bodin's formal prohibition. When she was goingto bed, the child in high spirits hung round her mother's neck andpleaded:

"Oh! mamma, darling! let me go with you to-morrow to see the old womanyou nurse!"

But the Abbe and Monsieur Rambaud were the first to scold her forthinking of such a thing. They would not hear of her going amongst thepoor, as the sight affected her too grieviously. The last time she hadbeen on such an expedition she had twice swooned, and for three daysher eyes had been swollen with tears, that had flowed even in hersleep. 

"Oh! I will be good!" she pleaded. "I won't cry, I promise. "

"It is quite useless, my darling, " said her mother, caressing her. "The old woman is well now. I shall not go out any more; I'll stay allday with you!"

 CHAPTER IV. 

During the following week Madame Deberle paid a return visit to MadameGrandjean, and displayed an affability that bordered on affection. 

"You know what you promised me, " she said, on the threshold, as shewas going off. "The first fine day we have, you must come down to thegarden, and bring Jeanne with you. It is the doctor's strictinjunction. "

"Very well, " Helene answered, with a smile, "it is understood; we willavail ourselves of your kindness. "

Three days later, on a bright February afternoon, she accompanied herdaughter down to the garden. The porter opened the door connecting thetwo houses. At the near end of the garden, in a kind of greenhousebuilt somewhat in the style of a Japanese pavilion, they found MadameDeberle and her sister Pauline, both idling away their time, for someembroidery, thrown on the little table, lay there neglected. 

"Oh, how good of you to come!" cried Juliette. "You must sit downhere. Pauline, move that table away! It is still rather cool you knowto sit out of doors, but from this pavilion we can keep a watch on thechildren. Now, little ones, run away and play; but take care not tofall!"

The large door of the pavilion stood open, and on each side wereportable mirrors, whose covers had been removed so that they allowedone to view the garden's expanse as from the threshold of a tent. Thegarden, with a green sward in the centre, flanked by beds of flowers, was separated from the Rue Vineuse by a plain iron railing, butagainst this grew a thick green hedge, which prevented the curiousfrom gazing in. Ivy, clematis, and woodbine clung and wound around therailings, and behind this first curtain of foliage came a second oneof lilacs and laburnums. Even in the winter the ivy leaves and theclose network of branches sufficed to shut off the view. But the greatcharm of the garden lay in its having at the far end a few loftytrees, some magnificent elms, which concealed the grimy wall of afive-story house. Amidst all the neighboring houses these trees gavethe spot the aspect of a nook in some park, and seemed to increase thedimensions of this little Parisian garden, which was swept like adrawing-room. Between two of the elms hung a swing, the seat of whichwas green with damp. 

Helene leaned forward the better to view the scene. 

"Oh, it is a hole!" exclaimed Madame Deberle carelessly. "Still, treesare so rare in Paris that one is happy in having half a dozen of one'sown. "

"No, no, you have a very pleasant place, " murmured Helene. 

The sun filled the pale atmosphere that day with a golden dust, itsrays streaming slowly through the leafless branches of the trees. These assumed a ruddier tint, and you could see the delicate purplegems softening the cold grey of the bark. On the lawn and along thewalks the grass and gravel glittered amidst the haze that seemed toooze from the ground. No flower was in blossom; only the happy flushwhich the sunshine cast upon the soil revealed the approach of spring. 

"At this time of year it is rather dull, " resumed Madame Deberle. "InJune it is as cozy as a nest; the trees prevent any one from lookingin, and we enjoy perfect privacy. " At this point she paused to call:"Lucien, you must come away from that watertap!"

The lad, who was doing the honors of the garden, had led Jeannetowards a tap under the steps. Here he had turned on the water, whichhe allowed to splash on the tips of his boots. It was a game that hedelighted in. Jeanne, with grave face, looked on while he wetted hisfeet. 

"Wait a moment!" said Pauline, rising. "I'll go and stop hisnonsense!"

But Juliette held her back. 

"You'll do no such thing; you are even more of a madcap than he is. The other day both of you looked as if you had taken a bath. How is itthat a big girl like you cannot remain two minutes seated? Lucien!"she continued directing her eyes on her son, "turn off the water atonce!"

The child, in his fright, made an effort to obey her. But instead ofturning the tap off, he turned it on all the more, and the watergushed forth with a force and a noise that made him lose his head. Herecoiled, splashed up to the shoulders. 

"Turn off the water at once!" again ordered his mother, whose cheekswere flushing with anger. 

Jeanne, hitherto silent, then slowly, and with the greatest caution, ventured near the tap; while Lucien burst into loud sobbing at sightof this cold stream, which terrified him, and which he was powerlessto stop. Carefully drawing her skirt between her legs, Jeannestretched out her bare hands so as not to wet her sleeves, and closedthe tap without receiving a sprinkle. The flow instantly ceased. Lucien, astonished and inspired with respect, dried his tears andgazed with swollen eyes at the girl. 

"Oh, that child puts me beside myself!" exclaimed Madame Deberle, hercomplexion regaining its usual pallor, while she stretched herselfout, as though wearied to death. 

Helene deemed it right to intervene. "Jeanne, " she called, "take hishand, and amuse yourselves by walking up and down. "

Jeanne took hold of Lucien's hand, and both gravely paced the pathswith little steps. She was much taller than her companion, who had tostretch his arm up towards her; but this solemn amusement, whichconsisted in a ceremonious circuit of the lawn, appeared to absorbthem and invest them with a sense of great importance. Jeanne, like agenuine lady, gazed about, preoccupied with her own thoughts; Lucienevery now and then would venture a glance at her; but not a word wassaid by either. 

"How droll they are!" said Madame Deberle, smiling, and again at herease. "I must say that your Jeanne is a dear, good child. She is soobedient, so well behaved--"

"Yes, when she is in the company of others, " broke in Helene. "She isa great trouble at times. Still, she loves me, and does her best to begood so as not to vex me. "

Then they spoke of children; how girls were more precocious than boys;though it would be wrong to deduce too much from Lucien'sunintelligent face. In another year he would doubtless lose all hisgawkiness and become quite a gallant. Finally, Madame Deberle resumedher embroidery, making perhaps two stitches in a minute. Helene, whowas only happy when busy, begged permission to bring her work the nexttime she came. She found her companions somewhat dull, and whiled awaythe time in examining the Japanese pavilion. The walls and ceilingwere hidden by tapestry worked in gold, with designs showing brightcranes in full flight, butterflies, and flowers and views in whichblue ships were tossing upon yellow rivers. Chairs, and ironwoodflower-stands were scattered about; on the floor some fine mats werespread; while the lacquered furnishings were littered with trinkets, small bronzes and vases, and strange toys painted in all the hues ofthe rainbow. At the far end stood a grotesque idol in Dresden china, with bent legs and bare, protruding stomach, which at the leastmovement shook its head with a terrible and amusing look. 

"Isn't it horribly ugly?" asked Pauline, who had been watching Heleneas she glanced round. "I say, sister, you know that all thesepurchases of yours are so much rubbish! Malignon calls your Japanesemuseum 'the sixpenny bazaar. ' Oh, by the way, talking of him, I methim. He was with a lady, and such a lady--Florence, of the VarietesTheatre. "

"Where was it?" asked Juliette immediately. "How I shall tease him!"

"On the boulevards. He's coming here to-day, is he not?"

She was not vouchsafed any reply. The ladies had all at once becomeuneasy owing to the disappearance of the children, and called to them. However, two shrill voices immediately answered:

"We are here!"

Half hidden by a spindle tree, they were sitting on the grass in themiddle of the lawn. 

"What are you about?"

"We have put up at an inn, " answered Lucien. "We are resting in ourroom. "

Greatly diverted, the women watched them for a time. Jeanne seemedquite contented with the game. She was cutting the grass around her, doubtless with the intention of preparing breakfast. A piece of wood, picked up among the shrubs, represented a trunk. And now they weretalking. Jeanne, with great conviction in her tone, was declaring thatthey were in Switzerland, and that they would set out to see theglaciers, which rather astonished Lucien. 

"Ha, here he is!" suddenly exclaimed Pauline. 

Madame Deberle turned, and caught sight of Malignon descending thesteps. He had scarcely time to make his bow and sit down before sheattacked him. 

"Oh, " she said, "it is nice of you to go about everywhere saying thatI have nothing but rubbishy ornaments about me!"

"You mean this little saloon of yours? Oh yes, " said he, quite at hisease. "You haven't anything worth looking at here!"

"What! not my china figure?" she asked, quite hurt. 

"No, no, everything is quite _bourgeois_. It is necessary for a personto have some taste. You wouldn't allow me to select the things--"

"Your taste, forsooth! just talk about your taste!" she retorted, flushing crimson and feeling quite angry. "You have been seen with alady--"

"What lady?" he asked, surprised by the violence of the attack. 

"A fine choice, indeed! I compliment you on it. A girl whom the wholeof Paris knows--"

She suddenly paused, remembering Pauline's presence. 

"Pauline, " she said, "go into the garden for a minute. "

"Oh no, " retorted the girl indignantly. "It's so tiresome; I'm alwaysbeing sent out of the way. "

"Go into the garden, " repeated Juliette, with increased severity inher tone. 

The girl stalked off with a sullen look, but stopped all at once, toexclaim: "Well, then, be quick over your talk!"

As soon as she was gone, Madame Deberle returned to the charge. "Howcan you, a gentleman, show yourself in public with that actressFlorence? She is at least forty. She is ugly enough to frighten one, and all the gentlemen in the stalls thee and thou her on firstnights. "

"Have you finished?" called out Pauline, who was strolling sulkilyunder the trees. "I'm not amusing myself here, you know. "

Malignon, however, defended himself. He had no knowledge of this girlFlorence; he had never in his life spoken a word to her. They hadpossibly seen him with a lady: he was sometimes in the company of thewife of a friend of his. Besides, who had seen him? He wanted proofs, witnesses. 

"Pauline, " hastily asked Madame Deberle, raising her voice, "did younot meet him with Florence?"

"Yes, certainly, " replied her sister. "I met them on the boulevardsopposite Bignon's. "

Thereupon, glorying in her victory over Malignon, whose face wore anembarrassed smile, Madame Deberle called out: "You can come back, Pauline; I have finished. "

Malignon, who had a box at the Folies-Dramatiques for the followingnight, now gallantly placed it at Madame Deberle's service, apparentlynot feeling the slightest ill-will towards her; moreover, they werealways quarreling. Pauline wished to know if she might go to see theplay that was running, and as Malignon laughed and shook his head, shedeclared it was very silly; authors ought to write plays fit for girlsto see. She was only allowed such entertainments as _La Dame Blanche_and the classic drama could offer. 

Meantime, the ladies had ceased watching the children, and all at onceLucien began to raise terrible shrieks. 

"What have you done to him, Jeanne?" asked Helene. 

"I have done nothing, mamma, " answered the little girl. "He has thrownhimself on the ground. "

The truth was, the children had just set out for the famous glaciers. As Jeanne pretended that they were reaching the mountains, they hadlifted their feet very high, as though to step over the rocks. Lucien, however, quite out of breath with his exertions, at last made a falsestep, and fell sprawling in the middle of an imaginary ice-field. Disgusted, and furious with child-like rage, he no sooner foundhimself on the ground than he burst into tears. 

"Lift him up, " called Helene. 

"He won't let me, mamma. He is rolling about. "

And so saying, Jeanne drew back, as though exasperated and annoyed bysuch a display of bad breeding. He did not know how to play; he wouldcertainly cover her with dirt. Her mouth curled, as though she were aduchess compromising herself by such companionship. Thereupon MadameDeberle, irritated by Lucien's continued wailing, requested her sisterto pick him up and coax him into silence. Nothing loth, Pauline ran, cast herself down beside the child, and for a moment rolled on theground with him. He struggled with her, unwilling to be lifted, butshe at last took him up by the arms, and to appease him, said, "Stopcrying, you noisy fellow; we'll have a swing!"

Lucien at once closed his lips, while Jeanne's solemn looks vanished, and a gleam of ardent delight illumined her face. All three rantowards the swing, but it was Pauline who took possession of the seat. 

"Push, push!" she urged the children; and they pushed with all theforce of their tiny hands; but she was heavy, and they could scarcelystir the swing. 

"Push!" she urged again. "Oh, the big sillies, they can't!"

In the pavilion, Madame Deberle had just felt a slight chill. Despitethe bright sunshine she thought it rather cold, and she requestedMalignon to hand her a white cashmere burnous that was hanging fromthe handle of a window fastening. Malignon rose to wrap the burnousround her shoulders, and they began chatting familiarly on matterswhich had little interest for Helene. Feeling fidgety, fearing thatPauline might unwittingly knock the children down, she thereforestepped into the garden, leaving Juliette and the young man to wrangleover some new fashion in bonnets which apparently deeply interestedthem. 

Jeanne no sooner saw her mother than she ran towards her with awheedling smile, and entreaty in every gesture. "Oh, mamma, mamma!"she implored. "Oh, mamma!"

"No, no, you mustn't!" replied Helene, who understood her meaning verywell. "You know you have been forbidden. "

Swinging was Jeanne's greatest delight. She would say that shebelieved herself a bird; the breeze blowing in her face, the livelyrush through the air, the continued swaying to and fro in a motion asrythmic as the beating of a bird's wings, thrilled her with anexquisite pleasure; in her ascent towards cloudland she imaginedherself on her way to heaven. But it always ended in some mishap. Onone occasion she had been found clinging to the ropes of the swing ina swoon, her large eyes wide open, fixed in a vacant stare; at anothertime she had fallen to the ground, stiff, like a swallow struck by ashot. 

"Oh, mamma!" she implored again. "Only a little, a very, very little!"

In the end her mother, in order to win peace, placed her on the seat. The child's face lit up with an angelic smile, and her bare wristsquivered with joyous expectancy. Helene swayed her very gently. 

"Higher, mamma, higher!" she murmured. 

But Helene paid no heed to her prayer, and retained firm hold of therope. She herself was glowing all over, her cheeks flushed, and shethrilled with excitement at every push she gave to the swing. Herwonted sedateness vanished as she thus became her daughter's playmate. 

"That will do, " she declared after a time, taking Jeanne in her arms. 

"Oh, mamma, you must swing now!" the child whispered, as she clung toher neck. 

She took a keen delight in seeing her mother flying through the air;as she said, her pleasure was still more intense in gazing at her thanin having a swing herself. Helene, however, asked her laughingly whowould push her; when she went in for swinging, it was a seriousmatter; why, she went higher than the treetops! While she was speakingit happened that Monsieur Rambaud made his appearance under theguidance of the doorkeeper. He had met Madame Deberle in Helene'srooms, and thought he would not be deemed presuming in presentinghimself here when unable to find her. Madame Deberle proved verygracious, pleased as she was with the good-natured air of the worthyman; however, she soon returned to a lively discussion with Malignon. 

"_Bon ami_[*] will push you, mamma! _Bon ami_ will push you!" Jeannecalled out, as she danced round her mother. 

[*] Literally "good friend;" but there is no proper equivalent for the expression in English. 

"Be quiet! We are not at home!" said her mother with mock gravity. 

"Bless me! if it will please you, I am at your disposal, " exclaimedMonsieur Rambaud. "When people are in the country--"

Helene let herself be persuaded. When a girl she had been accustomedto swing for hours, and the memory of those vanished pleasures createda secret craving to taste them once more. Moreover, Pauline, who hadsat down with Lucien at the edge of the lawn, intervened with theboldness of a girl freed from the trammels of childhood. 

"Of course he will push you, and he will swing me after you. Won'tyou, sir?"

This determined Helene. The youth which dwelt within her, in spite ofthe cold demureness of her great beauty, displayed itself in acharming, ingenuous fashion. She became a thorough school-girl, unaffected and gay. There was no prudishness about her. She laughinglydeclared that she must not expose her legs, and asked for some cord totie her skirts securely round her ankles. That done, she stood uprighton the swing, her arms extended and clinging to the ropes. 

"Now, push, Monsieur Rambaud, " she exclaimed delightedly. "But gentlyat first!"

Monsieur Rambaud had hung his hat on the branch of a tree. His broad, kindly face beamed with a fatherly smile. First he tested the strengthof the ropes, and, giving a look at the trees, determined to give aslight push. That day Helene had for the first time abandoned herwidow's weeds; she was wearing a grey dress set off with mauve bows. Standing upright, she began to swing, almost touching the ground, andas if rocking herself to sleep. 

"Quicker! quicker!" she exclaimed. 

Monsieur Rambaud, with his hands ready, caught the seat as it cameback to him, and gave it a more vigorous push. Helene went higher, each ascent taking her farther. However, despite the motion, she didnot lose her sedateness; she retained almost an austre demeanor; hereyes shone very brightly in her beautiful, impassive face; hernostrils only were inflated, as though to drink in the air. 

Not a fold of her skirts was out of place, but a plait of her hairslipped down. 

"Quicker! quicker!" she called. 

An energetic push gave her increased impetus. Up in the sunshine sheflew, even higher and higher. A breeze sprung up with her motion, andblew through the garden; her flight was so swift that they couldscarcely distinguish her figure aright. Her face was now all smiles, and flushed with a rosy red, while her eyes sparkled here, then there, like shooting stars. The loosened plait of hair rustled against herneck. Despite the cords which bound them, her skirts now waved about, and you could divine that she was at her ease, her bosom heaving inits free enjoyment as though the air were indeed her natural place. 

"Quicker! quicker!"

Monsieur Rambaud, his face red and bedewed with perspiration, exertedall his strength. A cry rang out. Helene went still higher. 

"Oh, mamma! Oh, mamma!" repeated Jeanne in her ecstasy. 

She was sitting on the lawn gazing at her mother, her little handsclasped on her bosom, looking as though she herself had drunk in allthe air that was stirring. Her breath failed her; with a rythmicalmovement of the shoulders she kept time with the long strokes of theswing. And she cried, "Quicker! quicker!" while her mother still wenthigher, her feet grazing the lofty branches of the trees. 

"Higher, mamma! oh, higher, mamma!"

But Helene was already in the very heavens. The trees bent and crackedas beneath a gale. Her skirts, which were all they could see, flappedwith a tempestuous sound. When she came back with arms stretched outand bosom distended she lowered her head slightly and for a momenthovered; but then she rose again and sank backwards, her head tilted, her eyes closed, as though she had swooned. These ascensions anddescents which made her giddy were delightful. In her flight sheentered into the sunshine--the pale yellow February sunshine thatrained down like golden dust. Her chestnut hair gleamed with ambertints; and a flame seemed to have leaped up around her, as the mauvebows on her whitening dress flashed like burning flowers. Around herthe springtide was maturing into birth, and the purple-tinted gems ofthe trees showed like delicate lacquer against the blue sky. 

Jeanne clasped her hands. Her mother seemed to her a saint with agolden glory round her head, winging her way to paradise, and sheagain stammered: "Oh, mamma! oh! mamma!"

Madame Deberle and Malignon had now grown interested, and had steppedunder the trees. Malignon declared the lady to be very bold. 

"I should faint, I'm sure, " said Madame Deberle, with a frightenedair. 

Helene heard them, for she dropped these words from among thebranches: "Oh, my heart is all right! Give a stronger push, MonsieurRambaud!"

And indeed her voice betrayed no emotion. She seemed to take no heedof the two men who were onlookers. They were doubtless nothing to her. Her tress of hair had become entangled, and the cord that confined herskirts must have given way, for the drapery flapped in the wind like aflag. She was going still higher. 

All at once, however, the exclamation rang out:

"Enough, Monsieur Rambaud, enough!"

Doctor Deberle had just appeared on the house steps. He came forward, embraced his wife tenderly, took up Lucien and kissed his brow. Thenhe gazed at Helene with a smile. 

"Enough, enough!" she still continued exclaiming. 

"Why?" asked he. "Do I disturb you?"

She made no answer; a look of gravity had suddenly come over her face. The swing, still continuing its rapid flights, owing to the impetusgiven to it, would not stop, but swayed to and fro with a regularmotion which still bore Helene to a great height. The doctor, surprised and charmed, beheld her with admiration; she looked sosuperb, so tall and strong, with the pure figure of an antique statuewhilst swinging thus gently amid the spring sunshine. But she seemedannoyed, and all at once leaped down. 

"Stop! stop!" they all cried out. 

From Helene's lips came a dull moan; she had fallen upon the gravel ofa pathway, and her efforts to rise were fruitless. 

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the doctor, his face turning very pale. "Howimprudent!"

They all crowded round her. Jeanne began weeping so bitterly thatMonsieur Rambaud, with his heart in his mouth, was compelled to takeher in his arms. The doctor, meanwhile, eagerly questioned Helene. 

"Is it the right leg you fell on? Cannot you stand upright?" And asshe remained dazed, without answering, he asked: "Do you suffer?"

"Yes, here at the knee; a dull pain, " she answered, with difficulty. 

He at once sent his wife for his medicine case and some bandages, andrepeated:

"I must see, I must see. No doubt it is a mere nothing. "

He knelt down on the gravel and Helene let him do so; but all at onceshe struggled to her feet and said: "No, no!"

"But I must examine the place, " he said. 

A slight quiver stole over her, and she answered in a yet lower tone:

"It is not necessary. It is nothing at all. "

He looked at her, at first astounded. Her neck was flushing red; for amoment their eyes met, and seemed to read each other's soul; he wasdisconcerted, and slowly rose, remaining near her, but withoutpressing her further. 

Helene had signed to Monsieur Rambaud. "Fetch Doctor Bodin, " shewhispered in his ear, "and tell him what has happened to me. "

Ten minutes later, when Doctor Bodin made his appearance, she, withsuperhuman courage, regained her feet, and leaning on him and MonsieurRambaud, contrived to return home. Jeanne followed, quivering withsobs. 

"I shall wait, " said Doctor Deberle to his brother physician. "Comedown and remove our fears. "

In the garden a lively colloquy ensued. Malignon was of opinion thatwomen had queer ideas. Why on earth had that lady been so foolish asto jump down? Pauline, excessively provoked at this accident, whichdeprived her of a pleasure, declared it was silly to swing so high. Onhis side Doctor Deberle did not say a word, but seemed anxious. 

"It is nothing serious, " said Doctor Bodin, as he came down again--"only a sprain. Still, she will have to keep to an easy-chair for atleast a fortnight. "

Thereupon Monsieur Deberle gave a friendly slap on Malignon'sshoulder. He wished his wife to go in, as it was really becoming toocold. For his own part, taking Lucien in his arms, he carried him intothe house, covering him with kisses the while. 

 CHAPTER V. 

Both windows of the bedroom were wide open, and in the depths belowthe house, which was perched on the very summit of the hill, layParis, rolling away in a mighty flat expanse. Ten o'clock struck; thelovely February morning had all the sweetness and perfume of spring. 

Helene reclined in an invalid chair, reading in front of one of thewindows, her knee still in bandages. She suffered no pain; but she hadbeen confined to her room for a week past, unable even to take up hercustomary needlework. Not knowing what to do, she had opened a bookwhich she had found on the table--she, who indulged in little or noreading at any time. This book was the one she used every night as ashade for the night-lamp, the only volume which she had taken withineighteen months from the small but irreproachable library selected byMonsieur Rambaud. Novels usually seemed to her false to life andpuerile; and this one, Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe, " had at firstwearied her to death. However, a strange curiosity had grown upon her, and she was finishing it, at times affected to tears, and at timesrather bored, when she would let it slip from her hand for longminutes and gaze fixedly at the far-stretching horizon. 

That morning Paris awoke from sleep with a smiling indolence. A massof vapor, following the valley of the Seine, shrouded the two banksfrom view. This mist was light and milky, and the sun, gatheringstrength, was slowly tinging it with radiance. Nothing of the city wasdistinguishable through this floating muslin. In the hollows the hazethickened and assumed a bluish tint; while over certain broad expansesdelicate transparencies appeared, a golden dust, beneath which youcould divine the depths of the streets; and up above domes andsteeples rent the mist, rearing grey outlines to which clung shreds ofthe haze which they had pierced. At times cloudlets of yellow smokewould, like giant birds, heavy of wing, slowly soar on high, and thenmingle with the atmosphere which seemed to absorb them. And above allthis immensity, this mass of cloud, hanging in slumber over Paris, asky of extreme purity, of a faint and whitening blue, spread out itsmighty vault. The sun was climbing the heavens, scattering a spray ofsoft rays; a pale golden light, akin in hue to the flaxen tresses of achild, was streaming down like rain, filling the atmosphere with thewarm quiver of its sparkle. It was like a festival of the infinite, instinct with sovereign peacefulness and gentle gaiety, whilst thecity, chequered with golden beams, still remained lazy and sleepy, unwilling to reveal itself by casting off its coverlet of lace. 

For eight days it had been Helene's diversion to gaze on that mightyexpanse of Paris, and she never wearied of doing so. It was asunfathomable and varying as the ocean--fair in the morning, ruddy withfire at night, borrowing all the joys and sorrows of the heavensreflected in its depths. A flash of sunshine came, and it would rollin waves of gold; a cloud would darken it and raise a tempest. Itsaspect was ever changing. A complete calm would fall, and all wouldassume an orange hue; gusts of wind would sweep by from time to time, and turn everything livid; in keen, bright weather there would be ashimmer of light on every housetop; whilst when showers fell, blurringboth heaven and earth, all would be plunged in chaotic confusion. Ather window Helene experienced all the hopes and sorrows that pertainto the open sea. As the keen wind blew in her face she imagined itwafted a saline fragrance; even the ceaseless noise of the city seemedto her like that of a surging tide beating against a rocky cliff. 

The book fell from her hands. She was dreaming, with a far-away lookin her eyes. When she stopped reading thus it was from a desire tolinger and understand what she had already perused. She took a delightin denying her curiosity immediate satisfaction. The tale filled hersoul with a tempest of emotion. Paris that morning was displaying thesame vague joy and sorrow as that which disturbed her heart. In thislay a great charm--to be ignorant, to guess things dimly, to yield toslow initiation, with the vague thought that her youth was beginningagain. 

How full of lies were novels! She was assuredly right in not readingthem. They were mere fables, good for empty heads with no properconception of life. Yet she remained entranced, dreaming unceasinglyof the knight Ivanhoe, loved so passionately by two women--Rebecca, the beautiful Jewess, and the noble Lady Rowena. She herself thoughtshe could have loved with the intensity and patient serenity of thelatter maiden. To love! to love! She did not utter the words, but theythrilled her through and through in the very thought, astonishing her, and irradiating her face with a smile. In the distance some fleecycloudlets, driven by the breeze, now floated over Paris like a flockof swans. Huge gaps were being cleft in the fog; a momentary glimpsewas given of the left bank, indistinct and clouded, like a city offairydom seen in a dream; but suddenly a thick curtain of mist sweptdown, and the fairy city was engulfed, as though by an inundation. Andthen the vapors, spreading equally over every district, formed, as itwere, a beautiful lake, with milky, placid waters. There was but onedenser streak, indicating the grey, curved course of the Seine. Andslowly over those milky, placid waters shadows passed, like vesselswith pink sails, which the young woman followed with a dreamy gaze. Tolove! to love! She smiled as her dream sailed on. 

However, she again took up her book. She had reached the chapterdescribing the attack on the castle, wherein Rebecca nurses thewounded Ivanhoe, and recounts to him the incidents of the fight, whichshe gazes at from a window. Helene felt that she was in the midst of abeautiful falsehood, but roamed through it as through some mythicalgarden, whose trees are laden with golden fruit, and where she imbibedall sorts of fancies. Then, at the conclusion of the scene, whenRebecca, wrapped in her veil, exhales her love beside the sleepingknight, Helene again allowed the book to slip from her hand; her heartwas so brimful of emotion that she could read no further. 

Heavens! could all those things be true? she asked, as she lay back inher easy-chair, numbed by her enforced quiescence, and gazing onParis, shrouded and mysterious, beneath the golden sun. The events ofher life now arose before her, conjured up by the perusal of thenovel. She saw herself a young girl in the house of her father, Mouret, a hatter at Marseilles. The Rue des Petites-Maries was blackand dismal, and the house, with its vat of steaming water ready to thehand of the hatter, exhaled a rank odor of dampness, even in fineweather. She also saw her mother, who was ever an invalid, and whokissed her with pale lips, without speaking. No gleam of the sunpenetrated into her little room. Hard work went on around her; only bydint of toil did her father gain a workingman's competency. Thatsummed up her early life, and till her marriage nothing intervened tobreak the monotony of days ever the same. One morning, returning frommarket with her mother, a basketful of vegetables on her arm, shejostled against young Grandjean. Charles turned round and followedthem. The love-romance of her life was in this incident. For threemonths she was always meeting him, while he, bashful and awkward, could not pluck up courage to speak to her. She was sixteen years ofage, and a little proud of her lover, who, she knew, belonged to awealthy family. But she deemed him bad-looking, and often laughed athim, and no thought of him disturbed her sleep in the large, gloomy, damp house. In the end they were married, and this marriage yet filledher with surprise. Charles worshipped her, and would fling himself onthe floor to kiss her bare feet. She beamed on him, her smile full ofkindness, as she rebuked him for such childishness. Then another dulllife began. During twelve years no event of sufficient interest hadoccurred for her to bear in mind. She was very quiet and very happy, tormented by no fever either of body or heart; her whole attentionbeing given to the daily cares of a poor household. Charles was stillwont to kiss her fair white feet, while she showed herself indulgentand motherly towards him. But other feeling she had none. Then thereabruptly came before her the room in the Hotel du Var, her husband inhis coffin, and her widow's robe hanging over a chair. She had weptthat day as on the winter's night when her mother died. Then once morethe days glided on; for two months with her daughter she had againenjoyed peace and happiness. Heaven! did that sum up everything? What, then, did that book mean when it spoke of transcendent loves whichillumine one's existence?

While she thus reflected prolonged quivers were darting over thesleeping lake of mist on the horizon. Suddenly it seemed to burst, gaps appeared, a rending sped from end to end, betokening a completebreak-up. The sun, ascending higher and higher, scattering its rays inglorious triumph, was victoriously attacking the mist. Little bylittle the great lake seemed to dry up, as though some invisiblesluice were draining the plain. The fog, so dense but a moment before, was losing its consistency and becoming transparent, showing all thebright hues of the rainbow. On the left bank of the Seine all was of aheavenly blue, deepening into violet over towards the Jardin desPlantes. Upon the right bank a pale pink, flesh-like tint suffused theTuileries district; while away towards Montmartre there was a fieryglow, carmine flaming amid gold. Then, farther off, the working-men'squarters deepened to a dusty brick-color, changing more and more tillall became a slatey, bluish grey. The eye could not yet distinguishthe city, which quivered and receded like those subaqueous depthsdivined through the crystalline waves, depths with awful forests ofhuge plants, swarming with horrible things and monsters faintlyespied. However, the watery mist was quickly falling. It became atlast no more than a fine muslin drapery; and bit by bit this muslinvanished, and Paris took shape and emerged from dreamland. 

To love! to love! Why did these words ring in Helene's ears with suchsweetness as the darkness of the fog gave way to light? Had she notloved her husband, whom she had tended like a child? But a bittermemory stirred within her--the memory of her dead father, who had hunghimself three weeks after his wife's decease in a closet where hergowns still dangled from their hooks. There he had gasped out his lastagony, his body rigid, and his face buried in a skirt, wrapped roundby the clothes which breathed of her whom he had ever worshipped. ThenHelene's reverie took a sudden leap. She began thinking of her ownhome-life, of the month's bills which she had checked with Rosaliethat very morning; and she felt proud of the orderly way in which sheregulated her household. During more than thirty years she had livedwith self-respect and strength of mind. Uprightness alone impassionedher. When she questioned her past, not one hour revealed a sin; in hermind's eye she saw herself ever treading a straight and level path. Truly, the days might slip by; she would walk on peacefully as before, with no impediment in her way. The very thought of this made herstern, and her spirit rose in angry contempt against those lying liveswhose apparent heroism disturbs the heart. The only true life was herown, following its course amidst such peacefulness. But over Paristhere now only hung a thin smoke, a fine, quivering gauze, on thepoint of floating away; and emotion suddenly took possession of her. To love! to love! everything brought her back to that caressing phrase--even the pride born of her virtue. Her dreaming became so light, sheno longer thought, but lay there, steeped in springtide, with moisteyes. 

At last, as she was about to resume her reading, Paris slowly cameinto view. Not a breath of wind had stirred; it was as if a magicianhad waved his wand. The last gauzy film detached itself, soared andvanished in the air; and the city spread out without a shadow, underthe conquering sun. Helene, with her chin resting on her hand, gazedon this mighty awakening. 

A far-stretching valley appeared, with a myriad of buildings huddledtogether. Over the distant range of hills were scattered close-setroofs, and you could divine that the sea of houses rolled afar offbehind the undulating ground, into the fields hidden from sight. Itwas as the ocean, with all the infinity and mystery of its waves. Paris spread out as vast as the heavens on high. Burnished with thesunshine that lovely morning, the city looked like a field of yellowcorn; and the huge picture was all simplicity, compounded of twocolors only, the pale blue of the sky, and the golden reflections ofthe housetops. The stream of light from the spring sun investedeverything with the beauty of a new birth. So pure was the light thatthe minutest objects became visible. Paris, with its chaotic maze ofstonework, shone as though under glass. From time to time, however, abreath of wind passed athwart this bright, quiescent serenity; andthen the outlines of some districts grew faint, and quivered as ifthey were being viewed through an invisible flame. 

Helene took interest at first in gazing on the large expanse spreadunder her windows, the slope of the Trocadero, and the far-stretchingquays. She had to lean out to distinguish the deserted square of theChamp-de-Mars, barred at the farther end by the sombre MilitarySchool. Down below, on thoroughfare and pavement on each side of theSeine, she could see the passers-by--a busy cluster of black dots, moving like a swarm of ants. A yellow omnibus shone out like a sparkof fire; drays and cabs crossed the bridge, mere child's toys in thedistance, with miniature horses like pieces of mechanism; and amongstothers traversing the grassy slopes was a servant girl, with a whiteapron which set a bright spot in all the greenery. Then Helene raisedher eyes; but the crowd scattered and passed out of sight, and eventhe vehicles looked like mere grains of sand; there remained naughtbut the gigantic carcass of the city, seemingly untenanted andabandoned, its life limited to the dull trepidation by which it wasagitated. There, in the foreground to the left, some red roofs wereshining, and the tall chimneys of the Army Bakehouse slowly poured outtheir smoke; while, on the other side of the river, between theEsplanade and the Champ-de-Mars, a grove of lofty elms clustered, likesome patch of a park, with bare branches, rounded tops, and young budsalready bursting forth, quite clear to the eye. In the centre of thepicture, the Seine spread out and reigned between its grey banks, towhich rows of casks, steam cranes, and carts drawn up in line, gave aseaport kind of aspect. Helene's eyes were always turning towards thisshining river, on which boats passed to and fro like birds with inkyplumage. Her looks involuntarily followed the water's stately course, which, like a silver band, cut Paris atwain. That morning the streamrolled liquid sunlight; no greater resplendency could be seen on thehorizon. And the young woman's glance encountered first the Pont desInvalides, next the Pont de la Concorde, and then the Pont Royal. Bridge followed bridge, they appeared to get closer, to rise one abovethe other like viaducts forming a flight of steps, and pierced withall kinds of arches; while the river, wending its way beneath theseairy structures, showed here and there small patches of its blue robe, patches which became narrower and narrower, more and more indistinct. And again did Helene raise her eyes, and over yonder the stream forkedamidst a jumble of houses; the bridges on either side of the island ofLa Cite were like mere films stretching from one bank to the other;while the golden towers of Notre-Dame sprang up like boundary-marks ofthe horizon, beyond which river, buildings, and clumps of trees becamenaught but sparkling sunshine. Then Helene, dazzled, withdrew her gazefrom this the triumphant heart of Paris, where the whole glory of thecity appeared to blaze. 

On the right bank, amongst the clustering trees of the Champs-Elyseesshe saw the crystal buildings of the Palace of Industry glitteringwith a snowy sheen; farther away, behind the roof of the Madeleine, which looked like a tombstone, towered the vast mass of the OperaHouse; then there were other edifices, cupolas and towers, theVendome Column, the church of Saint-Vincent de Paul, the tower ofSaint-Jacques; and nearer in, the massive cube-like pavilions of thenew Louvre and the Tuileries, half-hidden by a wood of chestnut trees. On the left bank the dome of the Invalides shone with gilding; beyondit the two irregular towers of Saint-Sulpice paled in the brightlight; and yet farther in the rear, to the right of the new spiresof Sainte-Clotilde, the bluish Pantheon, erect on a height, its finecolonnade showing against the sky, overlooked the city, poised in theair, as it were, motionless, with the silken hues of a captive balloon. 

Helene's gaze wandered all over Paris. There were hollows, as could bedivined by the lines of roofs; the Butte des Moulins surged upward, with waves of old slates, while the line of the principal boulevardsdipped downward like a gutter, ending in a jumble of houses whosetiles even could no longer be seen. At this early hour the oblique sundid not light up the house-fronts looking towards the Trocadero; not awindow-pane of these threw back its rays. The skylights on some roofsalone sparkled with the glittering reflex of mica amidst the red ofthe adjacent chimney-pots. The houses were mostly of a sombre grey, warmed by reflected beams; still rays of light were transpiercingcertain districts, and long streets, stretching in front of Helene, set streaks of sunshine amidst the shade. It was only on the left thatthe far-spreading horizon, almost perfect in its circular sweep, wasbroken by the heights of Montmartre and Pere-Lachaise. The details soclearly defined in the foreground, the innumerable denticles of thechimneys, the little black specks of the thousands of windows, grewless and less distinct as you gazed farther and farther away, tilleverything became mingled in confusion--the pell-mell of an endlesscity, whose faubourgs, afar off, looked like shingly beaches, steepedin a violet haze under the bright, streaming, vibrating light thatfell from the heavens. 

Helene was watching the scene with grave interest when Jeanne burstgleefully into the room. 

"Oh, mamma! look here!"

The child had a big bunch of wall-flowers in her hand. She told, withsome laughter, how she had waylaid Rosalie on her return from marketto peep into her basket of provisions. To rummage in this basket was agreat delight to her. 

"Look at it, mamma! It lay at the very bottom. Just smell it; what alovely perfume!"

From the tawny flowers, speckled with purple, there came a penetratingodor which scented the whole room. Then Helene, with a passionatemovement, drew Jeanne to her breast, while the nosegay fell on herlap. To love! to love! Truly, she loved her child. Was not thatintense love which had pervaded her life till now sufficient for herwants? It ought to satisfy her; it was so gentle, so tranquil; nolassitude could put an end to its continuance. Again she pressed herdaughter to her, as though to conjure away thoughts which threatenedto separate them. In the meantime Jeanne surrendered herself to theshower of kisses. Her eyes moist with tears, she turned her delicateneck upwards with a coaxing gesture, and pressed her face against hermother's shoulder. Then she slipped an arm round her waist and thusremained, very demure, her cheek resting on Helene's bosom. Theperfume of the wall-flowers ascended between them. 

For a long time they did not speak; but at length, without moving, Jeanne asked in a whisper:

"Mamma, you see that rosy-colored dome down there, close to the river;what is it?"

It was the dome of the Institute, and Helene looked towards it for amoment as though trying to recall the name. 

"I don't know, my love, " she answered gently. 

The child appeared content with this reply, and silence again fell. But soon she asked a second question. 

"And there, quite near, what beautiful trees are those?" she said, pointing with her finger towards a corner of the Tuileries garden. 

"Those beautiful trees!" said her mother. "On the left, do you mean? Idon't know, my love. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Jeanne; and after musing for a little while she addedwith a pout: "We know nothing!"

Indeed they knew nothing of Paris. During eighteen months it had lainbeneath their gaze every hour of the day, yet they knew not a stone ofit. Three times only had they gone down into the city; but onreturning home, suffering from terrible headaches born of all theagitation they had witnessed, they could find in their minds nodistinct memory of anything in all that huge maze of streets. 

However, Jeanne at times proved obstinate. "Ah! you can tell me this!"said she: "What is that glass building which glitters there? It is sobig you must know it. "

She was referring to the Palais de l'Industrie. Helene, however, hesitated. 

"It's a railway station, " said she. "No, I'm wrong, I think it is atheatre. "

Then she smiled and kissed Jeanne's hair, at last confessing asbefore: "I do not know what it is, my love. "

So they continued to gaze on Paris, troubling no further to identifyany part of it. It was very delightful to have it there before them, and yet to know nothing of it; it remained the vast and the unknown. It was as though they had halted on the threshold of a world whichever unrolled its panorama before them, but into which they wereunwilling to descend. Paris often made them anxious when it waftedthem a hot, disturbing atmosphere; but that morning it seemed gay andinnocent, like a child, and from its mysterious depths only a breathof tenderness rose gently to their faces. 

Helene took up her book again while Jeanne, clinging to her, stillgazed upon the scene. In the dazzling, tranquil sky no breeze wasstirring. The smoke from the Army Bakehouse ascended perpendicularlyin light cloudlets which vanished far aloft. On a level with thehouses passed vibrating waves of life, waves of all the life pent upthere. The loud voices of the streets softened amidst the sunshineinto a languid murmur. But all at once a flutter attracted Jeanne'snotice. A flock of white pigeons, freed from some adjacent dovecot, sped through the air in front of the window; with spreading wings likefalling snow, the birds barred the line of view, hiding the immensityof Paris. 

With eyes again dreamily gazing upward, Helene remained plunged inreverie. She was the Lady Rowena; she loved with the serenity andintensity of a noble mind. That spring morning, that great, gentlecity, those early wall-flowers shedding their perfume on her lap, hadlittle by little filled her heart with tenderness. 

 CHAPTER VI. 

One morning Helene was arranging her little library, the various booksof which had got out of order during the past few days, when Jeanneskipped into the room, clapping her hands. 

"A soldier, mamma! a soldier!" she cried. 

"What? a soldier?" exclaimed her mother. "What do you want, you andyour soldier?"

But the child was in one of her paroxysms of extravagant delight; sheonly jumped about the more, repeating: "A soldier! a soldier!" withoutdeigning to give any further explanation. She had left the door wideopen behind her, and so, as Helene rose, she was astonished to see asoldier--a very little soldier too--in the ante-room. Rosalie had goneout, and Jeanne must have been playing on the landing, though strictlyforbidden to do so by her mother. 

"What do you want, my lad?" asked Helene. 

The little soldier was very much confused on seeing this lady, solovely and fair, in her dressing-gown trimmed with lace; he shuffledone foot to and fro over the floor, bowed, and at last precipitatelystammered: "I beg pardon--excuse--"

But he could get no further, and retreated to the wall, stillshuffling his feet. His retreat was thus cut off, and seeing the ladyawaited his reply with an involuntary smile, he dived into hisright-hand pocket, from which he dragged a blue handkerchief, a knife, and a hunk of bread. He gazed on each in turn, and thrust them allback again. Then he turned his attention to the left-hand pocket, fromwhich were produced a twist of cord, two rusty nails, and somepictures wrapped in part of a newspaper. All these he pushed back totheir resting-place, and began tapping his thighs with an anxious air. And again he stammered in bewilderment:

"I beg pardon--excuse--"

But all at once he raised his finger to his nose, and exclaimed with aloud laugh: "What a fool I am! I remember now!"

He then undid two buttons of his greatcoat, and rummaged in hisbreast, into which he plunged his arm up to the elbow. After a time hedrew forth a letter, which he rustled violently before handing toHelene, as though to shake some dust from it. 

"A letter for me! Are you sure?" said she. 

On the envelope were certainly inscribed her name and address in aheavy rustic scrawl, with pothooks and hangers tumbling over oneanother. When at last she made it all out, after being repeatedlybaffled by the extraordinary style and spelling, she could not butsmile again. It was a letter from Rosalie's aunt, introducing ZephyrinLacour, who had fallen a victim to the conscription, "in spite of twomasses having been said by his reverence. " However, as Zephyrin wasRosalie's "intended" the aunt begged that madame would be so good asto allow the young folks to see each other on Sundays. In the threepages which the letter comprised this question was continuallycropping up in the same words, the confusion of the epistle increasingthrough the writer's vain efforts to say something she had not saidbefore. Just above the signature, however, she seemed to have hit thenail on the head, for she had written: "His reverence gives hispermission"; and had then broken her pen in the paper, making a showerof blots. 

Helene slowly folded the letter. Two or three times, while decipheringits contents, she had raised her head to glance at the soldier. Hestill remained close to the wall, and his lips stirred, as though toemphasize each sentence in the letter by a slight movement of thechin. No doubt he knew its contents by heart. 

"Then you are Zephyrin Lacour, are you not?" asked Helene. 

He began to laugh and wagged his head. 

"Come in, my lad; don't stay out there. "

He made up his mind to follow her, but he continued standing close tothe door, while Helene sat down. She had scarcely seen him in thedarkness of the ante-room. He must have been just as tall as Rosalie;a third of an inch less, and he would have been exempted from service. With red hair, cut very short, he had a round, freckled, beardlessface, with two little eyes like gimlet holes. His new greatcoat, muchtoo large for him, made him appear still more dumpy, and with hisred-trousered legs wide apart, and his large peaked cap swingingbefore him, he presented both a comical and pathetic sight--his plump, stupid little person plainly betraying the rustic, although he wore auniform. 

Helene desired to obtain some information from him. 

"You left Beauce a week ago?" she asked. 

"Yes, madame!"

"And here you are in Paris. I suppose you are not sorry?"

"No, madame. "

He was losing his bashfulness, and now gazed all over the room, evidently much impressed by its blue velvet hangings. 

"Rosalie is out, " Helene began again, "but she will be here very soon. Her aunt tells me you are her sweetheart. "

To this the little soldier vouchsafed no reply, but hung his head, laughing awkwardly, and scraping the carpet with the tip of his boot. 

"Then you will have to marry her when you leave the army?" Helenecontinued questioning. 

"Yes, to be sure!" exclaimed he, his face turning very red. "Yes, ofcourse; we are engaged!" And, won over by the kindly manners of thelady, he made up his mind to speak out, his fingers still playing withhis cap. "You know it's an old story. When we were quite children, weused to go thieving together. We used to get switched; oh yes, that'strue! I must tell you that the Lacours and the Pichons lived in thesame lane, and were next-door neighbors. And so Rosalie and myselfwere almost brought up together. Then her people died, and her auntMarguerite took her in. But she, the minx, was already as strong as ademon. "

He paused, realizing that he was warming up, and asked hesitatingly:

"But perhaps she has told you all this?"

"Yes, yes; but go on all the same, " said Helene, who was greatlyamused. 

"In short, " continued he, "she was awfully strong, though she was nobigger than a tomtit. It was a treat to see her at her work! How shedid get through it! One day she gave a slap to a friend of mine--byJove! such a slap! I had the mark of it on my arm for a week! Yes, that was the way it all came about. All the gossips declared we mustmarry one another. Besides, we weren't ten years old before we hadagreed on that! And, we have stuck to it, madame, we have stuck toit!"

He placed one hand upon his heart, with fingers wide apart. Helene, however, had now become very grave. The idea of allowing a soldier inher kitchen somewhat worried her. His reverence, no doubt, had givenhis sanction, but she thought it rather venturesome. There is too muchlicense in the country, where lovers indulge in all sorts ofpleasantries. So she gave expression to her apprehensions. WhenZephyrin at last gathered her meaning, his first inclination was tolaugh, but his awe for Helene restrained him. 

"Oh, madame, madame!" said he, "you don't know her, I can see! I havereceived slaps enough from her! Of course young men like to laugh!isn't that so? Sometimes I pinched her, and she would turn round andhit me right on the nose. Her aunt's advice always was, 'Look here, mygirl, don't put up with any nonsense!' His reverence, too, interferedin it, and maybe that had a lot to do with our keeping upsweethearting. We were to have been married after I had drawn for asoldier. But it was all my eye! Things turned out badly. Rosaliedeclared she would go to service in Paris, to earn a dowry while shewas waiting for me. And so, and so--"

He swung himself about, dangling his cap, now from one hand now fromthe other. But still Helene never said a word, and he at last fanciedthat she distrusted him. This pained him dreadfully. 

"You think, perhaps, that I shall deceive her?" he burst out angrily. "Even, too, when I tell you we are betrothed? I shall marry her, assurely as the heaven shines on us. I'm quite ready to pledge my wordin writing. Yes, if you like, I'll write it down for you. "

Deep emotion was stirring him. He walked about the room gazing aroundin the hope of finding pen and ink. Helene quickly tried to appeasehim, but he still went on:

"I would rather sign a paper for you. What harm would it do you? Yourmind would be all the easier with it. "

However, just at that moment Jeanne, who had again run away, returned, jumping and clapping her hands. 

"Rosalie! Rosalie! Rosalie!" she chanted in a dancing tune of her owncomposition. 

Through the open doorway one could hear the panting of the maid as sheclimbed up the stairs laden with her basket. Zephyrin started backinto a corner of the room, his mouth wide agape from ear to ear insilent laughter, and the gimlet holes of his eyes gleaming with rusticroguery. Rosalie came straight into the room, as was her usualpractice, to show her mistress her morning's purchase of provisions. 

"Madame, " said she, "I've brought some cauliflowers. Look at them!Only eighteen sous for two; it isn't dear, is it?"

She held out the basket half open, but on lifting her head noticedZephyrin's grinning face. Surprise nailed her to the carpet. Two orthree seconds slipped away; she had doubtless at first failed torecognize him in his uniform. But then her round eyes dilated, her fatlittle face blanched, and her coarse black hair waved in agitation. 

"Oh!" she simply said. 

But her astonishment was such that she dropped her basket. Theprovisions, cauliflowers, onions, apples, rolled on to the carpet. Jeanne gave a cry of delight, and falling on her knees, began huntingfor the apples, even under the chairs and the wardrobe. MeanwhileRosalie, as though paralyzed, never moved, though she repeated:

"What! it's you! What are you doing here? what are you doing here?Say!"

Then she turned to Helene with the question: "Was it you who let himcome in?"

Zephyrin never uttered a word, but contented himself with winkingslily. Then Rosalie gave vent to her emotion in tears; and, to showher delight at seeing him again, could hit on nothing better than toquiz him. 

"Oh! go away!" she began, marching up to him. "You look neat andpretty I must say in that guise of yours! I might have passed you inthe street, and not even have said: 'God bless you. ' Oh! you've got anice rig-out. You just look as if you had your sentry-box on yourback; and they've cut your hair so short that folks might take you forthe sexton's poodle. Good heavens! what a fright you are; what afright!"

Zephyrin, very indignant, now made up his mind to speak. "It's not myfault, that's sure! Oh! if you joined a regiment we should see a fewthings. "

They had quite forgotten where they were; everything had vanished--theroom, Helene and Jeanne, who was still gathering the apples together. With hands folded over her apron, the maid stood upright in front ofthe little soldier. 

"Is everything all right down there?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes, excepting Guignard's cow is ill. The veterinary surgeon cameand said she'd got the dropsy. "

"If she's got the dropsy, she's done for. Excepting that, iseverything all right?"

"Yes, yes! The village constable has broken his arm. Old Canivet'sdead. And, by the way, his reverence lost his purse with thirty sousin it as he was a-coming back from Grandval. But otherwise, things areall right. "

Then silence fell on them, and they looked at one another withsparkling eyes, their compressed lips slowly making an amorousgrimace. This, indeed, must have been the manner in which theyexpressed their love, for they had not even stretched out their handsin greeting. Rosalie, however, all at once ceased her contemplation, and began to lament at sight of the vegetables on the floor. Such anice mess! and it was he who had caused it all! Madame ought to havemade him wait on the stairs! Scolding away as fast as she could, shedropped on her knees and began putting the apples, onions, andcauliflowers into the basket again, much to the disgust of Jeanne, whowould fain have done it all herself. And as she turned, with theobject of betaking herself into her kitchen, never deigning anotherlook in Zephyrin's direction, Helene, conciliated by the healthytranquillity of the lovers, stopped her to say:

"Listen a moment, my girl. Your aunt has asked me to allow this youngman to come and see you on Sundays. He will come in the afternoon, andyou will try not to let your work fall behind too much. "

Rosalie paused, merely turning her head. Though she was well pleased, she preserved her doleful air. 

"Oh, madame, he will be such a bother, " she declared. But at the sametime she glanced over her shoulder at Zephyrin, and again made anaffectionate grimace at him. The little soldier remained for a minutestock-still, his mouth agape from ear to ear with its silent laugh. Then he retired backwards, with his cap against his heart as hethanked Helene profusely. The door had been shut upon him, when on thelanding he still continued bowing. 

"Is that Rosalie's brother, mamma?" asked Jeanne. 

Helene was quite embarrassed by the question. She regretted thepermission which she had just given in a sudden impulse of kindlinesswhich now surprised her. She remained thinking for some seconds, andthen replied, "No, he is her cousin. "

"Ah!" said the child gravely. 

Rosalie's kitchen looked out on the sunny expanse of Doctor Deberle'sgarden. In the summer the branches of the elms swayed in through thebroad window. It was the cheeriest room of the suite, always floodedwith light, which was sometimes so blinding that Rosalie had put up acurtain of blue cotton stuff, which she drew of an afternoon. The onlycomplaint she made about the kitchen was its smallness; and indeed itwas a narrow strip of a place, with a cooking-range on the right-handside, while on the left were the table and dresser. The variousutensils and furnishings, however, had all been so well arranged thatshe had contrived to keep a clear corner beside the window, where sheworked in the evening. She took a pride in keeping everything, stewpans, kettles, and dishes, wonderfully clean; and so, when the sunveered round to the window, the walls became resplendent, the coppervessels sparkled like gold, the tin pots showed bright discs likesilver moons, while the white-and-blue tiles above the stove gleamedpale in the fiery glow. 

On the evening of the ensuing Saturday Helene heard so great acommotion in the kitchen that she determined to go and see what wasthe matter. 

"What is it?" asked she: "are you fighting with the furniture?"

"I am scouring, madame, " replied Rosalie, who, sweating anddishevelled, was squatting on the tiled floor and scrubbing it withall the strength of her arms. 

This over, she sponged it with clear water. Never had the kitchendisplayed such perfection of cleanliness. A bride might have slept init; all was white as for a wedding. So energetically had she exertedher hands that it seemed as if table and dresser had been freshlyplaned. And the good order of everything was a sight to see; stewpansand pots taking rank by their size, each on its own hook, even thefrying-pan and gridiron shining brightly without one grimy stain. Helene looked on for a moment in silence, and then with a smiledisappeared. 

Every Saturday afterwards there was a similar furbishing, a tornado ofdust and water lasting for four hours. It was Rosalie's wish todisplay her neatness to Zephyrin on the Sunday. That was her receptionday. A single cobweb would have filled her with shame; but wheneverything shone resplendent around her she became amiable, and burstinto song. At three o'clock she would again wash her hands and don acap gay with ribbons. Then the curtain being drawn halfway, so thatonly the subdued light of a boudoir came in, she awaited Zephyrin'sarrival amidst all this primness, through which a pleasant scent ofthyme and laurel was borne. 

At half-past three exactly Zephyrin made his appearance; he would walkabout the street until the clocks of the neighborhood had struck thehalf-hour. Rosalie listened to the beat of his heavy shoes on thestairs, and opened the door the moment he halted on the landing. Shehad forbidden him to ring the bell. At each visit the same greetingpassed between them. 

"Is it you?"

"Yes, it's me!"

And they stood face to face, their eyes sparkling and their lipscompressed. Then Zephyrin followed Rosalie; but there was no admissionvouchsafed to him till she had relieved him of shako and sabre. Shewould have none of these in her kitchen; and so the sabre and shakowere hidden away in a cupboard. Next she would make him sit down inthe corner she had contrived near the window, and thenceforth he wasnot allowed to budge. 

"Sit still there! You can look on, if you like, while I get madame'sdinner ready. "

But he rarely appeared with empty hands. He would usually spend themorning in strolling with some comrades through the woods of Meudon, lounging lazily about, inhaling the fresh air, which inspired him withregretful memories of his country home. To give his fingers somethingto do he would cut switches, which he tapered and notched withmarvelous figurings, and his steps gradually slackening he would cometo a stop beside some ditch, his shako on the back of his head, whilehis eyes remained fixed on the knife with which he was carving thestick. Then, as he could never make up his mind to discard hisswitches, he carried them in the afternoon to Rosalie, who would throwup her hands, and exclaim that they would litter her kitchen. But thetruth was, she carefully preserved them; and under her bed wasgathered a bundle of these switches, of all sorts and sizes. 

One day he made his appearance with a nest full of eggs, which he hadsecreted in his shako under the folds of a handkerchief. Omelets madefrom the eggs of wild birds, so he declared, were very nice--astatement which Rosalie received with horror; the nest, however, waspreserved and laid away in company with the switches. But Zephyrin'spockets were always full to overflowing. He would pull curiositiesfrom them, transparent pebbles found on the banks of the Seine, piecesof old iron, dried berries, and all sorts of strange rubbish, whichnot even a rag-picker would have cared for. His chief love, however, was for pictures; as he sauntered along he would seize on all thestray papers that had served as wrappers for chocolate or cakes ofsoap, and on which were black men, palm-trees, dancing-girls, orclusters of roses. The tops of old broken boxes, decorated withfigures of languid, blonde ladies, the glazed prints and silver paperwhich had once contained sugar-sticks and had been thrown away at theneighboring fairs, were great windfalls that filled his bosom withpride. All such booty was speedily transferred to his pockets, thechoicer articles being enveloped in a fragment of an old newspaper. And on Sunday, if Rosalie had a moment's leisure between thepreparation of a sauce and the tending of the joint, he would exhibithis pictures to her. They were hers if she cared for them; only as thepaper around them was not always clean he would cut them out, apastime which greatly amused him. Rosalie got angry, as the shreds ofpaper blew about even into her plates; and it was a sight to see withwhat rustic cunning he would at last gain possession of her scissors. At times, however, in order to get rid of him, she would give them upwithout any asking. 

Meanwhile some brown sauce would be simmering on the fire. Rosaliewatched it, wooden spoon in hand; while Zephyrin, his head bent andhis breadth of shoulder increased by his epaulets, continued cuttingout the pictures. His head was so closely shaven that the skin of hisskull could be seen; and the yellow collar of his tunic yawned widelybehind, displaying his sunburnt neck. For a quarter of an hour at atime neither would utter a syllable. When Zephyrin raised his head, hewatched Rosalie while she took some flour, minced some parsley, orsalted and peppered some dish, his eyes betraying the while intenseinterest. Then, at long intervals, a few words would escape him:

"By Jove! that does smell nice!"

The cook, busily engaged, would not vouchsafe an immediate reply; butafter a lengthy silence she perhaps exclaimed: "You see, it mustsimmer properly. "

Their talk never went beyond that. They no longer spoke of theirnative place even. When a reminiscence came to them a word sufficed, and they chuckled inwardly the whole afternoon. This was pleasureenough, and by the time Rosalie turned Zephyrin out of doors both ofthem had enjoyed ample amusement. 

"Come, you will have to go! I must wait on madame, " said she; andrestoring him his shako and sabre, she drove him out before her, afterwards waiting on madame with cheeks flushed with happiness; whilehe walked back to barracks, dangling his arms, and almost intoxicatedby the goodly odors of thyme and laurel which still clung to him. 

During his earlier visits Helene judged it right to look after them. She popped in sometimes quite suddenly to give an order, and there wasZephyrin always in his corner, between the table and the window, closeto the stone filter, which forced him to draw in his legs. The momentmadame made her appearance he rose and stood upright, as thoughshouldering arms, and if she spoke to him his reply never went beyonda salute and a respectful grunt. Little by little Helene grew somewhateasier; she saw that her entrance did not disturb them, and that theirfaces only expressed the quiet content of patient lovers. 

At this time, too, Rosalie seemed even more wide awake than Zephyrin. She had already been some months in Paris, and under its influence wasfast losing her country rust, though as yet she only knew threestreets--the Rue de Passy, the Rue Franklin, and the Rue Vineuse. Zephyrin, soldier though he was, remained quite a lubber. As Rosalieconfided to her mistress, he became more of a blockhead every day. Inthe country he had been much sharper. But, added she, it was theuniform's fault; all the lads who donned the uniform became sad dolts. The fact is, his change of life had quite muddled Zephyrin, who, withhis staring round eyes and solemn swagger, looked like a goose. Despite his epaulets he retained his rustic awkwardness and heaviness;the barracks had taught him nothing as yet of the fine words andvictorious attitudes of the ideal Parisian fire-eater. "Yes, madame, "Rosalie would wind up by saying, "you don't need to disturb yourself;it is not in him to play any tricks!"

Thus the girl began to treat him in quite a motherly way. Whiledressing her meat on the spit she would preach him a sermon, full ofgood counsel as to the pitfalls he should shun; and he in allobedience vigorously nodded approval of each injunction. Every Sundayhe had to swear to her that he had attended mass, and that he hadsolemnly repeated his prayers morning and evening. She stronglyinculcated the necessity of tidiness, gave him a brush down wheneverhe left her, stitched on a loose button of his tunic, and surveyed himfrom head to foot to see if aught were amiss in his appearance. Shealso worried herself about his health, and gave him cures for allsorts of ailments. In return for her kindly care Zephyrin professedhimself anxious to fill her filter for her; but this proposal waslong-rejected, through the fear that he might spill the water. Oneday, however, he brought up two buckets without letting a drop oftheir contents fall on the stairs, and from that time he replenishedthe filter every Sunday. He would also make himself useful in otherways, doing all the heavy work and was extremely handy in running tothe greengrocer's for butter, had she forgotten to purchase any. Atlast, even, he began to share in the duties of kitchen-maid. First hewas permitted to peel the vegetables; later on the mincing wasassigned to him. At the end of six weeks, though still forbidden totouch the sauces, he watched over them with wooden spoon in hand. Rosalie had fairly made him her helpmate, and would sometimes burstout laughing as she saw him, with his red trousers and yellow collar, working busily before the fire with a dishcloth over his arm, likesome scullery-servant. 

One Sunday Helene betook herself to the kitchen. Her slippers deadenedthe sound of her footsteps, and she reached the threshold unheard byeither maid or soldier. Zephyrin was seated in his corner over a basinof steaming broth. Rosalie, with her back turned to the door, wasoccupied in cutting some long sippets of bread for him. 

"There, eat away, my dear!" she said. "You walk too much; it is thatwhich makes you feel so empty! There! have you enough? Do you want anymore?"

Thus speaking, she watched him with a tender and anxious look. He, with his round, dumpy figure, leaned over the basin, devouring asippet with each mouthful of broth. His face, usually yellow withfreckles, was becoming quite red with the warmth of the steam whichcircled round him. 

"Heavens!" he muttered, "what grand juice! What do you put in it?"

"Wait a minute, " she said; "if you like leeks--"

However, as she turned round she suddenly caught sight of hermistress. She raised an exclamation, and then, like Zephyrin, seemedturned to stone. But a moment afterwards she poured forth a torrent ofexcuses. 

"It's my share, madame--oh, it's my share! I would not have taken anymore soup, I swear it! I told him, 'If you would like to have my bowlof soup, you can have it. ' Come, speak up, Zephyrin; you know that washow it came about!"

The mistress remained silent, and the servant grew uneasy, thinkingshe was annoyed. Then in quavering tones she continued:

"Oh, he was dying of hunger, madame; he stole a raw carrot for me!They feed him so badly! And then, you know, he had walked goodnessknows where all along the river-side. I'm sure, madame, you would havetold me yourself to give him some broth!"

Gazing at the little soldier, who sat with his mouth full, not daringto swallow, Helene felt she could no longer remain stern. So shequietly said:

"Well, well, my girl, whenever the lad is hungry you must keep him todinner--that's all. I give you permission"

Face to face with them, she had again felt within her that tenderfeeling which once already had banished all thoughts of rigor from hermind. They were so happy in that kitchen! The cotton curtain, drawnhalf-way, gave free entry to the sunset beams. The burnished copperpans set the end wall all aglow, lending a rosy tint to the twilightlingering in the room. And there, in the golden shade, the lovers'little round faces shone out, peaceful and radiant, like moons. Theirlove was instinct with such calm certainty that no neglect was evenshown in keeping the kitchen utensils in their wonted good order. Itblossomed amidst the savory odors of the cooking-stove, whichheightened their appetites and nourished their hearts. 

"Mamma, " asked Jeanne, one evening after considerable meditation, "whyis it Rosalie's cousin never kisses her?"

"And why should they kiss one another?" asked Helene in her turn. "They will kiss on their birthdays. "

 CHAPTER VII. 

The soup had just been served on the following Tuesday evening, whenHelene, after listening attentively, exclaimed:

"What a downpour! Don't you hear? My poor friends, you will getdrenched to-night!"

"Oh, it's only a few drops, " said the Abbe quietly, though his oldcassock was already wet about the shoulders. 

"I've got a good distance to go, " said Monsieur Rambaud. "But I shallreturn home on foot all the same; I like it. Besides, I have myumbrella. "

Jeanne was reflecting as she gazed gravely on her last spoonful ofvermicelli; and at last her thoughts took shape in words: "Rosaliesaid you wouldn't come because of the wretched weather; but mamma saidyou would come. You are very kind; you always come. "

A smile lit up all their faces. Helene addressed a nod of affectionateapproval to the two brothers. Out of doors the rain was falling with adull roar, and violent gusts of wind beat angrily against thewindow-shutters. Winter seemed to have returned. Rosalie had carefullydrawn the red repp curtains; and the small, cosy dining-room, illumined by the steady light of the white hanging-lamp, looked, amidst the buffeting of the storm, a picture of pleasant, affectionateintimacy. On the mahogany sideboard some china reflected the quietlight; and amidst all this indoor peacefulness the four dinersleisurely conversed, awaiting the good pleasure of the servant-maid, as they sat round the table, where all, if simple, was exquisitelyclean. 

"Oh! you are waiting; so much the worse!" said Rosalie familiarly, asshe entered with a dish. "These are fillets of sole _au gratin_ forMonsieur Rambaud; they require to be lifted just at the last moment. "

Monsieur Rambaud pretended to be a gourmand, in order to amuse Jeanne, and give pleasure to Rosalie, who was very proud of heraccomplishments as a cook. He turned towards her with the question:"By the way, what have you got for us to-day? You are always bringingin some surprise or other when I am no longer hungry. "

"Oh, " said she in reply, "there are three dishes as usual, and nomore. After the sole you will have a leg of mutton and then someBrussels sprouts. Yes, that's the truth; there will be nothing else. "

From the corner of his eye Monsieur Rambaud glanced towards Jeanne. The child was boiling over with glee, her hands over her mouth torestrain her laughter, while she shook her head, as though toinsinuate that the maid was deceiving them. Monsieur Rambaud thereuponclacked his tongue as though in doubt, and Rosalie pretended greatindignation. 

"You don't believe me because Mademoiselle Jeanne laughs so, " saidshe. "Ah, very well! believe what you like. Stint yourself, and see ifyou won't have a craving for food when you get home. "

When the maid had left the room, Jeanne, laughing yet more loudly, wasseized with a longing to speak out. 

"You are really too greedy!" she began. "I myself went into thekitchen--" However, she left her sentence unfinished: "No, no, I won'ttell; it isn't right, is it, mamma? There's nothing more--nothing atall! I only laughed to cheat you. "

This interlude was re-enacted every Tuesday with the same unvaryingsuccess. Helene was touched by the kindliness with which MonsieurRambaud lent himself to the fun; she was well aware that, withProvencal frugality, he had long limited his daily fare to an anchovyand half-a-dozen olives. As for Abbe Jouve, he never knew what he waseating, and his blunders and forgetfulness supplied an inexhaustiblefund of amusement. Jeanne, meditating some prank in this respect, waseven now stealthily watching him with her glittering eyes. 

"How nice this whiting is!" she said to him, after they had all beenserved. 

"Very nice, my dear, " he answered. "Bless me, you are right--it iswhiting; I thought it was turbot. "

And then, as every one laughed, he guilelessly asked why. Rosalie, whohad just come into the room again, seemed very much hurt, and burstout:

"A fine thing indeed! The priest in my native place knew much betterwhat he was eating. He could tell the age of the fowl he was carvingto a week or so, and didn't require to go into the kitchen to find outwhat there was for dinner. No, the smell was quite sufficient. Goodness gracious! had I been in the service of a priest like yourreverence, I should not know yet even how to turn an omelet. "

The Abbe hastened to excuse himself with an embarrassed air, as thoughhis inability to appreciate the delights of the table was a failing hedespaired of curing. But, as he said, he had too many other things tothink about. 

"There! that is a leg of mutton!" exclaimed Rosalie, as she placed onthe table the joint referred to. 

Everybody once more indulged in a peal of laughter, the Abbe Jouvebeing the first to do so. He bent forward to look, his little eyestwinkling with glee. 

"Yes, certainly, " said he; "it is a leg of mutton. I think I shouldhave known it. "

Despite this remark, there was something about the Abbe that day whichbetokened unusual absent-mindedness. He ate quickly, with the haste ofa man who is bored by a long stay at table, and lunches standing whenat home. And, having finished, himself, he would wait the convenienceof the others, plunged in deep thought, and simply smiling in reply tothe questions put to him. At every moment he cast on his brother alook in which encouragement and uneasiness were mingled. Nor didMonsieur Rambaud seen possessed of his wonted tranquillity thatevening; but his agitation manifested itself in a craving to talk andfidget on his chair, which seemed rather inconsistent with his quietdisposition. When the Brussels sprouts had disappeared, there was adelay in the appearance of the dessert, and a spell of silence ensued. Out of doors the rain was beating down with still greater force, rattling noisily against the house. The dining-room was rather close, and it suddenly dawned on Helene that there was something strange inthe air--that the two brothers had some worry of which they did notcare to speak. She looked at them anxiously, and at last spoke:

"Dear, dear! What dreadful rain! isn't it? It seems to be influencingboth of you, for you look out of sorts. "

They protested, however, that such was not the case, doing theirutmost to clear her mind of the notion. And as Rosalie now made herappearance with an immense dish, Monsieur Rambaud exclaimed, as thoughto veil his emotion: "What did I say! Still another surprise!"

The surprise of the day was some vanilla cream, one of the cook'striumphs. And thus it was a sight to see her broad, silent grin, asshe deposited her burden on the table. Jeanne shouted and clapped herhands. 

"I knew it, I knew it! I saw the eggs in the kitchen!"

"But I have no more appetite, " declared Monsieur Rambaud, with a lookof despair. "I could not eat any of it!"

Thereupon Rosalie became grave, full of suppressed wrath. With adignified air, she remarked: "Oh, indeed! A cream which I madespecially for you! Well, well! just try not to eat any of it--yes, try!"

He had to give in and accept a large helping of the cream. Meanwhilethe Abbe remained thoughtful. He rolled up his napkin and rose beforethe dessert had come to an end, as was frequently his custom. For alittle while he walked about, with his head hanging down; and whenHelene in her turn quitted the table, he cast at Monsieur Rambaud alook of intelligence, and led the young woman into the bedroom. [*] Thedoor being left open behind them, they could almost immediatelyafterwards be heard conversing together, though the words which theyslowly exchanged were indistinguishable. 

[*] Helene's frequent use of her bedroom may seem strange to the English reader who has never been in France. But in the _petite bourgeoisie_ the bedchamber is often the cosiest of the whole suite of rooms, and whilst indoors, when not superintending her servant, it is in the bedroom that madame will spend most of her time. Here, too, she will receive friends of either sex, and, the French being far less prudish than ourselves, nobody considers that there is anything wrong or indelicate in the practice. 

"Oh, do make haste!" said Jeanne to Monsieur Rambaud, who seemedincapable of finishing a biscuit. "I want to show you my work. "

However, he evinced no haste, though when Rosalie began to clear thetable it became necessary for him to leave his chair. 

"Wait a little! wait a little!" he murmured, as the child strove todrag him towards the bedroom, And, overcome with embarrassment andtimidity, he retreated from the doorway. Then, as the Abbe raised hisvoice, such sudden weakness came over him that he had to sit downagain at the table. From his pocket he drew a newspaper. 

"Now, " said he, "I'm going to make you a little coach. "

Jeanne at once abandoned her intention of entering the adjoining room. Monsieur Rambaud always amazed her by his skill in turning a sheet ofpaper into all sorts of playthings. Chickens, boats, bishops' mitres, carts, and cages, were all evolved under his fingers. That day, however, so tremulous were his hands that he was unable to perfectanything. He lowered his head whenever the faintest sound came fromthe adjacent room. Nevertheless, Jeanne took interest in watching him, and leaned on the table at his side. 

"Now, " said she, "you must make a chicken to harness to the carriage. "

Meantime, within the bedroom, Abbe Jouve remained standing in theshadow thrown by the lamp-shade upon the floor. Helene had sat down inher usual place in front of the round table; and, as on Tuesdays sherefrained from ceremony with her friends, she had taken up herneedlework, and, in the circular glare of light, only her white handscould be seen sewing a child's cap. 

"Jeanne gives you no further worry, does she?" asked the Abbe. 

Helene shook her head before making a reply. 

"Doctor Deberle seems quite satisfied, " said she. "But the poordarling is still very nervous. Yesterday I found her in her chair in afainting fit. "

"She needs exercise, " resumed the priest. "You stay indoors far toomuch; you should follow the example of other folks and go about morethan you do. "

He ceased speaking, and silence followed. He now, without doubt, hadwhat he had been seeking, --a suitable inlet for his discourse; but themoment for speaking came, and he was still communing with himself. Taking a chair, he sat down at Helene's side. 

"Hearken to me, my dear child, " he began. "For some time past I havewished to talk with you seriously. The life you are leading here canentail no good results. A convent existence such as yours is notconsistent with your years; and this abandonment of worldly pleasuresis as injurious to your child as it is to yourself. You are riskingmany dangers--dangers to health, ay, and other dangers, too. "

Helene raised her head with an expression of astonishment. "What doyou mean, my friend?" she asked. 

"Dear me! I know the world but little, " continued the priest, withsome slight embarrassment, "yet I know very well that a woman incursgreat risk when she remains without a protecting arm. To speakfrankly, you keep to your own company too much, and this seclusion inwhich you hide yourself is not healthful, believe me. A day must comewhen you will suffer from it. "

"But I make no complaint; I am very happy as I am, " she exclaimed withspirit. 

The old priest gently shook his large head. 

"Yes, yes, that is all very well. You feel completely happy. I knowall that. Only, on the downhill path of a lonely, dreamy life, younever know where you are going. Oh! I understand you perfectly; youare incapable of doing any wrong. But sooner or later you might loseyour peace of mind. Some morning, when it is too late, you will findthat blank which you now leave in your life filled by some painfulfeeling not to be confessed. "

As she sat there in the shadow, a blush crimsoned Helene's face. Hadthe Abbe, then, read her heart? Was he aware of this restlessnesswhich was fast possessing her--this heart-trouble which thrilled herevery-day life, and the existence of which she had till now beenunwilling to admit? Her needlework fell on her lap. A sensation ofweakness pervaded her, and she awaited from the priest something likea pious complicity which would allow her to confess and particularizethe vague feelings which she buried in her innermost being. As all wasknown to him, it was for him to question her, and she would strive toanswer. 

"I leave myself in your hands, my friend, " she murmured. "You are wellaware that I have always listened to you. "

The priest remained for a moment silent, and then slowly and solemnlysaid:

"My child, you must marry again. "

She remained speechless, with arms dangling, in a stupor this counselbrought upon her. She awaited other words, failing, as it were, tounderstand him. And the Abbe continued putting before her thearguments which should incline her towards marriage. 

"Remember, you are still young. You must not remain longer in thisout-of-the-way corner of Paris, scarcely daring to go out, and whollyignorant of the world. You must return to the every-day life ofhumanity, lest in the future you should bitterly regret yourloneliness. You yourself have no idea how the effects of yourisolation are beginning to tell on you, but your friends remark yourpallor, and feel uneasy. "

With each sentence he paused, in the hope that she might break in anddiscuss his proposition. But no; she sat there as if lifeless, seemingly benumbed with astonishment. 

"No doubt you have a child, " he resumed. "That is always a delicatematter to surmount. Still, you must admit that even in Jeanne'sinterest a husband's arm would be of great advantage. Of course, wemust find some one good and honorable, who would be a true father--"

However, she did not let him finish. With violent revolt and repulsionshe suddenly spoke out: "No, no; I will not! Oh, my friend, how canyou advise me thus? Never, do you hear, never!"

Her whole heart was rising; she herself was frightened by the violenceof her refusal. The priest's proposal had stirred up that dim nook inher being whose secret she avoided reading, and, by the pain sheexperienced, she at last understood all the gravity of her ailment. With the open, smiling glance of the priest still bent on her, sheplunged into contention. 

"No, no; I do not wish it! I love nobody!"

And, as he still gazed at her, she imagined he could read her lie onher face. She blushed and stammered:

"Remember, too, I only left off my mourning a fortnight ago. No, itcould not be!"

"My child!" quietly said the priest, "I thought over this a great dealbefore speaking. I am sure your happiness is wrapped up in it. Calmyourself; you need never act against your own wishes. "

The conversation came to a sudden stop. Helene strove to keep pentwithin her bosom the angry protests that were rushing to her lips. Sheresumed her work, and, with head lowered, contrived to put in a fewstitches. And amid the silence, Jeanne's shrill voice could be heardin the dining-room. 

"People don't put a chicken to a carriage; it ought to be a horse! Youdon't know how to make a horse, do you?"

"No, my dear; horses are too difficult, " said Monsieur Rambaud. "Butif you like I'll show you how to make carriages. "

This was always the fashion in which their game came to an end. Jeanne, all ears and eyes, watched her kindly playfellow folding thepaper into a multitude of little squares, and afterwards she followedhis example; but she would make mistakes and then stamp her feet invexation. However, she already knew how to manufacture boats andbishops' mitres. 

"You see, " resumed Monsieur Rambaud patiently, "you make four cornerslike that; then you turn them back--"

With his ears on the alert, he must during the last moment have heardsome of the words spoken in the next room; for his poor hands were nowtrembling more and more, while his tongue faltered, so that he couldonly half articulate his sentences. 

Helene, who was unable to quiet herself, now began the conversationanew. "Marry again! And whom, pray?" she suddenly asked the priest, asshe laid her work down on the table. "You have some one in view, haveyou not?"

Abbe Jouve rose from his chair and stalked slowly up and down. Withouthalting, he nodded assent. 

"Well! tell me who he is, " she said. 

For a moment he lingered before her erect, then, shrugging hisshoulders, said: "What's the good, since you decline?"

"No matter, I want to know, " she replied. "How can I make up my mindwhen I don't know?"

He did not answer her immediately, but remained standing there, gazinginto her face. A somewhat sad smile wreathed his lips. At last heexclaimed, almost in a whisper: "What! have you not guessed?"

No, she could not guess. She tried to do so, with increasing wonder, whereupon he made a simple sign--nodding his head in the direction ofthe dining-room. 

"He!" she exclaimed, in a muffled tone, and a great seriousness fellupon her. She no longer indulged in violent protestations; only sorrowand surprise remained visible on her face. She sat for a long timeplunged in thought, her gaze turned to the floor. Truly, she had neverdreamed of such a thing; and yet, she found nothing in it to objectto. Monsieur Rambaud was the only man in whose hand she could put herown honestly and without fear. She knew his innate goodness; she didnot smile at his _bourgeois_ heaviness. But despite all her regard forhim, the idea that he loved her chilled her to the soul. 

Meanwhile the Abbe had again begun walking from one to the other endof the room, and on passing the dining-room door he gently calledHelene. "Come here and look!"

She rose and did as he wished. 

Monsieur Rambaud had ended by seating Jeanne in his own chair; and he, who had at first been leaning against the table, had now slipped downat the child's feet. He was on his knees before her, encircling herwith one of his arms. On the table was the carriage drawn by thechicken, with some boats, boxes, and bishops' mitres. 

"Now, do you love me well?" he asked her. "Tell me that you love mewell!"

"Of course, I love you well; you know it. "

He stammered and trembled, as though he were making some declarationof love. 

"And what would you say if I asked you to let me stay here with youalways?"

"Oh, I should be quite pleased. We would play together, wouldn't we?That would be good fun. "

"Ah, but you know I should always be here. "

Jeanne had taken up a boat which she was twisting into a gendarme'shat. "You would need to get mamma's leave, " she murmured. 

By this reply all his fears were again stirred into life. His fate wasbeing decided. 

"Of course, " said he. "But if mamma gave me leave, would you say yes, too?"

Jeanne, busy finishing her gendarme's hat, sang out in a rapturousstrain: "I would say yes! yes! yes! I would say yes! yes! yes! Come, look how pretty my hat is!"

Monsieur Rambaud, with tears in his eyes, rose to his knees and kissedher, while she threw her arms round his neck. He had entrusted theasking of Helene's consent to his brother, whilst he himself sought tosecure that of Jeanne. 

"You see, " said the priest, with a smile, "the child is quitecontent. "

Helene still retained her grave air, and made no further inquiry. TheAbbe, however, again eloquently took up his plea, and emphasized hisbrother's good qualities. Was he not a treasure-trove of a father forJeanne? She was well acquainted with him; in trusting him she gave nohostages to fortune. Then, as she still remained silent, the Abbe withgreat feeling and dignity declared that in the step he had taken hehad not thought of his brother, but of her and her happiness. 

"I believe you; I know how you love me, " Helene promptly answered. "Wait; I want to give your brother his answer in your presence. "

The clock struck ten. Monsieur Rambaud made his entry into thebedroom. With outstretched hands she went to meet him. 

"I thank you for your proposal, my friend, " said she. "I am verygrateful; and you have done well in speaking--"

She was gazing calmly into his face, holding his big hand in hergrasp. Trembling all over, he dared not lift his eyes. 

"Yet I must have time to consider, " she resumed. "You will perhapshave to give me a long time. "

"Oh! as long as you like--six months, a year, longer if you please, "exclaimed he with a light heart, well pleased that she had notforthwith sent him about his business. 

His excitement brought a faint smile to her face. "But I intend thatwe shall still continue friends, " said she. "You will come here asusual, and simply give me your promise to remain content till I speakto you about the matter. Is that understood?"

He had withdrawn his hand, and was now feverishly hunting for his hat, signifying his acquiescence by a continuous bobbing of the head. Then, at the moment of leaving, he found his voice once more. 

"Listen to me, " said he. "You now know that I am there--don't you?Well, whatever happens I shall always be there. That's all the Abbeshould have told you. In ten years, if you like; you will only have tomake a sign. I shall obey you!"

And it was he who a last time took Helene's hand and gripped it asthough he would crush it. On the stairs the two brothers turned roundwith the usual good-bye:

"Till next Tuesday!"

"Yes, Tuesday, " answered Helene. 

On returning to her room a fresh downfall of rain beating against theshutters filled her with grave concern. Good heavens! what anobstinate downpour, and how wet her poor friends would get! She openedthe window and looked down into the street. Sudden gusts of wind weremaking the gaslights flicker, and amid the shiny puddles andshimmering rain she could see the round figure of Monsieur Rambaud, ashe went off with dancing gait, exultant in the darkness, seeminglycaring nothing for the drenching torrent. 

Jeanne, however, was very grave, for she had overheard some of herplayfellow's last words. She had just taken off her little boots, andwas sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, in deepcogitation. On entering the room to kiss her, her mother discoveredher thus. 

"Good-night, Jeanne; kiss me. "

Then, as the child did not seem to hear her, Helene sank down in frontof her, and clasped her round the waist, asking her in a whisper: "Soyou would be glad if he came to live with us?"

The question seemed to bring no surprise to Jeanne. She was doubtlesspondering over this very matter. She slowly nodded her head. 

"But you know, " said her mother, "he would be always beside us--nightand day, at table--everywhere!"

A great trouble dawned in the clear depths of the child's eyes. Shenestled her cheek against her mother's shoulder, kissed her neck, andfinally, with a quiver, whispered in her ear: "Mamma, would he kissyou?"

A crimson flush rose to Helene's brow. In her first surprise she wasat a loss to answer, but at last she murmured: "He would be the sameas your father, my darling!"

Then Jeanne's little arms tightened their hold, and she burst intoloud and grievous sobbing. "Oh! no, no!" she cried chokingly. "I don'twant it then! Oh! mamma, do please tell him I don't. Go and tell him Iwon't have it!"

She gasped, and threw herself on her mother's bosom, covering her withtears and kisses. Helene did her utmost to appease her, assuring hershe would make it all right; but Jeanne was bent on having a definiteanswer at once. 

"Oh! say no! say no, darling mother! You know it would kill me. Never!Oh, never! Eh?"

"Well, I'll promise it will never be. Now, be good and lie down. "

For some minutes longer the child, speechless with emotion, claspedher mother in her arms, as though powerless to tear herself away, andintent on guarding her against all who might seek to take her fromher. After some time Helene was able to put her to bed; but for a partof the night she had to watch beside her. Jeanne would start violentlyin her sleep, and every half-hour her eyes would open to make sure ofher mother's presence, and then she would doze off again, with herlips pressed to Helene's hand. 

 CHAPTER VIII. 

It was a month of exquisite mildness. The April sun had draped thegarden in tender green, light and delicate as lace. Twining around therailing were the slender shoots of the lush clematis, while thebudding honeysuckle filled the air with its sweet, almost sugaryperfume. On both sides of the trim and close-shaven lawn red geraniumsand white stocks gave the flower beds a glow of color; and at the endof the garden the clustering elms, hiding the adjacent houses, rearedthe green drapery of their branches, whose little leaves trembled withthe least breath of air. 

For more than three weeks the sky had remained blue and cloudless. Itwas like a miraculous spring celebrating the new youth and blossomingthat had burst into life in Helene's heart. Every afternoon she wentdown into the garden with Jeanne. A place was assigned her against thefirst elm on the right. A chair was ready for her; and on the morrowshe would still find on the gravel walk the scattered clippings ofthread that had fallen from her work on the previous afternoon. 

"You are quite at home, " Madame Deberle repeated every evening, displaying for Helene one of those affections of hers, which usuallylasted some six months. "You will come to-morrow, of course; and tryto come earlier, won't you?"

Helene, in truth, felt thoroughly at her ease there. By degrees shebecame accustomed to this nook of greenery, and looked forward to herafternoon visit with the longing of a child. What charmed her most inthis garden was the exquisite trimness of the lawn and flower beds. Not a single weed interfered with the symmetry of the plants. Helenespent her time there, calmly and restfully. The neatly laid out flowerbeds, and the network of ivy, the withered leaves of which werecarefully removed by the gardener, could exercise no disturbinginfluence on her spirit. Seated beneath the deep shadow of theelm-trees, in this quiet spot which Madame Deberle's presence perfumedwith a faint odor of musk, she could have imagined herself in adrawing-room; and only the sight of the blue sky, when she raised herhead, reminded her that she was out-of-doors, and prompted her tobreathe freely. 

Often, without seeing a soul, the two women would thus pass theafternoon. Jeanne and Lucien played at their feet. There would be longintervals of silence, and then Madame Deberle, who disliked reverie, would chatter for hours, quite satisfied with the silent acquiescenceof Helene, and rattling off again if the other even so much as nodded. She would tell endless stories concerning the ladies of heracquaintance, get up schemes for parties during the coming winter, vent magpie opinions on the day's news and the society trifling whichfilled her narrow brain, the whole intermingled with affectionateoutbursts over the children, and sentimental remarks on the delightsof friendship. Helene allowed her to squeeze her hands. She did notalways lend an attentive ear; but, in this atmosphere of unceasingtenderness, she showed herself greatly touched by Juliette's caresses, and pronounced her to be a perfect angel of kindness. 

Sometimes, to Madame Deberle's intense delight, a visitor would dropin. Since Easter she had ceased receiving on Saturdays, as was usualat this time of the year. But she dreaded solitude, and a casualunceremonious visit paid her in her garden gave her the greatestpleasure. She was now busily engaged in settling on the watering-placewhere she would spend her holiday in August. To every visitor sheretailed the same talk; discoursed on the fact that her husband wouldnot accompany her to the seaside; and then poured forth a flood ofquestions, as she could not make up her mind where to go. She did notask for herself, however; no, it was all on Lucien's account. When thefoppish youth Malignon came he seated himself astride a rustic chair. He, indeed, loathed the country; one must be mad, he would declare, toexile oneself from Paris with the idea of catching influenza besidethe sea. However, he took part in the discussions on the merits of thevarious watering-places, all of which were horrid, said he; apart fromTrouville there was not a place worthy of any consideration whatever. Day after day Helene listened to the same talk, yet without feelingwearied; indeed, she even derived pleasure from this monotony, whichlulled her into dreaming of one thing only. The last day of the monthcame, and still Madame Deberle had not decided where to go. 

As Helene was leaving one evening, her friend said to her: "I must goout to-morrow; but that needn't prevent you from coming down here. Wait for me; I shan't be back late. "

Helene consented; and, alone in the garden, there spent a deliciousafternoon. Nothing stirred, save the sparrows fluttering in the treesoverhead. This little sunny nook entranced her, and, from that day, her happiest afternoons were those on which her friend left her alone. 

A closer intimacy was springing up between the Deberles and herself. She dined with them like a friend who is pressed to stay when thefamily sits down to table; when she lingered under the elm-trees andPierre came down to announce dinner, Juliette would implore her toremain, and she sometimes yielded. They were family dinners, enlivenedby the noisy pranks of the children. Doctor Deberle and Helene seemedgood friends, whose sensible and somewhat reserved natures sympathizedwell. Thus it was that Juliette frequently declared: "Oh, you twowould get on capitally! Your composure exasperates me!"

The doctor returned from his round of visits at about six o'clockevery evening. He found the ladies in the garden, and sat down besidethem. On the earlier occasions, Helene started up with the idea ofleaving her friends to themselves, but her sudden departure displeasedJuliette greatly, and she now perforce had to remain. She becamealmost a member of this family, which appeared to be so closelyunited. On the doctor's arrival his wife held up her cheek to him, always with the same loving gesture, and he kissed her; then, asLucien began clambering up his legs, he kept him on his knees whilechatting away. The child would clap his tiny hands on his father'smouth, pull his hair, and play so many pranks that in the upshot hehad to be put down, and told to go and play with Jeanne. The fun wouldbring a smile to Helene's face, and she neglected her work for themoment, to gaze at father, mother, and child. The kiss of the husbandand wife gave her no pain, and Lucien's tricks filled her with softemotion. It might have been said that she had found a haven of refugeamidst this family's quiet content. 

Meanwhile the sun would sink into the west, gilding the tree tops withits rays. Serene peacefulness fell from the grey heavens. Juliette, whose curiosity was insatiable, even in company with strangers, plagued her husband with ceaseless questions, and often lacked thepatience to wait his replies. "Where have you been? What have you beenabout?"

Thereupon he would describe his round of visits to them, repeat anynews of what was going on, or speak of some cloth or piece offurniture he had caught a glimpse of in a shop window. While he wasspeaking, his eyes often met those of Helene, but neither turned awaythe head. They gazed into each other's face for a moment with gravelooks, as though heart were being revealed to heart; but after alittle they smiled and their eyes dropped. Juliette, fidgety andsprightly, though she would often assume a studied languor, allowedthem no opportunity for lengthy conversation, but burst with herinterruptions into any talk whatever. Still they exchanged a fewwords, quite commonplace, slowly articulated sentences which seemed toassume a deep meaning, and to linger in the air after having beenspoken. They approvingly punctuated each word the other uttered, asthough they had thoughts in common. It was an intimate sympathy thatwas growing up between them, springing from the depths of theirbeings, and becoming closer even when they were silent. SometimesJuliette, rather ashamed of monopolizing all the talk, would cease hermagpie chatter. 

"Dear me!" she would exclaim, "you are getting bored, aren't you? Weare talking of matters which can have no possible interest for you. "

"Oh, never mind me, " Helene answered blithely. "I never tire. It is apleasure to me to listen and say nothing. "

She was uttering no untruth. It was during the lengthy periods ofsilence that she experienced most delight in being there. With herhead bent over her work, only lifting her eyes at long intervals toexchange with the doctor those interminable looks that riveted theirhearts the closer, she willingly surrendered herself to the egotism ofher emotion. Between herself and him, she now confessed it, thereexisted a secret sentiment, a something very sweet--all the sweeterbecause no one in the world shared it with them. But she kept hersecret with a tranquil mind, her sense of honor quite unruffled, forno thought of evil ever disturbed her. How good he was to his wife andchild! She loved him the more when he made Lucien jump or kissedJuliette on the cheek. Since she had seen him in his own home theirfriendship had greatly increased. She was now as one of the family;she never dreamt that the intimacy could be broken. And within her ownbreast she called him Henri--naturally, too, from hearing Julietteaddress him so. When her lips said "Sir, " through all her being"Henri" was re-echoed. 

One day the doctor found Helene alone under the elms. Juliette nowwent out nearly every afternoon. 

"Hello! is my wife not with you?" he exclaimed. 

"No, she has left me to myself, " she answered laughingly. "It is trueyou have come home earlier than usual. "

The children were playing at the other end of the garden. He sat downbeside her. Their _tete-a-tete_ produced no agitation in either ofthem. For nearly an hour they spoke of all sorts of matters, withoutfor a moment feeling any desire to allude to the tenderness whichfilled their hearts. What was the good of referring to that? Did theynot well know what might have been said? They had no confession tomake. Theirs was the joy of being together, of talking of many things, of surrendering themselves to the pleasure of their isolation withouta shadow of regret, in the very spot where every evening he embracedhis wife in her presence. 

That day he indulged in some jokes respecting her devotion to work. "Do you know, " said he, "I do not even know the color of your eyes?They are always bent on your needle. "

She raised her head and looked straight into his face, as was hercustom. "Do you wish to tease me?" she asked gently. 

But he went on. "Ah! they are grey--grey, tinged with blue, are theynot?"

This was the utmost limit to which they dared go; but these words, thefirst that had sprung to his lips, were fraught with infinitetenderness. From that day onwards he frequently found her alone in thetwilight. Despite themselves, and without their having any knowledgeof it, their intimacy grew apace. They spoke in an altered voice, withcaressing inflections, which were not apparent when others werepresent. And yet, when Juliette came in, full of gossip about her dayin town, they could keep up the talk they had already begun withouteven troubling themselves to draw their chairs apart. It seemed asthough this lovely springtide and this garden, with its blossominglilac, were prolonging within their hearts the first rapture of love. 

Towards the end of the month, Madame Deberle grew excited over a grandidea. The thought of giving a children's ball had suddenly struck her. The season was already far advanced, but the scheme took such hold onher foolish brain that she hurried on the preparations with recklesshaste. She desired that the affair should be quite perfect; it was tobe a fancy-dress ball. And, in her own home, and in other people'shouses, everywhere, in short, she now spoke of nothing but her ball. The conversations on the subject which took place in the garden wereendless. The foppish Malignon thought the project rather stupid, stillhe condescended to take some interest in it, and promised to bring acomic singer with whom he was acquainted. 

One afternoon, while they were all sitting under the trees, Julietteintroduced the grave question of the costumes which Lucien and Jeanneshould wear. 

"It is so difficult to make up one's mind, " said she. "I have beenthinking of a clown's dress in white satin. "

"Oh, that's too common!" declared Malignon. "There will be a rounddozen of clowns at your ball. Wait, you must have something novel. "Thereupon he began gravely pondering, sucking the head of his cane allthe while. 

Pauline came up at the moment, and proclaimed her desire to appear asa soubrette. 

"You!" screamed Madame Deberle, in astonishment. "You won't appear incostume at all! Do you think yourself a child, you great stupid? Youwill oblige me by coming in a white dress. "

"Oh, but it would have pleased me so!" exclaimed Pauline, who, despiteher eighteen years and plump girlish figure, liked nothing better thanto romp with a band of little ones. 

Meanwhile Helene sat at the foot of her tree working away, and raisingher head at times to smile at the doctor and Monsieur Rambaud, whostood in front of her conversing. Monsieur Rambaud had now becomequite intimate with the Deberle family. 

"Well, " said the doctor, "and how are you going to dress, Jeanne?"

He got no further, for Malignon burst out: "I've got it! I've got it!Lucien must be a marquis of the time of Louis XV. "

He waved his cane with a triumphant air; but, as no one of the companyhailed his idea with enthusiasm, he appeared astonished. "What, don'tyou see it? Won't it be for Lucien to receive his little guests? Soyou place him, dressed as a marquis, at the drawing-room door, with alarge bouquet of roses on his coat, and he bows to the ladies. "

"But there will be dozens of marquises at the ball!" objectedJuliette. 

"What does that matter?" replied Malignon coolly. "The more marquisesthe greater the fun. I tell you it is the best thing you can hit upon. The master of the house must be dressed as a marquis, or the ball willbe a complete failure. "

Such was his conviction of his scheme's success that at last it wasadopted by Juliette with enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, a dress inthe Pompadour style, white satin embroidered with posies, would bealtogether charming. 

"And what about Jeanne?" again asked the doctor. 

The little girl had just buried her head against her mother's shoulderin the caressing manner so characteristic of her; and as an answer wasabout to cross Helene's lips, she murmured:

"Oh! mamma, you know what you promised me, don't you?"

"What was it?" asked those around her. 

Then, as her daughter gave her an imploring look, Helene laughinglyreplied: "Jeanne does not wish her dress to be known. "

"Yes, that's so, " said the child; "you don't create any effect whenyou tell your dress beforehand. "

Every one was tickled with this display of coquetry, and MonsieurRambaud thought he might tease the child about it. For some time pastJeanne had been ill-tempered with him, and the poor man, at his wits'end to hit upon a mode of again gaining her favor, thought teasing herthe best method of conciliation. Keeping his eyes on her face, heseveral times repeated: "I know; I shall tell, I shall tell!"

Jeanne, however, became quite livid. Her gentle, sickly face assumedan expression of ferocious anger; her brow was furrowed by two deepwrinkles, and her chin drooped with nervous agitation. 

"You!" she screamed excitedly; "you will say nothing!" And, as hestill feigned a resolve to speak, she rushed at him madly, and shoutedout: "Hold your tongue! I will have you hold your tongue! I will! Iwill!"

Helene had been unable to prevent this fit of blind anger, such assometimes took possession of the child, and with some harshnessexclaimed: "Jeanne, take care; I shall whip you!"

But Jeanne paid no heed, never once heard her. Trembling from head tofoot, stamping on the ground, and choking with rage, she again andagain repeated, "I will! I will!" in a voice that grew more and morehoarse and broken; and her hands convulsively gripped hold of MonsieurRambaud's arm, which she twisted with extraordinary strength. In vaindid Helene threaten her. At last, perceiving her inability to quellher by severity, and grieved to the heart by such a display before somany people, she contented herself by saying gently: "Jeanne, you aregrieving me very much. "

The child immediately quitted her hold and turned her head. And whenshe caught sight of her mother, with disconsolate face and eyesswimming with repressed tears, she on her side burst into loud sobs, and threw herself on Helene's neck, exclaiming in her grief: "No, mamma! no, mamma!"

She passed her hands over her mother's face, as though to prevent herweeping. Helene, however, slowly put her from her, and then the littleone, broken-hearted and distracted, threw herself on a seat a shortdistance off, where her sobs broke out louder than ever. Lucien, towhom she was always held up as an example to follow, gazed at hersurprised and somewhat pleased. And then, as Helene folded up herwork, apologizing for so regrettable an incident, Juliette remarked toher:

"Dear me! we have to pardon children everything. Besides, the littleone has the best of hearts, and is grieved so much, poor darling, thatshe has been already punished too severely. "

So saying she called Jeanne to come and kiss her; but the childremained on her seat, rejecting the offer of forgiveness, and stillchoking with tears. 

Monsieur Rambaud and the doctor, however, walked to her side, and theformer, bending over her, asked, in tones husky with emotion: "Tellme, my pet, what has vexed you? What have I done to you?"

"Oh!" she replied, drawing away her hands and displaying a face fullof anguish, "you wanted to take my mamma from me!"

The doctor, who was listening, burst into laughter. Monsieur Rambaudat first failed to grasp her meaning. 

"What is this you're talking of?"

"Yes, indeed, the other Tuesday! Oh! you know very well; you were onyour knees, and asked me what I should say if you were to stay withus!"

The smile vanished from the doctor's face; his lips became ashy pale, and quivered. A flush, on the other hand, mounted to MonsieurRambaud's cheek, and he whispered to Jeanne: "But you said yourselfthat we should always play together?"

"No, no; I did not know at the time, " the child resumed excitedly. "Itell you I don't want it. Don't ever speak to me of it again, and thenwe shall be friends. "

Helene was on her feet now, with her needlework in its basket, and thelast words fell on her ear. "Come, let us go up, Jeanne, " she said;"your tears are not pleasant company. "

She bowed, and pushed the child before her. The doctor, with lividface, gazed at her fixedly. Monsieur Rambaud was in dismay. As forMadame Deberle and Pauline, they had taken hold of Lucien, and weremaking him turn between them, while excitedly discussing the questionof his Pompadour dress. 

On the morrow Helene was left alone under the elms. Madame Deberle wasrunning about in the interests of her ball, and had taken Lucien andJeanne with her. On the doctor's return home, at an earlier hour thanusual, he hurried down the garden steps. However, he did not seathimself, but wandered aimlessly round the young woman, at timestearing strips of bark from the trees with his finger-nails. Shelifted her eyes for a moment, feeling anxious at sight of hisagitation; and then again began plying her needle with a somewhattrembling hand. 

"The weather is going to break up, " said she, feeling uncomfortable asthe silence continued. "The afternoon seems quite cold. "

"We are only in April, remember, " he replied, with a brave effort tocontrol his voice. 

Then he appeared to be on the point of leaving her, but turned round, and suddenly asked: "So you are going to get married?"

This abrupt question took her wholly by surprise, and her work fellfrom her hands. Her face blanched, but by a supreme effort of willremained unimpassioned, as though she were a marble statue, fixingdilated eyes upon him. She made no reply, and he continued inimploring tones:

"Oh! I pray you, answer me. One word, one only. Are you going to getmarried?"

"Yes, perhaps. What concern is it of yours?" she retorted, in a toneof icy indifference. 

He made a passionate gesture, and exclaimed:

"It is impossible!"

"Why should it be?" she asked, still keeping her eyes fixed on hisface. 

Her glance stayed the words upon his lips, and he was forced tosilence. For a moment longer he remained near her, pressing his handsto his brow, and then fled away, with a feeling of suffocation in histhroat, dreading lest he might give expression to his despair; whileshe, with assumed tranquillity, once more turned to her work. 

But the spell of those delicious afternoons was gone. Next day shonefair and sunny, and Helene seemed ill at ease from the moment shefound herself alone with him. The pleasant intimacy, the happytrustfulness, which sanctioned their sitting side by side in blissfulsecurity, and revelling in the unalloyed joy of being together, nolonger existed. Despite his intense carefulness to give her no causefor alarm, he would sometimes gaze at her and tremble with suddenexcitement, while his face crimsoned with a rush of blood. From herown heart had fled its wonted happy calm; quivers ran through herframe; she felt languid; her hands grew weary, and forsook their work. 

She now no longer allowed Jeanne to wander from her side. Betweenhimself and her the doctor found this constant onlooker, watching himwith large, clear eyes. But what pained Helene most was that she nowfelt ill at ease in Madame Deberle's company. When the latter returnedof an afternoon, with her hair swept about by the wind, and called her"my dear" while relating the incidents of some shopping expedition, she no longer listened with her former quiet smile. A storm arose fromthe depths of her soul, stirring up feelings to which she dared notgive a name. Shame and spite seemed mingled in them. However, herhonorable nature gained the mastery, and she gave her hand toJuliette, but without being able to repress the shudder which ranthrough her as she pressed her friend's warm fingers. 

The weather had now broken up. Frequent rain forced the ladies to takerefuge in the Japanese pavilion. The garden, with its whilom exquisiteorder, became transformed into a lake, and no one dared venture on thewalks, on account of the mud. However, whenever the sun peeped outfrom behind the clouds, the dripping greenery soon dried; pearls hungfrom each little blossom of the lilac trees; and under the elms bigdrops fell splashing on the ground. 

"At last I've arranged it; it will be on Saturday, " said MadameDeberle one day. "My dear, I'm quite tired out with the whole affair. Now, you'll be here at two o'clock, won't you? Jeanne will open theball with Lucien. "

And thereupon, surrendering to a flow of tenderness, in ecstasy overthe preparations for her ball, she embraced both children, and, laughingly catching hold of Helene, pressed two resounding kisses onher cheeks. 

"That's my reward!" she exclaimed merrily. "You know I deserve it; Ihave run about enough. You'll see what a success it will be!"

But Helene remained chilled to the heart, while the doctor, withLucien clinging to his neck, gazed at them over the child's fair head. 

 CHAPTER IX. 

In the hall of the doctor's house stood Pierre, in dress coat andwhite cravat, throwing open the door as each carriage rolled up. Puffsof dank air rushed in; the afternoon was rainy, and a yellow lightillumined the narrow hall, with its curtained doorways and array ofgreen plants. It was only two o'clock, but the evening seemed as nearat hand as on a dismal winter's day. 

However, as soon as the servant opened the door of the firstdrawing-room, a stream of light dazzled the guests. The shutters hadbeen closed, and the curtains carefully drawn, and no gleam from thedull sky could gain admittance. The lamps standing here and there onthe furniture, and the lighted candles of the chandelier and thecrystal wall-brackets, gave the apartment somewhat the appearance of abrilliantly illuminated chapel. Beyond the smaller drawing-room, whosegreen hangings rather softened the glare of the light, was the largeblack-and-gold one, decorated as magnificently as for the ball whichMadame Deberle gave every year in the month of January. 

The children were beginning to arrive, while Pauline gave herattention to the ranging of a number of chairs in front of thedining-room doorway, where the door had been removed from itshinges and replaced by a red curtain. 

"Papa, " she cried, "just lend me a hand! We shall never be ready. "

Monsieur Letellier, who, with his arms behind his back, was gazing atthe chandelier, hastened to give the required assistance. Paulinecarried the chairs about herself. She had paid due deference to hersister's request, and was robed in white; only her dress openedsquarely at the neck and displayed her bosom. 

"At last we are ready, " she exclaimed: "they can come when they like. But what is Juliette dreaming about? She has been ever so longdressing Lucien!"

Just at that moment Madame Deberle entered, leading the littlemarquis, and everybody present began raising admiring remarks. "Oh!what a love! What a darling he is!" His coat was of white satinembroidered with flowers, his long waistcoat was embroidered withgold, and his knee-breeches were of cherry-colored silk. Laceclustered round his chin, and delicate wrists. A sword, a mere toywith a great rose-red knot, rattled against his hip. 

"Now you must do the honors, " his mother said to him, as she led himinto the outer room. 

For eight days past he had been repeating his lesson, and struck acavalier attitude with his little legs, his powdered head thrownslightly back, and his cocked hat tucked under his left arm. As eachof his lady-guests was ushered into the room, he bowed low, offeredhis arm, exchanged courteous greetings, and returned to the threshold. Those near him laughed over his intense seriousness in which there wasa dash of effrontery. This was the style in which he receivedMarguerite Tissot, a little lady five years old, dressed in a charmingmilkmaid costume, with a milk-can hanging at her side; so too did hegreet the Berthier children, Blanche and Sophie, the one masqueradingas Folly, the other dressed in soubrette style; and he had even thehardihood to tackle Valentine de Chermette, a tall young lady of somefourteen years, whom her mother always dressed in Spanish costume, andat her side his figure appeared so slight that she seemed to becarrying him along. However, he was profoundly embarrassed in thepresence of the Levasseur family, which numbered five girls, who madetheir appearance in a row of increasing height, the youngest beingscarcely two years old, while the eldest was ten. All five werearrayed in Red Riding-Hood costumes, their head-dresses and gownsbeing in poppy-colored satin with black velvet bands, with which theirlace aprons strikingly contrasted. At last Lucien, making up his mind, bravely flung away his three-cornered hat, and led the two eldergirls, one hanging on each arm, into the drawing-room, closelyfollowed by the three others. There was a good deal of laughter at it, but the little man never lost his self-possession for a moment. 

In the meantime Madame Deberle was taking her sister to task in acorner. 

"Good gracious! is it possible! what a fearfully low-necked dress youare wearing!"

"Dear, dear! what have I done now? Papa hasn't said a word, " answeredPauline coolly. "If you're anxious, I'll put some flowers at mybreast. "

She plucked a handful of blossoms from a flower-stand where they weregrowing and allowed them to nestle in her bosom; while Madame Deberlewas surrounded by several mammas in stylish visiting-dresses, who werealready profuse in their compliments about her ball. As Lucien waspassing them, his mother arranged a loose curl of his powdered hair, while he stood on tip-toe to whisper in her ear:

"Where's Jeanne?"

"She will be here immediately, my darling. Take good care not to fall. Run away, there comes little Mademoiselle Guiraud. Ah! she is wearingan Alsatian costume. "

The drawing-room was now filling rapidly; the rows of chairs frontingthe red curtain were almost all occupied, and a hubbub of children'svoices was rising. The boys were flocking into the room in groups. There were already three Harlequins, four Punches, a Figaro, someTyrolese peasants, and a few Highlanders. Young Master Berthier wasdressed as a page. Little Guiraud, a mere bantling of two-and-a-halfsummers, wore his clown's costume in so comical a style that every oneas he passed lifted him up and kissed him. 

"Here comes Jeanne, " exclaimed Madame Deberle, all at once. "Oh, sheis lovely!"

A murmur ran round the room; heads were bent forward, and every onegave vent to exclamations of admiration. Jeanne was standing on thethreshold of the outer room, awaiting her mother, who was takingoff her cloak in the hall. The child was robed in a Japanese dressof unusual splendor. The gown, embroidered with flowers andstrange-looking birds, swept to her feet, which were hidden from view;while beneath her broad waist-ribbon the flaps, drawn aside, gave aglimpse of a green petticoat, watered with yellow. Nothing could bemore strangely bewitching than her delicate features seen under theshadow of her hair, coiled above her head with long pins thrustthrough it, while her chin and oblique eyes, small and sparkling, pictured to the life a young lady of Yeddo, strolling amidst theperfume of tea and benzoin. And she lingered there hesitatingly, with all the sickly languor of a tropical flower pining for the landof its birth. 

Behind her, however, appeared Helene. Both, in thus suddenly passingfrom the dull daylight of the street into the brilliant glare of thewax candles, blinked their eyes as though blinded, while their faceswere irradiated with smiles. The rush of warm air and the perfumes, the scent of violets rising above all else, almost stifled them, andbrought a flush of red to their cheeks. Each guest, on passing thedoorway, wore a similar air of surprise and hesitancy. 

"Why, Lucien! where are you?" exclaimed Madame Deberle. 

The boy had not caught sight of Jeanne. But now he rushed forward andseized her arm, forgetting to make his bow. And they were so dainty, so loving, the little marquis in his flowered coat, and the Japanesemaiden in her purple embroidered gown, that they might have been takenfor two statuettes of Dresden china, daintily gilded and painted, intowhich life had been suddenly infused. 

"You know, I was waiting for you, " whispered Lucien. "Oh, it is sonasty to give everybody my arm! Of course, we'll keep beside eachother, eh?"

And he sat himself down with her in the first row of chairs, whollyoblivious of his duties as host. 

"Oh, I was so uneasy!" purred Juliette into Helene's ear. "I wasbeginning to fear that Jeanne had been taken ill. "

Helene proffered apology; dressing children, said she, meant endlesslabor. She was still standing in a corner of the drawing-room, one ofa cluster of ladies, when her heart told her that the doctor wasapproaching behind her. He was making his way from behind the redcurtain, beneath which he had dived to give some final instructions. But suddenly he came to a standstill. He, too, had divined herpresence, though she had not yet turned her head. Attired in a dressof black grenadine, she had never appeared more queenly in her beauty;and a thrill passed through him as he breathed the cool air which shehad brought with her from outside, and wafted from her shoulders andarms, gleaming white under their transparent covering. 

"Henri has no eyes for anybody, " exclaimed Pauline, with a laugh. "Ah, good-day, Henri!"

Thereupon he advanced towards the group of ladies, with a courteousgreeting. Mademoiselle Aurelie, who was amongst them, engaged hisattention for the moment to point out to him a nephew whom she hadbrought with her. He was all complaisance. Helene, without speaking, gave him her hand, encased in its black glove, but he dared not claspit with marked force. 

"Oh! here you are!" said Madame Deberle, as she appeared beside them. "I have been looking for you everywhere. It is nearly three o'clock;they had better begin. "

"Certainly; at once, " was his reply. 

The drawing-room was now crowded. All round it, in the brilliant glarethrown from the chandelier, sat the fathers and mothers, their walkingcostumes serving to fringe the circle with less vivid colors. Someladies, drawing their chairs together, formed groups; men standingmotionless along the walls filled up the gaps; while in the doorwayleading to the next room a cluster of frock-coated guests could beseen crowding together and peering over each other's shoulders. Thelight fell wholly on the little folks, noisy in their glee, as theyrustled about in their seats in the centre of the large room. Therewere almost a hundred children packed together; in an endless varietyof gay costumes, bright with blue and red. It was like a sea of fairheads, varying from pale yellow to ruddy gold, with here and therebows and flowers gleaming vividly--or like a field of ripe grain, spangled with poppies and cornflowers, and waving to and fro as thoughstirred by a breeze. At times, amidst this confusion of ribbons andlace, of silk and velvet, a face was turned round--a pink nose, a pairof blue eyes, a smiling or pouting little mouth. There were some, nohigher than one's boots, who were buried out of sight between big ladsof ten years of age, and whom their mothers sought from a distance, but in vain. A few of the boys looked bored and foolish by the side ofgirls who were busy spreading out their skirts. Some, however, werealready very venturesome, jogging the elbows of their fair neighborswith whom they were unacquainted, and laughing in their faces. But theroyalty of the gathering remained with the girls, some of whom, clustering in groups, stirred about in such a way as to threatendestruction to their chairs, and chattered so loudly that the grown-upfolks could no longer hear one another speaking. And all eyes wereintently gazing at the red curtain. 

Slowly was it drawn aside, and in the recess of the doorway appeared apuppet-show. There was a hushed silence. Then all at once Punch sprangin, with so ferocious a yell that baby Guiraud could not restrain aresponsive cry of terror and delight. It was one of those bloodthirstydramas in which Punch, having administered a sound beating to themagistrate, murders the policeman, and tramples with ferocious glee onevery law, human and divine. At every cudgelling bestowed on thewooden heads the pitiless audience went into shrieks of laughter; andthe sharp thrusts delivered by the puppets at each other's breasts, the duels in which they beat a tattoo on one another's skulls asthough they were empty pumpkins, the awful havoc of legs and arms, reducing the characters to a jelly, served to increase the roars oflaughter which rang out from all sides. But the climax of enjoymentwas reached when Punch sawed off the policeman's head on the edge ofthe stage; an operation provocative of such hysterical mirth that therows of juveniles were plunged into confusion, swaying to and fro withglee till they all but fell on one another. One tiny girl, but fouryears old, all pink and white, considered the spectacle so entrancingthat she pressed her little hands devoutly to her heart. Others burstinto applause, while the boys laughed, with mouths agape, their deepervoices mingling with the shrill peals from the girls. 

"How amused they are!" whispered the doctor. He had returned to hisplace near Helene. She was in high spirits like the children. Behindher, he sat inhaling the intoxicating perfume which came from herhair. And as one puppet on the stage dealt another an exceptionallyhard knock she turned to him and exclaimed: "Do you know, it isawfully funny!"

The youngsters, crazy with excitement, were now interfering with theaction of the drama. They were giving answers to the variouscharacters. One young lady, who must have been well up in the plot, was busy explaining what would next happen. 

"He'll beat his wife to death in a minute! Now they are going to hanghim!"

The youngest of the Levasseur girls, who was two years old, shriekedout all at once:

"Mamma, mamma, will they put him on bread and water?"

All sorts of exclamations and reflections followed. Meanwhile Helene, gazing into the crowd of children, remarked: "I cannot see Jeanne. Isshe enjoying herself?"

Then the doctor bent forward, with head perilously near her own, andwhispered: "There she is, between that harlequin and the Normanpeasant maiden! You can see the pins gleaming in her hair. She islaughing very heartily. "

He still leaned towards her, her cool breath playing on his cheek. Till now no confession had escaped them; preserving silence, theirintimacy had only been marred for a few days past by a vague sensationof discomfort. But amidst these bursts of happy laughter, gazing uponthe little folks before her, Helene became once more, in sooth, a verychild, surrendering herself to her feelings, while Henri's breath beatwarm upon her neck. The whacks from the cudgel, now louder than ever, filled her with a quiver which inflated her bosom, and she turnedtowards him with sparkling eyes. 

"Good heavens! what nonsense it all is!" she said each time. "See howthey hit one another!"

"Oh! their heads are hard enough!" he replied, trembling. 

This was all his heart could find to say. Their minds were fastlapsing into childhood once more. Punch's unedifying life wasfostering languor within their breasts. When the drama drew to itsclose with the appearance of the devil, and the final fight andgeneral massacre ensued, Helene in leaning back pressed againstHenri's hand, which was resting on the back of her arm-chair; whilethe juvenile audience, shouting and clapping their hands, made thevery chairs creak with their enthusiasm. 

The red curtain dropped again, and the uproar was at its height whenMalignon's presence was announced by Pauline, in her customary style:"Ah! here's the handsome Malignon!"

He made his way into the room, shoving the chairs aside, quite out ofbreath. 

"Dear me! what a funny idea to close the shutters!" he exclaimed, surprised and hesitating. "People might imagine that somebody in thehouse was dead. " Then, turning towards Madame Deberle, who wasapproaching him, he continued: "Well, you can boast of having made merun about! Ever since the morning I have been hunting for Perdiguet;you know whom I mean, my singer fellow. But I haven't been able to laymy hands on him, and I have brought you the great Morizot instead. "

The great Morizot was an amateur who entertained drawing-rooms byconjuring with juggler-balls. A gipsy table was assigned to him, andon this he accomplished his most wonderful tricks; but it all passedoff without the spectators evincing the slightest interest. The poorlittle darlings were pulling serious faces; some of the tinier mitesfell fast asleep, sucking their thumbs. The older children turnedtheir heads and smiled towards their parents, who were themselvesyawning behind their hands. There was thus a general feeling of reliefwhen the great Morizot decided to take his table away. 

"Oh! he's awfully clever, " whispered Malignon into Madame Deberle'sneck. 

But the red curtain was drawn aside once again, and an entrancingspectacle brought all the little folks to their feet. 

Along the whole extent of the dining-room stretched the table, laidand bedecked as for a grand dinner, and illumined by the brightradiance of the central lamp and a pair of large candelabra. Therewere fifty covers laid; in the middle and at either end were shallowbaskets, full of flowers; between these towered tall _epergnes_, filled to overflowing with crackers in gilded and colored paper. Thenthere were mountains of decorated cakes, pyramids of iced fruits, piles of sandwiches, and, less prominent, a whole host ofsymmetrically disposed plates, bearing sweetmeats and pastry: buns, cream puffs, and _brioches_ alternating with dry biscuits, cracknals, and fancy almond cakes. Jellies were quivering in their glass dishes. Whipped creams waited in porcelain bowls. And round the table sparkledthe silver helmets of champagne bottles, no higher than one's hand, made specially to suit the little guests. It all looked like one ofthose gigantic feasts which children conjure up in dreamland--a feastserved with the solemnity that attends a repast of grown-up folks--afairy transformation of the table to which their own parents sat down, and on which the horns of plenty of innumerable pastry-cooks and toydealers had been emptied. 

"Come, come, give the ladies your arms!" said Madame Deberle, her facecovered with smiles as she watched the delight of the children. 

But the filing off in couples proved a lure. Lucien, who hadtriumphantly taken Jeanne's arm, went first. But the others followingbehind fell somewhat into confusion, and the mothers were forced tocome and assign them places, remaining close at hand, especiallybehind the babies, whom they watched lest any mischance should befallthem. Truth to tell, the guests at first seemed rather uncomfortable;they looked at one another, felt afraid to lay hands on the goodthings, and were vaguely disquieted by this new social organization inwhich everything appeared to be topsy-turvy, the children seated attable while their parents remained standing. At length the older onesgained confidence and commenced the attack. And when the mothersentered into the fray, and cut up the large cakes, helping those intheir vicinity, the feast speedily became very animated and noisy. Theexquisite symmetry of the table was destroyed as though by a tempest. The two Berthier girls, Blanche and Sophie, laughed at the sight oftheir plates, which had been filled with something of everything--jam, custard, cake, and fruit. The five young ladies of the Levasseurfamily took sole possession of a corner laden with dainties, whileValentine, proud of her fourteen years, acted the lady's part, andlooked after the comfort of her little neighbors. Lucien, however, impatient to display his politeness, uncorked a bottle of champagne, but in so clumsy a way that the whole contents spurted over his cherrysilk breeches. There was quite a to-do about it. 

"Kindly leave the bottles alone! I am to uncork the champagne, "shouted Pauline. 

She bustled about in an extraordinary fashion, purely for her ownamusement. On the entry of a servant with the chocolate pot, sheseized it and filled the cups with the greatest glee, as active in theperformance as any restaurant waiter. Next she took round some icesand glasses of syrup and water, set them down for a moment to stuff alittle baby-girl who had been overlooked, and then went off again, asking every one questions. 

"What is it you wish, my pet? Eh? A cake? Yes, my darling, wait amoment; I am going to pass you the oranges. Now eat away, you littlestupids, you shall play afterwards. "

Madame Deberle, calm and dignified, declared that they ought to beleft alone, and would acquit themselves very well. 

At one end of the room sat Helene and some other ladies laughing atthe scene which the table presented; all the rosy mouths were eatingwith the full strength of their beautiful white teeth. And nothingcould eclipse in drollery the occasional lapses from the polishedbehavior of well-bred children to the outrageous freaks of youngsavages. With both hands gripping their glasses, they drank to thevery dregs, smeared their faces, and stained their dresses. The clamorgrew worse. The last of the dishes were plundered. Jeanne herselfbegan dancing on her chair as she heard the strains of a quadrillecoming from the drawing-room; and on her mother approaching to upbraidher with having eaten too much, she replied: "Oh! mamma, I feel sohappy to-day!"

But now the other children were rising as they heard the music. Slowlythe table thinned, until there only remained a fat, chubby infantright in the middle. He seemingly cared little for the attractions ofthe piano; with a napkin round his neck, and his chin resting on thetablecloth--for he was a mere chit--he opened his big eyes, andprotruded his lips each time that his mamma offered him a spoonful ofchocolate. The contents of the cup vanished, and he licked his lips asthe last mouthful went down his throat, with eyes more agape thanever. 

"By Jove! my lad, you eat heartily!" exclaimed Malignon, who waswatching him with a thoughtful air. 

Now came the division of the "surprise" packets. Each child, onleaving the table, bore away one of the large gilt paper twists, thecoverings of which were hastily torn off and from them poured forth ahost of toys, grotesque hats made of tissue paper, birds andbutterflies. But the joy of joys was the possession of a cracker. Every "surprise" packet had its cracker; and these the lads pulled atgallantly, delighted with the noise, while the girls shut their eyes, making many tries before the explosion took place. For a time thesharp crackling of all this musketry alone could be heard; and theuproar was still lasting when the children returned to thedrawing-room, where lively quadrille music resounded from the piano. 

"I could enjoy a cake, " murmured Mademoiselle Aurelie, as she satdown. 

At the table, which was now deserted, but covered with all the litterof the huge feast, a few ladies--some dozen or so, who had preferredto wait till the children had retired--now sat down. As no servantcould be found, Malignon bustled hither and thither in attendance. Hepoured out all that remained in the chocolate pot, shook up the dregsof the bottles, and was even successful in discovering some ices. Butamidst all these gallant doings of his, he could not quit one idea, and that was--why had they decided on closing the shutters?

"You know, " he asserted, "the place looks like a cellar. "

Helene had remained standing, engaged in conversation with MadameDeberle. As the latter directed her steps towards the drawing-room, her companion prepared to follow, when she felt a gentle touch. Behindher was the doctor, smiling; he was ever near her. 

"Are you not going to take anything?" he asked. And the trivialquestion cloaked so earnest an entreaty that her heart was filled withprofound emotion. She knew well enough that each of his words waseloquent of another thing. The excitement springing from the gaietywhich pulsed around her was slowly gaining on her. Some of the feverof all these little folks, now dancing and shouting, coursed in herown veins. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she at firstdeclined. 

"No, thank you, nothing at all. "

But he pressed her, and in the end, ill at ease and anxious to get ridof him, she yielded. "Well, then, a cup of tea. "

He hurried off and returned with the cup, his hands trembling as hehanded it to her. While she was sipping the tea he drew nearer to her, his lips quivering nervously with the confession springing from hisheart. She in her turn drew back from him, and, returning him theempty cup, made her escape while he was placing it on a sideboard, thus leaving him alone in the dining-room with Mademoiselle Aurelie, who was slowly masticating, and subjecting each dish in succession toa close scrutiny. 

Within the drawing-room the piano was sending forth its loudeststrains, and from end to end of the floor swept the ball with itscharming drolleries. A circle of onlookers had gathered round thequadrille party with which Lucien and Jeanne were dancing. The littlemarquis became rather mixed over the figures; he only got on well whenhe had occasion to take hold of Jeanne; and then he gripped her by thewaist and whirled around. Jeanne preserved her equilibrium, somewhatvexed by his rumpling her dress; but the delights of the dance takingfull possession of her, she caught hold of him in her turn and liftedhim off his feet. The white satin coat embroidered with nosegaysmingled with the folds of the gown woven with flowers and strangebirds, and the two little figures of old Dresden ware assumed all thegrace and novelty of some whatnot ornaments. The quadrille over, Helene summoned Jeanne to her side, in order to rearrange her dress. 

"It is his fault, mamma, " was the little one's excuse. "He rubsagainst me--he's a dreadful nuisance. "

Around the drawing-room the faces of the parents were wreathed withsmiles. As soon as the music began again all the little ones were oncemore in motion. Seeing, however, that they were observed they feltdistrustful, remained grave, and checked their leaps in order to keepup appearances. Some of them knew how to dance; but the majority wereignorant of the steps, and their limbs were evidently a source ofembarrassment to them. But Pauline interposed: "I must see to them!Oh, you little stupids!"

She threw herself into the midst of the quadrille, caught hold of twoof them, one grasping her right hand the other her left, and managedto infuse such life into the dance that the wooden flooring creakedbeneath them. The only sounds now audible rose from the hurryinghither and thither of tiny feet beating wholly out of time, the pianoalone keeping to the dance measure. Some more of the older peoplejoined in the fun. Helene and Madame Deberle, noticing some littlemaids who were too bashful to venture forth, dragged them into thethickest of the throng. It was they who led the figures, pushed thelads forward, and arranged the dancing in rings; and the motherspassed them the youngest of the babies, so that they might make themskip about for a moment, holding them the while by both hands. Theball was now at its height. The dancers enjoyed themselves to theirhearts' content, laughing and pushing each other about like someboarding school mad with glee over the absence of the teacher. Nothing, truly, could surpass in unalloyed gaiety this carnival ofyoungsters, this assemblage of miniature men and women--akin to averitable microcosm, wherein the fashions of every people mingled withthe fantastic creations of romance and drama. The ruddy lips and blueeyes, the faces breathing love, invested the dresses with the freshpurity of childhood. The scene realized to the mind the merrymaking ofa fairy-tale to which trooped Cupids in disguise to honor thebetrothal of some Prince Charming. 

"I'm stifling!" exclaimed Malignon. "I'm off to inhale some freshair. "

As he left the drawing-room he threw the door wide open. The daylightfrom the street then entered in a lurid stream, bedimming the glare oflamps and candles. In this fashion every quarter of an hour Malignonopened the door to let in some fresh air. 

Still there was no cessation of the piano-playing. Little Guiraud, inher Alsatian costume, with a butterfly of black ribbon in her goldenhair, swung round in the dance with a harlequin twice her height. AHighlander whirled Marguerite Tissot round so madly that she lost hermilk-pail. The two Berthier girls, Blanche and Sophie, who wereinseparables, were dancing together; the soubrette in the arms ofFolly, whose bells were jingling merrily. A glance could not be thrownover the assemblage without one of the Levasseur girls coming intoview; the Red Riding-Hoods seemed to increase in number; caps andgowns of gleaming red satin slashed with black velvet everywhereleaped into sight. Meanwhile some of the older boys and girls hadfound refuge in the adjacent saloon, where they could dance more attheir ease. Valentine de Chermette, cloaked in the mantilla of aSpanish senorita, was executing some marvellous steps in front of ayoung gentleman who had donned evening dress. Suddenly there was aburst of laughter which drew every one to the sight; behind a door ina corner, baby Guiraud, the two-year-old clown, and a mite of a girlof his own age, in peasant costume, were holding one another in atight embrace for fear of tumbling, and gyrating round and round likea pair of slyboots, with cheek pressed to cheek. 

"I'm quite done up, " remarked Helene, as she leaned against thedining-room door. 

She fanned her face, flushed with her exertions in the dance. Herbosom rose and fell beneath the transparent grenadine of her bodice. And she was still conscious of Henri's breath beating on hershoulders; he was still close to her--ever behind her. Now it flashedon her that he would speak, yet she had no strength to flee from hisavowal. He came nearer and whispered, breathing on her hair: "I loveyou! oh, how I love you!"

She tingled from head to foot, as though a gust of flame had beaten onher. O God! he had spoken; she could no longer feign the pleasurablequietude of ignorance. She hid behind her fan, her face purple withblushes. The children, whirling madly in the last of the quadrilles, were making the floor ring with the beating of their feet. There weresilvery peals of laughter, and bird-like voices gave vent toexclamations of pleasure. A freshness arose from all that band ofinnocents galloping round and round like little demons. 

"I love you! oh, how I love you!"

She shuddered again; she would listen no further. With dizzy brain shefled into the dining-room, but it was deserted, save that MonsieurLetellier sat on a chair, peacefully sleeping. Henri had followed her, and had the hardihood to seize her wrists even at the risk of ascandal, his face convulsed with such passion that she trembled beforehim. And he still repeated the words:

"I love you! I love you!"

"Leave me, " she murmured faintly. "You are mad--"

And, close by, the dancing still went on, with the trampling of tinyfeet. Blanche Berthier's bells could be heard ringing in unison withthe softer notes of the piano; Madame Deberle and Pauline wereclapping their hands, by way of beating time. It was a polka, andHelene caught a glimpse of Jeanne and Lucien, as they passed bysmiling, with arms clasped round each other. 

But with a sudden jerk she freed herself and fled to an adjacent room--a pantry into which streamed the daylight. That sudden brightnessblinded her. She was terror-stricken--she dared not return to thedrawing-room with the tale of passion written so legibly on her face. So, hastily crossing the garden, she climbed to her own home, thenoises of the ball-room still ringing in her ears. 

 CHAPTER X. 

Upstairs, in her own room, in the peaceful, convent-like atmosphereshe found there, Helene experienced a feeling of suffocation. Her roomastonished her, so calm, so secluded, so drowsy did it seem with itsblue velvet hangings, while she came to it hotly panting with theemotion which thrilled her. Was this indeed her room, this dreary, lifeless nook, devoid of air? Hastily she threw open a window, andleaned out to gaze on Paris. 

The rain had ceased, and the clouds were trooping off like some herdof monsters hurrying in disorderly array into the gloom of thehorizon. A blue gap, that grew larger by degrees, had opened up abovethe city. But Helene, her elbows trembling on the window-rail, stillbreathless from her hasty ascent, saw nothing, and merely heard herheart beating against her swelling breast. She drew a long breath, butit seemed to her that the spreading valley with its river, its twomillions of people, its immense city, its distant hills, could nothold air enough to enable her to breathe peacefully and regularlyagain. 

For some minutes she remained there distracted by the fever of passionwhich possessed her. It seemed as though a torrent of sensations andconfused ideas were pouring down on her, their roar preventing herfrom hearing her own voice or understanding aught. There was a buzzingin her ears, and large spots of light swam slowly before her eyes. Then she suddenly found herself examining her gloved hands, andremembering that she had omitted to sew on a button that had come offthe left-hand glove. And afterwards she spoke aloud, repeating severaltimes, in tones that grew fainter and fainter: "I love you! I loveyou! oh, how I love you!"

Instinctively she buried her face in her hands, and pressed herfingers to her eyelids as though to intensify the darkness in whichshe sought to plunge. It was a wish to annihilate herself, to see nomore, to be utterly alone, girt in by the gloom of night. Herbreathing grew calmer. Paris blew its mighty breath upon her face; sheknew it lay before her, and though she had no wish to look on it, shefelt full of terror at the thought of leaving the window, and of nolonger having beneath her that city whose vastness lulled her to rest. 

Ere long she grew unmindful of all around her. The love-scene andconfession, despite her efforts, again woke to life in her mind. Inthe inky darkness Henri appeared to her, every feature so distinct andvivid that she could perceive the nervous twitching of his lips. Hecame nearer and hung over her. And then she wildly darted back. But, nevertheless, she felt a burning breath on her shoulders and a voiceexclaimed: "I love you! I love you!" With a mighty effort she put thephantom to flight, but it again took shape in the distance, and slowlyswelled to its whilom proportions; it was Henri once more followingher into the dining-room, and still murmuring: "I love you! I loveyou!" These words rang within her breast with the sonorous clang of abell; she no longer heard anything but them, pealing their loudestthroughout her frame. Nevertheless, she desired to reflect, and againstrove to escape from the apparition. He had spoken; never would shedare to look on his face again. The brutal passion of the man hadtainted the tenderness of their love. She conjured up past hours, inwhich he had loved her without being so cruel as to say it; hoursspent in the garden amidst the tranquillity of the budding springtimeGod! he had spoken--the thought clung to her so stubbornly, lowered onher in such immensity and with such weight, that the instantdestruction of Paris by a thunderbolt before her eyes would haveseemed a trivial matter. Her heart was rent by feelings of indignantprotest and haughty anger, commingling with a secret and unconquerablepleasure, which ascended from her inner being and bereft her of hersenses. He had spoken, and was speaking still, he sprang upunceasingly before her, uttering those passionate words: "I love you!I love you!"--words that swept into oblivion all her past life as wifeand mother. 

In spite of her brooding over this vision, she retained someconsciousness of the vast expanse which stretched beneath her, beyondthe darkness that curtained her sight. A loud rumbling arose, andwaves of life seemed to surge up and circle around her. Echoes, odors, and even light streamed against her face, though her hands were stillnervously pressed to it. At times sudden gleams appeared to pierce herclosed eyelids, and amidst the radiance she imagined she sawmonuments, steeples, and domes standing out in the diffuse light ofdreamland. Then she lowered her hands and, opening her eyes, wasdazzled. The vault of heaven expanded before her, and Henri hadvanished. 

A line of clouds, a seeming mass of crumbling chalk-hills, now barredthe horizon far away. Across the pure, deep blue heavens overhead, merely a few light, fleecy cloudlets were slowly drifting, like aflotilla of vessels with full-blown sails. On the north, aboveMontmartre, hung a network of extreme delicacy, fashioned as it wereof pale-hued silk, and spread over a patch of sky as though forfishing in those tranquil waters. Westward, however, in the directionof the slopes of Meudon, which Helene could not see, the last drops ofthe downpour must still have been obscuring the sun, for, though thesky above was clear, Paris remained gloomy, dismal beneath the vaporof the drying house-roofs. It was a city of uniform hue--thebluey-grey of slate, studded with black patches of trees--but withalvery distinct, with the sharp outlines and innumberable windows of itshouses. The Seine gleamed with the subdued brightness of old silver. The edifices on either bank looked as though they had been smearedwith soot. The Tower of St. Jacques rose up like some rust-eatenmuseum curio, whilst the Pantheon assumed the aspect of a giganticcatafalque above the darkened district which it overlooked. Gleams oflight peeped only from the gilding of the dome of the Invalides, likelamps burning in the daytime, sad and vague amidst the crepuscularveil of mourning in which the city was draped. All the usual effectsof distance had vanished; Paris resembled a huge yet minutely executedcharcoal drawing, showing very vigorously through its cloudy veil, under the limpid heavens. 

Gazing upon this dismal city, Helene reflected that she really knewnothing of Henri. She felt strong and brave now that his image nolonger pursued her. A rebellious impulse stirred her soul to rejectthe mastery which this man had gained over her within a few weeks. No, she did not know him. She knew nothing of him, of his actions or histhoughts; she could not even have determined whether he possessedtalent. Perhaps he was even more lacking in qualities of the heartthan of the mind. And thus she gave way to every imagining, her heartfull of bitterness, ever finding herself confronted by her ignorance, that barrier which separated her from Henri, and checked her in herefforts to know him. She knew nothing, she would never know anything. She pictured him, hissing out those burning words, and creating withinher the one trouble which had, till now, broken in on the quiethappiness of her life. Whence had he sprung to lay her life desolatein this fashion? She suddenly thought that but six weeks before shehad had no existence for him, and this thought was insufferable. Angels in heaven! to live no more for one another, to pass each otherwithout recognition, perhaps never to meet again! In her despair sheclasped her hands, and her eyes filled with tears. 

Then Helene gazed fixedly on the towers of Notre-Dame in the fardistance. A ray of light from between two clouds tinged them withgold. Her brain was heavy, as though surcharged with all thetumultuous thoughts hurtling within it. It made her suffer; she wouldfain have concerned herself with the sight of Paris, and have soughtto regain her life-peace by turning on that sea of roofs the tranquilglances of past days. To think that at other times, at the same hour, the infinitude of the city--in the stillness of a lovely twilight--hadlulled her into tender musing!

At present Paris was brightening in the sunshine. After the first rayhad fallen on Notre-Dame, others had followed, streaming across thecity. The luminary, dipping in the west, rent the clouds asunder, andthe various districts spread out, motly with ever-changing lights andshadows. For a time the whole of the left bank was of a leaden hue, while the right was speckled with spots of light which made the vergeof the river resemble the skin of some huge beast of prey. Then theseresemblances varied and vanished at the mercy of the wind, which drovethe clouds before it. Above the burnished gold of the housetops darkpatches floated, all in the same direction and with the same gentleand silent motion. Some of them were very large, sailing along withall the majestic grace of an admiral's ship, and surrounded by smallerones, preserving the regular order of a squadron in line of battle. Then one vast shadow, with a gap yawning like a serpent's mouth, trailed along, and for a while hid Paris, which it seemed ready todevour. And when it had reached the far-off horizon, looking no largerthan a worm, a gush of light streamed from a rift in a cloud, and fellinto the void which it had left. The golden cascade could be seendescending first like a thread of fine sand, then swelling into a hugecone, and raining in a continuous shower on the Champs-Elyseesdistrict, which it inundated with a splashing, dancing radiance. For along time did this shower of sparks descend, spraying continuouslylike a fusee. 

Ah, well! this love was her fate, and Helene ceased to resist. Shecould battle no longer against her feelings. And in ceasing tostruggle she tasted immeasurable delight. Why should she grudgeherself happiness any longer? The memory of her past life inspired herwith disgust and aversion. How had she been able to drag on that cold, dreary existence, of which she was formerly so proud? A vision rosebefore her of herself as a young girl living in the Rue desPetites-Maries, at Marseilles, where she had ever shivered; she sawherself a wife, her heart's blood frozen in the companionship of a bigchild of a husband, with little to take any interest in, apart from thecares of her household; she saw herself through every hour of her lifefollowing the same path with the same even tread, without a trouble tomar her peace; and now this monotony in which she had lived, her heartfast asleep, enraged her beyond expression. To think that she hadfancied herself happy in thus following her path for thirty years, herpassions silent, with naught but the pride of virtue to fill the blankin her existence. How she had cheated herself with her integrity andnice honor, which had girt her round with the empty joys of piety! No, no; she had had enough of it; she wished to live! And an awful spiritof ridicule woke within her as she thought of the behests of reason. Her reason, forsooth! she felt a contemptuous pity for it; during allthe years she had lived it had brought her no joy to be compared withthat she had tasted during the past hour. She had denied thepossibility of stumbling, she had been vain and idiotic enough tothink that she would go on to the end without her foot once trippingagainst a stone. Ah, well! to-day she almost longed to fall. Oh thatshe might disappear, after tasting for one moment the happiness whichshe had never enjoyed!

Within her soul, however, a great sorrow lingered, a heart-burning anda consciousness of a gloomy blank. Then argument rose to her lips. Wasshe not free? In her love for Henri she deceived nobody; she coulddeal as she pleased with her love. Then, did not everything exculpateher? What had been her life for nearly two years? Her widowhood, herunrestricted liberty, her loneliness--everything, she realized, hadsoftened and prepared her for love. Love must have been smoulderingwithin her during the long evenings spent between her two old friends, the Abbe and his brother, those simple hearts whose serenity hadlulled it to rest; it had been growing whilst she remained shut upwithin those narrow walls, far away from the world, and gazed on Parisrumbling noisily on the horizon; it had been growing even when sheleaned from that window in the dreamy mood which she had scarce beenconscious of, but which little by little had rendered her so weak. Anda recollection came to her of that radiant spring morning when Parishad shone out fair and clear, as though in a glass mirror, when it hadworn the pure, sunny hue of childhood, as she lazily surveyed it, stretched in her easy-chair with a book upon her knees. That morninglove had first awoke--a scarcely perceptible feeling that she had beenunable to define, and against which she had believed herself stronglyarmed. To-day she was in the same place, but devoured by overpoweringpassion, while before her eyes the dying sun illumined the city withflame. It seemed to her that one day had sufficed for all, that thiswas the ruddy evening following upon that limpid morning; and sheimagined she could feel those fiery beams scorching her heart. 

But a change had come over the sky. The sun, in its descent towardsthe slopes of Meudon, had just burst through the last clouds in allits splendor. The azure vault was illuminated with glory; deep on thehorizon the crumbling ridge of chalk clouds, blotting out the distantsuburbs of Charenton and Choisy-le-Roi, now reared rocks of a tenderpink, outlined with brilliant crimson; the flotilla of cloudletsdrifting slowly through the blue above Paris, was decked with purplesails; while the delicate network, seemingly fashioned of white silkthread, above Montmartre, was suddenly transformed into golden cord, whose meshes would snare the stars as soon as they should rise. 

Beneath the flaming vault of heaven lay Paris, a mass of yellow, striped with huge shadows. On the vast square below Helene, in anorange-tinted haze, cabs and omnibuses crossed in all directions, amidst a crowd of pedestrians, whose swarming blackness was softenedand irradiated by splashes of light. The students of a seminary werehurrying in serried ranks along the Quai de Billy, and the trail ofcassocks acquired an ochraceous hue in the diffuse light. Fartheraway, vehicles and foot-passengers faded from view; it was only bytheir gleaming lamps that you were made aware of the vehicles which, one behind the other, were crossing some distant bridge. On the leftthe straight, lofty, pink chimneys of the Army Bakehouse were belchingforth whirling clouds of flesh-tinted smoke; whilst, across the river, the beautiful elms of the Quai d'Orsay rose up in a dark masstranspierced by shafts of light. 

The Seine, whose banks the oblique rays were enfilading, was rollingdancing wavelets, streaked with scattered splashes of blue, green, andyellow; but farther up the river, in lieu of this blotchy coloring, suggestive of an Eastern sea, the waters assumed a uniform golden hue, which became more and more dazzling. You might have thought that someingot were pouring forth from an invisible crucible on the horizon, broadening out with a coruscation of bright colors as it graduallygrew colder. And at intervals over this brilliant stream, the bridges, with curves growing ever more slender and delicate, threw, as it were, grey bars, till there came at last a fiery jumble of houses, abovewhich rose the towers of Notre-Dame, flaring red like torches. Rightand left alike the edifices were all aflame. The glass roof of thePalais de l'Industrie appeared like a bed of glowing embers amidst theChamps-Elysees groves. Farther on, behind the roof of the Madeline, the huge pile of the Opera House shone out like a mass of burnishedcopper; and the summits of other buildings, cupolas, and towers, theVendome column, the church of Saint-Vincent de Paul, the tower ofSaint-Jacques, and, nearer in, the pavilions of the new Louvre and theTuileries, were crowned by a blaze, which lent them the aspect ofsacrificial pyres. The dome of the Invalides was flaring with suchbrilliancy that you instinctively feared lest it should suddenlytopple down and scatter burning flakes over the neighborhood. Beyondthe irregular towers of Saint-Sulpice, the Pantheon stood out againstthe sky in dull splendor, like some royal palace of conflagrationreduced to embers. Then, as the sun declined, the pyre-like edificesgradually set the whole of Paris on fire. Flashes sped over thehousetops, while black smoke lingered in the valleys. Every frontageturned towards the Trocadero seemed to be red-hot, the glass of thewindows glittering and emitting a shower of sparks, which dartedupwards as though some invisible bellows were ever urging the hugeconflagration into greater activity. Sheaves of flame were also everrising afresh from the adjacent districts, where the streets opened, now dark and now all ablaze. Even far over the plain, from a ruddyember-like glow suffusing the destroyed faubourgs, occasional flashesof flame shot up as from some fire struggling again into life. Erelong a furnace seemed raging, all Paris burned, the heavens became yetmore empurpled, and the clouds hung like so much blood over the vastcity, colored red and gold. 

With the ruddy tints falling upon her, yielding to the passion whichwas devouring her, Helene was still gazing upon Paris all ablaze, whena little hand was placed on her shoulder, and she gave a start. It wasJeanne, calling her. "Mamma! mamma!"

She turned her head, and the child went on: "At last! Didn't you hearme before? I have called you at least a dozen times. "

The little girl, still in her Japanese costume, had sparkling eyes, and cheeks flushed with pleasure. She gave her mother no time foranswer. 

"You ran away from me nicely! Do you know, they were hunting for youeverywhere? Had it not been for Pauline, who came with me to thebottom of the staircase, I shouldn't have dared to cross the road. "

With a pretty gesture, she brought her face close to her mother'slips, and, without pausing, whispered the question: "Do you love me?"

Helene kissed her somewhat absently. She was amazed and impatient ather early return. Had an hour really gone by since she had fled fromthe ball-room? However, to satisfy the child, who seemed uneasy, shetold her that she had felt rather unwell. The fresh air was doing hergood; she only needed a little quietness. 

"Oh! don't fear; I'm too tired, " murmured Jeanne. "I am going to stophere, and be very, very good. But, mamma dear, I may talk, mayn't I?"

She nestled close to Helene, full of joy at the prospect of not beingundressed at once. She was in ecstasies over her embroidered purplegown and green silk petticoat; and she shook her head to rattle thependants hanging from the long pins thrust through her hair. At lastthere burst from her lips a rush of hasty words. Despite her seemingdemureness, she had seen everything, heard everything, and rememberedeverything; and she now made ample amends for her former assumeddignity, silence, and indifference. 

"Do you know, mamma, it was an old fellow with a grey beard who madePunch move his arms and legs? I saw him well enough when the curtainwas drawn aside. Yes, and the little boy Guiraud began to cry. Howstupid of him, wasn't it? They told him the policeman would come andput some water in his soup; and at last they had to carry him off, forhe wouldn't stop crying. And at lunch, too, Marguerite stained hermilkmaid's dress all over with jam. Her mamma wiped it off and said toher: 'Oh, you dirty girl!' She even had a lot of it in her hair. Inever opened my mouth, but it did amuse me to see them all rush at thecakes! Were they not bad-mannered, mamma dear?"

She paused for a few seconds, absorbed in some reminiscence, and thenasked, with a thoughtful air: "I say, mamma, did you eat any of thoseyellow cakes with white cream inside? Oh! they were nice! they werenice! I kept the dish beside me the whole time. "

Helene was not listening to this childish chatter. But Jeanne talkedto relieve her excited brain. She launched out again, giving theminutest details about the ball, and investing each little incidentwith the greatest importance. 

"You did not see that my waistband came undone just as we begandancing. A lady, whose name I don't know, pinned it up for me. So Isaid to her: 'Madame, I thank you very much. ' But while I was dancingwith Lucien the pin ran into him, and he asked me: 'What have you gotin front of you that pricks me so?' Of course I knew nothing about it, and told him I had nothing there to prick him. However, Pauline cameand put the pin in its proper place. Ah! but you've no idea how theypushed each other about; and one great stupid of a boy gave Sophie ablow on the back which made her fall. The Levasseur girls jumped aboutwith their feet close together. I am pretty certain that isn't the wayto dance. But the best of it all came at the end. You weren't there;so you can't know. We all took one another by the arms, and thenwhirled round; it was comical enough to make one die laughing. Besides, some of the big gentlemen were whirling around as well. It'strue; I am not telling fibs. Why, don't you believe me, mamma dear?"

Helene's continued silence was beginning to vex Jeanne. She nestledcloser, and gave her mother's hand a shake. But, perceiving that shedrew only a few words from her, she herself, by degrees, lapsed intosilence, into thought of the incidents of that ball of which her heartwas full. Both mother and daughter now sat mutely gazing on Paris allaflame. It seemed to them yet more mysterious than ever, as it laythere illumined by blood-red clouds, like some city of an old-worldtale expiating its lusts under a rain of fire. 

"Did you have any round dances?" all at once asked Helene, as ifwakening with a start. 

"Yes, yes!" murmured Jeanne, engrossed in her turn. 

"And the doctor--did he dance!"

"I should think so; he had a turn with me. He lift me up and asked me:'Where is your mamma? where is your mamma?' and then he kissed me. "

Helene unconsciously smiled. What need had she of knowing Henri well?It appeared sweeter to her not to know him--ay, never to know him well--and to greet him simply as the one whose coming she had awaited solong. Why should she feel astonished or disquieted? At the fated hourhe had met her on her life-journey. Her frank nature accepted whatevermight be in store; and quietude, born of the knowledge that she lovedand was beloved, fell on her mind. She told her heart that she wouldprove strong enough to prevent her happiness from being marred. 

But night was coming on and a chilly breeze arose. Jeanne, stillplunged in reverie, began to shiver. She reclined her head on hermother's bosom, and, as though the question were inseparably connectedwith her deep meditation, she murmured a second time: "Do you loveme?"

Then Helene, her face still glad with smiles, took her head within herhands and for a moment examined her face closely. Next she pressed along kiss near her mouth, over a ruddy spot on her skin. It was there, she could divine it, that Henri had kissed the child!

The gloomy ridge of the Meudon hills was already partially concealingthe disc of the sun. Over Paris the slanting beams of light had yetlengthened. The shadow cast by the dome of the Invalides--increased tostupendous proportions--covered the whole of the Saint-Germaindistrict; while the Opera-House, the Saint-Jacques tower, the columnsand the steeples, threw streaks of darkness over the right bankdwellings. The lines of house-fronts, the yawning streets, the islandsof roofs, were burning with a more sullen glow. The flashes of firedied away in the darkening windows, as though the houses were reducedto embers. Distant bells rang out; a rumbling noise fell on the ears, and then subsided. With the approach of night the expanse of sky grewmore vast, spreading a vault of violet, streaked with gold and purple, above the ruddy city. But all at once the conflagration flared afreshwith formidable intensity, a last great flame shot up from Paris, illumining its entire expanse, and even its hitherto hidden suburbs. Then it seemed as if a grey, ashy dust were falling; and though theclustering districts remained erect, they wore the gloomy, unsubstantial aspect of coals which had ceased to burn. 

 CHAPTER XI. 

One morning in May, Rosalie ran in from the kitchen, dish-cloth inhand, screaming out in the familiar fashion of a favorite servant:"Oh, madame, come quick! His reverence the Abbe is digging the grounddown in the doctor's garden. "

Helene made no responsive movement, but Jeanne had already rushed tohave a look. On her return, she exclaimed:

"How stupid Rosalie is! he is not digging at all. He is with thegardener, who is putting some plants into a barrow. Madame Deberle isplucking all her roses. "

"They must be for the church, " quietly said Helene, who was busy withsome tapestry-work. 

A few minutes later the bell rang, and Abbe Jouve made his appearance. He came to say that his presence must not be expected on the followingTuesday. His evenings would be wholly taken up with the ceremoniesincident to the month of Mary. The parish priest had assigned him thetask of decorating the church. It would be a great success. All theladies were giving him flowers. He was expecting two palm-trees aboutfourteen feet high, and meant to place them to the right and left ofthe altar. 

"Oh! mamma, mamma!" murmured Jeanne, listening, wonderstruck. 

"Well, " said Helene, with a smile, "since you cannot come to us, myold friend, we will go to see you. Why, you've quite turned Jeanne'shead with your talk about flowers. "

She had few religious tendencies; she never even went to mass, on theplea that her daughter's health suffered from the shivering fits whichseized her when she came out of a church. In her presence the oldpriest avoided all reference to religion. It was his wont to say, withgood-natured indulgence, that good hearts carve out their ownsalvation by deeds of loving kindness and charity. God would know whenand how to touch her. 

Till the evening of the following day Jeanne thought of nothing butthe month of Mary. She plagued her mother with questions; she dreamtof the church adorned with a profusion of white roses, filled withthousands of wax tapers, with the sound of angels' voices, and sweetperfumes. And she was very anxious to go near the altar, that shemight have a good look at the Blessed Virgin's lace gown, a gown wortha fortune, according to the Abbe. But Helene bridled her excitementwith a threat not to take her should she make herself ill beforehand. 

However, the evening came at last, and they set out. The nights werestill cold, and when they reached the Rue de l'Annonciation, where thechurch of Notre-Dame-de-Grace stands, the child was shivering allover. 

"The church is heated, " said her mother. "We must secure a place neara hot-air pipe. "

She pushed open the padded door, and as it gently swung back to itsplace they found themselves in a warm atmosphere, with brilliantlights streaming on them, and chanting resounding in their ears. Theceremony had commenced, and Helene, perceiving that the nave wascrowded, signified her intention of going down one of the aisles. Butthere seemed insuperable obstacles in her way; she could not get nearthe altar. Holding Jeanne by the hand, she for a time patientlypressed forward, but at last, despairing of advancing any farther, took the first unoccupied chairs she could find. A pillar hid half ofthe choir from view. 

"I can see nothing, " said the child, grievously discontented. "This isa very nasty place. "

However, Helene signed to her to keep silent, and she lapsed into afit of sulks. In front of her she could only perceive the broad backof a fat old lady. When her mother next turned towards her she wasstanding upright on her chair. 

"Will you come down!" said Helene in a low voice. "You are anuisance. "

But Jeanne was stubborn. 

"Hist! mamma, " she said, "there's Madame Deberle. Look! she is downthere in the centre, beckoning to us. "

The young woman's annoyance on hearing this made her very impatient, and she shook her daughter, who still refused to sit down. During thethree days that had intervened since the ball, Helene had avoided anyvisit to the doctor's house on the plea of having a great deal to do. 

"Mamma, " resumed Jeanne with a child's wonted stubbornness, "she islooking at you; she is nodding good-day to you. "

At this intimation Helene was forced to turn round and exchangegreetings; each bowed to the other. Madame Deberle, in a striped silkgown trimmed with white lace, sat in the centre of the nave but ashort distance from the choir, looking very fresh and conspicuous. Shehad brought her sister Pauline, who was now busy waving her hand. Thechanting still continued, the elder members of the congregationpouring forth a volume of sound of falling scale, while now and thenthe shrill voice of the children punctuated the slow, monotonousrhythm of the canticle. 

"They want us to go over to them, you see, " exclaimed Jeanne, withsome triumph in her remark. 

"It is useless; we shall be all right here. "

"Oh, mamma, do let us go over to them! There are two chairs empty. "

"No, no; come and sit down. "

However, the ladies smilingly persisted in making signs, heedless tothe last degree of the slight scandal they were causing; nay, delighted at being the observed of all observers. Helene thus had toyield. She pushed the gratified Jeanne before her, and strove to makeher way through the congregation, her hands all the while tremblingwith repressed anger. It was no easy business. Devout femaleworshippers, unwilling to disturb themselves, glared at her withfurious looks, whilst all agape they kept on singing. She pressed onin this style for five long minutes, the tempest of voices ringingaround her with ever-increasing violence. Whenever she came to astandstill, Jeanne, squeezing close beside her, gazed at thosecavernous, gaping mouths. However, at last they reached the vacantspace in front of the choir, and then had but a few steps to make. 

"Come, be quick, " whispered Madame Deberle. "The Abbe told me youwould be coming, and I kept two chairs for you. "

Helene thanked her, and, to cut the conversation short, at once beganturning over the leaves of her missal. But Juliette was as worldlyhere as elsewhere; as much at her ease, as agreeable and talkative, asin her drawing-room. She bent her head towards Helene and resumed:

"You have become quite invisible. I intended to pay you a visitto-morrow. Surely you haven't been ill, have you?"

"No, thank you. I've been very busy. "

"Well, listen to me. You must come and dine with us to-morrow. Quite afamily dinner, you know. "

"You are very kind. We will see. "

She seemed to retire within herself, intent on following the service, and on saying nothing more. Pauline had taken Jeanne beside her thatshe might be nearer the hot-air flue over which she toasted herselfluxuriously, as happy as any chilly mortal could be. Steeped in thewarm air, the two girls raised themselves inquisitively and gazedaround on everything, the low ceiling with its woodwork panels, thesquat pillars, connected by arches from which hung chandeliers, andthe pulpit of carved oak; and over the ocean of heads which waved withthe rise and fall of the canticle, their eyes wandered towards thedark corners of the aisles, towards the chapels whose gilding faintlygleamed, and the baptistery enclosed by a railing near the chiefentrance. However, their gaze always returned to the resplendentchoir, decorated with brilliant colors and dazzling gilding. A crystalchandelier, flaming with light, hung from the vaulted ceiling; immensecandelabra, filled with rows of wax tapers, that glittered amidst thegloom of the church like a profusion of stars in orderly array, brought out prominently the high altar, which seemed one huge bouquetof foliage and flowers. Over all, standing amidst a profusion ofroses, a Virgin, dressed in satin and lace, and crowned with pearls, was holding a Jesus in long clothes on her arm. 

"I say, are you warm?" asked Pauline. "It's nice, eh?"

But Jeanne, in ecstasy, was gazing on the Virgin amongst the flowers. The scene thrilled her. A fear crept over her that she might dosomething wrong, and she lowered her eyes in the endeavor to restrainher tears by fixing her attention on the black-and-white pavement. Thevibrations of the choir-boys' shrill voices seemed to stir her tresseslike puffs of air. 

Meanwhile Helene, with face bent over her prayer-book, drew herselfaway whenever Juliette's lace rustled against her. She was in no wiseprepared for this meeting. Despite the vow she had sworn withinherself, to be ever pure in her love for Henri, and never yield tohim, she felt great discomfort at the thought that she was atraitoress to the confiding, happy woman who sat by her side. She waspossessed by one idea--she would not go to that dinner. She sought forreasons which would enable her to break off these relations so hatefulto her honor. But the swelling voices of the choristers, so near toher, drove all reflection from her mind; she could decide on noprecise course, and surrendered herself to the soothing influences ofthe chant, tasting a pious joy such as she had never before foundinside a church. 

"Have you been told about Madame de Chermette?" asked Juliette, unableany longer to restrain her craving for a gossip. 

"No, I know nothing. "

"Well, well; just imagine. You have seen her daughter, so womanish andtall, though she is only fifteen, haven't you? There is some talkabout her getting married next year to that dark young fellow who isalways hanging to her mother's skirts. People are talking about itwith a vengeance. "

"Ah!" muttered Helene, who was not paying the least attention. 

Madame Deberle went into particulars, but of a sudden the chantceased, and the organ-music died away in a moan. Astounded at theloudness of her own voice breaking upon the stillness which ensued, she lapsed into silence. A priest made his appearance at this momentin the pulpit. There was a rustling, and then he spoke. No, certainlynot, Helene would not join that dinner-party. With her eyes fixed onthe priest she pictured to herself the next meeting with Henri, thatmeeting which for three days she had contemplated with terror; she sawhim white with anger, reproaching her for hiding herself, and shedreaded lest she might not display sufficient indifference. Amidst herdream the priest had disappeared, his thrilling tones merely reachingher in casual sentences: "No hour could be more ineffable than thatwhen the Virgin, with bent head, answered: 'I am the handmaiden of theLord!'"

Yes, she would be brave; all her reason had returned to her. She wouldtaste the joy of being loved, but would never avow her love, for herheart told her that such an avowal would cost her peace. And howintensely would she love, without confessing it, gratified by a word, a look from Henri, exchanged at lengthy intervals on the occasion of achance meeting! It was a dream that brought her some sense of theinfinite. The church around her became a friend and comforter. Thepriest was now exclaiming:

"The angel vanished and Mary plunged into contemplation of the divinemystery working within her, her heart bathed in sunshine and love. "

"He speaks very well, " whispered Madame Deberle, leaning towards her. "And he's quite young, too, scarcely thirty, don't you think?"

Madame Deberle was affected. Religion pleased her because the emotionsit prompted were in good taste. To present flowers for the decorationof churches, to have petty dealings with the priests, who were sopolite and discreet, to come to church attired in her best and assumean air of worldly patronage towards the God of the poor--all this hadfor her special delights; the more so as her husband did not interesthimself in religion, and her devotions thus had all the sweetness offorbidden fruit. Helene looked at her and answered with a nod; herface was ashy white with faintness, while the other's was lit up bysmiles. There was a stirring of chairs and a rustling ofhandkerchiefs, as the priest quitted the pulpit with the finaladjuration

"Oh! give wings unto your love, souls imbued with Christian piety. Godhas made a sacrifice of Himself for your sakes, your hearts are fullof His presence, your souls overflow with His grace!"

Of a sudden the organ sounded again, and the litanies of the Virginbegan with their appeals of passionate tenderness. Faint and distantthe chanting rolled forth from the side-aisles and the dark recessesof the chapels, as though the earth were giving answer to the angelvoices of the chorister-boys. A rush of air swept over the throng, making the flames of the tapers leap, while amongst the flowers, fading as they exhaled their last perfume, the Divine Mother seemed toincline her head to smile on her infant Jesus. 

All at once, seized with an instinctive dread, Helene turned. "You'renot ill, Jeanne, are you?" she asked. 

The child, with face ashy white and eyes glistening, her spirit bornealoft by the fervent strains of the litanies, was gazing at the altar, where in imagination she could see the roses multiplying and fallingin cascades. 

"No, no, mamma, " she whispered; "I am pleased, I am very wellpleased. " And then she asked: "But where is our dear old friend?"

She spoke of the Abbe. Pauline caught sight of him; he was seated inthe choir, but Jeanne had to be lifted up in order that she mightperceive him. 

"Oh! He is looking at us, " said she; "he is blinking. " According toJeanne, the Abbe blinked when he laughed inwardly. Helene hastened toexchange a friendly nod with him. And then the tranquillity within herseemed to increase, her future serenity appeared to be assured, thusendearing the church to her and lulling her into a blissful conditionof patient endurance. Censers swung before the altar and threads ofsmoke ascended; the benediction followed, and the holy monstrance wasslowly raised and waved above the heads lowered to the earth. Helenewas still on her knees in happy meditation when she heard MadameDeberle exclaiming: "It's over now; let us go. "

There ensued a clatter of chairs and a stamping of feet whichreverberated along the arched aisles. Pauline had taken Jeanne's hand, and, walking away in front with the child, began to question her:

"Have you ever been to the theatre?"

"No. Is it finer than this?"

As she spoke, the little one, giving vent to great gasps of wonder, tossed her head as though ready to express the belief that nothingcould be finer. To her question, however, Pauline deigned no reply, for she had just come to a standstill in front of a priest who waspassing in his surplice. And when he was a few steps away sheexclaimed aloud, with such conviction in her tones that two devoutladies of the congregation turned around:

"Oh! what a fine head!"

Helene, meanwhile, had risen from her knees. She stepped along by theside of Juliette among the crowd which was making its way out withdifficulty. Her heart was full of tenderness, she felt languid andenervated, and her soul no longer rebelled at the other being so near. At one moment their bare hands came in contact and they smiled. Theywere almost stifling in the throng, and Helene would fain have hadJuliette go first. All their old friendship seemed to blossom forthonce more. 

"Is it understood that we can rely on you for to-morrow evening?"asked Madame Deberle. 

Helene no longer had the will to decline. She would see whether itwere possible when she reached the street. It finished by their beingthe last to leave. Pauline and Jeanne already stood on the oppositepavement awaiting them. But a tearful voice brought them to a halt. 

"Ah, my good lady, what a time it is since I had the happiness ofseeing you!"

It was Mother Fetu, who was soliciting alms at the church door. Barring Helene's way, as though she had lain in wait for her, she wenton:

"Oh, I have been so very ill always here, in the stomach, you know. Just now I feel as if a hammer were pounding away inside me; and Ihave nothing at all, my good lady. I didn't dare to send you wordabout it--May the gracious God repay you!"

Helene had slipped a piece of money into her hand, and promised tothink about her. 

"Hello!" exclaimed Madame Deberle, who had remained standing withinthe porch, "there's some one talking with Pauline and Jeanne. Why, itis Henri. "

"Yes, yes" Mother Fetu hastened to add as she turned her ferret-likeeyes on the ladies, "it is the good doctor. I have seen him there allthrough the service; he has never budged from the pavement; he hasbeen waiting for you, no doubt. Ah! he's a saint of a man! I swearthat to be the truth in the face of God who hears us. Yes, I know you, madame; he is a husband who deserves to be happy. May Heaven hearkento your prayers, may every blessing fall on you! In the name of theFather, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!"

Amidst the myriad furrows of her face, which was wrinkled like awithered apple, her little eyes kept gleaming in malicious unrest, darting a glance now on Juliette, now on Helene, so that it wasimpossible to say with any certainty whom she was addressing whilespeaking of "the good doctor. " She followed them, muttering on withouta stop, mingling whimpering entreaty with devout outbursts. 

Henri's reserve alike astonished and moved Helene. He scarcely had thecourage to raise his eyes towards her. On his wife quizzing him aboutthe opinions which restrained him from entering a church, he merelyexplained that to smoke a cigar was his object in coming to meet them;but Helene understood that he had wished to see her again, to prove toher how wrong she was in fearing some fresh outrage. Doubtless, likeherself, he had sworn to keep within the limits of reason. She neverquestioned whether his sincerity could be real. She simply experienceda feeling of unhappiness at seeing him unhappy. Thus it came about, that on leaving them it the Rue Vineuse, she said cheerfully:

"Well, it is settled then; to-morrow at seven. "

In this way the old friendship grew closer than ever, and a charminglife began afresh. To Helene it seemed as if Henri had never yieldedto that moment of folly; it was but a dream of hers; each loved theother, but they would never breathe a word of their love, they werecontent with knowing its existence. They spent delicious hours, inwhich, without their tongues giving evidence of their passion, theydisplayed it constantly; a gesture, an inflexion of the voicesufficed, ay, even a silence. Everything insensibly tended towardstheir love, plunged them more and more deeply into a passion whichthey bore away with them whenever they parted, which was ever withthem, which formed, as it were, the only atmosphere they couldbreathe. And their excuse was their honesty; with eyes wide open theyplayed this comedy of affection; not even a hand-clasp did they alloweach other and their restraint infused unalloyed delight into thesimple greetings with which they met. 

Every evening the ladies went to church. Madame Deberle was enchantedwith the novel pleasure she was enjoying. It was so different fromevening dances, concerts, and first nights; she adored freshsensations, and nuns and priests were now constantly in her company. The store of religion which she had acquired in her school-days nowfound new life in her giddy brain, taking shape in all sorts oftrivial observances, as though she were reviving the games of herchildhood. Helene, who on her side had grown up without any religioustraining, surrendered herself to the bliss of these services of themonth of Mary, happy also in the delight with which they appeared toinspire Jeanne. They now dined earlier; they gave Rosalie no peacelest she should cause them to be late, and prevent their securing goodseats. Then they called for Juliette on the way. One day Lucien wastaken, but he behaved so badly that he was afterward left at home. Onentering the warm church, with its glare of wax candles, a feeling oftenderness and calm, which by degrees grew necessary to Helene, cameover her. When doubts sprang up within her during the day, and thethought of Henri filled her with indefinable anxiety, with the eveningthe church once more brought her peace. The chants arose overflowingwith divine passion; the flowers, newly culled, made the closeatmosphere of the building still heavier. It was here that shebreathed all the first rapture of springtide, amidst that adoration ofwoman raised to the status of a cult; and her senses swam as shecontemplated the mystery of love and purity--Mary, virgin and mother, beaming beneath her wreath of white roses. Each day she remainedlonger on her knees. She found herself at times with hands joined inentreaty. When the ceremony came to an end, there followed thehappiness of the return home. Henri awaited their appearance at thedoor; the evenings grew warmer, and they wended their way through thedark, still streets of Passy, while scarce a word passed between them. 

"How devout you are getting, my dear!" said Madame Deberle one night, with a laugh. 

Yes, it was true; Helene was widely opening the portals of her heartto pious thoughts. Never could she have fancied that such happinesswould attend her love. She returned to the church as to a spot whereher heart would melt, for under its roof she could give free vent toher tears, remain thoughtless, plunged in speechless worship. For anhour each evening she put no restraint on herself. The bursting lovewithin her, prisoned throughout the day, at length escaped from herbosom on the wings of prayer, amidst the pious quiver of the throng. The muttered supplications, the bendings of the knee, the reverences--words and gestures seemingly interminable--all lulled her to rest;to her they ever expressed the same thing; it was always the samepassion speaking in the same phrase, or the same gesture. She felt aneed of faith, and basked enraptured by the Divine goodness. 

Helene was not the only person whom Juliette twitted; she feigned abelief that Henri himself was becoming religious. What, had he not nowentered the church to wait for them?--he, atheist and scoffer, who hadbeen wont to assert that he had sought for the soul with his scalpel, and had not yet discovered its existence! As soon as she perceived himstanding behind a pillar in the shadow of the pulpit, she wouldinstantly jog Helene's arm. 

"Look, look, he is there already! Do you know, he wouldn't confesswhen we got married! See how funny he looks; he gazes at us with socomical an expression; quick, look!"

Helene did not at the moment raise her head. The service was coming toan end, clouds of incense were rising, and the organ-music pealedforth joyfully. But her neighbor was not a woman to leave her alone, and she was forced to speak in answer. 

"Yes, yes, I see him, " she whispered, albeit she never turned hereyes. 

She had on her own side divined his presence amidst the song of praisethat mounted from the worshipping throng. It seemed to her thatHenri's breath was wafted on the wings of the music and beat againsther neck, and she imagined she could see behind her his glancesshedding their light along the nave and haloing her, as she knelt, with a golden glory. And then she felt impelled to pray with suchfervor that words failed her. The expression on his face was sober, asunruffled as any husband might wear when looking for ladies in achurch, the same, indeed, as if he had been waiting for them in thelobby of a theatre. But when they came together, in the midst of theslowly-moving crowd of worshippers, they felt that the bonds of theirlove had been drawn closer by the flowers and the chanting; and theyshunned all conversation, for their hearts were on their lips. 

A fortnight slipped away, and Madame Deberle grew wearied. She everjumped from one thing to the other, consumed with the thirst of doingwhat every one else was doing. For the moment charity bazaars hadbecome her craze; she would toil up sixty flights of stairs of anafternoon to beg paintings of well-known artists, while her eveningswere spent in presiding over meetings of lady patronesses, with a bellhandy to call noisy members to order. Thus it happened that oneThursday evening Helene and her daughter went to church without theircompanions. On the conclusion of the sermon, while the choristers werecommencing the _Magnificat_, the young woman, forewarned by someimpulse of her heart, turned her head. Henri was there, in his usualplace. Thereupon she remained with looks riveted to the ground tillthe service came to an end, waiting the while for the return home. 

"Oh, how kind of you to come!" said Jeanne, with all a child'sfrankness, as they left the church. "I should have been afraid to goalone through these dark streets. "

Henri, however, feigned astonishment, asserting that he had expectedto meet his wife. Helene allowed the child to answer him, and followedthem without uttering a word. As the trio passed under the porch apitiful voice sang out: "Charity, charity! May God repay you!"

Every night Jeanne dropped a ten-sou piece into Mother Fetu's hand. When the latter saw the doctor alone with Helene, she nodded her headknowingly, instead of breaking out into a storm of thanks, as was hercustom. The church was now empty, and she began to follow them, mumbling inaudible sentences. Sometimes, instead of returning by theRue de Passy, the ladies, when the night was fine, went homewards bythe Rue Raynouard, the way being thus lengthened by five or sixminutes' walk. That night also Helene turned into the Rue Raynouard, craving for gloom and stillness, and entranced by the loneliness ofthe long thoroughfare, which was lighted by only a few gas-lamps, without the shadow of a single passer-by falling across its pavement. 

At this hour Passy seemed out of the world; sleep had already fallenover it; it had all the quietude of a provincial town. On each side ofthe street loomed mansions, girls' schools, black and silent, anddining places, from the kitchens of which lights still streamed. Therewas not, however, a single shop to throw the glare of its frontageacross the dimness. To Henri and Helene the loneliness was pregnantwith intense charm. He had not ventured to offer her his arm. Jeannewalked between them in the middle of the road, which was gravelledlike a walk in some park. At last the houses came to an end, and thenon each side were walls, over which spread mantling clematis andclusters of lilac blossoms. Immense gardens parted the mansions, andhere and there through the railings of an iron gate they could catchglimpses of a gloomy background of verdure, against which thetree-dotted turf assumed a more delicate hue. The air was filled withthe perfume of irises growing in vases which they could scarcedistinguish. All three paced on slowly through the warm spring night, which was steeping them in its odors, and Jeanne, with childishartlessness, raised her face to the heavens, and exclaimed:

"Oh, mamma, see what a number of stars!"

But behind them, like an echo of their own, came the footfall ofMother Fetu. Nearer and nearer she approached, till they could hearher muttering the opening words of the Angelic Salutation "_Ave Marie, gratia plena_, " repeating them over and over again with the sameconfused persistency. She was telling her beads on her homeward way. 

"I have still something left--may I give it to her?" Jeanne asked hermother. 

And thereupon, without waiting for a reply, she left them, runningtowards the old woman, who was on the point of entering the Passagedes Eaux. Mother Fetu clutched at the coin, calling upon all theangels of Heaven to bless her. As she spoke, however, she grasped thechild's hand and detained her by her side, then asking in changedtones:

"The other lady is ill, is she not?"

"No, " answered Jeanne, surprised. 

"May Heaven shield her! May it shower its favors on her and herhusband! Don't run away yet, my dear little lady. Let me say an _AveMaria_ for your mother's sake, and you will join in the 'Amen' withme. Oh! your mother will allow you; you can catch her up. "

Meanwhile Henri and Helene trembled as they found themselves suddenlyleft alone in the shadow cast by a line of huge chestnut trees thatbordered the road. They quietly took a few steps. The chestnut treeshad strewn the ground with their bloom, and they were walking uponthis rosy-tinted carpet. On a sudden, however, they came to a stop, their hearts filled with such emotion that they could go no farther. 

"Forgive me, " said Henri simply. 

"Yes, yes, " ejaculated Helene. "But oh! be silent, I pray you. "

She had felt his hand touch her own, and had started back. FortunatelyJeanne ran towards them at the moment. 

"Mamma, mamma!" she cried; "she made me say an _Ave_; she says it willbring you good luck. "

The three then turned into the Rue Vineuse, while Mother Fetu creptdown the steps of the Passage des Eaux, busy completing her rosary. 

The month slipped away. Two or three more services were attended byMadame Deberle. One Sunday, the last one, Henri once more ventured towait for Helene and Jeanne. The walk home thrilled them with joy. Themonth had been one long spell of wondrous bliss. The little churchseemed to have entered into their lives to soothe their love andrender its way pleasant. At first a great peace had settled onHelene's soul; she had found happiness in this sanctuary where sheimagined she could without shame dwell on her love; however, theundermining had continued, and when her holy rapture passed away shewas again in the grip of her passion, held by bonds that would haveplucked at her heartstrings had she sought to break them asunder. Henri still preserved his respectful demeanor, but she could not dootherwise than see the passion burning in his face. She dreaded someoutburst, and even grew afraid of herself. 

One afternoon, going homewards after a walk with Jeanne, she passedalong the Rue de l'Annonciation and entered the church. The child wascomplaining of feeling very tired. Until the last day she had beenunwilling to admit that the evening services exhausted her, so intensewas the pleasure she derived from them; but her cheeks had grownwaxy-pale, and the doctor advised that she should take long walks. 

"Sit down here, " said her mother. "It will rest you; we'll only stayten minutes. "

She herself walked towards some chairs a short way off, and kneltdown. She had placed Jeanne close to a pillar. Workmen were busy atthe other end of the nave, taking down the hangings and removing theflowers, the ceremonials attending the month of Mary having come to anend the evening before. With her face buried in her hands Helene sawnothing and heard nothing; she was eagerly catechising her heart, asking whether she ought not to confess to Abbe Jouve what an awfullife had come upon her. He would advise her, perhaps restore her lostpeace. Still, within her there arose, out of her very anguish, afierce flood of joy. She hugged her sorrow, dreading lest the priestmight succeed in finding a cure for it. Ten minutes slipped away, thenan hour. She was overwhelmed by the strife raging within her heart. 

At last she raised her head, her eyes glistening with tears, and sawAbbe Jouve gazing at her sorrowfully. It was he who was directing theworkmen. Having recognized Jeanne, he had just come forward. 

"Why, what is the matter, my child?" he asked of Helene, who hastenedto rise to her feet and wipe away her tears. 

She was at a loss what answer to give; she was afraid lest she shouldonce more fall on her knees and burst into sobs. He approached stillnearer, and gently resumed:

"I do not wish to cross-question you, but why do you not confide inme? Confide in the priest and forget the friend. "

"Some other day, " she said brokenly, "some other day, I promise you. "

Jeanne meantime had at first been very good and patient, findingamusement in looking at the stained-glass windows, the statues overthe great doorway, and the scenes of the journey to the Cross depictedin miniature bas-reliefs along the aisles. By degrees, however, thecold air of the church had enveloped her as with a shroud; and sheremained plunged in a weariness that even banished thought, a feelingof discomfort waking within her with the holy quiet and far-reachingechoes, which the least sound stirred in this sanctuary where sheimagined she was going to die. But a grievous sorrow rankled in herheart--the flowers were being borne away. The great clusters of roseswere vanishing, and the altar seemed to become more and more bare andchill. The marble looked icy-cold now that no wax-candle shone on itand there was no smoking incense. The lace-robed Virgin moreover wasbeing moved, and after suddenly tottering fell backward into the armsof two workmen. At the sight Jeanne uttered a faint cry, stretched outher arms, and fell back rigid; the illness that had been threateningher for some days had at last fallen upon her. 

And when Helene, in distraction, carried her child, with theassistance of the sorrowing Abbe, into a cab, she turned towards theporch with outstretched, trembling hands. 

"It's all this church! it's all this church!" she exclaimed, with avehemence instinct with regret and self-reproach as she thought of themonth of devout delight which she herself had tasted there. 

 CHAPTER XII. 

When evening came Jeanne was somewhat better. She was able to get up, and, in order to remove her mother's fears, persisted in draggingherself into the dining-room, where she took her seat before her emptyplate. 

"I shall be all right, " she said, trying to smile. "You know very wellthat the least thing upsets me. Get on with your dinner, mamma; I wantyou to eat. "

And in the end she pretended an appetite she did not feel, for sheobserved that her mother sat watching her paling and trembling, without being able to swallow a morsel. She promised to take some jam, and Helene then hurried through her dinner, while the child, with anever-fading smile and her head nodding tremblingly, watched her withworshipping looks. On the appearance of the dessert she made an effortto carry out her promise, but tears welled into her eyes. 

"You see I can't get it down my throat, " she murmured. "You mustn't beangry with me. "

The weariness that overwhelmed her was terrible. Her legs seemedlifeless, her shoulders pained her as though gripped by a hand ofiron. But she was very brave through it all, and choked at theirsource the moans which the shooting pains in her neck awakened. At onemoment, however, she forgot herself, her head felt too heavy, and shewas bent double by pain. Her mother, as she gazed on her, so faint andfeeble, was wholly unable to finish the pear which she was trying toforce down her throat. Her sobs choked her, and throwing down hernapkin, she clasped Jeanne in her arms. 

"My child! my child!" she wailed, her heart bursting with sorrow, asher eyes ranged round the dining-room where her darling, when in goodhealth, had so often enlivened her by her fondness for tid-bits. 

At last Jeanne woke to life again, and strove to smile as of old. 

"Don't worry, mamma, " said she; "I shall be all right soon. Now thatyou have done you must put me to bed. I only wanted to see you haveyour dinner. Oh! I know you; you wouldn't have eaten as much as amorsel of bread. "

Helene bore her away in her arms. She had brought the little cribclose to her own bed in the blue room. When Jeanne had stretched outher limbs, and the bedclothes were tucked up under her chin, shedeclared she felt much better. There were no more complaints aboutdull pains at the back of her head; but she melted into tenderness, and her passionate love seemed to grow more pronounced. Helene wasforced to caress her, to avow intense affection for her, and topromise that she would again kiss her when she came to bed. 

"Never mind if I'm sleeping, " said Jeanne. "I shall know you're thereall the same. "

She closed her eyes and fell into a doze. Helene remained near her, watching over her slumber. When Rosalie entered on tip-toe to askpermission to go to bed, she answered "Yes" with a nod. At last eleveno'clock struck, and Helene was still watching there, when she imaginedshe heard a gentle tapping at the outer door. Bewildered withastonishment, she took up the lamp and left the room to make sure. 

"Who is there?"

"'Tis I; open the door, " replied a voice in stifled tones. 

It was Henri's voice. She quickly opened the door, thinking his comingonly natural. No doubt he had but now been informed of Jeanne'sillness, and had hastened to her, although she had not summoned him toher assistance, feeling a certain shame at the thought of allowing himto share in attending on her daughter. 

However, he gave her no opportunity to speak. He followed her into thedining-room, trembling, with inflamed visage. 

"I beseech you, pardon me, " he faltered, as he caught hold of herhand. "I haven't seen you for three days past, and I cannot resist thecraving to see you. "

Helene withdrew her hand. He stepped back, but, with his gaze stillfixed on her, continued: "Don't be afraid; I love you. I would havewaited at the door had you not opened it. Oh! I know very well it issimple madness, but I love you, I love you all the same!"

Her face was grave as she listened, eloquent with a dumb reproachwhich tortured him, and impelled him to pour forth his passionatelove. 

But Helene still remained standing, wholly unmoved. At last she spoke. "You know nothing, then?" asked she. 

He had taken her hand, and was raising it to his lips, when shestarted back with a gesture of impatience. 

"Oh! leave me!" she exclaimed. "You see that I am not even listeningto you. I have something far different to think about!"

Then becoming more composed, she put her question to him a secondtime. "You know nothing? Well, my daughter is ill. I am pleased to seeyou; you will dispel my fears. "

She took up the lamp and walked on before him, but as they werepassing through the doorway, she turned, and looking at him, saidfirmly:

"I forbid you beginning again here. Oh! you must not!"

He entered behind her, scarcely understanding what had been enjoinedon him. His temples throbbed convulsively, as he leaned over thechild's little crib. 

"She is asleep; look at her, " said Helene in a whisper. 

He did not hear her; his passion would not be silenced. She washanging over the bed in front of him, and he could see her rosy neck, with its wavy hair. He shut his eyes that he might escape thetemptation of kissing her, as she said to him:

"Doctor, look at her, she is so feverish. Oh, tell me whether it isserious!"

Then, yielding to professional habit, despite the tempest raging inhis brain, he mechanically felt Jeanne's pulse. Nevertheless, sofierce was the struggle that he remained for a time motionless, seemingly unaware that he held this wasted little hand in his own. 

"Is it a violent fever?" asked Helene. 

"A violent fever! Do you think so?" he repeated. 

The little hand was scorching his own. There came another silence; thephysician was awakening within him, and passion was dying from hiseyes. His face slowly grew paler; he bent down uneasily, and examinedJeanne. 

"You are right; this is a very severe attack, " he exclaimed. "My God!the poor child!"

His passion was now dead; he was solely consumed by a desire to be ofservice to her. His coolness at once returned; he sat down, and wasquestioning the mother respecting the child's condition previous tothis attack of illness, when Jeanne awoke, moaning loudly. She againcomplained of a terrible pain in the head. The pangs which weredarting through her neck and shoulders had attained such intensitythat her every movement wrung a sob from her. Helene knelt on theother side of the bed, encouraging her, and smiling on her, though herheart almost broke at the sight of such agony. 

"There's some one there, isn't there, mamma?" Jeanne asked, as sheturned round and caught sight of the doctor. 

"It is a friend, whom you know. "

The child looked at him for a time with thoughtful eyes, as if indoubt; but soon a wave of affection passed over her face. "Yes, yes, Iknow him; I love him very much. " And with her coaxing air she added:"You will have to cure me, won't you, sir, to make mamma happy? Oh, I'll be good; I'll drink everything you give me. "

The doctor again felt her pulse, while Helene grasped her other hand;and, as she lay there between them, her eyes travelled attentivelyfrom one to the other, as though no such advantageous opportunity ofseeing and comparing them had ever occurred before. Then her headshook with a nervous trembling; she grew agitated; and her tiny handscaught hold of her mother and the doctor with a convulsive grip. 

"Do not go away; I'm so afraid. Take care of me; don't let all theothers come near me. I only want you, only you two, near me. Comecloser up to me, together!" she stammered. 

Drawing them nearer, with a violent effort she brought them close toher, still uttering the same entreaty: "Come close, together, together!"

Several times did she behave in the same delirious fashion. Then cameintervals of quiet, when a heavy sleep fell on her, but it left herbreathless and almost dead. When she started out of these short dozesshe heard nothing, saw nothing--a white vapor shrouded her eyes. Thedoctor remained watching over her for a part of the night, whichproved a very bad one. He only absented himself for a moment toprocure some medicine. Towards morning, when he was about to leave, Helene, with terrible anxiety in her face accompanied him into theante-room. 

"Well?" asked she. 

"Her condition is very serious, " he answered; "but you must not fear;rely on me; I will give you every assistance. I shall come back at teno'clock. "

When Helene returned to the bedroom she found Jeanne sitting up inbed, gazing round her with bewildered looks. 

"You left me! you left me!" she wailed. "Oh! I'm afraid; I don't wantto be left all alone. "

To console her, her mother kissed her, but she still gazed round theroom:

"Where is he?" she faltered. "Oh! tell him not to go away; I want himto be here, I want him--"

"He will come back, my darling!" interrupted Helene, whose tears weremingling with Jeanne's own. "He will not leave us, I promise you. Heloves us too well. Now, be good and lie down. I'll stay here till hecomes back. "

"Really? really?" murmured the child, as she slowly fell back intodeep slumber. 

Terrible days now began, three weeks full of awful agony. The feverdid not quit its victim for an hour. Jeanne only seemed tranquil whenthe doctor was present; she put one of her little hands in his, whileher mother held the other. She seemed to find safety in theirpresence; she gave each of them an equal share of her tyrannicalworship, as though she well knew beneath what passionate kindness shewas sheltering herself. Her nervous temperament, so exquisite in itssensibility, the keener since her illness, inspired her, no doubt, with the thought that only a miraculous effort of their love couldsave her. As the hours slipped away she would gaze on them with graveand searching looks as they sat on each side of her crib. Her glancesremained instinct with human passion, and though she spoke not shetold them all she desired by the warm pressure of her hands, withwhich she besought them not to leave her, giving them to understandwhat peace was hers when they were present. Whenever the doctorentered after having been away her joy became supreme, and her eyes, which never quitted the door, flashed with light; and then she wouldfall quietly asleep, all her fears fleeing as she heard her mother andhim moving around her and speaking in whispers. 

On the day after the attack Doctor Bodin called. But Jeanne suddenlyturned away her head and refused to allow him to examine her. 

"I don't want him, mamma, " she murmured, "I don't want him! I beg ofyou. "

As he made his appearance on the following day, Helene was forced toinform him of the child's dislike, and thus it came about that thevenerable doctor made no further effort to enter the sick-room. Still, he climbed the stairs every other day to inquire how Jeanne wasgetting on, and sometimes chatted with his brother professional, Doctor Deberle, who paid him all the deference due to an elder. 

Moreover, it was useless to try to deceive Jeanne. Her senses hadbecome wondrously acute. The Abbe and Monsieur Rambaud paid a visitevery night; they sat down and spent an hour in sad silence. Oneevening, as the doctor was going away, Helene signed to MonsieurRambaud to take his place and clasp the little one's hand, so that shemight not notice the departure of her beloved friend. But two or threeminutes had scarcely passed ere Jeanne opened her eyes and quicklydrew her hand away. With tears flowing she declared that they werebehaving ill to her. 

"Don't you love me any longer? won't you have me beside you?" askedpoor Monsieur Rambaud, with tears in his eyes. 

She looked at him, deigning no reply; it seemed as if her heart wasset on knowing him no more. The worthy man, grievously pained, returned to his corner. He always ended by thus gliding into awindow-recess, where, half hidden behind a curtain, he would remainduring the evening, in a stupor of grief, his eyes the while neverquitting the sufferer. The Abbe was there as well, with his large headand pallid face showing above his scraggy shoulders. He concealed histears by blowing his nose loudly from time to time. The danger inwhich he saw his little friend lying wrought such havoc within himthat his poor were for the time wholly forgotten. 

But it was useless for the two brothers to retire to the other end ofthe room; Jeanne was still conscious of their presence. They were asource of vexation to her, and she would turn round with a harassedlook, even though drowsy with fever. Her mother bent over her to catchthe words trembling on her lips. 

"Oh! mamma, I feel so ill. All this is choking me; send everybody away--quick, quick!"

Helene with the utmost gentleness then explained to the two brothersthe child's wish to fall asleep; they understood her meaning, andquitted the room with drooping heads. And no sooner had they gone thanJeanne breathed with greater freedom, cast a glance round the chamber, and once more fixed a look of infinite tenderness on her mother andthe doctor. 

"Good-night, " she whispered; "I feel well again; stay beside me. "

For three weeks she thus kept them by her side. Henri had at firstpaid two visits each day, but soon he spent the whole night with them, giving every hour he could spare to the child. At the outset he hadfeared it was a case of typhoid fever; but so contradictory were thesymptoms that he soon felt himself involved in perplexity. There wasno doubt he was confronted by a disease of the chlorosis type, presenting the greatest difficulty in treatment, with the possibilityof very dangerous complications, as the child was almost on thethreshold of womanhood. He dreaded first a lesion of the heart andthen the setting in of consumption. Jeanne's nervous excitement, wholly beyond his control, was a special source of uneasiness; to suchheights of delirium did the fever rise, that the strongest medicineswere of no avail. He brought all his fortitude and knowledge to bearon the case, inspired with the one thought that his own happiness andlife were at stake. On his mind there had now fallen a greatstillness; not once during those three anxious weeks did his passionbreak its bonds. Helene's breath no longer woke tremors within him, and when their eyes met they were only eloquent of the sympatheticsadness of two souls threatened by a common misfortune. 

Nevertheless every moment brought their hearts nearer. They now livedonly with the one idea. No sooner had he entered the bed-chamber thanby a glance he gathered how Jeanne had spent the night; and there wasno need for him to speak for Helene to learn what he thought of thechild's condition. Besides, with all the innate bravery of a mother, she had forced from him a declaration that he would not deceive her, but allow her to know his fears. Always on her feet, not having hadthree hours' uninterrupted sleep for three weeks past, she displayedsuperhuman endurance and composure, and quelled her despair without atear in order that she might concentrate her whole soul upon thestruggle with the dread enemy. Within and without her heart there wasnothing but emptiness; the world around her, the usual thoughts ofeach hour, the consciousness of life itself, had all faded intodarkness. Existence held nothing for her. Nothing now bound her tolife but her suffering darling and this man who promised her amiracle. It was he, and he only, to whom she looked, to whom shelistened, whose most trivial words were to her of the firstimportance, and into whose breast she would fain have transfused herown soul in order to increase his energy. Insensibly, and withoutbreak, this idea wrought out its own accomplishment. Almost everyevening, when the fever was raging at its worst and Jeanne lay inimminent peril, they were there beside her in silence; and as thougheager to remind themselves that they stood shoulder to shoulderstruggling against death, their hands met on the edge of the bed in acaressing clasp, while they trembled with solicitude and pity till afaint smile breaking over the child's face, and the sound of quiet andregular breathing, told them that the danger was past. Then eachencouraged the other by an inclination of the head. Once again hadtheir love triumphed; and every time the mute caress grew moredemonstrative their hearts drew closer together. 

One night Helene divined that Henri was concealing something from her. For ten minutes, without a word crossing his lips, he had beenexamining Jeanne. The little one complained of intolerable thirst; sheseemed choking, and there was an incessant wheezing in her parchedthroat. Then a purple flush came over her face, and she lapsed into astupor which prevented her even from raising her eyelids. She laymotionless; it might have been imagined she was dead but for the soundcoming from her throat. 

"You consider her very ill, do you not?" gasped Helene. 

He answered in the negative; there was no change. But his face wasashy-white, and he remained seated, overwhelmed by his powerlessness. Thereupon she also, despite the tension of her whole being, sank upona chair on the other side of the bed. 

"Tell me everything. You promised to tell me all. Is she beyond hope?"

He still sat silent, and she spoke again more vehemently:

"You know how brave I am. Have I wept? have I despaired? Speak: I wantto know the truth. "

Henri fixed his eyes on her. The words came slowly from his lips. "Well, " said he, "if in an hour hence she hasn't awakened from thisstupor, it will be all over. "

Not a sob broke from Helene; but icy horror possessed her and raisedher hair on end. Her eyes turned on Jeanne; she fell on her knees andclasped her in her arms with a superb gesture eloquent of ownership, as though she could preserve her from ill, nestling thus against hershoulder. For more than a minute she kept her face close to thechild's, gazing at her intently, eager to give her breath from her ownnostrils, ay, and her very life too. The labored breathing of thelittle sufferer grew shorter and shorter. 

"Can nothing be done?" she exclaimed, as she lifted her head. "Why doyou remain there? Do something!" But he made a disheartened gesture. "Do something!" she repeated. "There must be something to be done. Youare not going to let her die oh, surely not!"

"I will do everything possible, " the doctor simply said. 

He rose up, and then a supreme struggle began. All the coolness andnerve of the practitioner had returned to him. Till now he had notventured to try any violent remedies, for he dreaded to enfeeble thelittle frame already almost destitute of life. But he no longerremained undecided, and straightway dispatched Rosalie for a dozenleeches. And he did not attempt to conceal from the mother that thiswas a desperate remedy which might save or kill her child. When theleeches were brought in, her heart failed her for a moment. 

"Gracious God! gracious God!" she murmured. "Oh, if you should killher!"

He was forced to wring consent from her. 

"Well, put them on, " said she; "but may Heaven guide your hand!"

She had not ceased holding Jeanne, and refused to alter her position, as she still desired to keep the child's little head nestling againsther shoulder. With calm features he meantime busied himself with thelast resource, not allowing a word to fall from his lips. The firstapplication of the leeches proved unsuccessful. The minutes slippedaway. The only sound breaking the stillness of the shadowy chamber wasthe merciless, incessant tick-tack of the timepiece. Hope departedwith every second. In the bright disc of light cast by the lamp, Jeanne lay stretched among the disordered bedclothes, with limbs ofwaxen pallor. Helene, with tearless eyes, but choking with emotion, gazed on the little body already in the clutches of death, and to seea drop of her daughter's blood appear, would willingly have yielded upall her own. And at last a ruddy drop trickled down--the leeches hadmade fast their hold; one by one they commenced sucking. The child'slife was in the balance. These were terrible moments, pregnant withanguish. Was that sigh the exhalation of Jeanne's last breath, or didit mark her return to life? For a time Helene's heart was frozenwithin her; she believed that the little one was dead; and there cameto her a violent impulse to pluck away the creatures which weresucking so greedily; but some supernatural power restrained her, andshe remained there with open mouth and her blood chilled within her. The pendulum still swung to and fro; the room itself seemed to waitthe issue in anxious expectation. 

At last the child stirred. Her heavy eyelids rose, but dropped again, as though wonder and weariness had overcome her. A slight quiverpassed over her face; it seemed as if she were breathing. Finallythere was a trembling of the lips; and Helene, in an agony ofsuspense, bent over her, fiercely awaiting the result. 

"Mamma! mamma!" murmured Jeanne. 

Henri heard, and walking to the head of the bed, whispered in themother's ear: "She is saved. "

"She is saved! she is saved!" echoed Helene in stammering tones, herbosom filled with such joy that she fell on the floor close to thebed, gazing now at her daughter and now at the doctor with distractedlooks. But she rose and giving way to a mighty impulse, threw herselfon Henri's neck. 

"I love you!" she exclaimed. 

This was her avowal--the avowal imprisoned so long, but at last pouredforth in the crisis of emotion which had come upon her. Mother andlover were merged in one; she proffered him her love in a fiery rushof gratitude. 

Through her sobs she spoke to him in endearing words. Her tears, driedat their source for three weeks, were now rolling down her cheeks. Butat last she fell upon her knees, and took Jeanne in her arms to lullher to deeper slumber against her shoulder; and at intervals whilsther child thus rested she raised to Henri's eyes glistening withpassionate tears. 

Stretched in her cot, the bedclothes tucked under her chin, and herhead, with its dark brown tresses, resting in the centre of thepillow, Jeanne lay, relieved, but prostrate. Her eyelids were closed, but she did not sleep. The lamp, placed on the table, which had beenrolled close to the fireplace, lit but one end of the room, and theshade encompassed Helene and Henri, seated in their customary placeson each side of the bed. But the child did not part them; on thecontrary, she served as a closer bond between them, and her innocencewas intermingled with their love on this first night of its avowal. Attimes Helene rose on tiptoe to fetch the medicine, to turn up thelamp, or give some order to Rosalie; while the doctor, whose eyesnever quitted her, would sign to her to walk gently. And when she hadsat down again they smiled at one another. Not a word was spoken; alltheir interest was concentrated on Jeanne, who was to them as theirlove itself. Sometimes when the coverlet was being pulled up, or thechild's head was being raised, their hands met and rested together insweet forgetfulness. This undesigned, stealthy caress was the only onein which they indulged. 

"I am not sleeping, " murmured Jeanne. "I know very well you arethere. "

On hearing her speak they were overjoyed. Their hands parted; beyondthis they had no desires. The improvement in the child's condition wasto them satisfaction and peace. 

"Are you feeling better, my darling?" asked Helene, when she saw herstirring. 

Jeanne made no immediate reply, and when she spoke it was dreamingly. 

"Oh, yes! I don't feel anything now. But I can hear you, and thatpleases me. "

After the lapse of a moment, she opened her eyes with an effort andlooked at them. Then an angelic smile crossed her face, and hereyelids dropped once more. 

On the morrow, when the Abbe and Monsieur Rambaud made theirappearance, Helene gave way to a shrug of impatience. They were now adisturbing element in her happy nest. As they went on questioning her, shaking with fear lest they might receive bad tidings, she had thecruelty to reply that Jeanne was no better. She spoke withoutconsideration, driven to this strait by the selfish desire oftreasuring for herself and Henri the bliss of having rescued Jeannefrom death, and of alone knowing this to be so. What was their reasonfor seeking a share in her happiness? It belonged to Henri andherself, and had it been known to another would have seemed to herimpaired in value. To her imagination it would have been as though astranger were participating in her love. 

The priest, however, approached the bed. 

"Jeanne, 'tis we, your old friends. Don't you know us?"

She nodded gravely to them in recognition, but she was unwilling tospeak to them; she was in a thoughtful mood, and she cast a look fullof meaning on her mother. The two poor men went away more heartbrokenthan on any previous evening. 

Three days later Henri allowed his patient her first boiled egg. Itwas a matter of the highest importance. Jeanne's mind was made up toeat it with none present but her mother and the doctor, and the doormust be closed. As it happened, Monsieur Rambaud was present at themoment; and when Helene began to spread a napkin, by way oftablecloth, on the bed, the child whispered in her ear: "Wait amoment--when he has gone. "

And as soon as he had left them she burst out: "Now, quick! quick!It's far nicer when there's nobody but ourselves. "

Helene lifted her to a sitting posture, while Henri placed two pillowsbehind her to prop her up; and then, with the napkin spread before herand a plate on her knees, Jeanne waited, smiling. 

"Shall I break the shell for you?" asked her mother. 

"Yes, do, mamma. "

"And I will cut you three little bits of bread, " added the doctor. 

"Oh! four; you'll see if I don't eat four. "

It was now the doctor's turn to be addressed endearingly. When he gaveher the first slice, she gripped his hand, and as she still claspedher mother's, she rained kisses on both with the same passionatetenderness. 

"Come, come; you will have to be good, " entreated Helene, who observedthat she was ready to burst into tears; "you must please us by eatingyour egg. "

At this Jeanne ventured to begin; but her frame was so enfeebled thatwith the second sippet of bread she declared herself wearied. As sheswallowed each mouthful, she would say, with a smile, that her teethwere tender. Henri encouraged her, while Helene's eyes were brimful oftears. Heaven! she saw her child eating! She watched the breaddisappear, and the gradual consumption of this first egg thrilled herto the heart. To picture Jeanne stretched dead beneath the sheets wasa vision of mortal terror; but now she was eating, and eating soprettily, with all an invalid's characteristic dawdling and hesitancy!

"You won't be angry, mamma? I'm doing my best. Why, I'm at my thirdbit of bread! Are you pleased?"

"Yes, my darling, quite pleased. Oh! you don't know all the joy thesight gives me!"

And then, in the happiness with which she overflowed, Heleneforgetfully leaned against Henri's shoulder. Both laughed gleefully atthe child, but over her face there suddenly crept a sullen flush; shegazed at them stealthily, and drooped her head, and refused to eat anymore, her features glooming the while with distrust and anger. At lastthey had to lay her back in bed again. 

 CHAPTER XIII. 

Months slipped away, and Jeanne was still convalescent. August came, and she had not quitted her bed. When evening fell she would rise foran hour or two; but even the crossing of the room to the window--whereshe reclined on an invalid-chair and gazed out on Paris, flaming withthe ruddy light of the dying sun--seemed too great a strain for herwearied frame. Her attenuated limbs could scarce bear their burden, and she would declare with a wan smile that the blood in her veinswould not suffice for a little bird, and that she must have plenty ofsoup. Morsels of raw meat were dipped in her broth. She had grown tolike this mixture, as she longed to be able to go down to play in thegarden. 

The weeks and the months which slipped by were ever instinct with thesame delightful monotony, and Helene forgot to count the days. Shenever left the house; at Jeanne's side she forgot the whole world. Nonews from without reached her ears. Her retreat, though it looked downon Paris, which with its smoke and noise stretched across the horizon, was as secret and secluded as any cave of holy hermit amongst thehills. Her child was saved, and the knowledge of it satisfied all herdesires. She spent her days in watching over her return to health, rejoicing in a shade of bright color returning to her cheeks, in alively look, or in a gesture of gladness. Every hour made her daughtermore like what she had been of old, with lovely eyes and wavy hair. The slower Jeanne's recovery, the greater joy was yielded to Helene, who recalled the olden days when she had suckled her, and, as shegazed on her gathering strength, felt even a keener emotion than whenin the past she had measured her two little feet in her hand to see ifshe would soon be able to walk. 

At the same time some anxiety remained to Helene. On several occasionsshe had seen a shadow come over Jeanne's face--a shadow of suddendistrust and sourness. Why was her laughter thus abruptly turned tosulkiness? Was she suffering? was she hiding some quickening of theold pain?

"Tell me, darling, what is the matter? You were laughing just a momentago, and now you are nearly crying! Speak to me: do you feel a painanywhere?"

But Jeanne abruptly turned away her head and buried her face in thepillow. 

"There's nothing wrong with me, " she answered curtly. "I want to beleft alone. "

And she would lie brooding the whole afternoon, with her eyes fixed onthe wall, showing no sign of affectionate repentance, but plunged in asadness which baffled her forlorn mother. The doctor knew not what tosay; these fits of gloom would always break out when he was there, andhe attributed them to the sufferer's nervousness. He impressed onHelene the necessity of crossing her in nothing. 

One afternoon Jeanne had fallen asleep. Henri, who was pleased withher progress, had lingered in the room, and was carrying on awhispered conversation with Helene, who was once more busy with hereverlasting needlework at her seat beside the window. Since theterrible night when she had confessed she loved him both had lived onpeacefully in the consciousness of their mutual passions, careless ofthe morrow, and without a thought of the world. Around Jeanne's bed, in this room that still reverberated with her agony, there was anatmosphere of purity which shielded them from any outburst. Thechild's innocent breath fell on them with a quieting influence. But asthe little invalid slowly grew well again, their love in very sympathytook new strength, and they would sit side by side with beatinghearts, speaking little, and then only in whispers, lest the littleone might be awakened. Their words were without significance, butstruck re-echoing chords within the breast of each. That afternoontheir love revealed itself in a thousand ways. 

"I assure you she is much better, " said the doctor. "In a fortnightshe will be able to go down to the garden. "

Helene went on stitching quickly. 

"Yesterday she was again very sad, " she murmured, "but this morningshe was laughing and happy. She has given me her promise to be good. "

A long silence followed. The child was still plunged in sleep, andtheir souls were enveloped in a profound peace. When she slumberedthus, their relief was intense; they seemed to share each other'shearts the more. 

"Have you not seen the garden yet?" asked Henri. "Just now it's fullof flowers. "

"The asters are out, aren't they?" she questioned. 

"Yes; the flower-bed looks magnificent. The clematises have woundtheir way up into the elms. It is quite a nest of foliage. "

There was another silence. Helene ceased sewing, and gave him a smile. To their fancy it seemed as though they were strolling together alonghigh-banked paths, dim with shadows, amidst which fell a shower ofroses. As he hung over her he drank in the faint perfume of vervainthat arose from her dressing-gown. However, all at once a rustling ofthe sheets disturbed them. 

"She is wakening!" exclaimed Helene, as she started up. 

Henri drew himself away, and simultaneously threw a glance towards thebed. Jeanne had but a moment before gripped the pillow with her arms, and, with her chin buried in it, had turned her face towards them. Buther eyelids were still shut, and judging by her slow and regularbreathing, she had again fallen asleep. 

"Are you always sewing like this?" asked Henri, as he came nearer toHelene. 

"I cannot remain with idle hands, " she answered. "It is mechanicalenough, but it regulates my thoughts. For hours I can think of thesame thing without wearying. "

He said no more, but his eye dwelt on the needle as the stitching wenton almost in a melodious cadence; and it seemed to him as if thethread were carrying off and binding something of their livestogether. For hours she could have sewn on, and for hours he couldhave sat there, listening to the music of the needle, in which, like alulling refrain, re-echoed one word that never wearied them. It wastheir wish to live their days like this in that quiet nook, to sitside by side while the child was asleep, never stirring from theirplaces lest they might awaken her. How sweet was that quiescentsilence, in which they could listen to the pulsing of hearts, and baskin the delight of a dream of everlasting love!

"How good you are!" were the words which came several times from hislips, the joy her presence gave him only finding expression in thatone phrase. 

Again she raised her head, never for a moment deeming it strange thatshe should be so passionately worshipped. Henri's face was near herown, and for a second they gazed at one another. 

"Let me get on with my work, " she said in a whisper. "I shall neverhave it finished. "

But just then an instinctive dread prompted her to turn round, andindeed there lay Jeanne, lowering upon them with deadly pale face andgreat inky-black eyes. The child had not made the least movement; herchin was still buried in the downy pillow, which she clasped with herlittle arms. She had only opened her eyes a moment before and wascontemplating them. 

"Jeanne, what's the matter?" asked Helene. "Are you ill? do you wantanything?"

The little one made no reply, never stirred, did not even lower thelids of her great flashing eyes. A sullen gloom was on her brow, andin her pallid cheeks were deep hollows. She seemed about to throw backher hands as though a convulsion was imminent. Helene started up, begging her to speak; but she remained obstinately stiff, darting suchblack looks on her mother that the latter's face became purple withblushes, and she murmured:

"Doctor, see; what is the matter with her?"

Henri had drawn his chair away from Helene's. He ventured near thebed, and was desirous of taking hold of one of the little hands whichso fiercely gripped the pillow. But as he touched Jeanne she trembledin every limb, turned with a start towards the wall, and exclaimed:

"Leave me alone; you, I mean! You are hurting me!"

She pulled the coverlet over her face, and for a quarter of an hourthey attempted, without success, to soothe her with gentle words. Atlast, as they still persevered, she sat up with her hands clasped insupplication: "Oh, please leave me alone; you are tormenting me! Leaveme alone!"

Helene, in her bewilderment, once more sat down at the window, butHenri did not resume his place beside her. They now understood: Jeannewas devoured by jealousy. They were unable to speak another word. Fora minute or two the doctor paced up and down in silence, and thenslowly quitted the room, well understanding the meaning of the anxiousglances which the mother was darting towards the bed. As soon as hehad gone, she ran to her daughter's side and pressed her passionatelyto her breast, with a wild outburst of words. 

"Hear me, my pet, I am alone now; look at me, speak to me. Are you inpain? Have I vexed you then? Tell me everything! Is it I whom you areangry with? What are you troubled about?"

But it was useless to pray for an answer, useless to plead with allsorts of questions; Jeanne declared that she was quite well. Then shestarted up with a frenzied cry: "You don't love me any more, mamma!you don't love me any more!"

She burst into grievous sobbing, and wound her arms convulsively roundher mother's neck, raining greedy kisses on her face. Helene's heartwas rent within her, she felt overwhelmed with unspeakable sadness, and strained her child to her bosom, mingling her tears with her own, and vowing to her that she would never love anybody save herself. 

From that day onward a mere word or glance would suffice to awakenJeanne's jealousy. While she was in the perilous grip of death someinstinct had led her to put her trust in the loving tenderness withwhich they had shielded and saved her. But now strength was returningto her, and she would allow none to participate in her mother's love. She conceived a kind of spite against the doctor, a spite whichstealthily grew into hate as her health improved. It was hidden deepwithin her self-willed brain, in the innermost recesses of hersuspicious and silent nature. She would never consent to explainthings; she herself knew not what was the matter with her; but shefelt ill whenever the doctor drew too near to her mother; and wouldpress her hands violently to her bosom. Her torment seemed to sear hervery heart, and furious passion choked her and made her cheeks turnpale. Nor could she place any restraint on herself; she imagined everyone unjust, grew stiff and haughty, and deigned no reply when she wascharged with being very ill-tempered. Helene, trembling with dismay, dared not press her to explain the source of her trouble; indeed, hereyes turned away whenever this eleven-year-old child darted at her aglance in which was concentrated the premature passion of a woman. 

"Oh, Jeanne, you are making me very wretched!" she would sometimes sayto her, the tears standing in her eyes as she observed her stifling inher efforts to restrain a sudden bubbling up of mad anger. 

But these words, once so potent for good, which had so often drawn thechild weeping to Helene's arms, were now wholly without influence. There was a change taking place in her character. Her humors variedten times a day. Generally she spoke abruptly and imperiously, addressing her mother as though she were Rosalie, and constantlyplaguing her with the pettiest demands, ever impatient and loud incomplaint. 

"Give me a drink. What a time you take! I am left here dying ofthirst!" And when Helene handed the glass to her she would exclaim:"There's no sugar in it; I won't have it!"

Then she would throw herself back on her pillow, and a second timepush away the glass, with the complaint that the drink was too sweet. They no longer cared to attend to her, she would say; they were doingit purposely. Helene, dreading lest she might infuriate her to a yetgreater extent, made no reply, but gazed on her with tears tremblingon her cheeks. 

However, Jeanne's anger was particularly visible when the doctor madehis appearance. The moment he entered the sick-room she would layherself flat in bed, or sullenly hang her head in the manner of savagebrutes who will not suffer a stranger to come near. Sometimes sherefused to say a word, allowing him to feel her pulse or examine herwhile she remained motionless with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Onother days she would not even look at him, but clasp her hands overher eyes with such a gust of passion that to remove them would havenecessitated the violent twisting of her arms. One night, as hermother was about to give her a spoonful of medicine, she burst outwith the cruel remark: "I won't have it; it will poison me. "

Helene's heart, pierced to the quick, sank within her, and she dreadedto elicit what the remark might mean. 

"What are you saying, my child?" she asked. "Do you understand whatyou are talking about? Medicine is never nice to take. You must drinkthis. "

But Jeanne lay there in obstinate silence, and averted her head inorder to get rid of the draught. From that day onward she was full ofcaprices, swallowing or rejecting her medicines according to the humorof the moment. She would sniff at the phials and examine themsuspiciously as they stood on the night-table. Should she have refusedto drink the contents of one of them she never forgot its identity, and would have died rather than allow a drop from it to pass her lips. Honest Monsieur Rambaud alone could persuade her at times. It was hewhom she now overwhelmed with the most lavish caresses, especially ifthe doctor were looking on; and her gleaming eyes were turned towardsher mother to note if she were vexed by this display of affectiontowards another. 

"Oh, it's you, old friend!" she exclaimed the moment he entered. "Comeand sit down near me. Have you brought me any oranges?"

She sat up and laughingly fumbled in his pockets, where goodies werealways secreted. Then she embraced him, playing quite a love comedy, while her revenge found satisfaction in the anguish which she imaginedshe could read on her mother's pallid face. Monsieur Rambaud beamedwith joy over his restoration to his little sweetheart's good graces. But Helene, on meeting him in the ante-room, was usually able toacquaint him with the state of affairs, and all at once he would lookat the draught standing on the table and exclaim: "What! are youhaving syrup?"

Jeanne's face clouded over, and, in a low voice, she replied: "No, no, it's nasty, it's nauseous; I can't take it. "

"What! you can't drink this?" questioned Monsieur Rambaud gaily. "Ican wager it's very good. May I take a little of it?"

Then without awaiting her permission he poured out a large spoonful, and swallowed it with a grimace that seemed to betoken immeasurablesatisfaction. 

"How delicious!" he murmured. "You are quite wrong; see, just take alittle to try. "

Jeanne, amused, then made no further resistance. She would drinkwhatever Monsieur Rambaud happened to taste. She watched his everymotion greedily, and appeared to study his features with a view toobserving the effects of the medicine. The good man for a month gorgedhimself in this way with drugs, and, on Helene gratefully thankinghim, merely shrugged his shoulders. 

"Oh! it's very good stuff!" he declared, with perfect conviction, making it his pleasure to share the little one's medicines. 

He passed his evenings at her bedside. The Abbe, on the other hand, came regularly every second day. Jeanne retained them with her as longas possible, and displayed vexation when she saw them take up theirhats. Her immediate dread lay in being left alone with her mother andthe doctor, and she would fain have always had company in the room tokeep these two apart. Frequently, without reason, she called Rosalieto her. When they were alone with her, her eyes never quitted them, but pursued them into every corner of the bedroom. Whenever theirhands came together, her face grew ashy white. If a whispered word wasexchanged between them, she started up in anger, demanding to knowwhat had been said. It was a grievance to her that her mother's gownshould sweep against the doctor's foot. They could not approach orlook at one another without the child falling immediately into violenttrembling. The extreme sensitiveness of her innocent little beinginduced in her an exasperation which would suddenly prompt her to turnround, should she guess that they were smiling at one another behindher. She could divine the times when their love was at its height bythe atmosphere wafted around her. It was then that her gloom becamedeeper, and her agonies were those of nervous women at the approach ofa terrible storm. 

Every one about Helene now looked on Jeanne as saved, and she herselfhad slowly come to recognize this as a certainty. Thus it happenedthat Jeanne's fits were at last regarded by her as the bad humors of aspoilt child, and as of little or no consequence. A craving to livesprang up within her after the six weeks of anguish which she had justspent. Her daughter was now well able to dispense with her care forhours; and for her, who had so long become unconscious of life, thesehours opened up a vista of delight, of peace, and pleasure. Sherummaged in her drawers, and made joyous discoveries of forgottenthings; she plunged into all sorts of petty tasks, in the endeavor toresume the happy course of her daily existence. And in this upwellingof life her love expanded, and the society of Henri was the reward sheallowed herself for the intensity of her past sufferings. In theshelter of that room they deemed themselves beyond the world's ken, and every hindrance in their path was forgotten. The child, to whomtheir love had proved a terror, alone remained a bar between them. 

Jeanne became, indeed, a veritable scourge to their affections. Anever-present barrier, with her eyes constantly upon them, shecompelled them to maintain a continued restraint, an affectation ofindifference, with the result that their hearts were stirred with evengreater motion than before. For days they could not exchange a word;they knew intuitively that she was listening even when she wasseemingly wrapped in slumber. One evening, when Helene had quitted theroom with Henri, to escort him to the front door, Jeanne burst outwith the cry, "Mamma! mamma!" in a voice shrill with rage. Helene wasforced to return, for she heard the child leap from her bed; and shemet her running towards her, shivering with cold and passion. Jeannewould no longer let her remain away from her. From that day forwardthey could merely exchange a clasp of the hand on meeting and parting. Madame Deberle was now spending a month at the seaside, and thedoctor, though he had all his time at his own command, dared not passmore than ten minutes in Helene's company. Their long chats at thewindow had come to an end. 

What particularly tortured their hearts was the fickleness of Jeanne'shumor. One night, as the doctor hung over her, she gave way to tears. For a whole day her hate changed to feverish tenderness, and Helenefelt happy once more; but on the morrow, when the doctor entered theroom, the child received him with such a display of sourness that themother besought him with a look to leave them. Jeanne had fretted thewhole night in angry regret over her own good-humor. Not a day passedbut what a like scene was enacted. And after the blissful hours thechild brought them in her moods of impassioned tenderness these hoursof misery fell on them with the torture of the lash. 

A feeling of revulsion at last awoke within Helene. To all seeming herdaughter would be her death. Why, when her illness had been put toflight, did the ill-natured child work her utmost to torment her? Ifone of those intoxicating dreams took possession of her imagination--amystic dream in which she found herself traversing a country alikeunknown and entrancing with Henri by her side Jeanne's face, harsh andsullen, would suddenly start up before her and thus her heart was everbeing rent in twain. The struggle between her maternal affection andher passion became fraught with the greatest suffering. 

One evening, despite Helene's formal edict of banishment, the doctorcalled. For eight days they had been unable to exchange a wordtogether. She would fain that he had not entered; but he did so onlearning that Jeanne was in a deep sleep. They sat down as of old, near the window, far from the glare of the lamp, with the peacefulshadows around them. For two hours their conversation went on in suchlow whispers that scarcely a sound disturbed the silence of the largeroom. At times they turned their heads and glanced at the delicateprofile of Jeanne, whose little hands, clasped together, were reposingon the coverlet. But in the end they grew forgetful of theirsurroundings, and their talk incautiously became louder. Then, all atonce, Jeanne's voice rang out. 

"Mamma! mamma!" she cried, seized with sudden agitation, as thoughsuffering from nightmare. 

She writhed about in her bed, her eyelids still heavy with sleep, andthen struggled to reach a sitting posture. 

"Hide, I beseech you!" whispered Helene to the doctor in a tone ofanguish. "You will be her death if you stay here. "

In an instant Henri vanished into the window-recess, concealed by theblue velvet curtain; but it was in vain, the child still kept up herpitiful cry: "Oh, mamma! mamma! I suffer so much. "

"I am here beside you, my darling; where do you feel the pain?"

"I don't know. Oh, see, it is here! Oh, it is scorching me!" With eyeswide open and features distorted, she pressed her little hands to herbosom. "It came on me in a moment. I was asleep, wasn't I? But I feltsomething like a burning coal. "

"But it's all gone now. You're not pained any longer, are you?"

"Yes, yes, I feel it still. "

She glanced uneasily round the room. She was now wholly awake; thesullen gloom crept over her face once more, and her cheeks becamelivid. 

"Are you by yourself, mamma?" she asked. 

"Of course I am, my darling!"

Nevertheless Jeanne shook her head and gazed about, sniffing the air, while her agitation visibly increased. "No, you're not; I know you'renot. There's some one--Oh, mamma! I'm afraid, I'm afraid! You aretelling me a story; you are not by yourself. "

She fell back in bed in an hysterical fit, sobbing loudly and huddlingherself beneath the coverlet, as though to ward off some danger. Helene, crazy with alarm, dismissed Henri without delay, despite hiswish to remain and look after the child. But she drove him outforcibly, and on her return clasped Jeanne in her arms, while thelittle one gave vent to the one pitiful cry, with every utterance ofwhich her sobbing was renewed louder than ever: "You don't love me anymore! You don't love me any more!"

"Hush, hush, my angel! don't say that, " exclaimed the mother in agony. "You are all the world to me. You'll see yet whether I love you ornot. "

She nursed her until the morning broke, intent on yielding up to herall her heart's affections, though she was appalled at realizing howcompletely the love of herself possessed this darling child. Next dayshe deemed a consultation necessary. Doctor Bodin, dropping in asthough by chance, subjected the patient with many jokes to a carefulexamination; and a lengthy discussion ensued between him and DoctorDeberle, who had remained in the adjacent room. Both readily agreedthat there were no serious symptoms apparent at the moment, but theywere afraid of complex developments, and cross-questioned Helene forsome time. They realized that they were dealing with one of thosenervous affections which have a family history, and set medical skillat defiance. She told them, what they already partly knew, that hergrandmother[*] was confined in the lunatic asylum of Les Tulettes at ashort distance from Plassans, and that her mother had died fromgalloping consumption, after many years of brain affection andhysterical fits. She herself took more after her father; she had hisfeatures and the same gravity of temperament. Jeanne, on the otherhand, was the facsimile of her grandmother; but she never would haveher strength, commanding figure, or sturdy, bony frame. The twodoctors enjoined on her once more that the greatest care wasrequisite. Too many precautions could not be taken in dealing withchloro-anaemical affections, which tend to develop a multitude ofdangerous diseases. 

[*] Adelaide Fouque, already mentioned, who figures so prominently in "The Fortune of the Rougons, " and dies under such horrible circumstances in "Doctor Pascal. "

Henri had listened to old Doctor Bodin with a deference which he hadnever before displayed for a colleague. He besought his advice onJeanne's case with the air of a pupil who is full of doubt. Truth totell, this child inspired him with dread; he felt that her case wasbeyond his science, and he feared lest she might die under his handsand her mother be lost to him for ever. A week passed away. He was nolonger admitted by Helene into the little one's presence; and in theend, sad and sick at heart, he broke off his visits of his own accord. 

As the month of August verged on its close, Jeanne recoveredsufficient strength to rise and walk across the room. The lightness ofher heart spoke in her laughter. A fortnight had elapsed since therecurrence of any nervous attack. The thought that her mother wasagain all her own and would ever cling to her had proved remedyenough. At first distrust had rankled in her mind; while lettingHelene kiss her she had remained uneasy at her least movement, and hadimperiously besought her hand before she fell asleep, anxious toretain it in her own during her slumber. But at last, with theknowledge that nobody came near, she had regained confidence, enraptured by the prospect of a reopening of the old happy life whenthey had sat side by side, working at the window. Every day broughtnew roses to her cheeks; and Rosalie declared that she was blossomingbrighter and brighter every hour. 

There were times, however, as night fell, when Helene broke down. Since her daughter's illness her face had remained grave and somewhatpale, and a deep wrinkle, never before visible, furrowed her brow. When Jeanne caught sight of her in these hours of weariness, despair, and voidness, she herself would feel very wretched, her heart heavywith vague remorse. Gently and silently she would then twine her armsaround her neck. 

"Are you happy, mother darling?" came the whisper. 

A thrill ran through Helene's frame, and she hastened to answer: "Yes, of course, my pet. "

Still the child pressed her question:

"Are you, oh! are you happy? Quite sure?"

"Quite sure. Why should I feel unhappy?"

With this Jeanne would clasp her closer in her little arms, as thoughto requite her. She would love her so well, she would say--so well, indeed, that nowhere in all Paris could a happier mother be found. 

 CHAPTER XIV. 

During August Doctor Deberle's garden was like a well of foliage. Therailings were hidden both by the twining branches of the lilac andlaburnum trees and by the climbing plants, ivy, honeysuckle, andclematis, which sprouted everywhere in luxuriance, and glided andintermingled in inextricable confusion, drooping down in leafycanopies, and running along the walls till they reached the elms atthe far end, where the verdure was so profuse that you might havethought a tent were stretched between the trees, the elms serving asits giant props. The garden was so small that the least shadow seemedto cover it. At noon the sun threw a disc of yellow light on thecentre, illumining the lawn and its two flower-beds. Against thegarden steps was a huge rose-bush, laden with hundreds of largetea-roses. In the evening when the heat subsided their perfume becamemore penetrating, and the air under the elms grew heavy with their warmbreath. Nothing could exceed the charm of this hidden, balmy nook, into which no neighborly inquisition could peep, and which brought onea dream of the forest primeval, albeit barrel-organs were playingpolkas in the Rue Vineuse, near by. 

"Why, madame, doesn't mademoiselle go down to the garden?" Rosaliedaily asked. "I'm sure it would do her good to romp about under thetrees. "

One of the elms had invaded Rosalie's kitchen with its branches. Shewould pull some of the leaves off as she gazed with delight on theclustering foliage, through which she could see nothing. 

"She isn't strong enough yet, " was Helene's reply. "The cold, shadygarden might be harmful to her. "

Rosalie was in no wise convinced. A happy thought with her was noteasily abandoned. Madame must surely be mistaken in imagining that itwould be cold or harmful. Perhaps madame's objection sprang ratherfrom the fear that she would be in somebody's way; but that wasnonsense. Mademoiselle would of a truth be in nobody's way; not aliving soul made any appearance there. The doctor shunned the spot, and as for madame, his wife, she would remain at the seaside till themiddle of September. This was so certain that the doorkeeper had askedZephyrin to give the garden a rake over, and Zephyrin and she herselfhad spent two Sunday afternoons there already. Oh! it was lovely, lovelier than one could imagine. 

Helene, however, still declined to act on the suggestion. Jeanneseemed to have a great longing to enjoy a walk in the garden, whichhad been the ceaseless topic of her discourse during her illness; buta vague feeling of embarrassment made her eyes droop and closed hermouth on the subject in her mother's presence. At last when Sundaycame round again the maid hurried into the room exclaimingbreathlessly:

"Oh! madame, there's nobody there, I give you my word! Only myself andZephyrin, who is raking! Do let her come. You can't imagine how fineit is outside. Come for a little, only a little while, just to see!"

Her conviction was such that Helene gave way. She cloaked Jeanne in ashawl, and told Rosalie to take a heavy wrap with her. The child wasin an ecstasy, which spoke silently from the depths of her largesparkling eyes; she even wished to descend the staircase without helpin order that her strength might be made plain. However, her mother'sarms were stretched out behind her, ready to lend support. When theyhad reached the foot of the stairs and entered the garden, they bothgave vent to an exclamation. So little did this umbrageous, thicket-girt spot resemble the trim nook they had seen in thespringtime that they failed to recognize it. 

"Ah! you wouldn't believe me!" declared Rosalie, in triumphant tones. 

The clumps of shrubbery had grown to great proportions, making thepaths much narrower, and, in walking, their skirts caught in some ofthe interwoven branches. To the fancy it seemed some far-away recessin a wood, arched over with foliage, from which fell a greeny light ofdelightful charm and mystery. Helene directed her steps towards theelm beneath which she had sat in April. 

"But I don't wish her to stay here, " said she. "It is shady andcoldish. "

"Well, well, you will see in a minute, " answered the maid. 

Three steps farther on they emerged from the seeming forest, and, inthe midst of the leafy profusion they found the sun's golden raysstreaming on the lawn, warm and still as in a woodland clearing. Asthey looked up they saw the branches standing out against the blue ofthe sky with the delicacy of guipure. The tea-roses on the huge bush, faint in the heat, dropped slumberously from their stems. Theflower-beds were full of red and white asters, looking with theirold-world air like blossoms woven in some ancient tapestry. 

"Now you'll see, " said Rosalie. "I'm going to put her all rightmyself. "

She had folded and placed the wrap on the edge of a walk, where theshadow came to an end. Here she made Jeanne sit down, covering hershoulders with a shawl, and bidding her stretch out her little legs. In this fashion the shade fell on the child's head, while her feet layin the sunshine. 

"Are you all right, my darling?" Helene asked. 

"Oh, yes, " was her answer. "I don't feel cold a bit, you know. Ialmost think I am sweltering before a big fire. Ah! how well one canbreathe! How pleasant it is!"

Thereupon Helene, whose eyes had turned uneasily towards the closedwindow-shutters of the house, expressed her intention of returningupstairs for a little while, and loaded Rosalie with a variety ofinjunctions. She would have to watch the sun; she was not to leaveJeanne there for more than half an hour; and she must not lose sightof her for a moment. 

"Don't be alarmed, mamma, " exclaimed the child, with a laugh. "Thereare no carriages to pass along here. "

Left to amuse herself, she gathered a handful of gravel from the pathat her side, and took pleasure in letting it fall from her claspedhands like a shower of rain. Zephyrin meantime was raking. On catchingsight of madame and her daughter he had slipped on his great-coat, which he had previously hung from the branch of a tree; and in tokenof respect had stood stock-still, with his rake idle in his hand. Throughout Jeanne's illness he had come every Sunday as usual; but sogreat had been the caution with which he had slipped into the kitchen, that Helene would scarcely have dreamt of his presence had not Rosalieon each occasion been deputed as his messenger to inquire about theinvalid's progress, and convey his condolences. Yes, so ran hercomments, he was now laying claim to good manners; Paris was givinghim some polish! And at present here he was, leaning on his rake, andmutely addressing Jeanne with a sympathetic nod. As soon as she sawhim, her face broke into smiles. 

"I have been very ill, " she said. 

"Yes, I know, mademoiselle, " he replied as he placed his hand on hisheart. And inspired with the wish to say something pretty or comical, which might serve to enliven the meeting, he added: "You see, yourhealth has been taking a rest. Now it will indulge in a snore. "

Jeanne had again gathered up a handful of gravel, while he, perfectlysatisfied, and opening his mouth wide from ear to ear in a burst ofsilent laughter, renewed his raking with all the strength of his arms. As the rake travelled over the gravel a regular, strident sound arose. When a few minutes had elapsed Rosalie, seeing her little chargeabsorbed in her amusement, seemingly happy and at ease, drew graduallyfarther away from her, as though lured by the grating of this rake. Zephyrin was now working away in the full glare of the sun, on theother side of the lawn. 

"You are sweating like an ox, " she whispered to him. "Take off yourgreat-coat. Be quick; mademoiselle won't be offended. "

He relieved himself of the garment, and once more suspended it from abranch. His red trousers, supported by a belt round the waist, reachedalmost to his chest, while his shirt of stout, unbleached linen, heldat the neck by a narrow horsehair band, was so stiff that it stuck outand made him look even rounder than he was. He tucked up his sleeveswith a certain amount of affectation, as though to show Rosalie acouple of flaming hearts, which, with the inscription "For Ever, " hadbeen tattooed on them at the barracks. 

"Did you go to mass this morning?" asked Rosalie, who usually tackledhim with this question every Sunday. 

"To mass! to mass!" he repeated, with a chuckle. 

His red ears seemed to stand out from his head, shorn to the veryskin, and the whole of his diminutive barrel-like body expressed aspirit of banter. 

At last the confession came. "Of course I went to mass. "

"You are lying, " Rosalie burst out violently. "I know you are lying;your nose is twitching. Oh, Zephyrin, you are going to the dogs--youhave left off going to church! Beware!"

His answer, lover-like, was an attempt to put his arm round her waist, but to all appearance she was shocked, for she exclaimed:

"I'll make you put on your coat again if you don't behave yourself. Aren't you ashamed? Why, there's mademoiselle looking at you!"

Thereupon Zephyrin turned to his raking once more. In truth, Jeannehad raised her eyes towards them. Her amusement was palling on hersomewhat; the gravel thrown aside, she had been gathering leaves andplucking grass; but a feeling of indolence crept over her, and now shepreferred to do nothing but gaze at the sunshine as it fell on hermore and more. A few moments previously only her legs, as far as theknees, had been bathed in this warm cascade of sunshine, but now itreached her waist, the heat increasing like an entrancing caress. Whatparticularly amused her were the round patches of light, of abeautiful golden yellow, which danced over her shawl, for all theworld like living creatures. She tossed back her head to see if theywere perchance creeping towards her face, and meanwhile clasped herlittle hands together in the glare of the sunshine. How thin andtransparent her hands seemed! The sun's rays passed through them, butall the same they appeared to her very pretty, pinky like shells, delicate and attenuated like the tiny hands of an infant Christ. Thentoo the fresh air, the gigantic trees around her, and the warmth, hadlulled her somewhat into a trance. Sleep, she imagined, had come uponher, and yet she could still see and hear. It all seemed to her verynice and pleasant. 

"Mademoiselle, please draw back a bit, " said Rosalie, who hadapproached her. "The sun's heat is too warm for you. "

But with a wave of her hand Jeanne declined to stir. For the time herattention was riveted on the maid and the little soldier. Shepretended to direct her glances towards the ground, with the intentionof making them believe that she did not see them; but in reality, despite her apparent drowsiness, she kept watching them from beneathher long eyelashes. 

Rosalie stood near her for a minute or two longer, but was powerlessagainst the charms of the grating rake. Once more she slowly draggedherself towards Zephyrin, as if in spite of her will. She resented thechange in manner which he was now displaying, and yet her heart wasbursting with mute admiration. The little soldier had used to goodpurpose his long strolls with his comrades in the Jardin des Plantesand round the Place du Chateau-d'Eau, where his barracks stood, andthe result was the acquisition of the swaying, expansive graces of theParisian fire-eater. He had learnt the flowery talk, gallantreadiness, and involved style of language so dear to the hearts of theladies. At times she was thrilled with intense pleasure as shelistened to the phrases which he repeated to her with a swagger of theshoulders, phrases full of incomprehensible words that inflamed hercheeks with a flush of pride. His uniform no longer sat awkwardly onhim; he swung his arms to and fro with a knowing air, and had anespecially noticeable style of wearing his shako on the back of hishead, with the result that his round face with its tip of a nosebecame extremely prominent, while his headgear swayed gently with therolling of his body. Besides, he was growing quite free and easy, quaffed his dram, and ogled the fair sex. With his sneering ways andaffectation of reticence, he now doubtless knew a great deal more thanshe did. Paris was fast taking all the remaining rust off him; andRosalie stood before him, delighted yet angry, undecided whether toscratch his face or let him give utterance to foolish prattle. 

Zephyrin, meanwhile, raking away, had turned the corner of the path. He was now hidden by a big spindle-tree, and was darting side-glancesat Rosalie, luring her on against her will with the strokes of hisrake. When she had got near him, he pinched her roughly. 

"Don't cry out; that's only to show you how I love you!" he said in ahusky whisper. "And take that over and above. "

So saying he kissed her where he could, his lips lighting somewhere onher ear. Then, as Rosalie gave him a fierce nip in reply, heretaliated by another kiss, this time on her nose. Though she was wellpleased, her face turned fiery-red; she was furious that Jeanne'spresence should prevent her from giving him a box on the ear. 

"I have pricked my finger, " she declared to Jeanne as she returned toher, by way of explaining the exclamation that escaped her lips. 

However, betwixt the spare branches of the spindle-tree the child hadseen the incident. Amid the surrounding greenery the soldier's redtrousers and greyish shirt were clearly discernible. She slowly raisedher eyes to Rosalie, and looked at her for a moment, while the maidblushed the more. Then Jeanne's gaze fell to the ground again, and shegathered another handful of pebbles, but lacked the will or strengthto play with them, and remained in a dreamy state, with her handsresting on the warm ground, amidst the vibrations of the sunrays. Within her a wave of health was swelling and stifling her. The treesseemed to take Titanic shape, and the air was redolent of the perfumeof roses. In wonder and delight, she dreamt of all sorts of vaguethings. 

"What are you thinking of, mademoiselle?" asked Rosalie uneasily. 

"I don't know--of nothing, " was Jeanne's reply. "Yes, I do know. Yousee, I should like to live to be very old. "

However, she could not explain these words. It was an idea, she said, that had come into her head. But in the evening, after dinner, as herdreamy fit fell on her again, and her mother inquired the cause, shesuddenly put the question:

"Mamma, do cousins ever marry?"

"Yes, of course, " said Helene. "Why do you ask me that?"

"Oh, nothing; only I wanted to know. "

Helene had become accustomed to these extraordinary questions. Thehour spent in the garden had so beneficial an effect on the child thatevery sunny day found her there. Helene's reluctance was graduallydispelled; the house was still shut up. Henri never ventured to showhimself, and ere long she sat down on the edge of the rug besideJeanne. However, on the following Sunday morning she found the windowsthrown open, and felt troubled at heart. 

"Oh! but of course the rooms must be aired, " exclaimed Rosalie, as aninducement for them to go down. "I declare to you nobody's there!"

That day the weather was still warmer. Through the leafy screen thesun's rays darted like golden arrows. Jeanne, who was growing strong, strolled about for ten minutes, leaning on her mother's arm. Then, somewhat tired, she turned towards her rug, a corner of which sheassigned to Helene. They smiled at one another, amused at thus findingthemselves side by side on the ground. Zephyrin had given up hisraking, and was helping Rosalie to gather some parsley, clumps ofwhich were growing along the end wall. 

All at once there was an uproar in the house, and Helene wasthinking of flight, when Madame Deberle made her appearance on thegarden-steps. She had just arrived, and was still in her travellingdress, speaking very loudly, and seemingly very busy. But immediatelyshe caught sight of Madame Grandjean and her daughter, sitting on theground in the front of the lawn, she ran down, overwhelmed them withembraces, and poured a deafening flood of words into their ears. 

"What, is it you? How glad I am to see you! Kiss me, my little Jeanne!Poor puss, you've been very ill, have you not? But you're gettingbetter; the roses are coming back to your cheeks! And you, my dear, how often I've thought of you! I wrote to you: did my letters reachyou? You must have spent a terrible time: but it's all over now! Willyou let me kiss you?"

Helene was now on her feet, and was forced to submit to a kiss on eachcheek and return them. This display of affection, however, chilled herto the heart. 

"You'll excuse us for having invaded your garden, " she said. 

"You're joking, " retorted Juliette impetuously. "Are you not at homehere?"

But she ran off for a moment, hastened up the stairs, and calledacross the open rooms: "Pierre, don't forget anything; there areseventeen packages!"

Then, at once coming back, she commenced chattering about her holidayadventures. "Oh! such a splendid season! We went to Trouville, youknow. The beach was always thronged with people. It was quite a crush. And people of the highest spheres, you know. I had visitors too. Papacame for a fortnight with Pauline. All the same, I'm glad to get homeagain. But I haven't given you all my news. Oh! I'll tell you lateron!"

She stooped down and kissed Jeanne again; then suddenly becomingserious, she asked:

"Am I browned by the sun?"

"No; I don't see any signs of it, " replied Helene as she gazed at her. 

Juliette's eyes were clear and expressionless, her hands were plump, her pretty face was full of amiability; age did not tell on her; thesea air itself was powerless to affect her expression of sereneindifference. So far as appearances went, she might have just returnedfrom a shopping expedition in Paris. However, she was bubbling overwith affection, and the more loving her outbursts, the more weary, constrained, and ill became Helene. Jeanne meantime never stirred fromthe rug, but merely raised her delicate, sickly face, while claspingher hands with a chilly air in the sunshine. 

"Wait, you haven't seen Lucien yet, " exclaimed Juliette. "You must seehim; he has got so fat. "

When the lad was brought on the scene, after the dust of the journeyhad been washed from his face by a servant girl, she pushed and turnedhim about to exhibit him. Fat and chubby-cheeked, his skin tanned byplaying on the beach in the salt breeze, Lucien displayed exuberanthealth, but he had a somewhat sulky look because he had just beenwashed. He had not been properly dried, and one check was still wetand fiery-red with the rubbing of the towel. When he caught sight ofJeanne he stood stock-still with astonishment. She looked at him outof her poor, sickly face, as colorless as linen against the backgroundof her streaming black hair, whose tresses fell in clusters to hershoulders. Her beautiful, sad, dilated eyes seemed to fill up herwhole countenance; and, despite the excessive heat, she shiveredsomewhat, and stretched out her hands as though chilled and seekingwarmth from a blazing fire. 

"Well! aren't you going to kiss her?" asked Juliette. 

But Lucien looked rather afraid. At length he made up his mind, andvery cautiously protruded his lips so that he might not come too nearthe invalid. This done, he started back expeditiously. Helene's eyeswere brimming over with tears. What health that child enjoyed! whereasher Jeanne was breathless after a walk round the lawn! Some motherswere very fortunate! Juliette all at once understood how cruelLucien's conduct was, and she rated him soundly. 

"Good gracious! what a fool you are! Is that the way to kiss youngladies? You've no idea, my dear, what a nuisance he was at Trouville. "

She was getting somewhat mixed. But fortunately for her the doctor nowmade his appearance, and she extricated herself from her difficulty byexclaiming: "Oh, here's Henri. "

He had not been expecting their return until the evening, but she hadtravelled by an earlier train. She plunged into a discursiveexplanation, without in the least making her reasons clear. The doctorlistened with a smiling face. "At all events, here you are, " he said. "That's all that's necessary. "

A minute previously he had bowed to Helene without speaking. Hisglance for a moment fell on Jeanne, but feeling embarrassed he turnedaway his head. Jeanne bore his look with a serious face, andunclasping her hands instinctively grasped her mother's gown and drewcloser to her side. 

"Ah! the rascal, " said the doctor, as he raised Lucien and kissed himon each cheek. "Why, he's growing like magic. "

"Yes; and am I to be forgotten?" asked Juliette, as she held up herhead. Then, without putting Lucien down, holding him, indeed, on onearm, the doctor leaned over to kiss his wife. Their three faces werelit up with smiles. 

Helene grew pale, and declared she must now go up. Jeanne, however, was unwilling; she wished to see what might happen, and her glanceslingered for a while on the Deberles and then travelled back to hermother. When Juliette had bent her face upwards to receive herhusband's kiss, a bright gleam had come into the child's eyes. 

"He's too heavy, " resumed the doctor as he set Lucien down again. "Well, was the season a good one? I saw Malignon yesterday, and he wastelling me about his stay there. So you let him leave before you, eh?"

"Oh! he's quite a nuisance!" exclaimed Juliette, over whose face aserious, embarrassed expression had now crept. "He tormented us todeath the whole time. "

"Your father was hoping for Pauline's sake--He hasn't declared hisintentions then?"

"What! Malignon!" said she, as though astonished and offended. Andthen with a gesture of annoyance she added, "Oh! leave him alone; he'scracked! How happy I am to be home again!"

Without any apparent transition, she thereupon broke into an amazingoutburst of tenderness, characteristic of her bird-like nature. Shethrew herself on her husband's breast and raised her face towards him. To all seeming they had forgotten that they were not alone. 

Jeanne's eyes, however, never quitted them. Her lips were livid andtrembled with anger; her face was that of a jealous and revengefulwoman. The pain she suffered was so great that she was forced to turnaway her head, and in doing so she caught sight of Rosalie andZephyrin at the bottom of the garden, still gathering parsley. Doubtless with the intent of being in no one's way, they had crept inamong the thickest of the bushes, where both were squatting on theground. Zephyrin, with a sly movement, had caught hold of one ofRosalie's feet, while she, without uttering a syllable, was heartilyslapping him. Between two branches Jeanne could see the littlesoldier's face, chubby and round as a moon and deeply flushed, whilehis mouth gaped with an amorous grin. Meantime the sun's rays werebeating down vertically, and the trees were peacefully sleeping, not aleaf stirring among them all. From beneath the elms came the heavyodor of soil untouched by the spade. And elsewhere floated the perfumeof the last tea-roses, which were casting their petals one by one onthe garden steps. Then Jeanne, with swelling heart, turned her gaze onher mother, and seeing her motionless and dumb in presence of theDeberles, gave her a look of intense anguish--a child's look ofinfinite meaning, such as you dare not question. 

But Madame Deberle stepped closer to them, and said: "I hope we shallsee each other frequently now. As Jeanne is feeling better, she mustcome down every afternoon. "

Helene was already casting about for an excuse, pleading that she didnot wish to weary her too much. But Jeanne abruptly broke in: "No, no;the sun does me a great deal of good. We will come down, madame. Youwill keep my place for me, won't you?"

And as the doctor still remained in the background, she smiled towardshim. 

"Doctor, please tell mamma that the fresh air won't do me any harm. "

He came forward, and this man, inured to human suffering, felt on hischeeks a slight flush at being thus gently addressed by the child. 

"Certainly not, " he exclaimed; "the fresh air will only bring younearer to good health. "

"So you see, mother darling, we must come down, " said Jeanne, with alook of ineffable tenderness, whilst a sob died away in her throat. 

But Pierre had reappeared on the steps and announced the safe arrivalof madame's seventeen packages. Then, followed by her husband andLucien, Juliette retired, declaring that she was frightfully dirty, and intended to take a bath. When they were alone, Helene knelt downon the rug, as though about to tie the shawl round Jeanne's neck, andwhispered in the child's ear:

"You're not angry any longer with the doctor, then?"

With a prolonged shake of the head the child replied "No, mamma. "

There was a silence. Helene's hands were seized with an awkwardtrembling, and she was seemingly unable to tie the shawl. Then Jeannemurmured: "But why does he love other people so? I won't have him lovethem like that. "

And as she spoke, her black eyes became harsh and gloomy, while herlittle hands fondled her mother's shoulders. Helene would havereplied, but the words springing to her lips frightened her. The sunwas now low, and mother and daughter took their departure. Zephyrinmeanwhile had reappeared to view, with a bunch of parsley in his hand, the stalks of which he continued pulling off while darting murderousglances at Rosalie. The maid followed at some distance, inspired withdistrust now that there was no one present. Just as she stooped toroll up the rug he tried to pinch her, but she retaliated with a blowfrom her fist which made his back re-echo like an empty cask. Still itseemed to delight him, and he was yet laughing silently when here-entered the kitchen busily arranging his parsley. 

Thenceforth Jeanne was stubbornly bent on going down to the garden assoon as ever she heard Madame Deberle's voice there. All Rosalie'stittle-tattle regarding the next-door house she drank in greedily, ever restless and inquisitive concerning its inmates and their doings;and she would even slip out of the bedroom to keep watch from thekitchen window. In the garden, ensconced in a small arm-chair whichwas brought for her use from the drawing-room by Juliette's direction, her eyes never quitted the family. Lucien she now treated with greatreserve, annoyed it seemed by his questions and antics, especiallywhen the doctor was present. On those occasions she would stretchherself out as if wearied, gazing before her with her eyes wide open. For Helene the afternoons were pregnant with anguish. She alwaysreturned, however, returned in spite of the feeling of revolt whichwrung her whole being. Every day when, on his arrival home, Henriprinted a kiss on Juliette's hair, her heart leaped in its agony. Andat those moments, if to hide the agitation of her face she pretendedto busy herself with Jeanne, she would notice that the child was evenpaler than herself, with her black eyes glaring and her chin twitchingwith repressed fury. Jeanne shared in her suffering. When the motherturned away her head, heartbroken, the child became so sad and soexhausted that she had to be carried upstairs and put to bed. Shecould no longer see the doctor approach his wife without changingcountenance; she would tremble, and turn on him a glance full of allthe jealous fire of a deserted mistress. 

"I cough in the morning, " she said to him one day. "You must come andsee for yourself. "

Rainy weather ensued, and Jeanne became quite anxious that the doctorshould commence his visits once more. Yet her health had muchimproved. To humor her, Helene had been constrained to accept two orthree invitations to dine with the Deberles. 

At last the child's heart, so long torn by hidden sorrow, seeminglyregained quietude with the complete re-establishment of her health. She would again ask Helene the old question--"Are you happy, motherdarling?"

"Yes, very happy, my pet, " was the reply. 

And this made her radiant. She must be pardoned her bad temper in thepast, she said. She referred to it as a fit which no effort of her ownwill could prevent, the result of a headache that came on hersuddenly. Something would spring up within her--she wholly failed tounderstand what it was. She was tempest-tossed by a multitude of vagueimaginings--nightmares that she could not even have recalled tomemory. However, it was past now; she was well again, and thoseworries would nevermore return. 

 CHAPTER XV. 

The night was falling. From the grey heaven, where the first of thestars were gleaming, a fine ashy dust seemed to be raining down on thegreat city, raining down without cessation and slowly burying it. Thehollows were already hidden deep in gloom, and a line of cloud, like astream of ink, rose upon the horizon, engulfing the last streaks ofdaylight, the wavering gleams which were retreating towards the west. Below Passy but a few stretches of roofs remained visible; and as thewave rolled on, darkness soon covered all. 

"What a warm evening!" ejaculated Helene, as she sat at the window, overcome by the heated breeze which was wafted upwards from Paris. 

"A grateful night for the poor, " exclaimed the Abbe, who stood behindher. "The autumn will be mild. "

That Tuesday Jeanne had fallen into a doze at dessert, and her mother, perceiving that she was rather tired, had put her to bed. She wasalready fast asleep in her cot, while Monsieur Rambaud sat at thetable gravely mending a toy--a mechanical doll, a present fromhimself, which both spoke and walked, and which Jeanne had broken. Heexcelled in such work as this. Helene on her side feeling the want offresh air--for the lingering heats of September were oppressive--hadthrown the window wide open, and gazed with relief on the vast gloomyocean of darkness that rolled before her. She had pushed an easy-chairto the window in order to be alone, but was suddenly surprised to hearthe Abbe speaking to her. "Is the little one warmly covered?" hegently asked. "On these heights the air is always keen. "

She made no reply, however; her heart was craving for silence. She wastasting the delights of the twilight hour, the vanishing of allsurrounding objects, the hushing of every sound. Gleams, like those ofnight-lights, tipped the steeples and towers; that on Saint-Augustindied out first, the Pantheon for a moment retained a bluish light, andthen the glittering dome of the Invalides faded away, similar to amoon setting in a rising sea of clouds. The night was like the ocean, its extent seemingly increased by the gloom, a dark abyss wherein youdivined that a world lay hid. From the unseen city blew a mighty yetgentle wind. There was still a hum; sounds ascended faint yet clear toHelene's ears--the sharp rattle of an omnibus rolling along the quay, the whistle of a train crossing the bridge of the Point-du-Jour; andthe Seine, swollen by the recent storms, and pulsing with the life ofa breathing soul, wound with increased breadth through the shadows farbelow. A warm odor steamed upwards from the scorched roofs, while theriver, amidst this exhalation of the daytime heat, seemed to giveforth a cooling breeze. Paris had vanished, sunk in the dreamy reposeof a colossus whose limbs the night has enveloped, and who liesmotionless for a time, but with eyes wide open. 

Nothing affected Helene more than this momentary pause in the greatcity's life. For the three months during which she had been a closeprisoner, riveted to Jeanne's bedside, she had had no other companionin her vigil than the huge mass of Paris spreading out towards thehorizon. During the summer heats of July and August the windows hadalmost always been left open; she could not cross the room, could notstir or turn her head, without catching a glimpse of the ever-presentpanorama. It was there, whatever the weather, always sharing in hergriefs and hopes, like some friend who would never leave her side. Shewas still quite ignorant respecting it; never had it seemed fartheraway, never had she given less thought to its streets and itscitizens, and yet it peopled her solitude. The sick-room, whose doorwas kept shut to the outside world, looked out through its two windowsupon this city. Often, with her eyes fixed on its expanse, Helene hadwept, leaning on the window-rail in order to hide her tears from herailing child. One day, too--the very day when she had imagined herdaughter to be at the point of death--she had remained for a longtime, overcome and choked with grief, watching the smoke which curledup from the Army Bakehouse. Frequently, moreover, in hours ofhopefulness she had here confided the gladsome feelings of her heartto the dim and distant suburbs. There was not a single monument whichdid not recall to her some sensation of joy or sorrow. Paris shared inher own existence; and never did she love it better than when thetwilight came, and its day's work over, it surrendered itself to anhour's quietude, forgetfulness, and reverie, whilst waiting for thelighting of its gas. 

"What a multitude of stars!" murmured Abbe Jouve. "There are thousandsof them gleaming. "

He had just taken a chair and sat down at her side. On hearing him, she gazed upwards into the summer night. The heaven was studded withgolden lights. On the very verge of the horizon a constellation wassparkling like a carbuncle, while a dust of almost invisible starssprinkled the vault above as though with glittering sand. Charles's-Wain was slowly turning its shaft in the night. 

"Look!" said Helene in her turn, "look at that tiny bluish star! See--far away up there. I recognize it night after night. But it dies andfades as the night rolls on. "

The Abbe's presence no longer annoyed her. With him by her side, sheimagined the quiet was deepening around. A few words passed betweenthem after long intervals of silence. Twice she questioned him on thenames of the stars--the sight of the heavens had always interested her--but he was doubtful and pleaded ignorance. 

"Do you see, " she asked, "that lovely star yonder whose lustre is soexquisitely clear?"

"On the left, eh?" he replied, "near another smaller, greenish one?Ah! there are so many of them that my memory fails me. "

They again lapsed into silence, their eyes still turned upwards, dazzled, quivering slightly at the sight of that stupendous swarmingof luminaries. In the vast depths of the heavens, behind thousands ofstars, thousands of others twinkled in ever-increasing multitudes, with the clear brilliancy of gems. The Milky Way was alreadywhitening, displaying its solar specks, so innumerable and so distantthat in the vault of the firmament they form but a trailing scarf oflight. 

"It fills me with fear, " said Helene in a whisper; and that she mightsee it all no more she bent her head and glanced down on the gapingabyss in which Paris seemed to be engulfed. In its depths not a lightcould yet be seen; night had rolled over it and plunged it intoimpenetrable darkness. Its mighty, continuous rumble seemed to havesunk into a softer key. 

"Are you weeping?" asked the Abbe, who had heard a sound of sobbing. 

"Yes, " simply answered Helene. 

They could not see each other. For a long time she continued weeping, her whole being exhaling a plaintive murmur. Behind them, meantime, Jeanne lay at rest in innocent sleep, and Monsieur Rambaud, his wholeattention engrossed, bent his grizzled head over the doll which he haddismembered. At times he could not prevent the loosened springs fromgiving out a creaking noise, a childlike squeaking which his bigfingers, though plied with the utmost gentleness, drew from thedisordered mechanism. If the doll vented too loud a sound, however, heat once stopped working, distressed and vexed with himself, andturning towards Jeanne to see if he had roused her. Then once more hewould resume his repairing, with great precautions, his only toolsbeing a pair of scissors and a bodkin. 

"Why do you weep, my daughter?" again asked the Abbe. "Can I notafford you some relief?"

"Ah! let me be, " said Helene; "these tears do me good. By-and-by, by-and-by--"

A stifling sensation checked any further words. Once before, in thisvery place, she had been convulsed by a storm of tears; but then shehad been alone, free to sob in the darkness till the emotion thatwrung her was dried up at its source. However, she knew of no cause ofsorrow; her daughter was well once more, and she had resumed the oldmonotonous delightful life. But it was as though a keen sense of awfulgrief had abruptly come upon her; it seemed as if she were rollinginto a bottomless abyss which she could not fathom, sinking with allwho were dear to her in a limitless sea of despair. She knew not whatmisfortune hung over her head; but she was without hope, and couldonly weep. 

Similar waves of feeling had swept over her during the month of theVirgin in the church laden with the perfume of flowers. And, astwilight fell, the vastness of Paris filled her with a deep religiousimpression. The stretch of plain seemed to expand, and a sadness roseup from the two millions of living beings who were being engulfed indarkness. And when it was night, and the city with its subduedrumbling had vanished from view, her oppressed heart poured forth itssorrow, and her tears overflowed, in presence of that sovereign peace. She could have clasped her hands and prayed. She was filled with anintense craving for faith, love, and a lapse into heavenlyforgetfulness; and the first glinting of the stars overwhelmed herwith sacred terror and enjoyment. 

A lengthy interval of silence ensued, and then the Abbe spoke oncemore, this time more pressingly. 

"My daughter, you must confide in me. Why do you hesitate?"

She was still weeping, but more gently, like a wearied and powerlesschild. 

"The Church frightens you, " he continued. "For a time I thought youhad yielded your heart to God. But it has been willed otherwise. Heaven has its own purposes. Well, since you mistrust the priest, whyshould you refuse to confide in the friend?"

"You are right, " she faltered. "Yes, I am sad at heart, and need yourconsolation. I must tell you of it all. When I was a child I seldom, if ever, entered a church; now I cannot be present at a servicewithout feeling touched to the very depths of my being. Yes; and whatdrew tears from me just now was that voice of Paris, sounding like amighty organ, that immeasurable night, and those beauteous heavens. Oh! I would fain believe. Help me; teach me. "

Abbe Jouve calmed her somewhat by lightly placing his hand on her own. 

"Tell me everything, " he merely said. 

She struggled for a time, her heart wrung with anguish. 

"There's nothing to tell, I assure you. I'm hiding nothing from you. Iweep without cause, because I feel stifled, because my tears gush outof their own accord. You know what my life has been. No sorrow, nosin, no remorse could I find in it to this hour. I do not know--I donot know--"

Her voice died away, and from the priest's lips slowly came the words, "You love, my daughter!"

She started; she dared not protest. Silence fell on them once more. Inthe sea of shadows that slumbered before them a light had glimmeredforth. It seemed at their feet, somewhere in the abyss, but at whatprecise spot they would have been unable to specify. And then, one byone, other lights broke through the darkness, shooting into instantlife, and remaining stationary, scintillating like stars. It seemed asthough thousands of fresh planets were rising on the surface of agloomy lake. Soon they stretched out in double file, starting from theTrocadero, and nimbly leaping towards Paris. Then these files wereintersected by others, curves were described, and a huge, strange, magnificent constellation spread out. Helene never breathed a word, but gazed on these gleams of light, which made the heavens seeminglydescend below the line of the horizon, as though indeed the earth hadvanished and the vault of heaven were on every side. And Helene'sheart was again flooded with emotion, as a few minutes before whenCharles's-Wain had slowly begun to revolve round the Polar axis, itsshaft in the air. Paris, studded with lights, stretched out, deep andsad, prompting fearful thoughts of a firmament swarming with unknownworlds. 

Meanwhile the priest, in the monotonous, gentle voice which he hadacquired by years of duty in the confessional, continued whispering inher ear. One evening in the past he had warned her; solitude, he hadsaid, would be harmful to her welfare. No one could with impunity liveoutside the pale of life. She had imprisoned herself too closely, andthe door had opened to perilous thoughts. 

"I am very old now, my daughter, " he murmured, "and I have frequentlyseen women come to us weeping and praying, with a craving to findfaith and religion. Thus it is that I cannot be deceiving myselfto-day. These women, who seem to seek God in so zealous a manner, arebut souls rendered miserable by passion. It is a man whom they worshipin our churches. "

She was not listening; a strife was raging in her bosom, amidst herefforts to read her innermost thoughts aright. And at last confessioncame from her in a broken whisper:

"Oh! yes, I love, and that is all! Beyond that I know nothing--nothing!"

He now forbore to interrupt her; she spoke in short feverishsentences, taking a mournful pleasure in thus confessing her love, insharing with that venerable priest the secret which had so longburdened her. 

"I swear I cannot read my thoughts. This has come to me without myknowing its presence. Perhaps it came in a moment. Only in time did Irealize its sweetness. Besides, why should I deem myself stronger thanI am? I have made no effort to flee from it; I was only too happy, andto-day I have yet less power of resistance. My daughter was ill; Ialmost lost her. Well! my love has been as intense as my sorrow; itcame back with sovereign power after those days of terror--and itpossesses me, I feel transported--"

She shivered and drew a breath. 

"In short, my strength fails me. You were right, my friend, inthinking it would be a relief to confide in you. But, I beseech you, tell me what is happening in the depths of my heart. My life was onceso peaceful; I was so happy. A thunderbolt has fallen on me. Why onme? Why not on another? I had done nothing to bring it on; I imaginedmyself well protected. Ah, if you only knew--I know myself no longer!Help me, save me!"

Then as she became silent, the priest, with the wonted freedom of theconfessor, mechanically asked the question:

"The name? tell me his name?"

She was hesitating, when a peculiar noise prompted her to turn herhead. It came from the doll which, in Monsieur Rambaud's hands, was bydegrees renewing its mechanical life, and had just taken three stepson the table, with a creaking of wheels and springs which showed thatthere was still something faulty in its works. Then it had fallen onits back, and but for the worthy man would have rebounded onto theground. He followed all its movements with outstretched hands, readyto support it, and full of paternal anxiety. The moment he perceivedHelene turn, he smiled confidently towards her, as if to give her anassurance that the doll would recover its walking powers. And then heonce more dived with scissors and bodkin into the toy. Jeanne stillslept on. 

Thereupon Helene, her nerves relaxing under the influence of theuniversal quiet, whispered a name in the priest's ear. He neverstirred; in the darkness his face could not be seen. A silence ensued, and he responded:

"I knew it, but I wanted to hear it from your own lips. My daughter, yours must be terrible suffering. "

He gave utterance to no truisms on the subject of duty. Helene, overcome, saddened to the heart by this unemotional pity, gazed oncemore on the lights which spangled the gloomy veil enshrouding Paris. They were flashing everywhere in myriads, like the sparks that dartover the blackened refuse of burnt paper. At first these twinklingdots had started from the Trocadero towards the heart of the city. Soon another coruscation had appeared on the left in the direction ofMontmartre; then another had burst into view on the right behind theInvalides, and still another, more distant near the Pantheon. From allthese centres flights of flames were simultaneously descending. 

"You remember our conversation, " slowly resumed the Abbe. "My opinionhas not changed. My daughter, you must marry. "

"I!" she exclaimed, overwhelmed with amazement. "But I have justconfessed to you--Oh, you know well I cannot--"

"You must marry, " he repeated with greater decision. "You will wedan honest man. "

Within the folds of his old cassock he seemed to have grown morecommanding. His large comical-looking head, which, with eyeshalf-closed, was usually inclined towards one shoulder, was nowraised erect, and his eyes beamed with such intensity that she sawthem sparkling in the darkness. 

"You will marry an honest man, who will be a father to Jeanne, andwill lead you back to the path of goodness. "

"But I do not love him. Gracious Heaven! I do not love him!"

"You will love him, my daughter. He loves you, and he is good inheart. "

Helene struggled, and her voice sank to a whisper as she heard theslight noise that Monsieur Rambaud made behind them. He was so patientand so strong in his hope, that for six months he had not onceintruded his love on her. Disposed by nature to the most heroicself-sacrifice, he waited in serene confidence. The Abbe stirred, asthough about to turn round. 

"Would you like me to tell him everything? He would stretch out hishand and save you. And you would fill him with joy beyond compare. "

She checked him, utterly distracted. Her heart revolted. Both of thesepeaceful, affectionate men, whose judgment retained perfectequilibrium in presence of her feverish passion, were sources ofterror to her. What world could they abide in to be able to set atnaught that which caused her so much agony? The priest, however, wavedhis hand with an all-comprehensive gesture. 

"My daughter, " said he, "look on this lovely night, so supremely stillin presence of your troubled spirit. Why do you refuse happiness?"

All Paris was now illumined. The tiny dancing flames had speckled thesea of shadows from one end of the horizon to the other, and now, asin a summer night, millions of fixed stars seemed to be serenelygleaming there. Not a puff of air, not a quiver of the atmospherestirred these lights, to all appearance suspended in space. Paris, nowinvisible, had fallen into the depths of an abyss as vast as afirmament. At times, at the base of the Trocadero, a light--the lampof a passing cab or omnibus--would dart across the gloom, sparklinglike a shooting star; and here amidst the radiance of the gas-jets, from which streamed a yellow haze, a confused jumble of house-frontsand clustering trees--green like the trees in stage scenery--could bevaguely discerned. To and fro, across the Pont des Invalides, gleaminglights flashed without ceasing; far below, across a band of densergloom, appeared a marvellous train of comet-like coruscations, fromwhose lustrous tails fell a rain of gold. These were the reflectionsin the Seine's black waters of the lamps on the bridge. From thispoint, however, the unknown began. The long curve of the river wasmerely described by a double line of lights, which ever and anon werecoupled to other transverse lines, so that the whole looked like someglittering ladder, thrown across Paris, with its ends on the verge ofthe heavens among the stars. 

To the left there was another trench excavated athwart the gloom; anunbroken chain of stars shone forth down the Champs-Elysees from theArc-de-Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde, where a new cluster ofPleiades was flashing; next came the gloomy stretches of the Tuileriesand the Louvre, the blocks of houses on the brink of the water, andthe Hotel-de-Ville away at the extreme end--all these masses ofdarkness being parted here and there by bursts of light from somelarge square or other; and farther and farther away, amidst theendless confusion of roofs, appeared scattered gleams, affording faintglimpses of the hollow of a street below, the corner of someboulevard, or the brilliantly illuminated meeting-place of severalthoroughfares. On the opposite bank, on the right, the Esplanade alonecould be discerned with any distinctness, its rectangle marked out inflame, like an Orion of a winter's night bereft of his baldrick. Thelong streets of the Saint-Germain district seemed gloomy with theirfringe of infrequent lamps; but the thickly populated quarters beyondwere speckled with a multitude of tiny flames, clustering likenebulae. Away towards the outskirts, girdling the whole of thehorizon, swarmed street-lamps and lighted windows, filling thesedistant parts with a dust, as it were, of those myriads of suns, thoseplanetary atoms which the naked eye cannot discover. The publicedifices had vanished into the depths of the darkness; not a lampmarked out their spires and towers. At times you might have imaginedyou were gazing on some gigantic festival, some illuminated cyclopeanmonument, with staircases, balusters, windows, pediments, and terraces--a veritable cosmos of stone, whose wondrous architecture wasoutlined by the gleaming lights of a myriad lamps. But there wasalways a speedy return of the feeling that new constellations werespringing into being, and that the heavens were spreading both aboveand below. 

Helene, in compliance with the all-embracing sweep of the priest'shand, cast a lingering look over illumined Paris. Here too she knewnot the names of those seeming stars. She would have liked to ask whatthe blaze far below on the left betokened, for she saw it night afternight. There were others also which roused her curiosity, and some ofthem she loved, whilst some inspired her with uneasiness or vexation. 

"Father, " said she, for the first time employing that appellation ofaffection and respect, "let me live as I am. The loveliness of thenight has agitated me. You are wrong; you would not know how toconsole me, for you cannot understand my feelings. "

The priest stretched out his arms, then slowly dropped them to hisside resignedly. And after a pause he said in a whisper:

"Doubtless that was bound to be the case. You call for succor andreject salvation. How many despairing confessions I have received!What tears I have been unable to prevent! Listen, my daughter, promiseme one thing only; if ever life should become too heavy a burden foryou, think that one honest man loves you and is waiting for you. Toregain content you will only have to place your hand in his. "

"I promise you, " answered Helene gravely. 

As she made the avowal a ripple of laughter burst through the room. Jeanne had just awoke, and her eyes were riveted on her doll pacing upand down the table. Monsieur Rambaud, enthusiastic over the success ofhis tinkering, still kept his hands stretched out for fear lest anyaccident should happen. But the doll retained its stability, struttedabout on its tiny feet, and turned its head, whilst at every steprepeating the same words after the fashion of a parrot. 

"Oh! it's some trick or other!" murmured Jeanne, who was still halfasleep. "What have you done to it--tell me? It was all smashed, andnow it's walking. Give it me a moment; let me see. Oh, you _are_ adarling!"

Meanwhile over the gleaming expanse of Paris a rosy cloud wasascending higher and higher. It might have been thought the fierybreath of a furnace. At first it was shadowy-pale in the darkness--areflected glow scarcely seen. Then slowly, as the evening progressed, it assumed a ruddier hue; and, hanging in the air, motionless abovethe city, deriving its being from all the lights and noisy life whichbreathed from below, it seemed like one of those clouds, charged withflame and lightning, which crown the craters of volcanoes. 

 CHAPTER XVI. 

The finger-glasses had been handed round the table, and the ladieswere daintily wiping their hands. A momentary silence reigned, whileMadame Deberle gazed on either side to see if every one had finished;then, without speaking, she rose, and amidst a noisy pushing back ofchairs, her guests followed her example. An old gentleman who had beenseated at her right hand hastened to offer her his arm. 

"No, no, " she murmured, as she led him towards a doorway. "We will nowhave coffee in the little drawing-room. "

The guests, in couples, followed her. Two ladies and two gentlemen, however, lagged behind the others, continuing their conversation, without thought of joining the procession. The drawing-room reached, all constraint vanished, and the joviality which had marked thedessert made its reappearance. The coffee was already served on alarge lacquer tray on a table. Madame Deberle walked round like ahostess who is anxious to satisfy the various tastes of her guests. But it was Pauline who ran about the most, and more particularlywaited on the gentlemen. There were a dozen persons present, about theregulation number of people invited to the house every Wednesday, fromDecember onwards. Later in the evening, at ten o'clock, a great manyothers would make their appearance. 

"Monsieur de Guiraud, a cup of coffee, " exclaimed Pauline, as shehalted in front of a diminutive, bald-headed man. "Ah! no, I remember, you don't take any. Well, then, a glass of Chartreuse?"

But she became confused in discharging her duties, and brought him aglass of cognac. Beaming with smiles, she made the round of theguests, perfectly self-possessed, and looking people straight in theface, while her long train dragged with easy grace behind her. Shewore a magnificent gown of white Indian cashmere trimmed withswan's-down, and cut square at the bosom. When the gentlemen were allstanding up, sipping their coffee, each with cup in hand and chin highin the air, she began to tackle a tall young fellow named Tissot, whomshe considered rather handsome. 

Helene had not taken any coffee. She had seated herself apart, with asomewhat wearied expression on her face. Her black velvet gown, unrelieved by any trimming, gave her an air of austerity. In thissmall drawing-room smoking was allowed, and several boxes of cigarswere placed beside her on the pier-table. The doctor drew near; as heselected a cigar he asked her: "Is Jeanne well?"

"Yes, indeed, " she replied. "We walked to the Bois to-day, and sheromped like a madcap. Oh, she must be sound asleep by now. "

They were both chatting in friendly tones, with the smiling intimacyof people who see each other day after day, when Madame Deberle'svoice rose high and shrill:

"Stop! stop! Madame Grandjean can tell you all about it. Didn't I comeback from Trouville on the 10th of September? It was raining, and thebeach had become quite unbearable!"

Three or four of the ladies were gathered round her while she rattledon about her holdiday at the seaside. Helene found it necessary torise and join the group. 

"We spent a month at Dinard, " said Madame de Chermette. "Such adelightful place, and such charming society!"

"Behind our chalet was a garden, and we had a terrace overlooking thesea, " went on Madame Deberle. "As you know, I decided on taking mylandau and coachman with me. It was very much handier when I wanted adrive. Then Madame Levasseur came to see us--"

"Yes, one Sunday, " interrupted that lady. "We were at Cabourg. Yourestablishment was perfect, but a little too dear, I think. "

"By the way, " broke in Madame Berthier, addressing Juliette, "didn'tMonsieur Malignon give you lessons in swimming?"

Helene noticed a shadow of vexation, of sudden annoyance, pass overMadame Deberle's face. Several times already she had fancied that, onMalignon's name being brought unexpectedly into the conversation, Madame Deberle suddenly seemed perturbed. However, the young womanimmediately regained her equanimity. 

"A fine swimmer, indeed!" she exclaimed. "The idea of him ever givinglessons to any one! For my part, I have a mortal fear of cold water--the very sight of people bathing curdles my blood. "

She gave an eloquent shiver, with a shrug of her plump shoulders, asthough she were a duck shaking water from her back. 

"Then it's a fable?" questioned Madame de Guiraud. 

"Of course; and one, I presume, of his own invention. He detests mesince he spent a month with us down there. "

People were now beginning to pour in. The ladies, with clusters offlowers in their hair, and round, plump arms, entered smiling andnodding; while the men, each in evening dress and hat in hand, bowedand ventured on some commonplace remark. Madame Deberle, never ceasingher chatter for a moment, extended the tips of her fingers to thefriends of the house, many of whom said nothing, but passed on with abow. However, Mademoiselle Aurelie had just appeared on the scene, andat once went into raptures over Juliette's dress, which was ofdark-blue velvet, trimmed with faille silk. At this all the ladiesstanding round seemed to catch their first glimpse of the dress, anddeclared it was exquisite, truly exquisite. It came, they learned, from Worth's, and they discussed it for five minutes. The guests whohad drunk their coffee had placed their empty cups here and there onthe tray and on the pier-tables; only one old gentleman had not yetfinished, as between every mouthful he paused to converse with a lady. A warm perfume, the aroma of the coffee and the ladies' dressesintermingled, permeated the apartment. 

"You know I have had nothing, " remonstrated young Monsieur Tissot withPauline, who had been chatting with him about an artist to whosestudio her father had escorted her with a view to examining thepictures. 

"What! have you had nothing? Surely I brought you a cup of coffee?"

"No, mademoiselle, I assure you. "

"But I insist on your having something. See, here is some Chartreuse. "

Madame Deberle had just directed a meaning nod towards her husband. The doctor, understanding her, thereupon opened the door of a largedrawing-room, into which they all filed, while a servant removed thecoffee-tray. There was almost a chill atmosphere in this spaciousapartment, through which streamed the white light of six lamps and achandelier with ten wax candles. There were already some ladies there, sitting in a semi-circle round the fireplace, but only two or threemen were present, standing amidst the sea of outspread skirts. Andthrough the open doorway of the smaller drawing-room rang the shrillvoice of Pauline, who had lingered behind in company with youngTissot. 

"Now that I have poured it out, I'm determined you shall drink it. What would you have me do with it? Pierre has carried off the tray. "

Then she entered the larger room, a vision in white, with her dresstrimmed with swan's-down. Her ruddy lips parted, displaying her teeth, as she smilingly announced: "Here comes Malignon, the exquisite!"

Hand-shaking and bowing were now the order of the day. MonsieurDeberle had placed himself near the door. His wife, seated with someother ladies on an extremely low couch, rose every other second. WhenMalignon made his appearance, she affected to turn away her head. Hewas dressed to perfection; his hair had been curled, and was partedbehind, down to his very neck. On the threshold he had stuck aneye-glass in his right eye with a slight grimace, which, according toPauline, was just the thing; and now he cast a glance around the room. Having nonchalantly and silently shaken hands with the doctor, he madehis way towards Madame Deberle, in front of whom he respectfully benthis tall figure. 

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, in a voice loud enough to be heard byeverybody. "It seems you go in for swimming now. "

He did not guess her meaning, but nevertheless replied, by way of ajoke:

"Certainly; I once saved a Newfoundland dog from drowning. "

The ladies thought this extremely funny, and even Madame Deberleseemed disarmed. 

"Well, I'll allow you to save Newfoundlands, " she answered, "but youknow very well I did not bathe once at Trouville. "

"Oh! you're speaking of the lesson I gave you!" he exclaimed. "Didn'tI tell you one night in your dining-room how to move your feet andhands about?"

All the ladies were convulsed with mirth--he was delightful! Julietteshrugged her shoulders; it was impossible to engage him in a serioustalk. Then she rose to meet a lady whose first visit this was to herhouse, and who was a superb pianist. Helene, seated near the fire, herlovely face unruffled by any emotion, looked on and listened. Malignon, especially, seemed to interest her. She saw him execute astrategical movement which brought him to Madame Deberle's side, andshe could hear the conversation that ensued behind her chair. Of asudden there was a change in the tones, and she leaned back to gatherthe drift of what was being said. 

"Why didn't you come yesterday?" asked Malignon. "I waited for youtill six o'clock. "

"Nonsense; you are mad, " murmured Juliette. 

Thereupon Malignon loudly lisped: "Oh! you don't believe the storyabout my Newfoundland! Yet I received a medal for it, and I'll show itto you. "

Then he added, in a whisper: "You gave me your promise--remember. "

A family group now entered the drawing-room, and Juliette broke intocomplimentary greetings, while Malignon reappeared amongst the ladies, glass in eye. Helene had become quite pale since overhearing thosehastily spoken words. It was as though a thunderbolt, or somethingequally unforeseen and horrible, had fallen on her. How could thoughtsof treachery enter into the mind of that woman whose life was sohappy, whose face betrayed no signs of sorrow, whose cheeks had thefreshness of the rose? She had always known her to be devoid ofbrains, displaying an amiable egotism which seemed a guarantee thatshe would never commit a foolish action. And over such a fellow asMalignon, too! The scenes in the garden of an afternoon flashed backon her memory--she recalled Juliette smiling lovingly as the doctorkissed her hair. Their love for one another had seemed real enough. Aninexplicable feeling of indignation with Juliette now pervaded Helene, as though some wrong had been done herself. She felt humiliated forHenri's sake; she was consumed with jealous rage; and her perturbedfeelings were so plainly mirrored in her face that MademoiselleAurelie asked her: "What is the matter with you? Do you feel ill?"

The old lady had sunk into a seat beside her immediately she hadobserved her to be alone. She had conceived a lively friendship forHelene, and was charmed with the kindly manner in which so sedate andlovely a woman would listen for hours to her tittle-tattle. 

But Helene made no reply. A wild desire sprang up within her to gazeon Henri, to know what he was doing, and what was the expression ofhis face. She sat up, and glancing round the drawing-room, at lastperceived him. He stood talking with a stout, pale man, and lookedcompletely at his ease, his face wearing its customary refined smile. She scanned him for a moment, full of a pity which belittled himsomewhat, though all the while she loved him the more with anaffection into which entered some vague idea of watching over him. Herfeelings, still in a whirl of confusion, inspired her with the thoughtthat she ought to bring him back the happiness he had lost. 

"Well, well!" muttered Mademoiselle Aurelie; "it will be pleasant ifMadame de Guiraud's sister favors us with a song. It will be the tenthtime I have heard her sing the 'Turtle-Doves. ' That is her stock songthis winter. You know that she is separated from her husband. Do yousee that dark gentleman down there, near the door? They are mostintimate together, I believe. Juliette is compelled to have him here, for otherwise she wouldn't come!"

"Indeed!" exclaimed Helene. 

Madame Deberle was bustling about from one group to another, requesting silence for a song from Madame de Guiraud's sister. Thedrawing-room was now crowded, some thirty ladies being seated in thecentre whispering and laughing together; two, however, had remainedstanding, and were talking loudly and shrugging their shoulders in apretty way, while five or six men sat quite at home amongst the fairones, almost buried beneath the folds of their skirts and trains. Alow "Hush!" ran round the room, the voices died away, and a stolidlook of annoyance crept into every face. Only the fans could be heardrustling through the heated atmosphere. 

Madame de Guiraud's sister sang, but Helene never listened. Her eyeswere now riveted on Malignon, who feigned an intense love of music, and appeared to be enraptured with the "Turtle Doves. " Was itpossible? Could Juliette have turned a willing ear to the amorouschatter of the young fop? It was at Trouville, no doubt, that somedangerous game had been played. Malignon now sat in front of Juliette, marking the time of the music by swaying to and fro with the air ofone who is enraptured. Madame Deberle's face beamed in admiringcomplacency, while the doctor, good-natured and patient, silentlyawaited the last notes of the song in order to renew his talk with thestout, pale man. 

There was a murmur of applause as the singer's voice died away, andtwo or three exclaimed in tones of transport: "Delightful!magnificent!"

Malignon, however, stretching his arms over the ladies' head-dresses, noiselessly clapped his gloved hands, and repeated "Brava! brava!" ina voice that rose high above the others. 

The enthusiasm promptly came to an end, every face relaxed and smiled, and a few of the ladies rose, while, with the feeling of generalrelief, the buzz of conversation began again. The atmosphere wasgrowing much warmer, and the waving fans wafted an odor of musk fromthe ladies' dresses. At times, amidst the universal chatter, a peal ofpearly laughter would ring out, or some word spoken in a loud tonewould cause many to turn round. Thrice already had Juliette swept intothe smaller drawing-room to request some gentleman who had escapedthither not to desert the ladies in so rude a fashion. They returnedat her request, but ten minutes afterwards had again vanished. 

"It's intolerable, " she muttered, with an air of vexation; "not one ofthem will stay here. "

In the meantime Mademoiselle Aurelie was running over the ladies'names for Helene's benefit, as this was only the latter's secondevening visit to the doctor's house. The most substantial people ofPassy, some of them rolling in riches, were present. And the old maidleaned towards Helene and whispered in her ear: "Yes, it seems it'sall arranged. Madame de Chermette is going to marry her daughter tothat tall fair fellow with whom she has flirted for the last eighteenmonths. Well, never mind, that will be one mother-in-law who'll befond of her son-in-law. "

She stopped short, and then burst out in a tone of intense surprise:"Good gracious! there's Madame Levasseur's husband speaking to thatman. I thought Juliette had sworn never to have them here together. "

Helene's glances slowly travelled round the room. Even amongst suchseemingly estimable and honest people as these could there be women ofirregular conduct? With her provincial austerity she was astounded atthe manner in which wrongdoing was winked at in Paris. She railed atherself for her own painful repugnance when Juliette had shaken handswith her. Madame Deberle had now seemingly become reconciled withMalignon; she had curled up her little plump figure in an easy-chair, where she sat listening gleefully to his jests. Monsieur Deberlehappened to pass them. 

"You're surely not quarrelling to-night?" asked he. 

"No, " replied Juliette, with a burst of merriment. "He's talking toomuch silly nonsense. If you had heard all the nonsense he's beensaying!"

There now came some more singing, but silence was obtained withgreater difficulty. The aria selected was a duet from _La Favorita_, sung by young Monsieur Tissot and a lady of ripened charms, whose hairwas dressed in childish style. Pauline, standing at one of the doors, amidst a crowd of black coats, gazed at the male singer with a look ofundisguised admiration, as though she were examining a work of art. 

"What a handsome fellow!" escaped from her lips, just as theaccompaniment subsided into a softer key, and so loud was her voicethat the whole drawing-room heard the remark. 

As the evening progressed the guests' faces began to show signs ofweariness. Ladies who had occupied the same seat for hours lookedbored, though they knew it not, --they were even delighted at beingable to get bored here. In the intervals between the songs, which wereonly half listened to, the murmur of conversation again resounded, andit seemed as though the deep notes of the piano were still echoing. Monsieur Letellier related how he had gone to Lyons for the purpose ofinspecting some silk he had ordered, and how he had been greatlyimpressed by the fact that the Saone did not mingle its waters withthose of the Rhone. Monsieur de Guiraud, who was a magistrate, gavevent to some sententious observations on the need of stemming the viceof Paris. There was a circle round a gentleman who was acquainted witha Chinaman, and was giving some particulars of his friend. In a cornertwo ladies were exchanging confidences about the failings of theirservants; whilst literature was being discussed by those among whomMalignon sat enthroned. Madame Tissot declared Balzac to beunreadable, and Malignon did not deny it, but remarked that here andthere, at intervals far and few, some very fine passages occurred inBalzac. 

"A little silence, please!" all at once exclaimed Pauline; "she's justgoing to play. "

The lady whose talent as a musician had been so much spoken of hadjust sat down to the piano. In accordance with the rules ofpoliteness, every head was turned towards her. But in the generalstillness which ensued the deep voices of the men conversing in thesmall drawing-room could be heard. Madame Deberle was in despair. 

"They are a nuisance!" she muttered. "Let them stay there, if theydon't want to come in; but at least they ought to hold their tongues!"

She gave the requisite orders to Pauline, who, intensely delighted, ran into the adjacent apartment to carry out her instructions. 

"You must know, gentlemen, that a lady is going to play, " she said, with the quiet boldness of a maiden in queenly garb. "You arerequested to keep silence. "

She spoke in a very loud key, her voice being naturally shrill. And, as she lingered with the men, laughing and quizzing, the noise grewmore pronounced than ever. There was a discussion going on among thesemales, and she supplied additional matter for argument. In the largerdrawing-room Madame Deberle was in agony. The guests, moreover, hadbeen sated with music, and no enthusiasm was displayed; so the pianistresumed her seat, biting her lips, notwithstanding the laudatorycompliments which the lady of the house deemed it her duty to lavishon her. 

Helene was pained. Henri scarcely seemed to see her; he had made noattempt to approach her, and only at intervals smiled to her fromafar. At the earlier part of the evening she had felt relieved by hisprudent reserve; but since she had learnt the secret of the two othersshe wished for something--she knew not what--some display ofaffection, or at least interest, on his part. Her breast was stirredwith confused yearnings, and every imaginable evil thought. Did he nolonger care for her, that he remained so indifferent to her presence?Oh! if she could have told him everything! If she could apprise him ofthe unworthiness of the woman who bore his name! Then, while someshort, merry catches resounded from the piano, she sank into a dreamystate. She imagined that Henri had driven Juliette from his home, andshe was living with him as his wife in some far-away foreign land, thelanguage of which they knew not. 

All at once a voice startled her. 

"Won't you take anything?" asked Pauline. 

The drawing-room had emptied, and the guests were passing into thedining-room to drink some tea. Helene rose with difficulty. She wasdazed; she thought she had dreamt it all--the words she had heard, Juliette's secret intrigue, and its consequences. If it had all beentrue, Henri would surely have been at her side and ere this both wouldhave quitted the house. 

"Will you take a cup of tea?"

She smiled and thanked Madame Deberle, who had kept a place for her atthe table. Plates loaded with pastry and sweetmeats covered the cloth, while on glass stands arose two lofty cakes, flanking a large_brioche_. The space was limited, and the cups of tea were crowdedtogether, narrow grey napkins with long fringes lying between eachtwo. The ladies only were seated. They held biscuits and preservedfruits with the tips of their ungloved fingers, and passed each otherthe cream-jugs and poured out the cream with dainty gestures. Three orfour, however, had sacrificed themselves to attend on the men, whowere standing against the walls, and, while drinking, taking allconceivable precautions to ward off any push which might beunwittingly dealt them. A few others lingered in the twodrawing-rooms, waiting for the cakes to come to them. This was thehour of Pauline's supreme delight. There was a shrill clamor of noisytongues, peals of laughter mingled with the ringing clatter of silverplate, and the perfume of musk grew more powerful as it blended withthe all-pervading fragrance of the tea. 

"Kindly pass me some cake, " said Mademoiselle Aurelie to Helene, closeto whom she happened to find herself. "These sweetmeats are frauds!"

She had, however, already emptied two plates of them. And shecontinued, with her mouth full:

"Oh! some of the people are beginning to go now. We shall be a littlemore comfortable. "

In truth, several ladies were now leaving, after shaking hands withMadame Deberle. Many of the gentlemen had already wisely vanished, andthe room was becoming less crowded. Now came the opportunity for theremaining gentlemen to sit down at table in their turn. MademoiselleAurelie, however, did not quit her place, though she would much haveliked to secure a glass of punch. 

"I will get you one, " said Helene, starting to her feet. 

"No, no, thank you. You must not inconvenience yourself so much. "

For a short time Helene had been watching Malignon. He had just shakenhands with the doctor, and was now bidding farewell to Juliette at thedoorway. She had a lustrous face and sparkling eyes, and by hercomplacent smile it might have been imagined that she was receivingsome commonplace compliments on the evening's success. While Pierrewas pouring out the punch at a sideboard near the door, Helene steppedforward in such wise as to be hidden from view by the curtain, whichhad been drawn back. She listened. 

[Illustration: Malignon appoints a Rendezvous with Juliette]

"I beseech you, " Malignon was saying, "come the day after to-morrow. Ishall wait for you till three o'clock. "

"Why cannot you talk seriously, " replied Madame Deberle, with a laugh. "What foolish things you say!"

But with greater determination he repeated: "I shall wait for you--theday after to-morrow. "

Then she hurriedly gave a whispered reply:

"Very well--the day after to-morrow. "

Malignon bowed and made his exit. Madame de Chermette followed incompany with Madame Tissot. Juliette, in the best of spirits, walkedwith them into the hall, and said to the former of these ladies withher most amiable look:

"I shall call on you the day after to-morrow. I have a lot of calls tomake that day. "

Helene stood riveted to the floor, her face quite white. Pierre, inthe meanwhile, had poured out the punch, and now handed the glass toher. She grasped it mechanically and carried it to MademoiselleAurelie, who was making an inroad on the preserved fruits. 

"Oh, you are far too kind!" exclaimed the old maid. "I should havemade a sign to Pierre. I'm sure it's a shame not offering the punch toladies. Why, when people are my age--"

She got no further, however, for she observed the ghastliness ofHelene's face. "You surely are in pain! You must take a drop ofpunch!"

"Thank you, it's nothing. The heat is so oppressive--"

She staggered, and turned aside into the deserted drawing-room, whereshe dropped into an easy-chair. The lamps were shedding a reddishglare; and the wax candles in the chandelier, burnt to their sockets, threatened imminent destruction to the crystal sconces. From thedining-room were wafted the farewells of the departing guests. Heleneherself had lost all thoughts of going; she longed to linger where shewas, plunged in thought. So it was no dream after all; Juliette wouldvisit that man the day after to-morrow--she knew the day. Then thethought struck her that she ought to speak to Juliette and warn heragainst sin. But this kindly thought chilled her to the heart, and shedrove it from her mind as though it were out of place, and deep inmeditation gazed at the grate, where a smouldering log was crackling. The air was still heavy and oppressive with the perfumes from theladies' hair. 

"What! you are here!" exclaimed Juliette as she entered. "Well, youare kind not to run away all at once. At last we can breathe!"

Helene was surprised, and made a movement as though about to rise; butJuliette went on: "Wait, wait, you are in no hurry. Henri, get me mysmelling-salts. "

Three or four persons, intimate friends, had lingered behind theothers. They sat before the dying fire and chatted with delightfulfreedom, while the vast room wearily sank into a doze. The doors wereopen, and they saw the smaller drawing-room empty, the dining-roomdeserted, the whole suite of rooms still lit up and plunged inunbroken silence. Henri displayed a tender gallantry towards his wife;he had run up to their bedroom for her smelling-salts, which sheinhaled with closed eyes, whilst he asked her if she had not fatiguedherself too much. Yes, she felt somewhat tired; but she was delighted--everything had gone off so well. Next she told them that on herreception nights she could not sleep, but tossed about till sixo'clock in the morning. Henri's face broke into a smile, and somequizzing followed. Helene looked at them, and quivered amidst thebenumbing drowsiness which little by little seemed to fall upon thewhole house. 

However, only two guests now remained. Pierre had gone in search of acab. Helene remained the last. One o'clock struck. Henri, no longerstanding on ceremony, rose on tiptoe and blew out two candles in thechandelier which were dangerously heating their crystal sconces. Asthe lights died out one by one, it seemed like a bedroom scene, thegloom of an alcove spreading over all. 

"I am keeping you up!" exclaimed Helene, as she suddenly rose to herfeet. "You must turn me out. "

A flush of red dyed her face; her blood, racing through her veins, seemed to stifle her. They walked with her into the hall, but the airthere was chilly, and the doctor was somewhat alarmed for his wife inher low dress. 

"Go back; you will do yourself harm. You are too warm. "

"Very well; good-bye, " said Juliette, embracing Helene, as was herwont in her most endearing moments. "Come and see me oftener. "

Henri had taken Helene's fur coat in his hand, and held itoutstretched to assist her in putting it on. When she had slipped herarms into the sleeves, he turned up the collar with a smile, whilethey stood in front of an immense mirror which covered one side of thehall. They were alone, and saw one another in the mirror's depths. Forthree months, on meeting and parting they had simply shaken hands infriendly greeting; they would fain that their love had died. But nowHelene was overcome, and sank back into his arms. The smile vanishedfrom his face, which became impassioned, and, still clasping her, hekissed her on the neck. And she, raising her head, returned his kiss. 

 CHAPTER XVII. 

That night Helene was unable to sleep. She turned from side to side infeverish unrest, and whenever a drowsy stupor fell on her senses, theold sorrows would start into new life within her breast. As she dozedand the nightmare increased, one fixed thought tortured her--she waseager to know where Juliette and Malignon would meet. This knowledge, she imagined, would be a source of relief to her. Where, where couldit be? Despite herself, her brain throbbed with the thought, and sheforgot everything save her craving to unravel this mystery, whichthrilled her with secret longings. 

When day dawned and she began to dress, she caught herself sayingloudly: "It will be to-morrow!"

With one stocking on, and hands falling helpless to her side, shelapsed for a while into a fresh dreamy fit. "Where, where was it thatthey had agreed to meet?"

"Good-day, mother, darling!" just then exclaimed Jeanne who hadawakened in her turn. 

As her strength was now returning to her, she had gone back to sleepin her cot in the closet. With bare feet and in her nightdress shecame to throw herself on Helene's neck, as was her every-day custom;then back again she rushed, to curl herself up in her warm bed for alittle while longer. This jumping in and out amused her, and a rippleof laughter stole from under the clothes. Once more she bounded intothe bedroom, saying: "Good-morning, mammy dear!"

And again she ran off, screaming with laughter. Then she threw thesheet over her head, and her cry came, hoarse and muffled, frombeneath it: "I'm not there! I'm not there!"

But Helene was in no mood for play, as on other mornings; and Jeanne, dispirited, fell asleep again. The day was still young. About eighto'clock Rosalie made her appearance to recount the morning's chapterof accidents. Oh! the streets were awful outside; in going for themilk her shoes had almost come off in the muddy slush. All the ice wasthawing; and it was quite mild too, almost oppressive. Oh! by the way, she had almost forgotten! an old woman had come to see madame thenight before. 

"Why!" she said, as there came a pull at the bell, "I expect that'sshe!"

It was Mother Fetu, but Mother Fetu transformed, magnificent in aclean white cap, a new gown, and tartan shawl wrapped round hershoulders. Her voice, however, still retained its plaintive tone ofentreaty. 

"Dear lady, it's only I, who have taken the liberty of calling to askyou about something!"

Helene gazed at her, somewhat surprised by her display of finery. 

"Are you better, Mother Fetu?"

"Oh yes, yes; I feel better, if I may venture to say so. You see Ialways have something queer in my inside; it knocks me aboutdreadfully, but still I'm better. Another thing, too; I've had astroke of luck; it was a surprise, you see, because luck hasn't oftencome in my way. But a gentleman has made me his housekeeper--and oh!it's such a story!"

Her words came slowly, and her small keen eyes glittered in her face, furrowed by a thousand wrinkles. She seemed to be waiting for Heleneto question her; but the young woman sat close to the fire whichRosalie had just lit, and paid scant attention to her, engrossed asshe was in her own thoughts, with a look of pain on her features. 

"What do you want to ask me?" she at last said to Mother Fetu. 

The old lady made no immediate reply. She was scrutinizing the room, with its rosewood furniture and blue velvet hangings. Then, with thehumble and fawning air of a pauper, she muttered: "Pardon me, madame, but everything is so beautiful here. My gentleman has a room likethis, but it's all in pink. Oh! it's such a story! Just picture toyourself a young man of good position who has taken rooms in ourhouse. Of course, it isn't much of a place, but still our first andsecond floors are very nice. Then, it's so quiet, too! There's notraffic; you could imagine yourself in the country. The workmen havebeen in the house for a whole fortnight; they have made such a jewelof his room!"

She here paused, observing that Helene's attention was being aroused. 

"It's for his work, " she continued in a drawling voice; "he says it'sfor his work. We have no doorkeeper, you know, and that pleases him. Oh! my gentleman doesn't like doorkeepers, and he is quite right, too!"

Once more she came to a halt, as though an idea had suddenly occurredto her. 

"Why, wait a minute; you must know him--of course you must. He visitsone of your lady friends!"

"Ah!" exclaimed Helene, with colorless face. 

"Yes, to be sure; the lady who lives close by--the one who used to gowith you to church. She came the other day. "

Mother Fetu's eyes contracted, and from under the lids she took noteof her benefactress's emotion. But Helene strove to question her in atone that would not betray her agitation. 

"Did she go up?"

"No, she altered her mind; perhaps she had forgotten something. But Iwas at the door. She asked for Monsieur Vincent, and then got backinto her cab again, calling to the driver to return home, as it wastoo late. Oh! she's such a nice, lively, and respectable lady. Thegracious God doesn't send many such into the world. Why, with theexception of yourself, she's the best--well, well, may Heaven blessyou all!"

In this way Mother Fetu rambled on with the pious glibness of adevotee who is perpetually telling her beads. But the twitching of themyriad wrinkles of her face showed that her mind was still working, and soon she beamed with intense satisfaction. 

"Ah!" she all at once resumed in inconsequent fashion, "how I shouldlike to have a pair of good shoes! My gentleman has been so very kind, I can't ask him for anything more. You see I'm dressed; still I mustget a pair of good shoes. Look at those I have; they are all holes;and when the weather's muddy, as it is to-day, one's apt to get veryill. Yes, I was down with colic yesterday; I was writhing all theafternoon, but if I had a pair of good shoes--"

"I'll bring you a pair, Mother Fetu, " said Helene, waving her towardsthe door. 

Then, as the old woman retired backwards, with profuse curtseying andthanks, she asked her: "At what hour are you alone?"

"My gentleman is never there after six o'clock, " she answered. "Butdon't give yourself the trouble; I'll come myself, and get them fromyour doorkeeper. But you can do as you please. You are an angel fromheaven. God on high will requite you for all your kindness!"

When she had reached the landing she could still be heard giving ventto her feelings. Helene sat a long time plunged in the stupor whichthe information, supplied by this woman with such fortuitousseasonableness, had brought upon her. She now knew the place ofassignation. It was a room, with pink decorations, in that oldtumbledown house! She once more pictured to herself the staircaseoozing with damp, the yellow doors on each landing, grimy with thetouch of greasy hands, and all the wretchedness which had stirred herheart to pity when she had gone during the previous winter to visitMother Fetu; and she also strove to conjure up a vision of that pinkchamber in the midst of such repulsive, poverty-stricken surroundings. However, whilst she was still absorbed in her reverie, two tiny warmhands were placed over her eyes, which lack of sleep had reddened, anda laughing voice inquired: "Who is it? who is it?"

It was Jeanne, who had slipped into her clothes without assistance. Mother Fetu's voice had awakened her; and perceiving that the closetdoor had been shut, she had made her toilet with the utmost speed inorder to give her mother a surprise. 

"Who is it? who is it?" she again inquired, convulsed more and morewith laughter. 

She turned to Rosalie, who entered at the moment with the breakfast. 

"You know; don't you speak. Nobody is asking you any question. "

"Be quiet, you little madcap!" exclaimed Helene. "I suppose it's you!"

The child slipped on to her mother's lap, and there, leaning back andswinging to and fro, delighted with the amusement she had devised, sheresumed:

"Well, it might have been another little girl! Eh? Perhaps some littlegirl who had brought you a letter of invitation to dine with hermamma. And she might have covered your eyes, too!"

"Don't be silly, " exclaimed Helene, as she set her on the floor. "Whatare you talking about? Rosalie, let us have breakfast. "

The maid's eyes, however, were riveted on the child, and she commentedupon her little mistress being so oddly dressed. To tell the truth, sogreat had been Jeanne's haste that she had not put on her shoes. Shehad drawn on a short flannel petticoat which allowed a glimpse of herchemise, and had left her morning jacket open, so that you could seeher delicate, undeveloped bosom. With her hair streaming behind her, stamping about in her stockings, which were all awry, she lookedcharming, all in white like some child of fairyland. 

She cast down her eyes to see herself, and immediately burst intolaughter. 

"Look, mamma, I look nice, don't I? Won't you let me be as I am? It isnice!"

Repressing a gesture of impatience, Helene, as was her wont everymorning, inquired: "Are you washed?"

"Oh, mamma!" pleaded the child, her joy suddenly dashed. "Oh, mamma!it's raining; it's too nasty!"

"Then, you'll have no breakfast. Wash her, Rosalie. "

She usually took this office upon herself, but that morning she feltaltogether out of sorts, and drew nearer to the fire, shivering, although the weather was so balmy. Having spread a napkin and placedtwo white china bowls on a small round table, Rosalie had brought thelatter close to the fireplace. The coffee and milk steamed before thefire in a silver pot, which had been a present from Monsieur Rambaud. At this early hour the disorderly, drowsy room seemed delightfullyhomelike. 

"Mamma, mamma!" screamed Jeanne from the depths of the closet, "she'srubbing me too hard. It's taking my skin off. Oh dear! how awfullycold!"

Helene, with eyes fixed on the coffee-pot, remained engrossed inthought. She desired to know everything, so she would go. The thoughtof that mysterious place of assignation in so squalid a nook of Pariswas an ever-present pain and vexation. She judged such taste hateful, but in it she identified Malignon's leaning towards romance. 

"Mademoiselle, " declared Rosalie, "if you don't let me finish withyou, I shall call madame. "

"Stop, stop: you are poking the soap into my eyes, " answered Jeanne, whose voice was hoarse with sobs. "Leave me alone; I've had enough ofit. The ears can wait till to-morrow. "

But the splashing of water went on, and the squeezing of the spongeinto the basin could be heard. There was a clamor and a struggle, thechild was sobbing; but almost immediately afterward she made herappearance, shouting gaily: "It's over now; it's over now!"

Her hair was still glistening with wet, and she shook herself, herface glowing with the rubbing it had received and exhaling a fresh andpleasant odor. In her struggle to get free her jacket had slipped fromher shoulders, her petticoat had become loosened, and her stockingshad tumbled down, displaying her bare legs. According to Rosalie, shelooked like an infant Jesus. Jeanne, however, felt very proud that shewas clean; she had no wish to be dressed again. 

"Look at me, mamma; look at my hands, and my neck, and my ears. Oh!you must let me warm myself; I am so comfortable. You don't sayanything; surely I've deserved my breakfast to-day. "

She had curled herself up before the fire in her own littleeasy-chair. Then Rosalie poured out the coffee and milk. Jeanne tookher bowl on her lap, and gravely soaked her toast in its contents withall the airs of a grown-up person. Helene had always forbidden her toeat in this way, but that morning she remained plunged in thought. Shedid not touch her own bread, and was satisfied with drinking her coffee. Then Jeanne, after swallowing her last morsel, was stung with remorse. Her heart filled, she put aside her bowl, and gazing on her mother'spale face, threw herself on her neck: "Mamma, are you ill now? Ihaven't vexed you, have I?--say. "

"No, no, my darling, quite the contrary; you're very good, " murmuredHelene as she embraced her. "I'm only a little wearied; I haven'tslept well. Go on playing: don't be uneasy. "

The thought occurred to her that the day would prove a terribly longone. What could she do whilst waiting for the night? For some timepast she had abandoned her needlework; sewing had become a terribleweariness. For hours she lingered in her seat with idle hands, almostsuffocating in her room, and craving to go out into the open air forbreath, yet never stirring. It was this room which made her ill; shehated it, in angry exasperation over the two years which she had spentwithin its walls; its blue velvet and the vast panorama of the mightycity disgusted her, and her thoughts dwelt on a lodging in some busystreet, the uproar of which would have deafened her. Good heavens! howlong were the hours! She took up a book, but the fixed idea thatengrossed her mind continually conjured up the same visions betweenher eyes and the page of print. 

In the meantime Rosalie had been busy setting the room in order;Jeanne's hair also had been brushed, and she was dressed. While hermother sat at the window, striving to read, the child, who was in oneof her moods of obstreperous gaiety, began playing a grand game. Shewas all alone; but this gave her no discomfort; she herselfrepresented three or four persons in turn with comical earnestness andgravity. At first she played the lady going on a visit. She vanishedinto the dining-room, and returned bowing and smiling, her headnodding this way and that in the most coquettish style. 

"Good-day, madame! How are you, madame? How long it is since I've seenyou! A marvellously long time, to be sure! Dear me, I've been so ill, madame! Yes; I've had the cholera; it's very disagreeable. Oh! itdoesn't show; no, no, it makes you look younger, on my word of honor. And your children, madame? Oh! I've had three since last summer!"

So she rattled on, never ceasing her curtseying to the round table, which doubtless represented the lady she was visiting. Next sheventured to bring the chairs closer together, and for an hour carriedon a general conversation, her talk abounding in extraordinaryphrases. 

"Don't be silly, " said her mother at intervals, when the chatter puther out of patience. 

"But, mamma, I'm paying my friend a visit. She's speaking to me, and Imust answer her. At tea nobody ought to put the cakes in theirpockets, ought they?"

Then she turned and began again:

"Good-bye, madame; your tea was delicious. Remember me most kindly toyour husband. "

The next moment came something else. She was going out shopping in hercarriage, and got astride of a chair like a boy. 

"Jean, not so quick; I'm afraid. Stop! stop! here is the milliner's!Mademoiselle, how much is this bonnet? Three hundred francs; thatisn't dear. But it isn't pretty. I should like it with a bird on it--abird big like that! Come, Jean, drive me to the grocer's. Have yousome honey? Yes, madame, here is some. Oh, how nice it is! But I don'twant any of it; give me two sous' worth of sugar. Oh! Jean, look, takecare! There! we have had a spill! Mr. Policeman, it was the cart whichdrove against us. You're not hurt, madame, are you? No, sir, not inthe least. Jean, Jean! home now. Gee-up! gee-up. Wait a minute; I mustorder some chemises. Three dozen chemises for madame. I want someboots too and some stays. Gee-up! gee-up! Good gracious, we shallnever get back again. "

Then she fanned herself, enacting the part of the lady who hasreturned home and is finding fault with her servants. She neverremained quiet for a moment; she was in a feverish ecstasy, full ofall sorts of whimsical ideas; all the life she knew surged up in herlittle brain and escaped from it in fragments. Morning and afternoonshe thus moved about, dancing and chattering; and when she grew tired, a footstool or parasol discovered in a corner, or some shred of stufflying on the floor, would suffice to launch her into a new game inwhich her effervescing imagination found fresh outlet. Persons, places, and incidents were all of her own creation, and she amusedherself as much as though twelve children of her own age had beenbeside her. 

But evening came at last. Six o'clock was about to strike. And Helene, rousing herself from the troubled stupor in which she had spent theafternoon, hurriedly threw a shawl over her shoulders. 

"Are you going out, mamma?" asked Jeanne in her surprise. 

"Yes, my darling, just for a walk close by. I won't be long; be good. "

Outside it was still thawing. The footways were covered with mud. Inthe Rue de Passy, Helene entered a boot shop, to which she had takenMother Fetu on a previous occasion. Then she returned along the RueRaynouard. The sky was grey, and from the pavement a mist was rising. The street stretched dimly before her, deserted and fear-inspiring, though the hour was yet early. In the damp haze the infrequentgas-lamps glimmered like yellow spots. She quickened her steps, keepingclose to the houses, and shrinking from sight as though she were onthe way to some assignation. However, as she hastily turned into thePassage des Eaux, she halted beneath the archway, her heart giving wayto genuine terror. The passage opened beneath her like some blackgulf. The bottom of it was invisible; the only thing she could see inthis black tunnel was the quivering gleam of the one lamp whichlighted it. Eventually she made up her mind, and grasped the ironrailing to prevent herself from slipping. Feeling her way with the tipof her boots she landed successively on the broad steps. The walls, right and left, grew closer, seemingly prolonged by the darkness, while the bare branches of the trees above cast vague shadows, likethose of gigantic arms with closed or outstretched hands. She trembledas she thought that one of the garden doors might open and a manspring out upon her. There were no passers-by, however, and shestepped down as quickly as possible. Suddenly from out of the darknessloomed a shadow which coughed, and she was frozen with fear; but itwas only an old woman creeping with difficulty up the path. Then shefelt less uneasy, and carefully raised her dress, which had beentrailing in the mud. So thick was the latter that her boots wereconstantly sticking to the steps. At the bottom she turned asideinstinctively. From the branches the raindrops dripped fast into thepassage, and the lamp glimmered like that of some miner, hanging tothe side of a pit which infiltrations have rendered dangerous. 

Helene climbed straight to the attic she had so often visited at thetop of the large house abutting on the Passage. But nothing stirred, although she rapped loudly. In considerable perplexity she descendedthe stairs again. Mother Fetu was doubtless in the rooms on the firstfloor, where, however, Helene dared not show herself. She remainedfive minutes in the entry, which was lighted by a petroleum lamp. Thenagain she ascended the stairs hesitatingly, gazing at each door, andwas on the point of going away, when the old woman leaned over thebalusters. 

"What! it's you on the stairs, my good lady!" she exclaimed. "Come in, and don't catch cold out there. Oh! it is a vile place--enough to killone. "

"No, thank you, " said Helene; "I've brought you your pair of shoes, Mother Fetu. "

She looked at the door which Mother Fetu had left open behind her, andcaught a glimpse of a stove within. 

"I'm all alone, I assure you, " declared the old woman. "Come in. Thisis the kitchen here. Oh! you're not proud with us poor folks; we cantalk to you!"

Despite the repugnance which shame at the purpose of her comingcreated within her, Helene followed her. 

"God in Heaven! how can I thank you! Oh, what lovely shoes! Wait, andI'll put them on. There's my whole foot in; it fits me like a glove. Bless the day! I can walk with these without being afraid of the rain. Oh! my good lady, you are my preserver; you've given me ten more yearsof life. No, no, it's no flattery; it's what I think, as true asthere's a lamp shining on us. No, no, I don't flatter!"

She melted into tears as she spoke, and grasping Helene's hands kissedthem. In a stewpan on the stove some wine was being heated, and on thetable, near the lamp, stood a half-empty bottle of Bordeaux with itstapering neck. The only other things placed there were four dishes, aglass, two saucepans, and an earthenware pot. It could be seen thatMother Fetu camped in this bachelor's kitchen, and that the fires werelit for herself only. Seeing Helene's glance turn towards the stewpan, she coughed, and once more put on her dolorous expression. 

"It's gripping me again, " she groaned. "Oh! it's useless for thedoctor to talk; I must have some creature in my inside. And then, adrop of wine relieves me so. I'm greatly afflicted, my good lady. Iwouldn't have a soul suffer from my trouble; it's too dreadful. Well, I'm nursing myself a bit now; and when a person has passed through somuch, isn't it fair she should do so? I have been so lucky in fallingin with a nice gentleman. May Heaven bless him!"

With this outburst she dropped two large lumps of sugar into her wine. She was now getting more corpulent than ever, and her little eyes hadalmost vanished from her fat face. She moved slowly with a beatificalexpression of felicity. Her life's ambition was now evidentlysatisfied. For this she had been born. When she put her sugar awayagain Helene caught a glimpse of some tid-bits secreted at the bottomof a cupboard--a jar of preserves, a bag of biscuits, and even somecigars, all doubtless pilfered from the gentleman lodger. 

"Well, good-bye, Mother Fetu, I'm going away, " she exclaimed. 

The old lady, however, pushed the saucepan to one side of the stoveand murmured: "Wait a minute; this is far too hot, I'll drink itby-and-by. No, no; don't go out that way. I must beg pardon forhaving received you in the kitchen. Let us go round the rooms. "

She caught up the lamp, and turned into a narrow passage. Helene, withbeating heart, followed close behind. The passage, dilapidated andsmoky, was reeking with damp. Then a door was thrown open, and shefound herself treading a thick carpet. Mother Fetu had alreadyadvanced into a room which was plunged in darkness and silence. 

"Well?" she asked, as she lifted up the lamp; "it's very nice, isn'tit?"

There were two rooms, each of them square, communicating with oneanother by folding-doors, which had been removed, and replaced bycurtains. Both were hung with pink cretonne of a Louis Quinze pattern, picturing chubby-checked cupids disporting themselves amongst garlandsof flowers. In the first apartment there was a round table, twolounges, and some easy-chairs; and in the second, which was somewhatsmaller, most of the space was occupied by the bed. Mother Fetu drewattention to a crystal lamp with gilt chains, which hung from theceiling. To her this lamp was the veritable acme of luxury. 

Then she began explaining things: "You can't imagine what a funnyfellow he is! He lights it up in mid-day, and stays here, smoking acigar and gazing into vacancy. But it amuses him, it seems. Well, itdoesn't matter; I've an idea he must have spent a lot of money in histime. "

Helene went through the rooms in silence. They seemed to her in badtaste. There was too much pink everywhere; the furniture also lookedfar too new. 

"He calls himself Monsieur Vincent, " continued the old woman, ramblingon. "Of course, it's all the same to me. As long as he pays, mygentleman--"

"Well, good-bye, Mother Fetu, " said Helene, in whose throat a feelingof suffocation was gathering. 

She was burning to get away, but on opening a door she found herselfthreading three small rooms, the bareness and dirt of which wererepulsive. The paper hung in tatters from the walls, the ceilings weregrimy, and old plaster littered the broken floors. The whole place waspervaded by a smell of long prevalent squalor. 

"Not that way! not that way!" screamed Mother Fetu. "That door isgenerally shut. These are the other rooms which they haven't attemptedto clean. My word! it's cost him quite enough already! Yes, indeed, these aren't nearly so nice! Come this way, my good lady--come thisway!"

On Helene's return to the pink boudoir, she stopped to kiss her handonce more. 

"You see, I'm not ungrateful! I shall never forget the shoes. How wellthey fit me! and how warm they are! Why, I could walk half-a-dozenmiles with them. What can I beg Heaven to grant you? O Lord, hearkento me, and grant that she may be the happiest of women--in the name ofthe Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!" A devout enthusiasm hadsuddenly come upon Mother Fetu; she repeated the sign of the crossagain and again, and bowed the knee in the direction of the crystallamp. This done, she opened the door conducting to the landing, andwhispered in a changed voice into Helene's ear:

"Whenever you like to call, just knock at the kitchen door; I'm alwaysthere!"

Dazed, and glancing behind her as though she were leaving a place ofdubious repute, Helene hurried down the staircase, reascended thePassage des Eaux, and regained the Rue Vineuse, without consciousnessof the ground she was covering. The old woman's last words still rangin her ears. In truth, no; never again would she set foot in thathouse, never again would she bear her charity thither. Why should sheever rap at the kitchen door again? At present she was satisfied; shehad seen what was to be seen. And she was full of scorn for herself--for everybody. How disgraceful to have gone there! The recollection ofthe place with its tawdry finery and squalid surroundings filled herwith mingled anger and disgust. 

"Well, madame, " exclaimed Rosalie, who was awaiting her return on thestaircase, "the dinner will be nice. Dear, oh dear! it's been burningfor half an hour!"

At table Jeanne plagued her mother with questions. Where had she been?what had she been about? However, as the answers she received provedsomewhat curt, she began to amuse herself by giving a little dinner. Her doll was perched near her on a chair, and in a sisterly fashionshe placed half of her dessert before it. 

"Now, mademoiselle, you must eat like a lady. See, wipe your mouth. Oh, the dirty little thing! She doesn't even know how to wear hernapkin! There, you're nice now. See, here is a biscuit. What do yousay? You want some preserve on it. Well, I should think it better asit is! Let me pare you a quarter of this apple!"

She placed the doll's share on the chair. But when she had emptied herown plate she took the dainties back again one after the other anddevoured them, speaking all the time as though she were the doll. 

"Oh! it's delicious! I've never eaten such nice jam! Where did you getthis jam, madame? I shall tell my husband to buy a pot of it. Do thosebeautiful apples come from your garden, madame?"

She fell asleep while thus playing, and stumbled into the bedroom withthe doll in her arms. She had given herself no rest since morning. Herlittle legs could no longer sustain her--she was helpless and weariedto death. However, a ripple of laughter passed over her face even insleep; in her dreams she must have been still continuing her play. 

At last Helene was alone in her room. With closed doors she spent amiserable evening beside the dead fire. Her will was failing her;thoughts that found no utterance were stirring within the innermostrecesses of her heart. At midnight she wearily sought her bed, butthere her torture passed endurance. She dozed, she tossed from side toside as though a fire were beneath her. She was haunted by visionswhich sleeplessness enlarged to a gigantic size. Then an idea tookroot in her brain. In vain did she strive to banish it; it clung toher, surged and clutched her at the throat till it entirely swayedher. About two o'clock she rose, rigid, pallid, and resolute as asomnambulist, and having again lighted the lamp she wrote a letter ina disguised hand; it was a vague denunciation, a note of three lines, requesting Doctor Deberle to repair that day to such a place at suchan hour; there was no explanation, no signature. She sealed theenvelope and dropped the letter into the pocket of her dress which washanging over an arm-chair. Then returning to bed, she immediatelyclosed her eyes, and in a few minutes was lying there breathless, overpowered by leaden slumber. 

 CHAPTER XVIII. 

It was nearly nine o'clock the next morning before Rosalie was able toserve the coffee. Helene had risen late. She was weary and pale withthe nightmare that had broken her rest. She rummaged in the pocket ofher dress, felt the letter there, pressed it to the very bottom, andsat down at the table without opening her lips. Jeanne too wassuffering from headache, and had a pale, troubled face. She quittedher bed regretfully that morning, without any heart to indulge inplay. There was a sooty color in the sky, and a dim light saddened theroom, while from time to time sudden downpours of rain beat againstthe windows. 

"Mademoiselle is in the blues, " said Rosalie, who monopolized all thetalk. "She can't keep cheerful for two days running. That's what comesof dancing about too much yesterday. "

"Do you feel ill, Jeanne?" asked Helene. 

"No, mamma, " answered the child. "It's only the nasty weather. "

Helene lapsed once more into silence. She finished her coffee, and satin her chair, plunged in thought, with her eyes riveted on the flames. While rising she had reflected that it was her duty to speak toJuliette and bid her renounce the afternoon assignation. But how? Shecould not say. Still, the necessity of the step was impressed on her, and now her one urgent, all-absorbing thought was to attempt it. Teno'clock struck, and she began to dress. Jeanne gazed at her, and, onseeing her take up her bonnet, clasped her little hands as thoughstricken with cold, while over her face crept a pained look. It washer wont to take umbrage whenever her mother went out; she wasunwilling to quit her side, and craved to go with her everywhere. 

"Rosalie, " said Helene, "make haste and finish the room. Don't go out. I'll be back in a moment. "

She stooped and gave Jeanne a hasty kiss, not noticing her vexation. But the moment she had gone a sob broke from the child, who hadhitherto summoned all her dignity to her aid to restrain her emotion. 

"Oh, mademoiselle, how naughty!" exclaimed the maid by way ofconsolation. "Gracious powers! no one will rob you of your mamma. Youmust allow her to see after her affairs. You can't always be hangingto her skirts!"

Meanwhile Helene had turned the corner of the Rue Vineuse, keepingclose to the wall for protection against the rain. It was Pierre whoopened the door; but at sight of her he seemed somewhat embarrassed. 

"Is Madame Deberle at home?"

"Yes, madame; but I don't know whether--"

Helene, in the character of a family friend, was pushing past himtowards the drawing-room; but he took the liberty of stopping her. 

"Wait, madame; I'll go and see. "

He slipped into the room, opening the door as little as he could; andimmediately afterwards Juliette could be heard speaking in a tone ofirritation. "What! you've allowed some one to come in? Why, I forbadeit peremptorily. It's incredible!! I can't be left quiet for aninstant!"

Helene, however, pushed open the door, strong in her resolve to dothat which she imagined to be her duty. 

"Oh, it's you!" said Juliette, as she perceived her. "I didn't catchwho it was!"

The look of annoyance did not fade from her face, however, and it wasevident that the visit was ill-timed. 

"Do I disturb you?" asked Helene. 

"Not at all, not at all, " answered the other. "You'll understand in amoment. We have been getting up a surprise. We are rehearsing_Caprice_[*] to play it on one of my Wednesdays. We had selected thismorning for rehearsal, thinking nobody would know of it. But you'llstay now? You will have to keep silence about it, that's all. "

[*] One of Alfred de Musset's plays. 

Then, clapping her hands and addressing herself to Madame Berthier, who was standing in the middle of the drawing-room, she began oncemore, without paying any further attention to Helene: "Come, come; wemust get on. You don't give sufficient point to the sentence 'To makea purse unknown to one's husband would in the eyes of most people seemrather more than romantic. ' Say that again. "

Intensely surprised at finding her engaged in this way, Helene had satdown. The chairs and tables had been pushed against the wall, thecarpet thus being left clear. Madame Berthier, a delicate blonde, repeated her soliloquy, with her eyes fixed on the ceiling in hereffort to recall the words; while plump Madame de Guiraud, a beautifulbrunette, who had assumed the character of Madame de Lery, reclined inan arm-chair awaiting her cue. The ladies, in their unpretentiousmorning gowns, had doffed neither bonnets nor gloves. Seated in frontof them, her hair in disorder and a volume of Musset in her hand, wasJuliette, in a dressing-gown of white cashmere. Her face wore theserious expression of a stage-manager tutoring his actors as to thetones they should speak in and the by-play they should introduce. Theday being dull, the small curtains of embroidered tulle had beenpulled aside and swung across the knobs of the window-fastenings, sothat the garden could be seen, dark and damp. 

"You don't display sufficient emotion, " declared Juliette. "Put alittle more meaning into it. Every word ought to tell. Begin again:'I'm going to finish your toilette, my dear little purse. '"

"I shall be an awful failure, " said Madame Berthier languidly. "Whydon't you play the part instead of me? You would make a deliciousMathilda. "

"I! Oh, no! In the first place, one needs to be fair. Besides, I'm avery good teacher, but a bad pupil. But let us get on--let us get on!"

Helene sat still in her corner. Madame Berthier, engrossed in herpart, had not even turned round. Madame de Guiraud had merely honoredher with a slight nod. She realized that she was in the way, and thatshe ought to have declined to stay. If she still remained, it was nolonger through the sense of a duty to be fulfilled, but rather byreason of a strange feeling stirring vaguely in her heart's depth's--afeeling which had previously thrilled her in this selfsame spot. Theunkindly greeting which Juliette had bestowed on her pained her. However, the young woman's friendships were usually capricious; sheworshipped people for three months, threw herself on their necks, andseemed to live for them alone; then one morning, without affording anyexplanation, she appeared to lose all consciousness of beingacquainted with them. Without doubt, in this, as in everything else, she was simply yielding to a fashionable craze, an inclination to lovethe people who were loved by her own circle. These sudden veerings ofaffection, however, deeply wounded Helene, for her generous andundemonstrative heart had its ideal in eternity. She often left theDeberles plunged in sadness, full of despair when she thought howfragile and unstable was the basis of human love. And on thisoccasion, in this crisis in her life, the thought brought her stillkeener pain. 

"We'll skip the scene with Chavigny, " said Juliette. "He won't be herethis morning. Let us see Madame de Lery's entrance. Now, Madame deGuiraud, here's your cue. " Then she read from her book: "'Just imaginemy showing him this purse. '"

"'Oh! it's exceedingly pretty. Let me look at it, '" began Madame deGuiraud in a falsetto voice, as she rose with a silly expression onher face. 

When the servant had opened the door to her, Helene had pictured ascene entirely different from this. She had imagined that she wouldfind Juliette displaying excessive nervousness, with pallid cheeks, hesitating and yet allured, shivering at the very thought ofassignation. She had pictured herself imploring her to reflect, tillthe young woman, choked with sobs, threw herself into her arms. Thenthey would have mingled their tears together, and Helene would havequitted her with the thought that Henri was henceforward lost to her, but that she had secured his happiness. However, there had beennothing of all this; she had merely fallen on this rehearsal, whichwas wholly unintelligible to her; and she saw Juliette before her withunruffled features, like one who has had a good night's rest, and withher mind sufficiently at ease to discuss Madame Berthier's by-play, without troubling herself in the least degree about what she would doin the afternoon. This indifference and frivolity chilled Helene, whohad come to the house with passion consuming her. 

A longing to speak fell on her. At a venture she inquired: "Who willplay the part of Chavigny?"

"Why, Malignon, of course, " answered Juliette, turning round with anair of astonishment. "He played Chavigny all last winter. It's anuisance he can't come to the rehearsals. Listen, ladies; I'm going toread Chavigny's part. Unless that's done, we shall never get on. "

Thereupon she herself began acting the man's part, her voice deepeningunconsciously, whilst she assumed a cavalier air in harmony with thesituation. Madame Berthier renewed her warbling tones, and Madame deGuiraud took infinite pains to be lively and witty. When Pierre camein to put some more wood on the fire he slyly glanced at the ladies, who amused him immensely. 

Helene, still fixed in her resolve, despite some heart-shrinking, attempted however to take Juliette aside. 

"Only a minute. I've something to say to you. "

"Oh, impossible, my dear! You see how much I am engaged. To-morrow, ifyou have the time. "

Helene said no more. The young woman's unconcern displeased her. Shefelt anger growing within her as she observed how calm and collectedJuliette was, when she herself had endured such intense agony sincethe night before. At one moment she was on the point of rising andletting things take their course. It was exceedingly foolish of her towish to save this woman; her nightmare began once more; her handsslipped into her pocket, and finding the letter there, clasped it in afeverish grasp. Why should she have any care for the happiness ofothers, when they had no care for her and did not suffer as she did?

"Oh! capital, capital, " exclaimed Juliette of a sudden. 

Madame Berthier's head was now reclining on Madame de Guiraud'sshoulder, and she was declaring through her sobs: "'I am sure that heloves her; I am sure of it!'"

"Your success will be immense, " said Juliette. "Say that once more: 'Iam sure that he loves her; I am sure of it. ' Leave your head as it is. You're divine. Now, Madame de Guiraud, your turn. "

"'No, no, my child, it cannot be; it is a caprice, a fancy, '" repliedthe stout lady. 

"Perfect! but oh, the scene is a long one, isn't it? Let us rest alittle while. We must have that incident in proper working order. "

Then they all three plunged into a discussion regarding thearrangement of the drawing-room. The dining-room door, to the left, would serve for entrances and exits; an easy-chair could be placed onthe right, a couch at the farther end, and the table could be pushedclose to the fireplace. Helene, who had risen, followed them about, asthough she felt an interest in these scenic arrangements. She had nowabandoned her idea of eliciting an explanation, and merely wished tomake a last effort to prevent Juliette from going to the place ofmeeting. 

"I intended asking you, " she said to her, "if it isn't to-day that youmean to pay Madame de Chermette a visit?"

"Yes, this afternoon. "

"Then, if you'll allow me, I'll go with you; it's such a long timesince I promised to go to see her. "

For a moment Juliette betrayed signs of embarrassment, but speedilyregained her self-possession. 

"Of course, I should be very happy. Only I have so many things to lookafter; I must do some shopping first, and I have no idea at what timeI shall be able to get to Madame de Chermette's. "

"That doesn't matter, " said Helene; "it will enable me to have awalk. "

"Listen; I will speak to you candidly. Well, you must not press me. You would be in my way. Let it be some other Monday. "

This was said without a trace of emotion, so flatly and with so quieta smile that Helene was dumbfounded and uttered not another syllable. She was obliged to lend some assistance to Juliette, who suddenlydecided to bring the table close to the fireplace. Then she drew back, and the rehearsal began once more. In a soliloquy which followed thescene, Madame de Guiraud with considerable power spoke these twosentences: "'But what a treacherous gulf is the heart of man! Intruth, we are worth more than they!'"

And Helene, what ought she to do now? Within her breast the questionraised a storm that stirred her to vague thoughts of violence. Sheexperienced an irresistible desire to be revenged on Juliette'stranquillity, as if that self-possession were an insult directedagainst her own fevered heart. She dreamed of facilitating her fall, that she might see whether she would always retain this unruffleddemeanor. And she thought of herself scornfully as she recalled herdelicacy and scruples. Twenty times already she ought to have said toHenri: "I love you; let us go away together. " Could she have done so, however, without the most intense emotion? Could she have displayedthe callous composure of this woman, who, three hours before her firstassignation, was rehearsing a comedy in her own home? Even at thismoment she trembled more than Juliette; what maddened her was theconsciousness of her own passion amidst the quiet cheerfulness of thisdrawing-room; she was terrified lest she should burst out into someangry speech. Was she a coward, then?

But all at once a door opened, and Henri's voice reached her ear: "Donot disturb yourselves. I'm only passing. "

The rehearsal was drawing to a close. Juliette, who was still readingChavigny's part, had just caught hold of Madame de Guiraud's hand. "Ernestine, I adore you!" she exclaimed with an outburst of passionateearnestness. 

"Then Madame de Blainville is no longer beloved by you?" inquiredMadame de Guiraud. 

However, so long as her husband was present Juliette declined toproceed. There was no need of the men knowing anything about it. Thedoctor showed himself most polite to the ladies; he complimented themand predicted an immense success. With black gloves on his hands andhis face clean-shaven he was about to begin his round of visits. Onhis entry he had merely greeted Helene with a slight bow. At theComedie Francais he had seen some very great actress in the characterof Madame de Lery, and he acquainted Madame de Guiraud with some ofthe usual by-play of the scene. 

"At the moment when Chavigny is going to throw himself at your feet, you fling the purse into the fire. Dispassionately, you know, withoutany anger, like a woman who plays with love. "

"All right; leave us alone, " said Juliette. "We know all about it. "

At last, when they had heard him close his study door, she began oncemore: "Ernestine, I adore you!"

Prior to his departure Henri had saluted Helene with the same slightbow. She sat dumb, as though awaiting some catastrophe. The suddenappearance of the husband had seemed to her ominous; but when he hadgone, his courtesy and evident blindness made him seem to herridiculous. So he also gave attention to this idiotic comedy! Andthere was no loving fire in his eye as he looked at her sitting there!The whole house had become hateful and cold to her. Here was adownfall; there was nothing to restrain her any longer, for sheabhorred Henri as much as Juliette. Within her pocket she held theletter in her convulsive grasp. At last, murmuring "Good-bye for thepresent, " she quitted the room, her head swimming and the furnitureseeming to dance around her. And in her ears rang these words, utteredby Madame de Guiraud:

"Adieu. You will perhaps think badly of me to-day, but you will havesome kindly feeling for me to-morrow, and, believe me, that is muchbetter than a caprice. "

When Helene had shut the house door and reached the pavement, she drewthe letter with a violent, almost mechanical gesture from her pocket, and dropped it into the letter-box. Then she stood motionless for afew seconds, still dazed, her eyes glaring at the narrow brass platewhich had fallen back again in its place. 

"It is done, " she exclaimed in a whisper. 

Once more she pictured the rooms hung with pink cretonne. Malignon andJuliette were there together; but all of a sudden the wall was rivenopen, and the husband entered. She was conscious of no more, and agreat calm fell on her. Instinctively she looked around to see if anyone had observed her dropping the letter in the box. But the streetwas deserted. Then she turned the corner and went back home. 

"Have you been good, my darling?" she asked as she kissed Jeanne. 

The child, still seated on the same chair, raised a gloomy facetowards her, and without answering threw both arms around her neck, and kissed her with a great gasp. Her grief indeed had been intense. 

At lunch-time Rosalie seemed greatly surprised. "Madame surely wentfor a long walk!" said she. 

"Why do you think so?" asked Helene. 

"Because madame is eating with such an appetite. It is long sincemadame ate so heartily. "

It was true; she was very hungry; with her sudden relief she had felther stomach empty. She experienced a feeling of intense peace andcontent. After the shocks of these last two days a stillness fell uponher spirit, her limbs relaxed and became as supple as though she hadjust left a bath. The only sensation that remained to her was one ofheaviness somewhere, an indefinable load that weighed upon her. 

When she returned to her bedroom her eyes were at once directedtowards the clock, the hands of which pointed to twenty-five minutespast twelve. Juliette's assignation was for three o'clock. Two hoursand a half must still elapse. She made the reckoning mechanically. Moreover, she was in no hurry; the hands of the clock were moving on, and no one in the world could stop them. She left things to their ownaccomplishment. A child's cap, long since begun, was lying unfinishedon the table. She took it up and began to sew at the window. The roomwas plunged in unbroken silence. Jeanne had seated herself in herusual place, but her arms hung idly beside her. 

"Mamma, " she said, "I cannot work; it's no fun at all. "

"Well, my darling, don't do anything. Oh! wait a minute, you canthread my needles!"

In a languid way the child silently attended to the duty assigned her. Having carefully cut some equal lengths of cotton, she spent a longtime in finding the eyes of the needles, and was only just ready withone of them threaded when her mother had finished with the last. 

"You see, " said the latter gently, "this will save time. The last ofmy six little caps will be finished to-night. "

She turned round to glance at the clock--ten minutes past one. Stillnearly two hours. Juliette must now be beginning to dress. Henri hadreceived the letter. Oh! he would certainly go. The instructions wereprecise; he would find the place without delay. But it all seemed sofar off still, and she felt no emotional fever, but went on sewingwith regular stitches as industriously as a work-girl. The minutesslipped by one by one. At last two o'clock struck. 

A ring at the bell came as a surprise. 

"Who can it be, mother darling?" asked Jeanne, who had jumped on herchair. "Oh! it's you!" she continued, as Monsieur Rambaud entered theroom. "Why did you ring so loudly? You gave me quite a fright. "

The worthy man was in consternation--to tell the truth, his tug at thebell had been a little too violent. 

"I am not myself to-day, I'm ill, " the child resumed. "You must notfrighten me. "

Monsieur Rambaud displayed the greatest solicitude. What was thematter with his poor darling? He only sat down, relieved, when Helenehad signed to him that the child was in her dismals, as Rosalie waswont to say. A call from him in the daytime was a rare occurrence, andso he at once set about explaining the object of his visit. Itconcerned some fellow-townsman of his, an old workman who could findno employment owing to his advanced years, and who lived with hisparalytic wife in a tiny little room. Their wretchedness could not bepictured. He himself had gone up that morning to make a personalinvestigation. Their lodging was a mere hole under the tiles, with aswing window, through whose broken panes the wind beat in. Inside, stretched on a mattress, he had found a woman wrapped in an oldcurtain, while the man squatted on the floor in a state ofstupefaction, no longer finding sufficient courage even to sweep theplace. 

"Oh! poor things, poor things!" exclaimed Helene, moved to tears. 

It was not the old workman who gave Monsieur Rambaud any uneasiness. He would remove him to his own house and find him something to do. Butthere was the wife with palsied frame, whom the husband dared notleave for a moment alone, and who had to be rolled up like a bundle;where could she be put? what was to be done with her?

"I thought of you, " he went on. "You must obtain her instant admissionto an asylum. I should have gone straight to Monsieur Deberle, but Iimagined you knew him better and would have greater influence withhim. If he would be kind enough to interest himself in the matter, itcould all be arranged to-morrow. "

Trembling with pity, her cheeks white, Jeanne listened to the tale. 

"Oh, mamma!" she murmured with clasped hands, "be kind--get theadmission for the poor woman!"

"Yes, yes, of course!" said Helene, whose emotion was increasing. "Iwill speak to the doctor as soon as I can; he will himself take everyrequisite step. Give me their names and the address, MonsieurRambaud. "

He scribbled a line on the table, and said as he rose: "It isthirty-five minutes past two. You would perhaps find the doctor athome now. "

She had risen at the same time, and as she looked at the clock afierce thrill swept through her frame. In truth it was alreadythirty-five minutes past two, and the hands were still creeping on. She stammered out that the doctor must have started on his round ofvisits. Her eyes were riveted on the dial. Meantime, Monsieur Rambaudremained standing hat in hand, and beginning his story once more. These poor people had sold everything, even their stove, and since thesetting in of winter had spent their days and nights alike without afire. At the close of December they had been four days without food. Helene gave vent to a cry of compassion. The hands of the clock nowmarked twenty minutes to three. Monsieur Rambaud devoted another twominutes to his farewell: "Well, I depend on you, " he said. Andstooping to kiss Jeanne, he added: "Good-bye, my darling. "

"Good-bye; don't worry; mamma won't forget. I'll make her remember. "

When Helene came back from the ante-room, whither she had gone incompany with Monsieur Rambaud, the hands of the clock pointed to aquarter to three. Another quarter of an hour and all would be over. Asshe stood motionless before the fireplace, the scene which was aboutto be enacted flashed before her eyes: Juliette was already there;Henri entered and surprised her. She knew the room; she could see thescene in its minutest details with terrible vividness. And stillaffected by Monsieur Rambaud's awful story she felt a mighty shudderrise from her limbs to her face. A voice cried out within her thatwhat she had done--the writing of that letter, that cowardlydenunciation--was a crime. The truth came to her with dazzlingclearness. Yes, it was a crime she had committed! She recalled tomemory the gesture with which she had flung the letter into the box;she recalled it with a sense of stupor such as might come over one onseeing another commit an evil action, without thought of intervening. She was as if awaking from a dream. What was it that had happened? Whywas she here, with eyes ever fixed on the hands of that dial? Two moreminutes had slipped away. 

"Mamma, " said Jeanne, "if you like, we'll go to see the doctortogether to-night. It will be a walk for me. I feel stifling to-day. "

Helene, however, did not hear; thirteen minutes must yet elapse. Butshe could not allow so horrible a thing to take place! In this stormyawakening of her rectitude she felt naught but a furious craving toprevent it. She must prevent it; otherwise she would be unable tolive. In a state of frenzy she ran about her bedroom. 

"Ah, you're going to take me!" exclaimed Jeanne joyously. "We're goingto see the doctor at once, aren't we, mother darling?"

"No, no, " Helene answered, while she hunted for her boots, stooping tolook under the bed. 

They were not to be found; but she shrugged her shoulders with supremeindifference when it occurred to her that she could very well run outin the flimsy house-slippers she had on her feet. She was now turningthe wardrobe topsy-turvy in her search for her shawl. Jeanne crept upto her with a coaxing air: "Then you're not going to the doctor's, mother darling?"

"No. "

"Say that you'll take me all the same. Oh! do take me; it will be sucha pleasure!"

But Helene had at last found her shawl, and she threw it over hershoulders. Good heavens! only twelve minutes left--just time to run. She would go--she would do something, no matter what. She would decideon the way. 

"Mamma dear, do please take me with you, " said Jeanne in tones thatgrew lower and more imploring. 

"I cannot take you, " said Helene; "I'm going to a place where childrendon't go. Give me my bonnet. "

Jeanne's face blanched. Her eyes grew dim, her words came with a gasp. "Where are you going?" she asked. 

The mother made no reply--she was tying the strings of her bonnet. 

Then the child continued: "You always go out without me now. You wentout yesterday, you went out to-day, and you are going out again. Oh, I'm dreadfully grieved, I'm afraid to be here all alone. I shall dieif you leave me here. Do you hear, mother darling? I shall die. "

Then bursting into loud sobs, overwhelmed by a fit of grief and rage, she clung fast to Helene's skirts. 

"Come, come, leave me; be good, I'm coming back, " her mother repeated. 

"No, no! I won't have it!" the child exclaimed through her sobs. "Oh!you don't love me any longer, or you would take me with you. Yes, yes, I am sure you love other people better. Take me with you, take me withyou, or I'll stay here on the floor; you'll come back and find me onthe floor. "

She wound her little arms round her mother's legs; she wept with faceburied in the folds of her dress; she clung to her and weighed uponher to prevent her making a step forward. And still the hands of theclock moved steadily on; it was ten minutes to three. Then Helenethought that she would never reach the house in time, and, nearlydistracted, she wrenched Jeanne from her grasp, exclaiming: "What anunbearable child! This is veritable tyranny! If you sob any more, I'llhave something to say to you!"

She left the room and slammed the door behind her. Jeanne hadstaggered back to the window, her sobs suddenly arrested by thisbrutal treatment, her limbs stiffened, her face quite white. Shestretched her hands towards the door, and twice wailed out the words:"Mamma! mamma!" And then she remained where she had fallen on a chair, with eyes staring and features distorted by the jealous thought thather mother was deceiving her. 

On reaching the street, Helene hastened her steps. The rain hadceased, but great drops fell from the housetops on to her shoulders. She had resolved that she would reflect outside and fix on some plan. But now she was only inflamed with a desire to reach the house. Whenshe reached the Passage des Eaux, she hesitated for just one moment. The descent had become a torrent; the water of the gutters of the RueRaynouard was rushing down it. And as the stream bounded over thesteps, between the close-set walls, it broke here and there into foam, whilst the edges of the stones, washed clear by the downpour, shoneout like glass. A gleam of pale light, falling from the grey sky, madethe Passage look whiter between the dusky branches of the trees. Helene went down it, scarcely raising her skirts. The water came up toher ankles. She almost lost her flimsy slippers in the puddles; aroundher, down the whole way, she heard a gurgling sound, like themurmuring of brooklets coursing through the grass in the depths of thewoods. 

All at once she found herself on the stairs in front of the door. Shestood there, panting in a state of torture. Then her memory came back, and she decided to knock at the kitchen. 

"What! is it you?" exclaimed Mother Fetu. 

There was none of the old whimper in her voice. Her little eyes weresparkling, and a complacent grin had spread over the myriad wrinklesof her face. All the old deference vanished, and she patted Helene'shands as she listened to her broken words. The young woman gave hertwenty francs. 

"May God requite you!" prayed Mother Fetu in her wonted style. "Whatever you please, my dear!"

 CHAPTER XIX. 

Leaning back in an easy-chair, with his legs stretched out before thehuge, blazing fire, Malignon sat waiting. He had considered it a goodidea to draw the window-curtains and light the wax candles. The outerroom, in which he had seated himself, was brilliantly illuminated by asmall chandelier and a pair of candelabra; whilst the other apartmentwas plunged in shadow, the swinging crystal lamp alone casting on thefloor a twilight gleam. Malignon drew out his watch. 

"The deuce!" he muttered. "Is she going to keep me waiting again?"

He gave vent to a slight yawn. He had been waiting for an houralready, and it was small amusement to him. However, he rose and casta glance over his preparations. 

The arrangement of the chairs did not please him, and he rolled acouch in front of the fireplace. The cretonne hangings had a ruddyglow, as they reflected the light of the candles; the room was warm, silent, and cozy, while outside the wind came and went in suddengusts. All at once the young man heard three hurried knocks at thedoor. It was the signal. 

"At last!" he exclaimed aloud, his face beaming jubilantly. 

He ran to open the door, and Juliette entered, her face veiled, herfigure wrapped in a fur mantle. While Malignon was gently closing thedoor, she stood still for a moment, with the emotion that checked thewords on her lips undetected. 

However, before the young man had had time to take her hand, sheraised her veil, and displayed a smiling face, rather pale, but quiteunruffled. 

"What! you have lighted up the place!" she exclaimed. "Why? I thoughtyou hated candles in broad daylight!"

Malignon, who had been making ready to clasp her with a passionategesture that he had been rehearsing, was put somewhat out ofcountenance by this remark, and hastened to explain that the day wastoo wretched, and that the windows looked on to waste patches ofground. Besides, night was his special delight. 

"Well, one never knows how to take you, " she retorted jestingly. "Lastspring, at my children's ball, you made such a fuss, declaring thatthe place was like some cavern, some dead-house. However, let us saythat your taste has changed. "

She seemed to be paying a mere visit, and affected a courage whichslightly deepened her voice. This was the only indication of heruneasiness. At times her chin twitched somewhat, as though she feltsome uneasiness in her throat. But her eyes were sparkling, and shetasted to the full the keen pleasure born of her imprudence. Shethought of Madame de Chermette, of whom such scandalous stories wererelated. Good heavens! it seemed strange all the same. 

"Let us have a look round, " she began. 

And thereupon she began inspecting the apartment. He followed in herfootsteps, while she gazed at the furniture, examined the walls, looked upwards, and started back, chattering all the time. 

"I don't like your cretonne; it is so frightfully common!" said she. "Where did you buy that abominable pink stuff? There's a chair thatwould be nice if the wood weren't covered with gilding. Not a picture, not a nick-nack--only your chandelier and your candelabra, which areby no means in good style! Ah well, my dear fellow; I advise you tocontinue laughing at my Japanese pavilion!"

She burst into a laugh, thus revenging herself on him for the oldaffronts which still rankled in her breast. 

"Your taste is a pretty one, and no mistake! You don't know that myidol is worth more than the whole lot of your things! A draper'sshopman wouldn't have selected that pink stuff. Was it your idea tofascinate your washerwoman?"

Malignon felt very much hurt, and did not answer. He made an attemptto lead her into the inner room; but she remained on the threshold, declaring that she never entered such gloomy places. Besides, shecould see quite enough; the one room was worthy of the other. Thewhole of it had come from the Saint-Antoine quarter. 

But the hanging lamp was her special aversion. She attacked it withmerciless raillery--what a trashy thing it was, such as some littlework-girl with no furniture of her own might have dreamt of! Why, lamps in the same style could be bought at all the bazaars at sevenfrancs fifty centimes apiece. 

"I paid ninety francs for it, " at last ejaculated Malignon in hisimpatience. 

Thereupon she seemed delighted at having angered him. 

On his self-possession returning, he inquired: "Won't you take offyour cloak?"

"Oh, yes, I will, " she answered; "it is dreadfully warm here. "

She took off her bonnet as well, and this with her fur cloak hehastened to deposit in the next room. When he returned, he found herseated in front of the fire, still gazing round her. She had regainedher gravity, and was disposed to display a more conciliatory demeanor. 

"It's all very ugly, " she said; "still, you are not amiss here. Thetwo rooms might have been made very pretty. "

"Oh! they're good enough for my purpose!" he thoughtlessly replied, with a careless shrug of the shoulders. 

The next moment, however, he bitterly regretted these silly words. Hecould not possibly have been more impertinent or clumsy. Juliette hungher head, and a sharp pang darted through her bosom. Then he sought toturn to advantage the embarrassment into which he had plunged her. 

"Juliette!" he said pleadingly, as he leaned towards her. 

But with a gesture she forced him to resume his seat. It was at theseaside, at Trouville, that Malignon, bored to death by the constantsight of the sea, had hit upon the happy idea of falling in love. Oneevening he had taken hold of Juliette's hand. She had not seemedoffended; in fact, she had at first bantered him over it. Soon, thoughher head was empty and her heart free, she imagined that she lovedhim. She had, so far, done nearly everything that her friends didaround her; a lover only was lacking, and curiosity and a craving tobe like the others had impelled her to secure one. However, Malignonwas vain enough to imagine that he might win her by force of wit, andallowed her time to accustom herself to playing the part of acoquette. So, on the first outburst, which took place one night whenthey stood side by side gazing at the sea like a pair of lovers in acomic opera, she had repelled him, in her astonishment and vexationthat he should spoil the romance which served as an amusement to her. 

On his return to Paris Malignon had vowed that he would be moreskilful in his attack. He had just reacquired influence over her, during a fit of boredom which had come on with the close of a wearyingwinter, when the usual dissipations, dinners, balls, and first-nightperformances were beginning to pall on her with their dreary monotony. And at last, her curiosity aroused, allured by the seeming mystery andpiquancy of an intrigue, she had responded to his entreaties byconsenting to meet him. However, so wholly unruffled were herfeelings, that she was as little disturbed, seated here by the side ofMalignon, as when she paid visits to artists' studios to solicitpictures for her charity bazaars. 

"Juliette! Juliette!" murmured the young man, striving to speak incaressing tones. 

"Come, be sensible, " she merely replied; and taking a Chinese fan fromthe chimney-piece, she resumed--as much at her ease as though she hadbeen sitting in her own drawing-room: "You know we had a rehearsalthis morning. I'm afraid I have not made a very happy choice in MadameBerthier. Her 'Mathilda' is a snivelling, insufferable affair. Youremember that delightful soliloquy when she addresses the purse--'Poorlittle thing, I kissed you a moment ago'? Well! she declaims it like aschool-girl who has learnt a complimentary greeting. It's sovexatious!"

"And what about Madame de Guiraud?" he asked, as he drew his chaircloser and took her hand. 

"Oh! she is perfection. I've discovered in her a 'Madame de Lery, 'with some sarcasm and animation. "

While speaking she surrendered her hand to the young man, and hekissed it between her sentences without her seeming to notice it. 

"But the worst of it all, you know, " she resumed, "is your absence. Inthe first place, you might say something to Madame Berthier; andbesides, we shall not be able to get a good _ensemble_ if you nevercome. "

He had now succeeded in passing his arm round her waist. 

"But as I know my part, " he murmured. 

"Yes, that's all very well; but there's the arrangement of the scenesto look after. It is anything but obliging on your part to refuse togive us three or four mornings. "

She was unable to continue, for he was raining a shower of kisses onher neck. At this she could feign ignorance no longer, but pushed himaway, tapping him the while with the Chinese fan which she stillretained in her hand. Doubtless, she had registered a vow that shewould not allow any further familiarity. Her face was now flushed bythe heat reflected from the fire, and her lips pouted with the veryexpression of an inquisitive person whom her feelings astonish. Moreover, she was really getting frightened. 

"Leave me alone, " she stammered, with a constrained smile. "I shallget angry. "

But he imagined that he had moved her, and once more took hold of herhands. To her, however, a voice seemed to be crying out, "No!" It wasshe herself protesting before she had even answered her own heart. 

"No, no!" she said again. "Let me go; you are hurting me!" Andthereupon, as he refused to release her, she twisted herself violentlyfrom his grasp. She was acting in obedience to some strange emotion;she felt angry with herself and with him. In her agitation somedisjointed phrases escaped her lips. Yes, indeed, he rewarded herbadly for her trust. What a brute he was! She even called him acoward. Never in her life would she see him again. But he allowed herto talk on, and ran after her with a wicked and brutal laugh. And atlast she could do no more than gasp in the momentary refuge which shehad sought behind a chair. They were there, gazing at one another, herface transformed by shame and his by passion, when a noise brokethrough the stillness. At first they did not grasp its significance. Adoor had opened, some steps crossed the room, and a voice called tothem:

"Fly! fly! You will be caught!"

It was Helene. Astounded, they both gazed at her. So great was theirstupefaction that they lost consciousness of their embarrassingsituation. Juliette indeed displayed no sign of confusion. 

"Fly! fly!" said Helene again. "Your husband will be here in twominutes. "

"My husband!" stammered the young woman; "my husband!--why--for whatreason?"

She was losing her wits. Her brain was in a turmoil. It seemed to herprodigious that Helene should be standing there speaking to her of herhusband. 

But Helene made an angry gesture. 

"Oh! if you think I've time to explain, " said she, --"he is on the wayhere. I give you warning. Disappear at once, both of you. "

Then Juliette's agitation became extraordinary. She ran about therooms like a maniac, screaming out disconnected sentences. 

"My God! my God!--I thank you. --Where is my cloak?--How horrid it is, this room being so dark!--Give me my cloak. --Bring me a candle, tohelp me to find my cloak. --My dear, you mustn't mind if I don't stopto thank you. --I can't get my arms into the sleeves--no, I can't getthem in--no, I can't!"

She was paralyzed with fear, and Helene was obliged to assist her withher cloak. She put her bonnet on awry, and did not even tie theribbons. The worst of it, however, was that they lost quite a minutein hunting for her veil, which had fallen on the floor. Her words camewith a gasp; her trembling hands moved about in bewilderment, fumblingover her person to ascertain whether she might be leaving anythingbehind which might compromise her. 

"Oh, what a lesson! what a lesson! Thank goodness, it is well over!"

Malignon was very pale, and made a sorry appearance. His feet beat atattoo on the ground, as he realized that he was both scorned andridiculous. His lips could only give utterance to the wretchedquestion:

"Then you think I ought to go away as well?"

Then, as no answer was vouchsafed him, he took up his cane, and wenton talking by way of affecting perfect composure. They had plenty oftime, said he. It happened that there was another staircase, a smallservants' staircase, now never used, but which would yet allow oftheir descent. Madame Deberle's cab had remained at the door; it wouldconvey both of them away along the quays. And again he repeated: "Nowcalm yourself. It will be all right. See, this way. "

He threw open a door, and the three dingy, dilapidated, little rooms, which had not been repaired and were full of dirt, appeared to view. Apuff of damp air entered the boudoir. Juliette, ere she steppedthrough all that squalor, gave final expression to her disgust. 

"How could I have come here?" she exclaimed in a loud voice. "What ahole! I shall never forgive myself. "

"Be quick, be quick!" urged Helene, whose anxiety was as great as herown. 

She pushed Juliette forward, but the young woman threw herself sobbingon her neck. She was in the throes of a nervous reaction. She wasoverwhelmed with shame, and would fain have defended herself, fainhave given a reason for being found in that man's company. Theninstinctively she gathered up her skirts, as though she were about tocross a gutter. With the tip of his boot Malignon, who had gone onfirst, was clearing away the plaster which littered the backstaircase. The doors were shut once more. 

Meantime, Helene had remained standing in the middle of thesitting-room. Silence reigned there, a warm, close silence, onlydisturbed by the crackling of the burnt logs. There was a singing inher ears, and she heard nothing. But after an interval, which seemedto her interminable, the rattle of a cab suddenly resounded. It wasJuliette's cab rolling away. 

Then Helene sighed, and she made a gesture of mute gratitude. Thethought that she would not be tortured by everlasting remorse forhaving acted despicably filled her with pleasant and thankfulfeelings. She felt relieved, deeply moved, and yet so weak, now thatthis awful crisis was over, that she lacked the strength to depart inher turn. In her heart she thought that Henri was coming, and that hemust meet some one in this place. There was a knock at the door, andshe opened it at once. 

The first sensation on either side was one of bewilderment. Henrientered, his mind busy with thoughts of the letter which he hadreceived, and his face pale and uneasy. But when he caught sight ofher a cry escaped his lips. 

"You! My God! It was you!"

The cry betokened more astonishment than pleasure. But soon there camea furious awakening of his love. 

"You love me, you love me!" he stammered. "Ah! it was you, and I didnot understand. "

He stretched out his arm as he spoke; but Helene, who had greeted hisentrance with a smile, now started back with wan cheeks. Truly she hadwaited for him; she had promised herself that they would be togetherfor a moment, and that she would invent some fiction. Now, however, full consciousness of the situation flashed upon her; Henri believedit to be an assignation. Yet she had never for one moment desired sucha thing, and her heart rebelled. 

"Henri, I pray you, release me, " said she. 

He had grasped her by the wrists, and was drawing her slowly towardshim, as though to kiss her. The love that had been surging within himfor months, but which had grown less violent owing to the break intheir intimacy, now burst forth more fiercely than ever. 

"Release me, " she resumed. "You are frightening me. I assure you, youare mistaken. "

His surprise found voice once more. 

"Was it not you then who wrote to me?" he asked. 

She hesitated for a second. What could she say in answer?

"Yes, " she whispered at last. 

She could not betray Juliette after having saved her. An abyss laybefore her into which she herself was slipping. Henri was now glancinground the two rooms in wonderment at finding them illumined andfurnished in such gaudy style. He ventured to question her. 

"Are these rooms yours?" he asked. 

But she remained silent. 

"Your letter upset me so, " he continued. "Helene, you are hidingsomething from me. For mercy's sake, relieve my anxiety!"

She was not listening to him; she was reflecting that he was indeedright in considering this to be an assignation. Otherwise, what couldshe have been doing there? Why should she have waited for him? Shecould devise no plausible explanation. She was no longer certainwhether she had not given him this rendezvous. A network of chance andcircumstance was enveloping her yet more tightly; there was no escapefrom it. Each second found her less able to resist. 

"You were waiting for me, you were waiting for me!" he repeatedpassionately, as he bent his head to kiss her. And then as his lipsmet hers she felt it beyond her power to struggle further; but, asthough in mute acquiescence, fell, half swooning and oblivious of theworld, upon his neck. 

[Illustration: The meeting of Helene and Henri]

 CHAPTER XX. 

Jeanne, with her eyes fixed on the door, remained plunged in griefover her mother's sudden departure. She gazed around her; the room wasempty and silent; but she could still hear the waning sounds ofhurrying footsteps and rustling skirts, and last the slamming of theouter door. Then nothing stirred, and she was alone. 

All alone, all alone. Over the bed hung her mother's dressing-gown, flung there at random, the skirt bulging out and a sleeve lying acrossthe bolster, so that the garment looked like some person who hadfallen down overwhelmed with grief, and sobbing in misery. There wassome linen scattered about, and a black neckerchief lay on the floorlike a blot of mourning. The chairs were in disorder, the table hadbeen pushed in front of the wardrobe, and amidst it all she wasquite alone. She felt her tears choking her as she looked at thedressing-gown which no longer garmented her mother, but was stretchedthere with the ghastly semblance of death. She clasped her hands, andfor the last time wailed, "Mamma! mamma!" The blue velvet hangings, however, deadened the sound. It was all over, and she was alone. 

Then the time slipped away. The clock struck three. A dismal, dingylight came in through the windows. Dark clouds were sailing over thesky, which made it still gloomier. Through the panes of glass, whichwere covered with moisture, Paris could only be dimly seen; the wateryvapor blurred it; its far-away outskirts seemed hidden by thick smoke. Thus the city even was no longer there to keep the child company, ason bright afternoons, when, on leaning out a little, it seemed to heras though she could touch each district with her hand. 

What was she to do? Her little arms tightened in despair against herbosom. This desertion seemed to her mournful, passing all bounds, characterized by an injustice and wickedness that enraged her. She hadnever known anything so hateful; it struck her that everything wasgoing to vanish; nothing of the old life would ever come back again. Then she caught sight of her doll seated near her on a chair, with itsback against a cushion, and its legs stretched out, its eyes staringat her as though it were a human being. It was not her mechanicaldoll, but a large one with a pasteboard head, curly hair, and eyes ofenamel, whose fixed look sometimes frightened her. What with twoyears' constant dressing and undressing, the paint had got rubbed offthe chin and cheeks, and the limbs, of pink leather stuffed withsawdust, had become limp and wrinkled like old linen. The doll wasjust now in its night attire, arrayed only in a bed-gown, with itsarms twisted, one in the air and the other hanging downwards. WhenJeanne realized that there was still some one with her, she felt foran instant less unhappy. She took the doll in her arms and embraced itardently, while its head swung back, for its neck was broken. Then shechattered away to it, telling it that it was Jeanne's best-behavedfriend, that it had a good heart, for it never went out and leftJeanne alone. It was, said she, her treasure, her kitten, her dearlittle pet. Trembling with agitation, striving to prevent herself fromweeping again, she covered it all over with kisses. 

This fit of tenderness gave her some revengeful consolation, and thedoll fell over her arm like a bundle of rags. She rose and looked out, with her forehead against a window-pane. The rain had ceased falling, and the clouds of the last downpour, driven before the wind, werenearing the horizon towards the heights of Pere-Lachaise, which werewrapped in gloom; and against this stormy background Paris, illuminedby a uniform clearness, assumed a lonely, melancholy grandeur. Itseemed to be uninhabited, like one of those cities seen in anightmare--the reflex of a world of death. To Jeanne it certainlyappeared anything but pretty. She was now idly dreaming of those shehad loved since her birth. Her oldest sweetheart, the one of her earlydays at Marseilles, had been a huge cat, which was very heavy; shewould clasp it with her little arms, and carry it from one chair toanother without provoking its anger in the least; but it haddisappeared, and that was the first misfortune she remembered. She hadnext had a sparrow, but it died; she had picked it up one morning fromthe bottom of its cage. That made two. She never reckoned the toyswhich got broken just to grieve her, all kinds of wrongs which hadcaused her much suffering because she was so sensitive. One doll inparticular, no higher than one's hand, had driven her to despair bygetting its head smashed; she had cherished it to a such a degree thatshe had buried it by stealth in a corner of the yard; and some timeafterwards, overcome by a craving to look on it once more, she haddisinterred it, and made herself sick with terror whilst gazing on itsblackened and repulsive features. 

However, it was always the others who were the first to fail in theirlove. They got broken; they disappeared. The separation, at allevents, was invariably their fault. Why was it? She herself neverchanged. When she loved any one, her love lasted all her life. Hermind could not grasp the idea of neglect and desertion; such thingsseemed to her monstrously wicked, and never occurred to her littleheart without giving it a deadly pang. She shivered as a host of vagueideas slowly awoke within her. So people parted one day; each went hisown way, never to meet or love each other again. With her eyes fixedon the limitless and dreary expanse of Paris, she sat chilled by allthat her childish passion could divine of life's hard blows. 

Meantime her breath was fast dimming the glass. With her hands sherubbed away the vapor that prevented her from looking out. Severalmonuments in the distance, wet with the rain, glittered like brownyice. There were lines of houses, regular and distinct, which, withtheir fronts standing out pale amidst the surrounding roofs, lookedlike outstretched linen--some tremendous washing spread to dry onfields of ruddy grass. The sky was clearing, and athwart the tail ofthe cloud which still cloaked the city in gloom the milky rays of thesun were beginning to stream. A brightness seemed to be hesitatingover some of the districts; in certain places the sky would soon beginto smile. Jeanne gazed below, over the quay and the slopes of theTrocadero; the street traffic was about to begin afresh after thatviolent downpour. The cabs again passed by at a jolting crawl, whilethe omnibuses rattled along the still lonely streets with a loudernoise than usual. Umbrellas were being shut up, and wayfarers, who hadtaken shelter beneath the trees, ventured from one foot pavement toanother through muddy streams which were rushing into the gutters. 

Jeanne noticed with special interest a lady and a little girl, both ofthem fashionably dressed, who were standing beneath the awning of atoy-shop near the bridge. Doubtless they had been caught in theshower, and had taken refuge there. The child would fain have carriedaway the whole shop, and had pestered her mother to buy her a hoop. Both were now leaving, however, and the child was running along fullof glee, driving the hoop before her. At this Jeanne's melancholyreturned with intensified force; her doll became hideous. She longedto have a hoop and to be down yonder and run along, while her motherslowly walked behind her and cautioned her not to go too far. Then, however, everything became dim again. At each minute she had to rubthe glass clear. She had been enjoined never to open the window; butshe was full of rebellious thoughts; she surely might gaze out of thewindow, if she were not to be taken for a walk. So she opened it, andleaned out like a grown-up person--in imitation of her mother when sheensconced herself there and lapsed into silence. 

The air was mild, and moist in its mildness, which seemed to herdelightful. A darkness slowly rising over the horizon induced her tolift her head. To her imagination it seemed as if some gigantic birdwith outstretched wings were hovering on high. At first she sawnothing; the sky was clear; but at last, at the angle of the roof, agloomy cloud made its appearance, sailing on and speedily envelopingthe whole heaven. Another squall was rising before a roaring westwind. The daylight was quickly dying away, and the city grew dark, amidst a livid shimmer, which imparted to the house-fronts a rustytinge. 

Almost immediately afterwards the rain fell. The streets were swept byit; the umbrellas were again opened; and the passers-by, fleeing inevery direction, vanished like chaff. One old lady gripped her skirtswith both hands, while the torrent beat down on her bonnet as thoughit were falling from a spout. And the rain travelled on; the cloudkept pace with the water ragefully falling upon Paris; the big dropsenfiladed the avenues of the quays, with a gallop like that of arunaway horse, raising a white dust which rolled along the ground at aprodigious speed. They also descended the Champs-Elysees, plunged intothe long narrow streets of the Saint-Germain district, and at a boundfilled up all the open spaces and deserted squares. In a few seconds, behind this veil which grew thicker and thicker, the city paled andseemed to melt away. It was as though a curtain were being drawnobliquely from heaven to earth. Masses of vapor arose too; and thevast, splashing pit-a-pat was as deafening as any rattle of old iron. 

Jeanne, giddy with the noise, started back. A leaden wall seemed tohave been built up before her. But she was fond of rain; so shereturned, leaned out again, and stretched out her arms to feel thebig, cold rain-drops splashing on her hands. This gave her someamusement, and she got wet to the sleeves. Her doll must, of course, like herself, have a headache, and she therefore hastened to put itastride the window-rail, with its back against the side wall. Shethought, as she saw the drops pelting down upon it, that they weredoing it some good. Stiffly erect, its little teeth displayed in anever-fading smile, the doll sat there, with one shoulder streamingwith water, while every gust of wind lifted up its night-dress. Itspoor body, which had lost some of its sawdust stuffing, seemed to beshivering. 

What was the reason that had prevented her mother from taking her withher? wondered Jeanne. The rain that beat down on her hands seemed afresh inducement to be out. It must be very nice, she argued, in thestreet. Once more there flashed on her mind's eye the little girldriving her hoop along the pavement. Nobody could deny that she hadgone out with her mamma. Both of them had even seemed to beexceedingly well pleased. This was sufficient proof that little girlswere taken out when it rained. 

But, then, willingness on her mother's part was requisite. Why had shebeen unwilling? Then Jeanne again thought of her big cat which hadgone away over the houses opposite with its tail in the air, and ofthe poor little sparrow which she had tempted with food when it wasdead, and which had pretended that it did not understand. That kind ofthing always happened to her; nobody's love for her was enduringenough. Oh! she would have been ready in a couple of minutes; when shechose she dressed quickly enough; it was only a question of her boots, which Rosalie buttoned, her jacket, her hat, and it was done. Hermother might easily have waited two minutes for her. When she lefthome to see her friends, she did not turn her things all topsy-turvyas she had done that afternoon; when she went to the Bois de Boulogne, she led her gently by the hand, and stopped with her outside everyshop in the Rue de Passy. 

Jeanne could not get to the bottom of it; her black eyebrows frowned, and her delicate features put on a stern, jealous expression whichmade her resemble some wicked old maid. She felt in a vague way thather mother had gone to some place where children never go. She had notbeen taken out because something was to be hidden from her. Thisthought filled her with unutterable sadness, and her heart throbbedwith pain. 

The rain was becoming finer, and through the curtain which veiledParis glimpses of buildings were occasionally afforded. The dome ofthe Invalides, airy and quivering, was the first to reappear throughthe glittering vibration of the downpour. Next, some of the districtsemerged into sight as the torrent slackened; the city seemed to risefrom a deluge that had overwhelmed it, its roofs all streaming, andevery street filled with a river of water from which vapor stillascended. But suddenly there was a burst of light; a ray of sunshinefell athwart the shower. For a moment it was like a smile breakingthrough tears. 

The rain had now ceased to fall over the Champs-Elysees district; butit was sabring the left bank, the Cite, and the far-away suburbs; inthe sunshine the drops could be seen flashing down like innumerableslender shafts of steel. On the right a rainbow gleamed forth. As thegush of light streamed across the sky, touches of pink and blueappeared on the horizon, a medley of color, suggestive of a childishattempt at water-color painting. Then there was a sudden blaze--a fallof golden snow, as it were, over a city of crystal. But the light diedaway, a cloud rolled up, and the smile faded amidst tears; Parisdripped and dripped, with a prolonged sobbing noise, beneath theleaden-hued sky. 

Jeanne, with her sleeves soaked, was seized with a fit of coughing. But she was unconscious of the chill that was penetrating her; she wasnow absorbed in the thought that her mother had gone into Paris. Shehad come at last to know three buildings--the Invalides, the Pantheon, and the Tower of St. -Jacques. She now slowly went over their names, and pointed them out with her finger without attempting to think whatthey might be like were she nearer to them. Without doubt, however, her mother was down there; and she settled in her mind that she was inthe Pantheon, because it astonished her the most, huge as it was, towering up through the air, like the city's head-piece. Then shebegan to question herself. Paris was still to her the place wherechildren never go; she was never taken there. She would have liked toknow it, however, that she might have quietly said to herself: "Mammais there; she is doing such and such a thing. " But it all seemed toher too immense; it was impossible to find any one there. Then herglance travelled towards the other end of the plain. Might her mothernot rather be in one of that cluster of houses on the hill to theleft? or nearer in, beneath those huge trees, whose bare branchesseemed as dead as firewood? Oh! if she could only have lifted up theroofs! What could that gloomy edifice be? What was that street alongwhich something of enormous bulk seemed to be running? And what couldthat district be at sight of which she always felt frightened, convinced as she was that people fought one another there? She couldnot see it distinctly, but, to tell the truth, its aspects stirredone; it was very ugly, and must not be looked at by little girls. 

A host of indefinable ideas and suppositions, which brought her to theverge of weeping, awoke trouble in Jeanne's ignorant, childish mind. From the unknown world of Paris, with its smoke, its endless noises, its powerful, surging life, an odor of wretchedness, filth, and crimeseemed to be wafted to her through the mild, humid atmosphere, and shewas forced to avert her head, as though she had been leaning over oneof those pestilential pits which breathe forth suffocation fromtheir unseen horrors. The Invalides, the Pantheon, the Tower ofSaint-Jacques--these she named and counted; but she knew nothing ofanything else, and she sat there, terrified and ashamed, with theall-absorbing thought that her mother was among those wicked places, at some spot which she was unable to identify in the depths yonder. 

Suddenly Jeanne turned round. She could have sworn that somebody hadwalked into the bedroom, that a light hand had even touched hershoulder. But the room was empty, still in the same disorder as whenHelene had left. The dressing-gown, flung across the pillow, still layin the same mournful, weeping attitude. Then Jeanne, with pallidcheeks, cast a glance around, and her heart nearly burst within her. She was alone! she was alone! And, O Heaven, her mother, in forsakingher, had pushed her with such force that she might have fallen to thefloor. The thought came back to her with anguish; she again seemed tofeel the pain of that outrage on her wrists and shoulders. Why had shebeen struck? She had been good, and had nothing to reproach herselfwith. She was usually spoken to with such gentleness that thepunishment she had received awoke feelings of indignation within her. She was thrilled by a sensation of childish fear, as in the old timeswhen she was threatened with the approach of the wolf, and looked forit and saw it not: it was lingering in some shady corner, with manyother things that were going to overwhelm her. However, she was fullof suspicion; her face paled and swelled with jealous fury. Of asudden, the thought that her mother must love those whom she had goneto see far more than she loved her came upon her with such crushingforce that her little hands clutched her bosom. She knew it now; yes, her mother was false to her. 

Over Paris a great sorrow seemed to be brooding, pending the arrivalof a fresh squall. A murmur travelled through the darkened air, andheavy clouds were hovering overhead. Jeanne, still at the window, wasconvulsed by another fit of coughing; but in the chill she experiencedshe felt herself revenged; she would willingly have had her illnessreturn. With her hands pressed against her bosom, she grew consciousof some pain growing more intense within her. It was an agony to whichher body abandoned itself. She trembled with fear, and did not againventure to turn round; she felt quite cold at the idea of glancinginto the room any more. To be little means to be without strength. What could this new complaint be which filled her with mingled shameand bitter pleasure? With stiffened body, she sat there as if waiting--every one of her pure and innocent limbs in an agony of revulsion. From the innermost recesses of her being all her woman's feelings werearoused, and there darted through her a pang, as though she hadreceived a blow from a distance. Then with failing heart she cried outchokingly: "Mamma! mamma!" No one could have known whether she calledto her mother for aid, or whether she accused her of having inflictedon her the pain which seemed to be killing her. 

At that moment the tempest burst. Through the deep and ominousstillness the wind howled over the city, which was shrouded indarkness; and afterwards there came a long-continued crashing--window-shutters beating to and fro, slates flying, chimney-tops andgutter-pipes rattling on to the pavements. For a few seconds a calmensued; then there blew another gust, which swept along with suchmighty strength that the ocean of roofs seemed convulsed, tossingabout in waves, and then disappearing in a whirlpool. For a momentchaos reigned. Some enormous clouds, like huge blots of ink, sweptthrough a host of smaller ones, which were scattered and floated likeshreds of rag which the wind tore to pieces and carried off thread bythread. A second later two clouds rushed upon one another, and rentone another with crashing reports, which seemed to sprinkle thecoppery expanse with wreckage; and every time the hurricane thusveered, blowing from every point of the compass, the thunder ofopposing navies resounded in the atmosphere, and an awful rending andsinking followed, the hanging fragments of the clouds, jagged likehuge bits of broken walls, threatening Paris with imminent destruction. The rain was not yet falling. But suddenly a cloud burst above thecentral quarters, and a water-spout ascended the Seine. The river'sgreen ribbon, riddled and stirred to its depths by the splashing drops, became transformed into a stream of mud; and one by one, behind thedownpour, the bridges appeared to view again, slender and delicatelyoutlined in the mist; while, right and left, the trees edging the greypavements of the deserted quays were shaken furiously by the wind. Away in the background, over Notre-Dame, the cloud divided and poureddown such a torrent of water that the island of La Cite seemedsubmerged. Far above the drenched houses the cathedral towers alonerose up against a patch of clear sky, like floating waifs. 

On every side the water now rushed down from the heavens. Three timesin succession did the right bank appear to be engulfed. The first fallinundated the distant suburbs, gradually extending its area, andbeating on the turrets of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul and Saint-Jacques, which glistened in the rain. Then two other downpours, following inhot haste one upon the other, streamed over Montmartre and theChamps-Elysees. At times a glimpse could be obtained of the glass roofof the Palace of Industry, steaming, as it were, under the splashingwater; of Saint-Augustin, whose cupola swam in a kind of fog like aclouded moon; of the Madeleine, which spread out its flat roof, lookinglike some ancient court whose flagstones had been freshly scoured;while, in the rear, the huge mass of the Opera House made one think ofa dismasted vessel, which with its hull caught between two rocks, wasresisting the assaults of the tempest. 

On the left bank of the Seine, also hidden by a watery veil, youperceived the dome of the Invalides, the spires of Sainte-Clotilde, and the towers of Saint-Sulpice, apparently melting away in the moistatmosphere. Another cloud spread out, and from the colonnade of thePantheon sheets of water streamed down, threatening to inundate whatlay below. And from that moment the rain fell upon the city in alldirections; one might have imagined that the heavens wereprecipitating themselves on the earth; streets vanished, sank into thedepths, and men reappeared, drifting on the surface, amidst shockswhose violence seemed to foretell the end of the city. A prolongedroar ascended--the roar of all the water rushing along the gutters andfalling into the drains. And at last, above muddy-looking Paris, whichhad assumed with the showers a dingy-yellow hue, the livid cloudsspread themselves out in uniform fashion, without stain or rift. Therain was becoming finer, and was falling sharply and vertically; butwhenever the wind again rose, the grey hatching was curved into mightywaves, and the raindrops, driven almost horizontally, could be heardlashing the walls with a hissing sound, till, with the fall of thewind, they again fell vertically, peppering the soil with a quietobstinacy, from the heights of Passy away to the level plain ofCharenton. Then the vast city, as though overwhelmed and lifelessafter some awful convulsion, seemed but an expanse of stony ruinsunder the invisible heavens. 

Jeanne, who had sunk down by the window, had wailed out once more, "Mamma! mamma!" A terrible weariness deprived her limbs of theirstrength as she lingered there, face to face with the engulfing ofParis. Amidst her exhaustion, whilst the breeze played with hertresses, and her face remained wet with rain, she preserved some tasteof the bitter pleasure which had made her shiver, while within herheart there was a consciousness of some irretrievable woe. Everythingseemed to her to have come to an end; she realized that she wasgetting very old. The hours might pass away, but now she did not evencast a glance into the room. It was all the same to her to beforgotten and alone. Such despair possessed the child's heart that allaround her seemed black. If she were scolded, as of old, when she wasill, it would surely be very wrong. She was burning with fever;something like a sick headache was weighing on her. Surely too, but amoment ago, something had snapped within her. She could not preventit; she must inevitably submit to whatever might be her fate. Besides, weariness was prostrating her. She had joined her hands over thewindow-bar, on which she rested her head, and, though at times sheopened her eyes to gaze at the rain, drowsiness was stealing over her. 

And still and ever the rain kept beating down; the livid sky seemeddissolving in water. A final blast of wind had passed by; a monotonousroar could be heard. Amidst a solemn quiescence the sovereign rainpoured unceasingly upon the silent, deserted city it had conquered;and behind this sheet of streaked crystal Paris showed like somephantom place, with quivering outlines, which seemed to be meltingaway. To Jeanne the scene now brought nothing beyond sleepiness andhorrid dreams, as though all the mystery and unknown evil were risingup in vapor to pierce her through and make her cough. Every time sheopened her eyes she was seized with a fit of coughing, and wouldremain for a few seconds looking at the scene; which as her head fellback once more, clung to her mind, and seemed to spread over her andcrush her. 

The rain was still falling. What hour might it be now? Jeanne couldnot have told. Perhaps the clock had ceased going. It seemed to hertoo great a fatigue to turn round. It was surely at least a week sinceher mother had quitted her. She had abandoned all expectation of herreturn; she was resigned to the prospect of never seeing her again. Then she became oblivious of everything--the wrongs which had beendone her, the pain which she had just experienced, even the lonelinessin which she was suffered to remain. A weight, chilly like stone, fellupon her. This only was certain: she was very unhappy--ah! as unhappyas the poor little waifs to whom she gave alms as they huddledtogether in gateways. Ah! Heaven! how coughing racked one, and howpenetrating was the cold when there was no nobody to love one! Sheclosed her heavy eyelids, succumbing to a feverish stupor; and thelast of her thoughts was a vague memory of childhood, of a visit to amill, full of yellow wheat, and of tiny grains slipping undermillstones as huge as houses. 

Hours and hours passed away; each minute was a century. The rain beatdown without ceasing, with ever the same tranquil flow, as though alltime and eternity were allowed it to deluge the plain. Jeanne hadfallen asleep. Close by, her doll still sat astride the ironwindow-bar; and, with its legs in the room and its head outside, itsnightdress clinging to its rosy skin, its eyes glaring, and its hairstreaming with water, it looked not unlike a drowned child; and soemaciated did it appear in its comical yet distressing posture ofdeath, that it almost brought tears of pity to the eyes. Jeannecoughed in her sleep; but now she never once opened her eyes. Her headswayed to and fro on her crossed arms, and the cough spent itself in awheeze without awakening her. Nothing more existed for her. She sleptin the darkness. She did not even withdraw her hand, from whose cold, red fingers bright raindrops were trickling one by one into the vastexpanse which lay beneath the window. This went on for hours andhours. Paris was slowly waning on the horizon, like some phantom city;heaven and earth mingled together in an indistinguishable jumble; andstill and ever with unflagging persistency did the grey rain fall. 

 CHAPTER XXI. 

Night had long gathered in when Helene returned. From her umbrella thewater dripped on step after step, whilst clinging to the balusters sheascended the staircase. She stood for a few seconds outside her doorto regain her breath; the deafening rush of the rain still soundedin her ears; she still seemed to feel the jostling of hurryingfoot-passengers, and to see the reflections from the street-lampsdancing in the puddles. She was walking in a dream, filled with thesurprise of the kisses that had been showered upon her; and as shefumbled for her key she believed that her bosom felt neither remorsenor joy. Circumstances had compassed it all; she could have done naughtto prevent it. But the key was not to be found; it was doubtless inside, in the pocket of her other gown. At this discovery her vexation wasintense; it seemed as though she were denied admission to her ownhome. It became necessary that she should ring the bell. 

"Oh! it's madame!" exclaimed Rosalie as she opened the door. "I wasbeginning to feel uneasy. "

She took the umbrella, intending to place it in the kitchen sink, andthen rattled on:

"Good gracious! what torrents! Zephyrin, who has just come, wasdrenched to the skin. I took the liberty, madame, of keeping him todinner. He has leave till ten o'clock. "

Helene followed her mechanically. She felt a desire to look once moreon everything in her home before removing her bonnet. 

"You have done quite right, my girl, " she answered. 

For a moment she lingered on the kitchen threshold, gazing at thebright fire. Then she instinctively opened the door of a cupboard, andpromptly shut it again. Everything was in its place, chairs and tablesalike; she found them all again, and their presence gave her pleasure. Zephyrin had, in the meantime, struggled respectfully to his feet. Shenodded to him, smiling. 

"I didn't know whether to put the roast on, " began the maid. 

"Why, what time is it?" asked Helene. 

"Oh, it's close on seven o'clock, madame. "

"What! seven o'clock!"

Astonishment riveted her to the floor; she had lost all consciousnessof time, and seemed to awaken from a dream. 

"And where's Jeanne?" she asked. 

"Oh! she has been very good, madame. I even think she must have fallenasleep, for I haven't heard her for some time. "

"Haven't you given her a light?"

Embarrassment closed Rosalie's lips; she was unwilling to relate thatZephyrin had brought her some pictures which had engrossed herattention. Mademoiselle had never made the least stir, so she couldscarcely have wanted anything. Helene, however, paid no further heedto her, but ran into the room, where a dreadful chill fell upon her. 

"Jeanne! Jeanne!" she called. 

No answer broke the stillness. She stumbled against an arm-chair. Fromthe dining-room, the door of which she had left ajar, some lightstreamed across a corner of the carpet. She felt a shiver come overher, and she could have declared that the rain was falling in theroom, with its moist breath and continuous streaming. Then, on turningher head, she at once saw the pale square formed by the open windowand the gloomy grey of the sky. 

"Who can have opened this window?" she cried. "Jeanne! Jeanne!"

Still no answering word. A mortal terror fell on Helene's heart. Shemust look out of this window; but as she felt her way towards it, herhands lighted on a head of hair--it was Jeanne's. And then, as Rosalieentered with a lamp, the child appeared with blanched face, sleepingwith her cheek upon her crossed arms, while the big raindrops from theroof splashed upon her. Her breathing was scarcely perceptible, soovercome she was with despair and fatigue. Among the lashes of herlarge, bluey eyelids there were still two heavy tears. 

"The unhappy child!" stammered Helene. "Oh, heavens! she's icy cold!To fall asleep there, at such a time, when she had been expresslyforbidden to touch the window! Jeanne, Jeanne, speak to me; wake up, Jeanne!"

Rosalie had prudently vanished. The child, on being raised in hermother's embrace, let her head drop as though she were unable to shakeoff the leaden slumber that had seized upon her. At last, however, sheraised her eyelids; but the glare of the lamp dazzled her, and sheremained benumbed and stupid. 

"Jeanne, it's I! What's wrong with you? See, I've just come back, "said Helene. 

But the child seemingly failed to understand her; in her stupefactionshe could only murmur: "Oh! Ah!"

She gazed inquiringly at her mother, as though she failed to recognizeher. And suddenly she shivered, growing conscious of the cold air ofthe room. Her memory was awakening, and the tears rolled from hereyelids to her cheeks. Then she commenced to struggle, in the evidentdesire to be left alone. 

"It's you, it's you! Oh, leave me; you hold me too tight! I was socomfortable. "

She slipped from her mother's arms with affright in her face. Heruneasy looks wandered from Helene's hands to her shoulders; one ofthose hands was ungloved, and she started back from the touch of themoist palm and warm fingers with a fierce resentment, as thoughfleeing from some stranger's caress. The old perfume of vervain haddied away; Helene's fingers had surely become greatly attenuated, andher hand was unusually soft. This skin was no longer hers, and itstouch exasperated Jeanne. 

"Come, I'm not angry with you, " pleaded Helene. "But, indeed, have youbehaved well? Come and kiss me. "

Jeanne, however, still recoiled from her. She had no remembrance ofhaving seen her mother dressed in that gown or cloak. Besides, shelooked so wet and muddy. Where had she come from dressed in that dowdystyle. 

"Kiss me, Jeanne, " repeated Helene. 

But her voice also seemed strange; in Jeanne's ears it sounded louder. Her old heartache came upon her once more, as when an injury had beendone her; and unnerved by the presence of what was unknown andhorrible to her, divining, however, that she was breathing anatmosphere of falsehood, she burst into sobs. 

"No, no, I entreat you! You left me all alone; and oh! I've been somiserable!"

"But I'm back again, my darling. Don't weep any more; I've come home!"

"Oh no, no! it's all over now! I don't wish for you any more! Oh, Iwaited and waited, and have been so wretched!"

Helene took hold of the child again, and gently sought to draw her toher bosom; but she resisted stubbornly, plaintively exclaiming:

"No, no; it will never be the same! You are not the same!"

"What! What are you talking of, child?"

"I don't know; you are not the same. "

"Do you mean to say that I don't love you any more?"

"I don't know; you are no longer the same! Don't say no. You don'tfeel the same! It's all over, over, over. I wish to die!"

With blanching face Helene again clasped her in her arms. Did herlooks, then, reveal her secret? She kissed her, but a shudder ranthrough the child's frame, and an expression of such misery crept intoher face that Helene forbore to print a second kiss upon her brow. Shestill kept hold of her, but neither of them uttered a word. Jeanne'ssobbing fell to a whisper, a nervous revolt stiffening her limbs thewhile. Helene's first thought was that much notice ought not to bepaid to a child's whims; but to her heart there stole a feeling ofsecret shame, and the weight of her daughter's body on her shoulderbrought a blush to her cheeks. She hastened to put Jeanne down, andeach felt relieved. 

"Now, be good, and wipe your eyes, " said Helene. "We'll makeeverything all right. "

The child acquiesced in all gentleness, but seemed somewhat afraid andglanced covertly at her mother. All at once her frame was shaken by afit of coughing. 

"Good heavens! why, you've made yourself ill now! I cannot stay awayfrom you a moment. Did you feel cold?

"Yes, mamma; in the back. "

"See here; put on this shawl. The dining-room stove is lighted, andyou'll soon feel warm. Are you hungry?"

Jeanne hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to speak the truthand say no; but she darted a side glance at her mother, and, recoiling, answered in a whisper: "Yes, mamma. "

"Ah, well, it will be all right, " exclaimed Helene, desirous oftranquillizing herself. "Only, I entreat you, you naughty child, don'tfrighten me like this again. "

On Rosalie re-entering the room to announce that dinner was ready, Helene severely scolded her. The little maid's head drooped; shestammered out that it was all very true, for she ought to have lookedbetter after mademoiselle. Then, hoping to mollify her mistress, shebusied herself in helping her to change her clothes. "Good gracious!madame was in a fine state!" she remarked, as she assisted in removingeach mud-stained garment, at which Jeanne glared suspiciously, stillracked by torturing thoughts. 

"Madame ought to feel comfortable now, " exclaimed Rosalie when it wasall over. "It's awfully nice to get into dry clothes after adrenching. "

Helene, on finding herself once more in her blue dressing-gown, gavevent to a slight sigh, as though a new happiness had welled up withinher. She again regained her old cheerfulness; she had rid herself of aburden in throwing off those bedraggled garments. She washed her faceand hands; and while she stood there, still glistening with moisture, her dressing-gown buttoned up to her chin, she was slowly approachedby Jeanne, who took one of her hands and kissed it. 

At table, however, not a word passed between mother and daughter. Thefire flared with a merry roar, and there was a look of happiness aboutthe little dining-room, with its bright mahogany and gleaming china. But the old stupor which drove away all thought seemed to have againfallen on Helene; she ate mechanically, though with an appearance ofappetite. Jeanne sat facing her, and quietly watched her over herglass, noting each of her movements. But all at once the child againcoughed, and her mother, who had become unconscious of her presence, immediately displayed lively concern. 

"Why, you're coughing again! Aren't you getting warm?"

"Oh, yes, mamma; I'm very warm. "

Helene leaned towards her to feel her hand and ascertain whether shewas speaking the truth. Only then did she perceive that her plate wasstill full. 

"Why, you said you were hungry. Don't you like what you have there?"

"Oh, yes, mamma; I'm eating away. "

With an effort Jeanne swallowed a mouthful. Helene looked at her for atime, but soon again began dreaming of the fatal room which she hadcome from. It did not escape the child that her mother took littleinterest in her now. As the dinner came to an end, her poor weariedframe sank down on the chair, and she sat there like some bent, agedwoman, with the dim eyes of one of those old maids for whom love ispast and gone. 

"Won't mademoiselle have any jam?" asked Rosalie. "If not, can Iremove the cloth?"

Helene still sat there with far-away looks. 

"Mamma, I'm sleepy, " exclaimed Jeanne in a changed voice. "Will youlet me go to bed? I shall feel better in bed. "

Once more her mother seemed to awake with a start to consciousness ofher surroundings. 

"You are suffering, my darling! where do you feel the pain? Tell me. "

"No, no; I told you I'm all right! I'm sleepy, and it's already timefor me to go to bed. "

She left her chair and stood up, as though to prove that there was noillness threatening her: but her benumbed feet tottered over the flooron her way to the bedroom. She leaned against the furniture, and herhardihood was such that not a tear came from her, despite the feverishfire darting through her frame. Her mother followed to assist her tobed; but the child had displayed such haste in undressing herself thatshe only arrived in time to tie up her hair for the night. Withoutneed of any helping hand Jeanne slipped between the sheets, andquickly closed her eyes. 

"Are you comfortable?" asked Helene, as she drew up the bedclothes andcarefully tucked her in. 

"Yes, quite comfortable. Leave me alone, and don't disturb me. Takeaway the lamp. "

Her only yearning was to be alone in the darkness, that she mightreopen her eyes and chew the cud of her sorrows, with no one near towatch her. When the light had been carried away, her eyes opened quitewide. 

Nearby, in the meantime, Helene was pacing up and down her room. Shewas seized with a wondrous longing to be up and moving about; the ideaof going to bed seemed to her insufferable. She glanced at the clock--twenty minutes to nine; what was she to do? she rummaged about in adrawer, but forgot what she was seeking for. Then she wandered to herbookshelves, glancing aimlessly over the books; but the very readingof the titles wearied her. A buzzing sprang up in her ears with theroom's stillness; the loneliness, the heavy atmosphere, were as anagony to her. She would fain have had some bustle going on around her, have had some one there to speak to--something, in short, to draw herfrom herself. She twice listened at the door of Jeanne's little room, from which, however, not even a sound of breathing came. Everythingwas quiet; so she turned back once more, and amused herself by takingup and replacing whatever came to her hand. Then suddenly the thoughtflashed across her mind that Zephyrin must still be with Rosalie. Itwas a relief to her; she was delighted at the idea of not being alone, and stepped in her slippers towards the kitchen. 

She was already in the ante-room, and was opening the glass door ofthe inner passage, when she detected the re-echoing clap of a swingingbox on the ears, and the next moment Rosalie could be heardexclaiming:

"Ha, ha! you think you'll nip me again, do you? Take your paws off!"

"Oh! that's nothing, my charmer!" exclaimed Zephyrin in his husky, guttural voice. "That's to show how I love you--in this style, youknow--"

But at that moment the door creaked, and Helene, entering, discoveredthe diminutive soldier and the servant maid seated very quietly attable, with their noses bent over their plates. They had assumed anair of complete indifference; their innocence was certain. Yet theirfaces were red with blushes, and their eyes aflame, and they wriggledrestlessly on their straw-bottomed chairs. Rosalie started up andhurried forward. 

"Madame wants something?"

Helene had no pretext ready to her tongue. She had come to see them, to chat with them, and have their company. However, she felt a suddenshame, and dared not say that she required nothing. 

"Have you any hot water?" she asked, after a silence. 

"No, madame; and my fire is nearly out. Oh, but it doesn't matter;I'll give you some in five minutes. It boils in no time. "

She threw on some charcoal, and then set the kettle in place; butseeing that her mistress still lingered in the doorway, she said:

"I'll bring the water to you in five minutes, madame. "

Helene responded with a wave of the hand. 

"I'm not in a hurry for it; I'll wait. Don't disturb yourself, mygirl; eat away, eat away. There's a lad who'll have to go back tobarracks. "

Rosalie thereupon sat down again. Zephyrin, who had also beenstanding, made a military salute, and returned to the cutting of hismeat, with his elbows projecting as though to show that he knew how toconduct himself at table. Thus eating together, after madame hadfinished dinner, they did not even draw the table into the middle ofthe kitchen, but contented themselves with sitting side by side, withtheir noses turned towards the wall. A glorious prospect of stewpanswas before them. A bunch of laurel and thyme hung near, and aspice-box exhaled a piquant perfume. Around them--the kitchen was notyet tidied--was all the litter of the things cleared away from thedining-room; however, the spot seemed a charming one to these hungrysweethearts, and especially to Zephyrin, who here feasted on suchthings as were never seen within the walls of his barracks. Thepredominant odor was one of roast meat, seasoned with a dash ofvinegar--the vinegar of the salad. In the copper pans and iron potsthe reflected light from the gas was dancing; and as the heat of thefire was beyond endurance, they had set the window ajar, and a coolbreeze blew in from the garden, stirring the blue cotton curtain. 

"Must you be in by ten o'clock exactly?" asked Helene. 

"I must, madame, with all deference to you, " answered Zephyrin. 

"Well, it's along way off. Do you take the ''bus'?"

"Oh, yes, madame, sometimes. But you see a good swinging walk is muchthe best. "

She had taken a step into the kitchen, and leaning against thedresser, her arms dangling and her hands clasped over herdressing-gown, she began gossiping away about the wretched weatherthey had had that day, about the food which was rationed out inbarracks, and the high price of eggs. As soon, however, as she hadasked a question and their answer had been given the conversationabruptly fell. They experienced some discomfort with her standing thusbehind their backs. They did not turn round, but spoke into theirplates, their shoulders bent beneath her gaze, while, to conform topropriety, each mouthful they swallowed was as small as possible. Onthe other hand, Helene had now regained her tranquillity, and feltquite happy there. 

"Don't fret, madame, " said Rosalie; "the kettle is singing already. Iwish the fire would only burn up a little better!"

She wanted to see to it, but Helene would not allow her to disturbherself. It would be all right by-and-by. An intense weariness nowpervaded the young woman's limbs. Almost mechanically she crossed thekitchen and approached the window, where she observed the third chair, which was very high, and when turned over became a stepladder. However, she did not sit down on it at once, for she had caught sightof a number of pictures heaped up on a corner of the table. 

"Dear me!" she exclaimed, as she took them in her hand, inspired withthe wish of gratifying Zephyrin. 

The little soldier gaped with a silent chuckle. His face beamed withsmiles, and his eyes followed each picture, his head wagging wheneversomething especially lovely was being examined by madame. 

"That one there, " he suddenly remarked, "I found in the Rue du Temple. She's a beautiful woman, with flowers in her basket. "

Helene sat down and inspected the beautiful woman who decorated thegilt and varnished lid of a box of lozenges, every stain on which hadbeen carefully wiped off by Zephyrin. On the chair a dish-cloth washanging, and she could not well lean back. She flung it aside, however, and once more lapsed into her dreaming. Then the twosweethearts remarked madame's good nature, and their restraintvanished--in the end, indeed, her very presence was forgotten by them. One by one the pictures had dropped from her hands on to her knees, and, with a vague smile playing on her face, she examined thesweethearts and listened to their talk. 

"I say, my dear, " whispered the girl, "won't you have some moremutton?"

He answered neither yes nor no, but swung backwards and forwards onhis chair as though he had been tickled, then contentedly stretchedhimself, while she placed a thick slice on his plate. His red epauletsmoved up and down, and his bullet-shaped head, with its hugeprojecting ears, swayed to and fro over his yellow collar as though itwere the head of some Chinese idol. His laughter ran all over him, andhe was almost bursting inside his tunic, which he did not unbutton, however, out of respect for madame. 

"This is far better than old Rouvet's radishes!" he exclaimed at last, with his mouth full. 

This was a reminiscence of their country home; and at thought of itthey both burst into immoderate laughter. Rosalie even had to hold onto the table to prevent herself from falling. One day, before theirfirst communion, it seemed, Zephyrin had filched three black radishesfrom old Rouvet. They were very tough radishes indeed--tough enough tobreak one's teeth; but Rosalie all the same had crunched her share ofthe spoil at the back of the schoolhouse. Hence it was that every timethey chanced to be taking a meal together Zephyrin never omitted toejaculate: "Yes; this is better than old Rouvet's radishes!"

And then Rosalie's laughter would become so violent that nine timesout of ten her petticoat-string would give way with an audible crack. 

"Hello! has it parted?" asked the little soldier, with triumph in histone. 

But Rosalie responded with a good slap. 

"It's disgusting to make me break the string like this!" said she. "Iput a fresh one on every week. "

However, he came nearer to her, intent on some joke or other, by wayof revenging the blow; but with a furious glance she reminded him thather mistress was looking on. This seemed to trouble him but little, for he replied with a rakish wink, as much as to say that no woman, not even a lady, disliked a little fun. To be sure, when folks aresweethearting, other people always like to be looking on. 

"You have still five years to serve, haven't you?" asked Helene, leaning back on the high wooden-seated chair, and yielding to afeeling of tenderness. 

"Yes, madame; perhaps only four if they don't need me any longer. "

It occurred to Rosalie that her mistress was thinking of her marriage, and with assumed anger, she broke in:

"Oh! madame, he can stick in the army for another ten years if helikes! I sha'n't trouble myself to ask the Government for him. He isbecoming too much of a rake; yes, I believe he's going to the dogs. Oh! it's useless for you to laugh--that won't take with me. When we gobefore the mayor to get married, we'll see on whose side the laughis!"

At this he chuckled all the more, in order that he might show himselfa lady-killer before madame, and the maid's annoyance then becamereal. 

"Oh!" said she, "we know all about that! You know, madame, he's stilla booby at heart. You've no idea how stupid that uniform makes themall! That's the way he goes on with his comrades; but if I turned himout, you would hear him sobbing on the stairs. Oh, I don't care a figfor you, my lad! Why, whenever I please, won't you always be there todo as I tell you?"

She bent forward to observe him closely; but, on seeing that hisgood-natured, freckled face was beginning to cloud over, she wassuddenly moved, and prattled on, without any seeming transition:

"Ah! I didn't tell you that I've received a letter from auntie. TheGuignard lot want to sell their house--aye, and almost for nothingtoo. We might perhaps be able to take it later on. "

"By Jove!" exclaimed Zephyrin, brightening, "we should be quite athome there. There's room enough for two cows. "

With this idea they lapsed into silence. They were now having somedessert. The little soldier licked the jam on his bread with a child'sgreedy satisfaction, while the servant girl carefully pared an applewith a maternal air. 

"Madame!" all at once exclaimed Rosalie, "there's the water boilingnow. "

Helene, however, never stirred. She felt herself enveloped by anatmosphere of happiness. She gave a continuance to their dreams, andpictured them living in the country in the Guignards' house andpossessed of two cows. A smile came to her face as she saw Zephyrinsitting there to all appearance so serious, though in reality he waspatting Rosalie's knee under the table, whilst she remained verystiff, affecting an innocent demeanor. Then everything became blurred. Helene lost all definite sense of her surroundings, of the place whereshe was, and of what had brought her there. The copper pans wereflashing on the walls; feelings of tenderness riveted her to the spot;her eyes had a far-away look. She was not affected in any way by thedisorderly state of the kitchen; she had no consciousness of havingdemeaned herself by coming there; all she felt was a deep pleasure, aswhen a longing has been satisfied. Meantime the heat from the fire wasbedewing her pale brow with beads of perspiration, and behind her thewind, coming in through the half-open window, quivered delightfully onher neck. 

"Madame, your water is boiling, " again said Rosalie. "There will besoon none left in the kettle. "

She held the kettle before her, and Helene, for the moment astonished, was forced to rise. "Oh, yes! thank you!"

She no longer had an excuse to remain, and went away slowly andregretfully. When she reached her room she was at a loss what to dowith the kettle. Then suddenly within her there came a burst ofpassionate love. The torpor which had held her in a state ofsemi-unconsciousness gave way to a wave of glowing feeling, the rushof which thrilled her as with fire. She quivered, and memoriesreturned to her--memories of her passion and of Henri. 

While she was taking off her dressing-gown and gazing at her barearms, a noise broke on her anxious ear. She thought she had heardJeanne coughing. Taking up the lamp she went into the closet, butfound the child with eyelids closed, seemingly fast asleep. However, the moment the mother, satisfied with her examination, had turned herback, Jeanne's eyes again opened widely to watch her as she returnedto her room. There was indeed no sleep for Jeanne, nor had she anydesire to sleep. A second fit of coughing racked her bosom, but sheburied her head beneath the coverlet and stifled every sound. Shemight go away for ever now; her mother would never miss her. Her eyeswere still wide open in the darkness; she knew everything as thoughknowledge had come with thought, and she was dying of it all, butdying without a murmur. 

 CHAPTER XXII. 

Next day all sorts of practical ideas took possession of Helene'smind. She awoke impressed by the necessity of keeping watch over herhappiness, and shuddering with fear lest by some imprudent step shemight lose Henri. At this chilly morning hour, when the room stillseemed asleep, she felt that she idolized him, loved him with atransport which pervaded her whole being. Never had she experiencedsuch an anxiety to be diplomatic. Her first thought was that she mustgo to see Juliette that very morning, and thus obviate the need of anytedious explanations or inquiries which might result in ruiningeverything. 

On calling upon Madame Deberle at about nine o'clock she found heralready up, with pallid cheeks and red eyes like the heroine of atragedy. As soon as the poor woman caught sight of her, she threwherself sobbing upon her neck exclaiming that she was her good angel. She didn't love Malignon, not in the least, she swore it! Graciousheavens! what a foolish affair! It would have killed her--there was nodoubt of that! She did not now feel herself to be in the least degreequalified for ruses, lies, and agonies, and the tyranny of a sentimentthat never varied. Oh, how delightful did it seem to her to findherself free again! She laughed contentedly; but immediatelyafterwards there was another outburst of tears as she besought herfriend not to despise her. Beneath her feverish unrest a fearlingered; she imagined that her husband knew everything. He had comehome the night before trembling with agitation. She overwhelmed Helenewith questions; and Helene, with a hardihood and facility at which sheherself was amazed, poured into her ears a story, every detail ofwhich she invented offhand. She vowed to Juliette that her husbanddoubted her in nothing. It was she, Helene, who had become acquaintedwith everything, and, wishing to save her, had devised that plan ofbreaking in upon their meeting. Juliette listened to her, put instantcredit in the fiction, and, beaming through her tears, grew sunny withjoy. She threw herself once more on Helene's neck. Her caressesbrought no embarrassment to the latter; she now experienced none ofthe honorable scruples that had at one time affected her. When sheleft her lover's wife after extracting a promise from her that shewould try to be calm, she laughed in her sleeve at her own cunning;she was in a transport of delight. 

Some days slipped away. Helene's whole existence had undergone achange; and in the thoughts of every hour she no longer lived in herown home, but with Henri. The only thing that existed for her was thatnext-door house in which her heart beat. Whenever she could find anexcuse to do so she ran thither, and forgot everything in the contentof breathing the same air as her lover. In her first rapture the sightof Juliette even flooded her with tenderness; for was not Juliette oneof Henri's belongings? He had not, however, again been able to meether alone. She appeared loth to give him a second assignation. Oneevening, when he was leading her into the hall, she even made himswear that he would never again visit the house in the Passage desEaux, as such an act might compromise her. 

Meantime, Jeanne was shaken by a short, dry cough, that never ceased, but became severer towards evening every day. She would then beslightly feverish, and she grew weak with the perspiration that bathedher in her sleep. When her mother cross-questioned her, she answeredthat she wasn't ill, that she felt no pain. Doubtless her cold wascoming to an end. Helene, tranquillized by the explanation, and havingno adequate idea of what was going on around her, retained, however, in her bosom, amidst the rapture that made up her life, a vaguefeeling of sorrow, of some weight that made her heart bleed despiteherself. At times, when she was plunged in one of those causelesstransports which made her melt with tenderness, an anxious thoughtwould come to her--she imagined that some misfortune was hoveringbehind her. She turned round, however, and then smiled. People areever in a tremble when they are too happy. There was nothing there. Jeanne had coughed a moment before, but she had some _tisane_ todrink; there would be no ill effects. 

However, one afternoon old Doctor Bodin, who visited them in thecharacter of a family friend, prolonged his stay, and stealthily, butcarefully, examined Jeanne with his little blue eyes. He questionedher as though he were having some fun with her, and on this occasionuttered no warning word. Two days later, however, he made hisappearance again; and this time, not troubling to examine Jeanne, hetalked away merrily in the fashion of a man who has seen many yearsand many things, and turned the conversation on travelling. He hadonce served as a military surgeon; he knew every corner of Italy. Itwas a magnificent country, said he, which to be admired ought to beseen in spring. Why didn't Madame Grandjean take her daughter there?From this he proceeded by easy transitions to advising a trip to theland of the sun, as he styled it. Helene's eyes were bent on himfixedly. "No, no, " he exclaimed, "neither of you is ill! Oh, no, certainly not! Still, a change of air would mean new strength!" Herface had blanched, a mortal chill had come over her at the thought ofleaving Paris. Gracious heavens! to go away so far, so far! to loseHenri in a moment, their love to droop without a morrow! Such was theagony which the thought gave her that she bent her head towards Jeanneto hide her emotion. Did Jeanne wish to go away? The child, with achilly gesture, had intertwined her little fingers. Oh! yes, she wouldso like to go! She would so like to go away into the sunny land, quitealone, she and her mother, quite alone! And over her poor attenuatedface with its cheeks burning with fever, there swept the bright hopeof a new life. But Helene would listen to no more; indignation anddistrust led her to imagine that all of them--the Abbe, Doctor Bodin, Jeanne herself--were plotting to separate her from Henri. When the olddoctor noticed the pallor of her cheeks, he imagined that he had notspoken so cautiously as he might have done, and hastened to declarethat there was no hurry, albeit he silently resolved to return to thesubject at another time. 

It happened that Madame Deberle intended to stop at home that day. Assoon as the doctor had gone Helene hastened to put on her bonnet. Jeanne, however, refused to quit the house; she felt better beside thefire; she would be very good, and would not open the window. For sometime past she had not teased her mother to be allowed to go with her;still she gazed after her as she went out with a longing look. Then, when she found herself alone, she shrunk into her chair and sat forhours motionless. 

"Mamma, is Italy far away?" she asked as Helene glided towards her tokiss her. 

"Oh! very far away, my pet!"

Jeanne clung round her neck, and not letting her rise again at themoment, whispered: "Well, Rosalie could take care of everything here. We should have no need of her. A small travelling-trunk would do forus, you know! Oh! it would be delightful, mother dear! Nobody but ustwo! I should come back quite plump--like this!"

She puffed out her cheeks and pictured how stout her arms would be. Helene's answer was that she would see; and then she ran off with afinal injunction to Rosalie to take good care of mademoiselle. 

The child coiled herself up in the chimney-corner, gazing at the ruddyfire and deep in reverie. From time to time she moved her handsforward mechanically to warm them. The glinting of the flames dazzledher large eyes. So absorbed was she in her dreaming that she did nothear Monsieur Rambaud enter the room. His visits had now become veryfrequent; he came, he would say, in the interests of the poorparalytic woman for whom Doctor Deberle had not yet been able tosecure admission into the Hospital for Incurables. Finding Jeannealone, he took a seat on the other side of the fireplace, and chattedwith her as though she were a grown-up person. It was mostregrettable; the poor woman had been waiting a week; however, he wouldgo down presently to see the doctor, who might perhaps give him ananswer. Meanwhile he did not stir. 

"Why hasn't your mother taken you with her?" he asked. 

Jeanne shrugged her shoulders with a gesture of weariness. Itdisturbed her to go about visiting other people. Nothing gave her anypleasure now. 

"I am getting old, " she added, "and I can't be always amusing myself. Mamma finds entertainment out of doors, and I within; so we are nottogether. "

Silence ensued. The child shivered, and held her hands out towards thefire which burnt steadily with a pinky glare; and, indeed, muffled asshe was in a huge shawl, with a silk handkerchief round her neck andanother encircling her head, she did look like some old dame. Shroudedin all these wraps, it struck one that she was no larger than anailing bird, panting amidst its ruffled plumage. Monsieur Rambaud, with hands clasped over his knees, was gazing at the fire. Then, turning towards Jeanne, he inquired if her mother had gone out theevening before. She answered with a nod, yes. And did she go out theevening before that and the previous day? The answer was always yes, given with a nod of the head; her mother quitted her every day. 

At this the child and Monsieur Rambaud gazed at one another for a longtime, their faces pale and serious, as though they shared some greatsorrow. They made no reference to it--a chit like her and an old mancould not talk of such a thing together; but they were well aware whythey were so sad, and why it was a pleasure to them to sit like thison either side of the fireplace when they were alone in the house. Itwas a comfort beyond telling. They loved to be near one another thattheir forlornness might pain them less. A wave of tenderness pouredinto their hearts; they would fain have embraced and wept together. 

"You are cold, my dear old friend, I'm certain of it, " said Jeanne;"come nearer the fire. "

"No, no, my darling; I'm not cold. "

"Oh! you're telling a fib; your hands are like ice! Come nearer, or Ishall get vexed. "

It was now his turn to display his anxious care. 

"I could lay a wager they haven't left you any drink. I'll run andmake some for you; would you like it? Oh! I'm a good hand at makingit. You would see, if I were your nurse, you wouldn't be withoutanything you wanted. "

He did not allow himself any more explicit hint. Jeanne somewhatsharply declared she was disgusted with _tisane_; she was compelled todrink too much of it. However, now and then she would allow MonsieurRambaud to flutter round her like a mother; he would slip a pillowunder her shoulders, give her the medicine that she had almostforgotten, or carry her into the bedroom in his arms. These littleacts of devotion thrilled both with tenderness. As Jeanne eloquentlydeclared with her sombre eyes, whose flashes disturbed the old man sosorely, they were playing the parts of the father and the little girlwhile her mother was absent. Then, however, sadness would all at oncefall upon them; their talk died away, and they glanced at one anotherstealthily with pitying looks. 

That afternoon, after a lengthy silence, the child asked the questionwhich she had already put to her mother: "Is Italy far away?"

"Oh! I should think so, " replied Monsieur Rambaud. "It's away overyonder, on the other side of Marseilles, a deuce of a distance! Why doyou ask me such a question?"

"Oh! because--" she began gravely. But she burst into loud complaintsat her ignorance. She was always ill, and she had never been sent toschool. Then they both became silent again, lulled into forgetfulnessby the intense heat of the fire. 

In the meantime Helene had found Madame Deberle and her sister Paulinein the Japanese pavilion where they so frequently whiled away theafternoon. Inside it was very warm, a heating apparatus filled it witha stifling atmosphere. 

The large windows were shut, and a full view could be had of thelittle garden, which, in its winter guise, looked like some largesepia drawing, finished with exquisite delicacy, the little blackbranches of the trees showing clear against the brown earth. The twosisters were carrying on a sharp controversy. 

"Now, be quiet, do!" exclaimed Juliette; "it is evidently our interestto support Turkey. "

"Oh! I've had a talk about it with a Russian, " replied Pauline, whowas equally excited. "We are much liked at St. Petersburg, and it isonly there that we can find our proper allies. "

Juliette's face assumed a serious look, and, crossing her arms, sheexclaimed: "Well, and what will you do with the balance of power inEurope?"

The Eastern crisis was the absorbing topic in Paris at that moment;[*]it was the stock subject of conversation, and no woman who pretendedto any position could speak with propriety of anything else. Thus, fortwo days past, Madame Deberle had with passionate fervor devotedherself to foreign politics. Her ideas were very pronounced on thevarious eventualities which might arise; and Pauline greatly annoyedher by her eccentricity in advocating Russia's cause in opposition tothe clear interests of France. Juliette's first desire was to convinceher of her folly, but she soon lost her temper. 

[*] The reader may be reminded that the period of the story is that of the Crimean war. 

"Pooh! hold your tongue; you are talking foolishly! Now, if you hadonly studied the matter carefully with me--"

But she broke off to greet Helene, who entered at this moment. 

"Good-day, my dear! It is very kind of you to call. I don't supposeyou have any news. This morning's paper talked of an ultimatum. Therehas been a very exciting debate in the English House of Commons!"

"No, I don't know anything, " answered Helene, who was astounded by thequestion. "I go out so little!"

However, Juliette had not waited for her reply, but was busyexplaining to Pauline why it was necessary to neutralize the BlackSea; and her talk bristled with references to English and Russiangenerals, whose names she mentioned in a familiar way and withfaultless pronunciation. However, Henri now made his appearance withseveral newspapers in his hand. Helene at once realized that he hadcome there for her sake; for their eyes had sought one another andexchanged a long, meaning glance. And when their hands met it was in aprolonged and silent clasp that told how the personality of each waslost in the other. 

"Is there anything in the papers?" asked Juliette feverishly. 

"In the papers, my dear?" repeated the doctor; "no there's neveranything. "

For a time the Eastern Question dropped into the background. Therewere frequent allusions to some one whom they were expecting, but whodid not make his appearance. Pauline remarked that it would soon bethree o'clock. Oh he would come, declared Madame Deberle; he had givensuch a definite promise; but she never hinted at any name. Helenelistened without understanding; things which had no connection withHenri did not in the least interest her. She no longer brought herwork when she now came down into the garden; and though her visitswould last a couple of hours, she would take no part in theconversation, for her mind was ever filled with the same childishdream wherein all others miraculously vanished, and she was left alonewith him. However, she managed to reply to Juliette's questions, whileHenri's eyes, riveted on her own, thrilled her with a deliciouslanguor. At last he stepped behind her with the intention of pullingup one of the blinds, and she fully divined that he had come to askanother meeting, for she noticed the tremor that seized him when hebrushed against her hair. 

"There's a ring at the bell; that must be he!" suddenly exclaimedPauline. 

Then the faces of the two sisters assumed an air of indifference. Itwas Malignon who made his appearance, dressed with greater care thanever, and having a somewhat serious look. He shook hands; but eschewedhis customary jocularity, thus returning, in a ceremonious manner, tothis house where for some time he had not shown his face. 

While the doctor and Pauline were expostulating with him on the rarityof his visits, Juliette bent down and whispered to Helene, who, despite her supreme indifference, was overcome with astonishment:

"Ah! you are surprised? Dear me! I am not angry with him at all! he'ssuch a good fellow at heart that nobody could long be angry with him!Just fancy! he has unearthed a husband for Pauline. It's splendid, isn't it?"

"Oh! no doubt, " answered Helene complaisantly. 

"Yes, one of his friends, immensely rich, who did not think of gettingmarried, but whom he has sworn to bring here! We were waiting for himto-day to have some definite reply. So, as you will understand, I hadto pass over a lot of things. Oh! there's no danger now; we know oneanother thoroughly. "

Her face beamed with a pretty smile, and she blushed slightly at thememories she conjured up; but she soon turned round and tookpossession of Malignon. Helene likewise smiled. These accommodatingcircumstances in life seemed to her sufficient excuse for her owndelinquencies. It was absurd to think of tragic melodramas; no, everything wound up with universal happiness. However, while she hadthus been indulging in the cowardly, but pleasing, thought thatnothing was absolutely indefensible, Juliette and Pauline had openedthe door of the pavilion, and were now dragging Malignon in theirtrain into the garden. And, all at once, Helene heard Henri speakingto her in a low and passionate voice:

"I beseech you, Helene! Oh! I beseech you--"

She started to her feet, and gazed around her with sudden anxiety. They were quite alone; she could see the three others walking slowlyalong one of the walks. Henri was bold enough to lay his hand on hershoulder, and she trembled as she felt its pressure. 

"As you wish, " she stammered, knowing full well what question it wasthat he desired to ask. 

Then, hurriedly, they exchanged a few words. 

"At the house in the Passage des Eaux, " said he. 

"No, it is impossible--I have explained to you, and you swore to me--"

"Well, wherever you like, so that I may see you! In your own house--this evening. Shall I call?"

The idea was repellant to her. But she could only refuse with a sign, for fear again came upon her as she observed the two ladies andMalignon returning. Madame Deberle had taken the young man away underpretext of showing him some clumps of violets which were in fullblossom notwithstanding the cold weather. Hastening her steps, sheentered the pavilion before the others, her face illumined by a smile. 

"It's all arranged, " she exclaimed. 

"What's all arranged?" asked Helene, who was still trembling withexcitement and had forgotten everything. 

"Oh, that marriage! What a riddance! Pauline was getting a bit of anuisance. However, the young man has seen her and thinks her charming!To-morrow we're all going to dine with papa. I could have embracedMalignon for his good news!"

With the utmost self-possession Henri had contrived to put somedistance between Helene and himself. He also expressed his sense ofMalignon's favor, and seemed to share his wife's delight at theprospect of seeing their little sister settled at last. Then he turnedto Helene, and informed her that she was dropping one of her gloves. She thanked him. They could hear Pauline laughing and joking in thegarden. She was leaning towards Malignon, murmuring broken sentencesin his ear, and bursting into loud laughter as he gave her whisperedanswers. No doubt he was chatting to her confidentially about herfuture husband. Standing near the open door of the pavilion, Helenemeanwhile inhaled the cold air with delight. 

It was at this moment that in the bedroom up above a silence fell onJeanne and Monsieur Rambaud, whom the intense heat of the fire filledwith languor. The child woke up from the long-continued pause with asudden suggestion which seemed to be the outcome of her dreamy fit:

"Would you like to go into the kitchen? We'll see if we can get aglimpse of mamma!"

"Very well; let us go, " replied Monsieur Rambaud. 

Jeanne felt stronger that day, and reaching the kitchen without anyassistance pressed her face against a windowpane. Monsieur Rambaudalso gazed into the garden. The trees were bare of foliage, andthrough the large transparent windows of the Japanese pavilion theycould make out every detail inside. Rosalie, who was busy attending tothe soup, reproached mademoiselle with being inquisitive. But thechild had caught sight of her mother's dress; and pointed her out, whilst flattening her face against the glass to obtain a better view. Pauline meanwhile looked up, and nodded vigorously. Then Helene alsomade her appearance, and signed to the child to come down. 

"They have seen you, mademoiselle, " said the servant girl. "They wantyou to go down. "

Monsieur Rambaud opened the window, and every one called to him tocarry Jeanne downstairs. Jeanne, however, vanished into her room, andvehemently refused to go, accusing her worthy friend of havingpurposely tapped on the window. It was a great pleasure to her to lookat her mother, but she stubbornly declared she would not go near thathouse; and to all Monsieur Rambaud's questions and entreaties shewould only return a stern "Because!" which was meant to explaineverything. 

"It is not you who ought to force me, " she said at last, with a gloomylook. 

But he told her that she would grieve her mother very much, and thatit was not right to insult other people. He would muffle her up well, she would not catch cold; and, so saying, he wound the shawl round herbody, and taking the silk handkerchief from her head, set a knittedhood in its place. Even when she was ready, however, she stillprotested her unwillingness; and when in the end she allowed him tocarry her down, it was with the express proviso that he would take herup again the moment she might feel poorly. The porter opened the doorby which the two houses communicated, and when they entered the gardenthey were hailed with exclamations of joy. Madame Deberle, inparticular, displayed a vast amount of affection for Jeanne; sheensconced her in a chair near the stove, and desired that the windowsmight be closed, for the air she declared was rather sharp for thedear child. Malignon had now left. As Helene began smoothing thechild's dishevelled hair, somewhat ashamed to see her in companymuffled up in a shawl and a hood, Juliette burst out in protest:

"Leave her alone! Aren't we all at home here? Poor Jeanne! we are gladto have her!"

She rang the bell, and asked if Miss Smithson and Lucien had returnedfrom their daily walk. No, they had not yet returned. It was just aswell, she declared; Lucien was getting beyond control, and only thenight before had made the five Levasseur girls sob with grief. 

"Would you like to play at _pigeon vole_?" asked Pauline, who seemedto have lost her head with the thought of her impending marriage. "That wouldn't tire you. "

But Jeanne shook her head in refusal. Beneath their drooping lids hereyes wandered over the persons who surrounded her. The doctor had justinformed Monsieur Rambaud that admission to the Hospital forIncurables had been secured for his _protegee_, and in a burst ofemotion the worthy man clasped his hands as though some great personalfavor had been conferred on him. They were all lounging on theirchairs, and the conversation became delightfully friendly. Less effortwas shown in following up remarks, and there were at times intervalsof silence. While Madame Deberle and her sister were busily engaged indiscussion, Helene said to the two men:

"Doctor Bodin has advised us to go to Italy. "

"Ah! that is why Jeanne was questioning me!" exclaimed MonsieurRambaud. "Would it give you any pleasure to go away there?"

Without vouchsafing any answer, the child clasped her little handsupon her bosom, while her pale face flushed with joy. Then, stealthily, and with some fear, she looked towards the doctor; it washe, she understood it, whom her mother was consulting. He startedslightly, but retained all his composure. Suddenly, however, Juliettejoined in the conversation, wishing, as usual, to have her finger inevery pie. 

"What's that? Are you talking about Italy? Didn't you say you had anidea of going to Italy? Well, it's a droll coincidence! Why, this verymorning, I was teasing Henri to take me to Naples! Just fancy, for tenyears now I have been dreaming of seeing Naples! Every spring hepromises to take me there, but he never keeps his word!"

"I didn't tell you that I would not go, " murmured the doctor. 

"What! you didn't tell me? Why, you refused flatly, with the excusethat you could not leave your patients!"

Jeanne was listening eagerly. A deep wrinkle now furrowed her palebrow, and she began twisting her fingers mechanically one after theother. 

"Oh! I could entrust my patients for a few weeks to the care of abrother-physician, " explained the doctor. "That's to say, if I thoughtit would give you so much pleasure--"

"Doctor, " interrupted Helene, "are you also of opinion that such ajourney would benefit Jeanne?"

"It would be the very thing; it would thoroughly restore her tohealth. Children are always the better for a change. "

"Oh! then, " exclaimed Juliette, "we can take Lucien, and we can all gotogether. That will be pleasant, won't it?"

"Yes, indeed; I'll do whatever you wish, " he answered, smiling. 

Jeanne lowered her face, wiped two big tears of passionate anger andgrief from her eyes, and fell back in her chair as though she wouldfain hear and see no more; while Madame Deberle, filled with ecstasyby the idea of such unexpected pleasure, began chattering noisily. Oh!how kind her husband was! She kissed him for his self-sacrifice. Then, without the loss of a moment, she busied herself with sketching thenecessary preparations. They would start the very next week. Goodnessgracious! she would never have time to get everything ready! Next shewanted to draw out a plan of their tour; they would need to visit thisand that town certainly; they could stay a week at Rome; they muststop at a little country place that Madame de Guiraud had mentioned toher; and she wound up by engaging in a lively discussion with Pauline, who was eager that they should postpone their departure till such timeas she could accompany them with her husband. 

"Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Juliette; "the wedding can take placewhen we come back. "

Jeanne's presence had been wholly forgotten. Her eyes were riveted onher mother and the doctor. The proposed journey, indeed, now offeredinducements to Helene, as it must necessarily keep Henri near her. Infact, a keen delight filled her heart at the thought of journeyingtogether through the land of the sun, living side by side, andprofiting by the hours of freedom. Round her lips wreathed a smile ofhappy relief; she had so greatly feared that she might lose him; anddeemed herself fortunate in the thought that she would carry her lovealong with her. While Juliette was discoursing of the scenes theywould travel through, both Helene and Henri, indeed, indulged in thedream that they were already strolling through a fairy land ofperennial spring, and each told the other with a look that theirpassion would reign there, aye, wheresoever they might breathe thesame air. 

In the meantime, Monsieur Rambaud, who with unconscious sadness hadslowly lapsed into silence, observed Jeanne's evident discomfort. 

"Aren't you well, my darling?" he asked in a whisper. 

"No! I'm quite ill! Carry me up again, I implore you. "

"But we must tell your mamma. "

"Oh, no, no! mamma is busy; she hasn't any time to give to us. Carryme up, oh! carry me up again. "

He took her in his arms, and told Helene that the child felt tired. Inanswer she requested him to wait for her in her rooms; she wouldhasten after them. The little one, though light as a feather, seemedto slip from his grasp, and he was forced to come to a standstill onthe second landing. She had leaned her head against his shoulder, andeach gazed into the other's face with a look of grievous pain. Not asound broke upon the chill silence of the staircase. Then in a lowwhisper he asked her:

"You're pleased, aren't you, to go to Italy?"

But she thereupon burst into sobs, declaring in broken words that sheno longer had any craving to go, and would rather die in her own room. Oh! she would not go, she would fall ill, she knew it well. She wouldgo nowhere--nowhere. They could give her little shoes to the poor. Then amidst tears she whispered to him:

"Do you remember what you asked me one night?"

"What was it, my pet?"

"To stay with mamma always--always--always! Well, if you wish sostill, I wish so too!"

The tears welled into Monsieur Rambaud's eyes. He kissed her lovingly, while she added in a still lower tone:

"You are perhaps vexed by my getting so angry over it. I didn'tunderstand, you know. But it's you whom I want! Oh! say that it willbe soon. Won't you say that it will be soon? I love you more than theother one. "

Below in the pavilion, Helene had begun to dream once more. Theproposed journey was still the topic of conversation; and she nowexperienced an unconquerable yearning to relieve her overflowingheart, and acquaint Henri with all the happiness which was stiflingher. So, while Juliette and Pauline were wrangling over the number ofdresses that ought to be taken, she leaned towards him and gave himthe assignation which she had refused but an hour before. 

"Come to-night; I shall expect you. "

But as she at last ascended to her own rooms, she met Rosalie flyingterror-stricken down the stairs. The moment she saw her mistress, thegirl shrieked out:

"Madame! madame! Oh! make haste, do! Mademoiselle is very ill! She'sspitting blood!"

 CHAPTER XXIII. 

On rising from the dinner-table the doctor spoke to his wife of aconfinement case, in close attendance on which he would doubtless haveto pass the night. He quitted the house at nine o'clock, walked downto the riverside, and paced along the deserted quays in the densenocturnal darkness. A slight moist wind was blowing, and the swollenSeine rolled on in inky waves. As soon as eleven o'clock chimed, hewalked up the slopes of the Trocadero, and began to prowl round thehouse, the huge square pile of which seemed but a deepening of thegloom. Lights could still be seen streaming through the dining-roomwindows of Helene's lodging. Walking round, he noted that the kitchenwas also brilliantly lighted up. And at this sight he stopped short inastonishment, which slowly developed into uneasiness. Shadowstraversed the blinds; there seemed to be considerable bustle and stirup there. Perhaps Monsieur Rambaud had stayed to dine? But the worthyman never left later than ten o'clock. He, Henri, dared not go up; forwhat would he say should Rosalie open the door? At last, as it wasnearing midnight, mad with impatience and throwing prudence to thewinds, he rang the bell, and walked swiftly past the porter's roomwithout giving his name. At the top of the stairs Rosalie receivedhim. 

"It's you, sir! Come in. I will go and announce you. Madame must beexpecting you. "

She gave no sign of surprise on seeing him at this hour. As he enteredthe dining-room without uttering a word, she resumed distractedly:"Oh! mademoiselle is very ill, sir. What a night! My legs are sinkingunder me!" Thereupon she left the room, and the doctor mechanicallytook a seat. He was oblivious of the fact that he was a medical man. Pacing along the quay he had conjured up a vision of a very differentreception. And now he was there, as though he were paying a visit, waiting with his hat on his knees. A grievous coughing in the nextroom alone broke upon the intense silence. 

At last Rosalie made her appearance once more, and hurrying across thedining-room with a basin in her hand, merely remarked: "Madame saysyou are not to go in. "

He sat on, powerless to depart. Was their meeting to be postponed tillanother day, then? He was dazed, as though such a thing had seemed tohim impossible. Then the thought came to him that poor Jeanne had verybad health; children only brought on sorrow and vexation. The door, however, opened once more, and Doctor Bodin entered, with a thousandapologies falling from his lips. For some time he chattered away: hehad been sent for, but he would always be exceedingly pleased to enterinto consultation with his renowned fellow-practitioner. 

"Oh! no doubt, no doubt, " stammered Doctor Deberle, whose ears werebuzzing. 

The elder man, his mind set at rest with regard to all questions ofprofessional etiquette, then began to affect a puzzled manner, andexpressed his doubts of the meaning of the symptoms. He spoke in awhisper, and described them in technical phraseology, frequentlypausing and winking significantly. There was coughing withoutexpectoration, very pronounced weakness, and intense fever. Perhaps itmight prove a case of typhoid fever. But in the meantime he gave nodecided opinion, as the anaemic nervous affection, for which thepatient had been treated so long, made him fear unforeseencomplications. 

"What do you think?" he asked, after delivering himself of eachremark. 

Doctor Deberle answered with evasive questions. While the other wasspeaking, he felt ashamed at finding himself in that room. Why had hecome up?

"I have applied two blisters, " continued the old doctor. "I'm waitingthe result. But, of course, you'll see her. You will then give me youropinion. "

So saying he led him into the bedroom. Henri entered it with a shuddercreeping through his frame. It was but faintly lighted by a lamp. There thronged into his mind the memories of other nights, when therehad been the same warm perfume, the same close, calm atmosphere, thesame deepening shadows shrouding the furniture and hangings. But therewas no one now to come to him with outstretched hands as in thoseolden days. Monsieur Rambaud lay back in an arm-chair exhausted, seemingly asleep. Helene was standing in front of the bed, robed in awhite dressing-gown, but did not turn her head; and her figure, in itsdeath-like pallor, appeared to him extremely tall. Then for a moment'sspace he gazed on Jeanne. Her weakness was so great that she could notopen her eyes without fatigue. Bathed in sweat, she lay in a stupor, her face ghastly, save that a burning flush colored each cheek. 

"It's galloping consumption, " he exclaimed at last, speaking aloud inspite of himself, and giving no sign of astonishment, as though he hadlong foreseen what would happen. 

Helene heard him and looked at him. She seemed to be of ice, her eyeswere dry, and she was terribly calm. 

"You think so, do you?" rejoined Doctor Bodin, giving an approving nodin the style of a man who had not cared to be the first to expressthis opinion. 

He sounded the child once more. Jeanne, her limbs quite lifeless, yielded to the examination without seemingly knowing why she was beingdisturbed. A few rapid sentences were exchanged between the twophysicians. The old doctor murmured some words about amphoricbreathing, and a sound such as a cracked jar might give out. Nevertheless, he still affected some hesitation, and spoke, suggestively, of capillary bronchitis. Doctor Deberle hastened toexplain that an accidental cause had brought on the illness; doubtlessit was due to a cold; however, he had already noticed several timesthat an anaemical tendency would produce chest diseases. Helene stoodwaiting behind him. 

"Listen to her breathing yourself, " said Doctor Bodin, giving way toHenri. 

He leaned over the child, and seemed about to take hold of her. Shehad not raised her eyelids; but lay there in self-abandonment, consumed by fever. Her open nightdress displayed her childish breast, where as yet there were but slight signs of coming womanhood; andnothing could be more chaste or yet more harrowing than the sight ofthis dawning maturity on which the Angel of Death had already laid hishand. She had displayed no aversion when the old doctor had touchedher. But the moment Henri's fingers glanced against her body shestarted as if she had received a shock. In a transport of shame sheawoke from the coma in which she had been plunged, and, like a maidenin alarm, clasped her poor puny little arms over her bosom, exclaimingthe while in quavering tones: "Mamma! mamma!"

Then she opened her eyes, and on recognizing the man who was bendingover her, she was seized with terror. Sobbing with shame, she drew thebed-cover over her bosom. It seemed as though she had grown older byten years during her short agony, and on the brink of death hadattained sufficient womanhood to understand that this man, above allothers, must not lay hands on her. She wailed out again in piteousentreaty: "Mamma! mamma! I beseech you!"

Helene, who had hitherto not opened her lips, came close to Henri. Hereyes were bent on him fixedly; her face was of marble. She touchedhim, and merely said in a husky voice: "Go away!"

Doctor Bodin strove to appease Jeanne, who now shook with a fresh fitof coughing. He assured her that nobody would annoy her again, thatevery one would go away, to prevent her being disturbed. 

"Go away, " repeated Helene, in a deep whisper in her lover's ear. "Yousee very well that we have killed her!"

Then, unable to find a word in reply, Henri withdrew. He lingered fora moment longer in the dining-room, awaiting he knew not what, something that might possibly take place. But seeing that Doctor Bodindid not come out, he groped his way down the stairs without evenRosalie to light him. He thought of the awful speed with whichgalloping consumption--a disease to which he had devoted earneststudy--carried off its victims; the miliary tubercles would rapidlymultiply, the stifling sensation would become more and morepronounced; Jeanne would certainly not last another three weeks. 

The first of these passed by. In the mighty expanse of heaven beforethe window, the sun rose and set above Paris, without Helene beingmore than vaguely conscious of the pitiless, steady advance of time. She grasped the fact that her daughter was doomed; she lived plungedin a stupor, alive only to the terrible anguish that filled her heart. It was but waiting on in hopelessness, in certainty that death wouldprove merciless. She could not weep, but paced gently to and fro, tending the sufferer with slow, regulated movements. At times, yielding to fatigue, she would fall upon a chair, whence she gazed ather for hours. Jeanne grew weaker and weaker; painful vomiting wasfollowed by exhaustion; the fever never quitted her. When Doctor Bodincalled, he examined her for a little while and left some prescription;but his drooping shoulders, as he left the room, were eloquent of suchpowerlessness that the mother forbore to accompany him to ask even aquestion. 

On the morning after the illness had declared itself, Abbe Jouve hadmade all haste to call. He and his brother now again came everyevening, exchanging a mute clasp of the hand with Helene, and neverventuring to ask any news. They had offered to watch by the bedside insuccession, but she sent them away when ten o'clock struck; she wouldhave no one in the bedroom during the night. One evening the Abbe, whohad seemed absorbed by some idea since the previous day, took heraside. 

"There is one thing I've thought of, " he whispered. "Her health hasput obstacles in the darling child's way; but her first communionmight take place here. "

His meaning at first did not seem to dawn on Helene. The thought that, despite all his indulgence, he should now allow his priestly characterthe ascendant and evince no concern but in spiritual matters, came onher with surprise, and even wounded her somewhat. With a carelessgesture she exclaimed: "No, no; I would rather she wasn't worried. Ifthere be a heaven, she will have no difficulty in entering its gates. "

That evening, however, Jeanne experienced one of those deceptiveimprovements in health which fill the dying with illusions as to theircondition. Her hearing, rendered more acute by illness, had enabledher to catch the Abbe's words. 

"It's you, dear old friend!" said she. "You spoke about the firstcommunion. It will be soon, won't it?"

"No doubt, my darling, " he answered. 

Then she wanted him to come near to speak to her. Her mother hadpropped her up with the pillow, and she reclined there, looking verylittle, with a smile on her fever-burnt lips, and the shadow of deathalready passing over her brilliant eyes. 

"Oh! I'm getting on very well, " she began. "I could get up if Iwanted. But tell me: should I have a white gown and flowers? Will thechurch be as beautiful as it was in the Month of Mary?"

"More beautiful, my pet. "

"Really? Will there be as many flowers, and will there be such sweetchants? It will be soon, soon--you promise me, won't you?"

She was wrapt in joy. She gazed on the curtains of the bed, andmurmured in her transport that she was very fond of the good God, andhad seen Him while she was listening to the canticles. Even now shecould hear organs pealing, see lights that circled round, and flowersin great vases hovering like butterflies before her eyes. Then anotherfit of coughing threw her back on the pillow. However, her face wasstill flushed with a smile; she seemed to be unconscious of her cough, but continued:

"I shall get up to-morrow. I shall learn my catechism without amistake, and we'll be all very happy. "

A sob came from Helene as she stood at the foot of the bed. She hadbeen powerless to weep, but a storm of tears rushed up from her bosomas Jeanne's laughter fell on her ear. Then, almost stifling, she fledinto the dining-room, that she might hide her despair. The Abbefollowed her. Monsieur Rambaud had at once started up to engage thechild's attention. 

"Oh dear! mamma cried out! Has she hurt herself?" she asked. 

"Your mamma?" he answered. "No, she didn't cry out; she was laughingbecause you are feeling so well. "

In the dining-room, her head bowed dejectedly on the table, Helenestrove to stifle her sobs with her clasped hands. The Abbe hung overher, and prayed her to restrain her emotion. But she raised her face, streaming with tears, and bitterly accused herself. She declared tohim that she herself had killed her daughter, and a full confessionescaped from her lips in a torrent of broken words. She would neverhave succumbed to that man had Jeanne remained beside her. It had beenfated that she should meet him in that chamber of mystery. God inHeaven! she ought to die with her child; she could live no longer. Thepriest, terrified, sought to calm her with the promise of absolution. 

But there was a ring at the bell, and a sound of voices came from thelobby. Helene dried her tears as Rosalie made her appearance. 

"Madame, it's Dr. Deberle, who--"

"I don't wish him to come in. "

"He is asking after mademoiselle. "

"Tell him she is dying. "

The door had been left open, and Henri had heard everything. Withoutawaiting the return of the servant girl, he walked down the stairs. Hecame up every day, received the same answer, and then went away. 

The visits which Helene received quite unnerved her. The few ladieswhose acquaintance she had made at the Deberles' house deemed it theirduty to tender her their sympathy. Madame de Chermette, MadameLevasseur, Madame de Guiraud, and others also presented themselves. They made no request to enter, but catechised Rosalie in such loudvoices that they could be heard through the thin partitions. Givingway to impatience, Helene would then receive them in the dining-room, where, without sitting down, she spoke with them very briefly. Shewent about all day in her dressing-gown, careless of her attire, withher lovely hair merely gathered up and twisted into a knot. Her eyesoften closed with weariness; her face was flushed; she had a bittertaste in her mouth; her lips were clammy, and she could scarcelyarticulate. When Juliette called, she could not exclude her from thebedroom, but allowed her to stay for a little while beside the bed. 

"My dear, " Madame Deberle said to her one day in friendly tones, "yougive way too much. Keep up your spirits. "

Helene was about to reply, when Juliette, wishing to turn her thoughtsfrom her grief, began to chat about the things which were occupyingthe gossips of Paris: "We are certainly going to have a war. I am in anice state about it, as I have two cousins who will have to serve. "

In this style she would drop in upon them on returning from herrambles through Paris, her brain bursting with all the tittle-tattlecollected in the course of the afternoon, and her long skirts whirlingand rustling as she sailed through the stillness of the sick-room. Itwas altogether futile for her to lower her voice and assume a pitifulair; her indifference peeped through all disguise; it could be seenthat she was happy, quite joyous indeed, in the possession of perfecthealth. Helene was very downcast in her company, her heart rent byjealous anguish. 

"Madame, " said Jeanne one evening, "why doesn't Lucien come to playwith me?"

Juliette was embarrassed for a moment, and merely answered with asmile. 

"Is he ill too?" continued the child. 

"No, my darling, he isn't ill; he has gone to school. "

Then, as Helene accompanied her into the ante-room, she wished toapologize for her prevarication. 

"Oh! I would gladly bring him; I know that there's no infection. Butchildren get frightened with the least thing, and Lucien is such astupid. He would just burst out sobbing when he saw your poor angel--"

"Yes, indeed; you are quite right, " interrupted Helene, her heartready to break with the thought of this woman's gaiety, and herhappiness in possessing a child who enjoyed robust health. 

A second week had passed away. The disease was following its usualcourse, robbing Jeanne every hour of some of her vitality. Fearfullyrapid though it was, however, it evinced no haste, but, inaccomplishing the destruction of that delicate, lovable flesh, passedin turn through each foreseen phase, without skipping a single one ofthem. Thus the spitting of blood had ceased, and at intervals thecough disappeared. But such was the oppressive feeling which stifledthe child that you could detect the ravages of the disease by thedifficulty she experienced in breathing. Such weakness could notwithstand so violent an attack; and the eyes of the Abbe and MonsieurRambaud constantly moistened with tears as they heard her. Day andnight under the shelter of the curtains the sound of oppressedbreathing arose; the poor darling, whom the slightest shock seemedlikely to kill, was yet unable to die, but lived on and on through theagony which bathed her in sweat. Her mother, whose strength wasexhausted, and who could no longer bear to hear that rattle, went intothe adjoining room and leaned her head against the wall. 

Jeanne was slowly becoming oblivious to her surroundings. She nolonger saw people, and her face bore an unconscious and forlornexpression, as though she had already lived all alone in some unknownsphere. When they who hovered round her wished to attract herattention, they named themselves that she might recognize them; butshe would gaze at them fixedly, without a smile, then turn herselfround towards the wall with a weary look. A gloominess was settlingover her; she was passing away amidst the same vexation and sulkinessas she had displayed in past days of jealous outbursts. Still, attimes the whims characteristic of sickness would awaken her to someconsciousness. One morning she asked her mother:

"To-day is Sunday, isn't it?"

"No, my child, " answered Helene; "this is only Friday. Why do you wishto know?"

Jeanne seemed to have already forgotten the question she had asked. But two days later, while Rosalie was in the room, she said to her ina whisper: "This is Sunday. Zephyrin is here; ask him to come and seeme. "

The maid hesitated, but Helene, who had heard, nodded to her in tokenof consent. The child spoke again:

"Bring him; come both of you; I shall be so pleased. "

When Rosalie entered the sick-room with Zephyrin, she raised herselfon her pillow. The little soldier, with bare head and hands spreadout, swayed about to hide his intense emotion. He had a great love formademoiselle, and it grieved him unutterably to see her "shoulderingarms on the left, " as he expressed it in the kitchen. So, in spite ofthe previous injunctions of Rosalie, who had instructed him to put ona bright expression, he stood speechless, with downcast face, onseeing her so pale and wasted to a skeleton. He was still astender-hearted as ever, despite his conquering airs. He could not eventhink of one of those fine phrases which nowadays he usually concoctedso easily. The maid behind him gave him a pinch to make him laugh. Buthe could only stammer out:

"I beg pardon--mademoiselle and every one here--"

Jeanne was still raising herself with the help of her tiny arms. Shewidely opened her large, vacant eyes; she seemed to be looking forsomething; her head shook with a nervous trembling. Doubtless thestream of light was blinding her as the shadows of death gatheredaround. 

"Come closer, my friend, " said Helene to the soldier. "It wasmademoiselle who asked to see you. "

The sunshine entered through the window in a slanting ray of goldenlight, in which the dust rising from the carpet could be seencircling. March had come, and the springtide was already budding outof doors. Zephyrin took one step forward, and appeared in thesunshine; his little round, freckled face had a golden hue, as of ripecorn, while the buttons on his tunic glittered, and his red trouserslooked as sanguineous as a field of poppies. At last Jeanne becameaware of his presence there; but her eye again betrayed uneasiness, and she glanced restlessly from one corner to another. 

"What do you want, my child?" asked her mother. "We are all here. " Sheunderstood, however, in a moment. "Rosalie, come nearer. Mademoisellewishes to see you. "

Then Rosalie, in her turn, stepped into the sunlight. She wore a cap, whose strings, carelessly tossed over her shoulders, flapped round herhead like the wings of a butterfly. A golden powder seemed to fall onher bristly black hair and her kindly face with its flat nose andthick lips. And for Jeanne there were only these two in the room--thelittle soldier and the servant girl, standing elbow to elbow under theray of sunshine. She gazed at them. 

"Well, my darling, " began Helene again, "you do not say anything tothem! Here they are together. "

Jeanne's eyes were still fixed on them, and her head shook with thetremor of a very aged woman. They stood there like man and wife, readyto take each other's arm and return to their country-side. The springsun threw its warmth on them, and eager to brighten mademoiselle theyended by smiling into each other's face with a look of mingledembarrassment and tenderness. The very odor of health was exhaled fromtheir plump round figures. Had they been alone, Zephyrin without doubtwould have caught hold of Rosalie, and would have received for hispains a hearty slap. Their eyes showed it. 

"Well, my darling, have you nothing to say to them?"

Jeanne gazed at them, her breathing growing yet more oppressed. Andstill she said not a word, but suddenly burst into tears. Zephyrin andRosalie had at once to quit the room. 

"I beg pardon--mademoiselle and every one--" stammered the littlesoldier, as he went away in bewilderment. 

This was one of Jeanne's last whims. She lapsed into a dull stupor, from which nothing could rouse her. She lay there in utter loneliness, unconscious even of her mother's presence. When Helene hung over thebed seeking her eyes, the child preserved a stolid expression, asthough only the shadow of the curtain had passed before her. Her lipswere dumb; she showed the gloomy resignation of the outcast who knowsthat she is dying. Sometimes she would long remain with her eyelidshalf closed, and nobody could divine what stubborn thought was thusabsorbing her. Nothing now had any existence for her save her bigdoll, which lay beside her. They had given it to her one night todivert her during her insufferable anguish, and she refused to give itback, defending it with fierce gestures the moment they attempted totake it from her. With its pasteboard head resting on the bolster, thedoll was stretched out like an invalid, covered up to the shoulders bythe counterpane. There was little doubt the child was nursing it, forher burning hands would, from time to time, feel its disjointed limbsof flesh-tinted leather, whence all the sawdust had exuded. For hoursher eyes would never stray from those enamel ones which were alwaysfixed, or from those white teeth wreathed in an everlasting smile. Shewould suddenly grow affectionate, clasp the doll's hands against herbosom and press her cheek against its little head of hair, thecaressing contact of which seemed to give her some relief. Thus shesought comfort in her affection for her big doll, always assuringherself of its presence when she awoke from a doze, seeing nothingelse, chatting with it, and at times summoning to her face the shadowof a smile, as though she had heard it whispering something in herear. 

The third week was dragging to an end. One morning the old doctor cameand remained. Helene understood him: her child would not live throughthe day. Since the previous evening she had been in a stupor thatdeprived her of the consciousness even of her own actions. There wasno longer any struggle with death; it was but a question of hours. Asthe dying child was consumed by an awful thirst, the doctor had merelyrecommended that she should be given some opiate beverage, which wouldrender her passing less painful; and the relinquishing of all attemptsat cure reduced Helene to a state of imbecility. So long as themedicines had littered the night-table she still had entertained hopesof a miraculous recovery. But now bottles and boxes had vanished, andher last trust was gone. One instinct only inspired her now--to benear Jeanne, never leave her, gaze at her unceasingly. The doctor, wishing to distract her attention from the terrible sight, strove, byassigning some little duties to her, to keep her at a distance. Butshe ever and ever returned, drawn to the bedside by the physicalcraving to see. She waited, standing erect, her arms hanging besideher, and her face swollen by despair. 

About one o'clock Abbe Jouve and Monsieur Rambaud arrived. The doctorwent to meet them, and muttered a few words. Both grew pale, and stoodstock-still in consternation, while their hands began to tremble. Helene had not turned round. 

The weather was lovely that day; it was one of those sunny afternoonstypical of early April. Jeanne was tossing in her bed. Her lips movedpainfully at times with the intolerable thirst which consumed her. Shehad brought her poor transparent hands from under the coverlet, andwaved them gently to and fro. The hidden working of the disease wasaccomplished, she coughed no more, and her dying voice came like afaint breath. For a moment she turned her head, and her eyes soughtthe light. Doctor Bodin threw the window wide open, and then Jeanne atonce became tranquil, with her cheek resting on the pillow and herlooks roving over Paris, while her heavy breathing grew fainter andslower. 

During the three weeks of her illness she had thus many times turnedtowards the city that stretched away to the horizon. Her face grewgrave, she was musing. At this last hour Paris was smiling under theglittering April sunshine. Warm breezes entered from without, withbursts of urchin's laughter and the chirping of sparrows. On the brinkof the grave the child exerted her last strength to gaze again on thescene, and follow the flying smoke which soared from the distantsuburbs. She recognized her three friends, the Invalides, thePantheon, and the Tower of Saint-Jacques; then the unknown began, andher weary eyelids half closed at sight of the vast ocean of roofs. Perhaps she was dreaming that she was growing much lighter andlighter, and was fleeting away like a bird. Now, at last, she wouldsoon know all; she would perch herself on the domes and steeples;seven or eight flaps of her wings would suffice, and she would be ableto gaze on the forbidden mysteries that were hidden from children. Buta fresh uneasiness fell upon her, and her hands groped about; she onlygrew calm again when she held her large doll in her little armsagainst her bosom. It was evidently her wish to take it with her. Herglances wandered far away amongst the chimneys glinting with the sun'sruddy light. 

Four o'clock struck, and the bluish shadows of evening were alreadygathering. The end was at hand; there was a stifling, a slow andpassive agony. The dear angel no longer had strength to offerresistance. Monsieur Rambaud, overcome, threw himself on his knees, convulsed with silent sobbing, and dragged himself behind a curtain tohide his grief. The Abbe was kneeling at the bedside, with claspedhands, repeating the prayers for the dying. 

"Jeanne! Jeanne!" murmured Helene, chilled to the heart with a horrorwhich sent an icy thrill through her very hair. 

She had repulsed the doctor and thrown herself on the ground, leaningagainst the bed to gaze into her daughter's face. Jeanne opened hereyes, but did not look at her mother. She drew her doll--her lastlove--still closer. Her bosom heaved with a big sigh, followed by twofainter ones. Then her eyes paled, and her face for a moment gavesigns of a fearful anguish. But speedily there came relief; her mouthremained open, she breathed no more. 

"It is over, " said the doctor, as he took her hand. 

Jeanne's big, vacant eyes were fixed on Paris. The long, thin, lamb-like face was still further elongated, there was a sternness onits features, a grey shadow falling from its contracted brows. Thuseven in death she retained the livid expression of a jealous woman. The doll, with its head flung back, and its hair dishevelled, seemedto lie dead beside her. 

"It is over, " again said the doctor, as he allowed the little coldhand to drop. 

Helene, with a strained expression on her face, pressed her hands toher brow as if she felt her head splitting open. No tears came to hereyes; she gazed wildly in front of her. Then a rattling noise mountedin her throat; she had just espied at the foot of the bed a pair ofshoes that lay forgotten there. It was all over. Jeanne would neverput them on again; the little shoes could be given to the poor. And atthe sight Helene's tears gushed forth; she still knelt on the floor, her face pressed against the dead child's hand, which had slippeddown. Monsieur Rambaud was sobbing. The Abbe had raised his voice, andRosalie, standing at the door of the dining-room, was biting herhandkerchief to check the noise of her grief. 

At this very moment Doctor Deberle rang the bell. He was unable torefrain from making inquiries. 

"How is she now?" he asked. 

"Oh, sir!" wailed Rosalie, "she is dead. "

He stood motionless, stupefied by the announcement of the end which hehad been expecting daily. At last he muttered: "O God! the poor child!what a calamity!"

He could only give utterance to those commonplace but heartrendingwords. The door shut once more, and he went down the stairs. 

 CHAPTER XXIV. 

When Madame Deberle was apprised of Jeanne's death she wept, and gaveway to one of those outbursts of emotion that kept her in a flutterfor eight-and-forty hours. Hers was a noisy and immoderate grief. Shecame and threw herself into Helene's arms. Then a phrase dropped inher hearing inspired her with the idea of imparting some affectingsurroundings to the child's funeral, and soon wholly absorbed her. Sheoffered her services, and declared her willingness to undertake everydetail. The mother, worn out with weeping, sat overwhelmed in herchair; Monsieur Rambaud, who was acting in her name, was losing hishead. So he accepted the offer with profuse expressions of gratitude. Helene merely roused herself for a moment to express the wish thatthere should be some flowers--an abundance of flowers. 

Without losing a minute, Madame Deberle set about her task. She spentthe whole of the next day in running from one lady friend to another, bearing the woeful tidings. It was her idea to have a following oflittle girls all dressed in white. She needed at least thirty, and didnot return till she had secured the full number. She had gone inperson to the Funeral Administration, discussed the various styles, and chosen the necessary drapery. She would have the garden railingshung with white, and the body might be laid out under the lilac trees, whose twigs were already tipped with green. It would be charming. 

"If only it's a fine day to-morrow!" she giddily remarked in theevening when her scurrying to and fro had come to an end. 

The morning proved lovely; there was a blue sky and a flood ofsunshine, the air was pure and invigorating as only the air of springcan be. The funeral was to take place at ten o'clock. By nine thedrapery had been hung up. Juliette ran down to give the workmen herideas of what should be done. She did not wish the trees to bealtogether covered. The white cloth, fringed with silver, formed akind of porch at the garden gate, which was thrown back against thelilac trees. However, Juliette soon returned to her drawing-room toreceive her lady guests. They were to assemble there to prevent MadameGrandjean's two rooms from being filled to overflowing. Still she wasgreatly annoyed at her husband having had to go that morning toVersailles--for some consultation or other, he explained, which hecould not well neglect. Thus she was left alone, and felt she wouldnever be able to get through with it all. Madame Berthier was thefirst arrival, bringing her two daughters with her. 

"What do you think!" exclaimed Madame Deberle; "Henri has deserted me!Well, Lucien, why don't you say good-day?"

Lucien was already dressed for the funeral, with his hands in blackgloves. He seemed astonished to see Sophie and Blanche dressed asthough they were about to take part in some church procession. A silksash encircled the muslin gown of each, and their veils, which sweptdown to the floor, hid their little caps of transparent tulle. Whilethe two mothers were busy chatting, the three children gazed at oneanother, bearing themselves somewhat stiffly in their new attire. Atlast Lucien broke the silence by saying: "Jeanne is dead. "

His heart was full, and yet his face wore a smile--a smile born ofamazement. He had been very quiet since the evening before, dwellingon the thought that Jeanne was dead. As his mother was up to her earsin business, and took no notice of him, he had plied the servants withquestions. Was it a fact, he wanted to know, that it was impossible tomove when one was dead?"

"She is dead, she is dead!" echoed the two sisters, who looked likerosebuds under their white veils. "Are we going to see her?"

Lucien pondered for a time, and then, with dreamy eyes and openedmouth, seemingly striving to divine the nature of this problem whichlay beyond his ken, he answered in a low tone:

"We shall never see her again. "

However, several other little girls now entered the room. On a signfrom his mother Lucien advanced to meet them. Marguerite Tissot, hermuslin dress enveloping her like a cloud, seemed a child-Virgin; herfair hair, escaping from underneath her little cap, looked, throughthe snowy veil, like a tippet figured with gold. A quiet smile creptinto every face when the five Levasseurs made their appearance; theywere all dressed alike, and trooped along in boarding-school fashion, the eldest first, the youngest last; and their skirts stood out tosuch an extent that they quite filled one corner of the room. But onlittle Mademoiselle Guiraud's entry the whispering voices rose to ahigher key; the others laughed and crowded round to see her and kissher. She was like some white turtle-dove with its downy feathersruffled. Wrapped in rustling gauze, she looked as round as a barrel, but still no heavier than a bird. Her mother even could not find herhands. By degrees the drawing-room seemed to be filling with a cloudof snowballs. Several boys, in their black coats, were like dark spotsamidst the universal white. Lucien, now that his little wife was dead, desired to choose another. However, he displayed the greatesthesitation. He would have preferred a wife like Jeanne, taller thanhimself; but at last he settled on Marguerite, whose hair fascinatedhim, and to whom he attached himself for the day. 

"The corpse hasn't been brought down yet, " Pauline muttered at thismoment in Juliette's ear. 

Pauline was as flurried as though the preliminaries of a ball were inhand. It was with the greatest difficulty that her sister hadprevented her from donning a white dress for the ceremony. 

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Juliette; "what are they dreaming about? Imust run up. Stay with these ladies. "

She hastily left the room, where the mothers in their mourning attiresat chatting in whispers, while the children dared not make the leastmovement lest they should rumple their dresses. When she had reachedthe top of the staircase and entered the chamber where the body lay, Juliette's blood was chilled by the intense cold. Jeanne still lay onthe bed, with clasped hands; and, like Marguerite and the Levasseurgirls, she was arrayed in a white dress, white cap, and white shoes. Awreath of white roses crowned the cap, as though she were a littlequeen about to be honored by the crowd of guests who were waitingbelow. In front of the window, on two chairs, was the oak coffin linedwith satin, looking like some huge jewel casket. The furniture was allin order; a wax taper was burning; the room seemed close and gloomy, with the damp smell and stillness of a vault which has been walled upfor many years. Thus Juliette, fresh from the sunshine and smilinglife of the outer world, came to a sudden halt, stricken dumb, withoutthe courage to explain that they must needs hurry. 

"A great many people have come, " she stammered at last. And then, asno answer was forthcoming, she added, just for the sake of sayingsomething: "Henri has been forced to attend a consultation atVersailles; you will excuse him. "

Helene, who sat in front of the bed, gazed at her with vacant eyes. They were wholly unable to drag her from that room. For six-and-thirtyhours she had lingered there, despite the prayers of Monsieur Rambaudand the Abbe Jouve, who kept watch with her. During the last twonights she had been weighed to the earth by immeasurable agony. Besides, she had accomplished the grievous task of dressing herdaughter for the last time, of putting on those white silk shoes, forshe would allow no other to touch the feet of the little angel who laydead. And now she sat motionless, as though her strength were spent, and the intensity of her grief had lulled her into forgetfulness. 

"Have you got some flowers?" she exclaimed after an effort, her eyesstill fixed on Madame Deberle. 

"Yes, yes, my dear, " answered the latter. "Don't trouble yourselfabout that. "

Since her daughter had breathed her last, Helene had been consumedwith one idea--there must be flowers, flowers, an overwhelmingprofusion of flowers. Each time she saw anybody, she grew uneasy, seemingly afraid that sufficient flowers would never be obtained. 

"Are there any roses?" she began again after a pause. 

"Yes. I assure you that you will be well pleased. "

She shook her head, and once more fell back into her stupor. In themeantime the undertaker's men were waiting on the landing. It must begot over now without delay. Monsieur Rambaud, who was himself affectedto such a degree that he staggered like a drunken man, signed toJuliette to assist him in leading the poor woman from the room. Eachslipped an arm gently beneath hers, and they raised her up and led hertowards the dining-room. But the moment she divined their intention, she shook them from her in a last despairing outburst. The scene washeartrending. She threw herself on her knees at the bedside and clungpassionately to the sheets, while the room re-echoed with her piteousshrieks. But still Jeanne lay there with her face of stone, stiff andicy-cold, wrapped round by the silence of eternity. She seemed to befrowning; there was a sour pursing of the lips, eloquent of arevengeful nature; and it was this gloomy, pitiless look, springingfrom jealousy and transforming her face, which drove Helene sofrantic. During the preceding thirty-six hours she had not failed tonotice how the old spiteful expression had grown more and more intenseupon her daughter's face, how more and more sullen she looked thenearer she approached the grave. Oh, what a comfort it would have beenif Jeanne could only have smiled on her for the last time!

"No, no!" she shrieked. "I pray you, leave her for a moment. Youcannot take her from me. I want to embrace her. Oh, only a moment, only a moment!"

With trembling arms she clasped her child to her bosom, eager todispute possession with the men who stood in the ante-room, with theirbacks turned towards her and impatient frowns on their faces. But herlips were powerless to breathe any warmth on the cold countenance; shebecame conscious that Jeanne's obstinacy was not to be overcome, thatshe refused forgiveness. And then she allowed herself to be draggedaway, and fell upon a chair in the dining-room, with the one mournfulcry, again and again repeated: "My God! My God!"

Monsieur Rambaud and Madame Deberle were overcome by emotion. Therewas an interval of silence, but when the latter opened the doorhalfway it was all over. There had been no noise--scarcely a stir. Thescrews, oiled beforehand, now closed the lid for ever. The chamber wasleft empty, and a white sheet was thrown over the coffin. 

The bedroom door remained open, and no further restraint was put uponHelene. On re-entering the room she cast a dazed look on the furnitureand round the walls. The men had borne away the corpse. Rosalie haddrawn the coverlet over the bed to efface the slight hollow made bythe form of the little one whom they had lost. Then opening her armswith a distracted gesture and stretching out her hands, Helene rushedtowards the staircase. She wanted to go down, but Monsieur Rambaudheld her back, while Madame Deberle explained to her that it was notthe thing to do. But she vowed she would behave rationally, that shewould not follow the funeral procession. Surely they could allow herto look on; she would remain quiet in the garden pavilion. Both weptas they heard her pleading. However, she had to be dressed. Juliettethrew a black shawl round her to conceal her morning wrap. There wasno bonnet to be found; but at last they came across one from whichthey tore a bunch of red vervain flowers. Monsieur Rambaud, who waschief mourner, took hold of Helene's arm. 

"Do not leave her, " whispered Madame Deberle as they reached thegarden. "I have so many things to look after!"

And thereupon she hastened away. Helene meanwhile walked withdifficulty, her eyes ever seeking something. As soon as she had foundherself out of doors she had drawn a long sigh. Ah! what a lovelymorning! Then she looked towards the iron gate, and caught sight ofthe little coffin under the white drapery. Monsieur Rambaud allowedher to take but two or three steps forward. 

"Now, be brave, " he said to her, while a shudder ran through his ownframe. 

They gazed on the scene. The narrow coffin was bathed in sunshine. Atthe foot of it, on a lace cushion, was a silver crucifix. To the leftthe holy-water sprinkler lay in its font. The tall wax tapers wereburning with almost invisible flames. Beneath the hangings, thebranches of the trees with their purple shoots formed a kind of bower. It was a nook full of the beauty of spring, and over it streamed thegolden sunshine irradiating the blossoms with which the coffin wascovered. It seemed as if flowers had been raining down; there wereclusters of white roses, white camellias, white lilac, whitecarnations, heaped in a snowy mass of petals; the coffin was hiddenfrom sight, and from the pall some of the white blossoms were falling, the ground being strewn with periwinkles and hyacinths. The fewpersons passing along the Rue Vineuse paused with a smile of tenderemotion before this sunny garden where the little body lay at peaceamongst the flowers. There seemed to be a music stealing up from thesnowy surroundings; in the glare of light the purity of the blossomsgrew dazzling, and the sun flushed hangings, nosegays, and wreaths offlowers, with a very semblance of life. Over the roses a bee flewhumming. 

"Oh, the flowers! the flowers!" murmured Helene, powerless to sayanother word. 

She pressed her handkerchief to her lips, and her eyes filled withtears. Jeanne must be warm, she thought, and with this idea a wave ofemotion rose in her bosom; she felt very grateful to those who hadenveloped her child in flowers. She wished to go forward, and MonsieurRambaud made no effort to hold her back. How sweet was the scenebeneath the cloud of drapery! Perfumes were wafted upwards; the airwas warm and still. Helene stooped down and chose one rose only, thatshe might place it in her bosom. But suddenly she commenced totremble, and Monsieur Rambaud became uneasy. 

"Don't stay here, " he said, as he drew her away. "You promised not tomake yourself unwell. "

He was attempting to lead her into the pavilion when the door of thedrawing-room was thrown open. Pauline was the first to appear. She hadundertaken the duty of arranging the funeral procession. One by one, the little girls stepped into the garden. Their coming seemed likesome sudden outburst of bloom, a miraculous flowering of May. In theopen air the white skirts expanded, streaked moire-like by thesunshine with shades of the utmost delicacy. An apple-tree above wasraining down its blossoms; gossamer-threads were floating to and fro;the dresses were instinct with all the purity of spring. And theirnumber still increased; they already surrounded the lawn; they yetlightly descended the steps, sailing on like downy balls suddenlyexpanding beneath the open sky. 

The garden was now a snowy mass, and as Helene gazed on the crowd oflittle girls, a memory awoke within her. She remembered another joyousseason, with its ball and the gay twinkling of tiny feet. She oncemore saw Marguerite in her milk-girl costume, with her can hangingfrom her waist; and Sophie, dressed as a waiting-maid, and revolvingon the arm of her sister Blanche, whose trappings as Folly gave out amerry tinkle of bells. She thought, too, of the five Levasseur girls, and of the Red Riding-Hoods, whose number had seemed endless, withtheir ever-recurring cloaks of poppy-colored satin edged with blackvelvet; while little Mademoiselle Guiraud, with her Alsatian butterflybow in her hair, danced as if demented opposite a Harlequin twice astall as herself. To-day they were all arrayed in white. Jeanne, too, was in white, her head laid amongst white flowers on the white satinpillow. The delicate-faced Japanese maiden, with hair transfixed bylong pins, and purple tunic embroidered with birds, was leaving themfor ever in a gown of snowy white. 

"How tall they have all grown!" exclaimed Helene, as she burst intotears. 

They were all there but her daughter; she alone was missing. MonsieurRambaud led her to the pavilion; but she remained on the threshold, anxious to see the funeral procession start. Several of the ladiesbowed to her quietly. The children looked at her, with someastonishment in their blue eyes. Meanwhile Pauline was hovering round, giving orders. She lowered her voice for the occasion, but at timesforgot herself. 

"Now, be good children! Look, you little stupid, you are dirtyalready! I'll come for you in a minute; don't stir. "

The hearse drove up; it was time to start, but Madame Deberleappeared, exclaiming: "The bouquets have been forgotten! Quick, Pauline, the bouquets!"

Some little confusion ensued. A bouquet of white roses had beenprepared for each little girl; and these bouquets now had to bedistributed. The children, in an ecstasy of delight, held the greatclusters of flowers in front of them as though they had been waxtapers; Lucien, still at Marguerite's side, daintily inhaled theperfume of her blossoms as she held them to his face. All these littlemaidens, their hands filled with flowers, looked radiant withhappiness in the golden light; but suddenly their faces grew grave asthey perceived the men placing the coffin on the hearse. 

"Is she inside that thing?" asked Sophie in a whisper. 

Her sister Blanche nodded assent. Then, in her turn, she said: "Formen it's as big as this!"

She was referring to the coffin, and stretched out her arms to theirwidest extent. However, little Marguerite, whose nose was buriedamongst her roses, was seized with a fit of laughter; it was theflowers, said she, which tickled her. Then the others in turn buriedtheir noses in their bouquets to find out if it were so; but they wereremonstrated with, and they all became grave once more. 

The funeral procession was now filing into the street. At the cornerof the Rue Vineuse a woman without a cap, and with tattered shoes onher feet, wept and wiped her cheeks with the corner of her apron. People stood at many windows, and exclamations of pity ascendedthrough the stillness of the street. Hung with white silver-fringeddrapery the hearse rolled on without a sound; nothing fell on the earsave the measured tread of the two white horses, deadened by the solidearthen roadway. The bouquets and wreaths, borne on the funeral car, formed a very harvest of flowers; the coffin was hidden by them; everyjolt tossed the heaped-up mass, and the hearse slowly sprinkled thestreet with lilac blossom. From each of the four corners streamed along ribbon of white watered silk, held by four little girls--Sophieand Marguerite, one of the Levasseur family, and little MademoiselleGuiraud, who was so small and so uncertain on her legs that her motherwalked beside her. The others, in a close body, surrounded the hearse, each bearing her bouquet of roses. They walked slowly, their veilswaved, and the wheels rolled on amidst all this muslin, as thoughborne along on a cloud, from which smiled the tender faces of cherubs. Then behind, following Monsieur Rambaud, who bowed his pale face, cameseveral ladies and little boys, Rosalie, Zephyrin, and the servants ofMadame Deberle. To these succeeded five empty mourning carriages. Andas the hearse passed along the sunny street like a car symbolical ofspringtide, a number of white pigeons wheeled over the mourners'heads. 

"Good heavens! how annoying!" exclaimed Madame Deberle when she sawthe procession start off. "If only Henri had postponed thatconsultation! I told him how it would be!"

She did not know what to do with Helene, who remained prostrate on aseat in the pavilion. Henri might have stayed with her and affordedher some consolation. His absence was a horrible nuisance. Luckily, Mademoiselle Aurelie was glad to offer her services; she had no likingfor such solemn scenes, and while watching over Helene would be ableto attend to the luncheon which had to be prepared ere the children'sreturn. So Juliette hastened after the funeral, which was proceedingtowards the church by way of the Rue de Passy. 

The garden was now deserted; a few workmen only were folding up thehangings. All that remained on the gravelled path over which Jeannehad been carried were the scattered petals of a camellia. And Helene, suddenly lapsing into loneliness and stillness, was thrilled once morewith the anguish of this eternal separation. Once again--only onceagain!--to be at her darling's side! The never-fading thought thatJeanne was leaving her in anger, with a face that spoke solely ofgloomy hatred, seared her heart like a red-hot iron. She well divinedthat Mademoiselle Aurelie was there to watch her, and cast about forsome opportunity to escape and hasten to the cemetery. 

"Yes, it's a dreadful loss, " began the old maid, comfortably seated inan easy-chair. "I myself should have worshipped children, and littlegirls in particular. Ah, well! when I think of it I am pleased that Inever married. It saves a lot of grief!"

It was thus she thought to divert the mother. She chatted away aboutone of her friends who had had six children; they were now all dead. Another lady had been left a widow with a big lad who struck her; hemight die, and there would be no difficulty in comforting her. Heleneappeared to be listening to all this; she did not stir, but her wholeframe quivered with impatience. 

"You are calmer now, " said Mademoiselle Aurelie, after a time. "Well, in the end we always have to get the better of our feelings. "

The dining-room communicated with the Japanese pavilion, and, risingup, the old maid opened the door and peered into the room. The table, she saw, was covered with pastry and cakes. Meantime, in an instantHelene sped through the garden; the gate was still open, the workmenwere just carrying away their ladder. 

On the left the Rue Vineuse turns into the Rue des Reservoirs, fromwhich the cemetery of Passy can be entered. On the Boulevard de laMuette a huge retaining wall has been reared, and the cemeterystretches like an immense terrace commanding the heights, theTrocadero, the avenues, and the whole expanse of Paris. In twentysteps Helene had reached the yawning gateway, and saw before her thelonely expanse of white gravestones and black crosses. She entered. Atthe corners of the first walk two large lilac trees were budding. There were but few burials here; weeds grew thickly, and a few cypresstrees threw solemn shadows across the green. Helene hurried straighton; a troop of frightened sparrows flew off, and a grave-digger raisedhis head towards her after flinging aside a shovelful of earth. Theprocession had probably not yet arrived from the church; the cemeteryseemed empty to her. She turned to the right, and advanced almost tothe edge of the terrace parapet; but, on looking round, she saw behinda cluster of acacias the little girls in white upon their knees beforethe temporary vault into which Jeanne's remains had a moment beforebeen lowered. Abbe Jouve, with outstretched hand, was giving thefarewell benediction. She heard nothing but the dull thud with whichthe stone slab of the vault fell back into its place. All was over. 

Meanwhile, however, Pauline had observed her and pointed her out toMadame Deberle, who almost gave way to anger. "What!" she exclaimed;"she has come. But it isn't at all proper; it's very bad taste!"[*]

[*] In France, among the aristocracy and the upper _bourgeoisie_--to which Madame Deberle belonged--mothers seldom, if ever, attend the funerals of their children, or widows those of the husbands they have lost. They are supposed to be so prostrated by grief as to be unable to appear in public. This explanation was necessary, as otherwise the reader might not understand the force of Madame Deberle's remarks. 

So saying she stepped forward, showing Helene by the expression of herface that she disapproved of her presence. Some other ladies alsofollowed with inquisitive looks. Monsieur Rambaud, however, hadalready rejoined the bereaved mother, and stood silent by her side. She was leaning against one of the acacias, feeling faint, and wearywith the sight of all those mourners. She nodded her head inrecognition of their sympathetic words, but all the while she wasstifling with the thought that she had come too late; for she hadheard the noise of the stone falling back into its place. Her eyesever turned towards the vault, the step of which a cemetery keeper wassweeping. 

"Pauline, see to the children, " said Madame Deberle. 

The little girls rose from their knees looking like a flock of whitesparrows. A few of the tinier ones, lost among their petticoats, hadseated themselves on the ground, and had to be picked up. While Jeannewas being lowered down, the older girls had leaned forward to see thebottom of the cavity. It was so dark they had shuddered and turnedpale. Sophie assured her companions in a whisper that one remainedthere for years and years. "At nighttime too?" asked one of the littleLevasseur girls. "Of course--at night too--always!" Oh, the night!Blanche was nearly dead with the idea. And they all looked at oneanother with dilated eyes, as if they had just heard some story aboutrobbers. However, when they had regained their feet, and stood groupedaround the vault, released from their mourning duties, their cheeksbecame pink again; it must all be untrue, those stories could onlyhave been told for fun. The spot seemed pleasant, so pretty with itslong grass; what capital games they might have had at hide-and-seekbehind all the tombstones! Their little feet were already itching todance away, and their white dresses fluttered like wings. Amidst thegraveyard stillness the warm sunshine lazily streamed down, flushingtheir faces. Lucien had thrust his hand beneath Marguerite's veil, andwas feeling her hair and asking if she put anything on it, to make itso yellow. The little one drew herself up, and he told her that theywould marry each other some day. To this Marguerite had no objection, but she was afraid that he might pull her hair. His hands were stillwandering over it; it seemed to him as soft as highly-glazedletter-paper. 

"Don't go so far away, " called Pauline. 

"Well, we'll leave now, " said Madame Deberle. "There's nothing more tobe done, and the children must be hungry. "

The little girls, who had scattered like some boarding-school at play, had to be marshalled together once more. They were counted, and babyGuiraud was missing; but she was at last seen in the distance, gravelytoddling along a path with her mother's parasol. The ladies thenturned towards the gateway, driving the stream of white dresses beforethem. Madame Berthier congratulated Pauline on her marriage, which wasto take place during the following month. Madame Deberle informed themthat she was setting out in three days' time for Naples, with herhusband and Lucien. The crowd now quickly disappeared; Zephyrin andRosalie were the last to remain. Then in their turn they went off, linked together, arm-in-arm, delighted with their outing, althoughtheir hearts were heavy with grief. Their pace was slow, and for amoment longer they could be seen at the end of the path, with thesunshine dancing over them. 

"Come, " murmured Monsieur Rambaud to Helene. 

With a gesture she entreated him to wait. She was alone, and to her itseemed as though a page had been torn from the book of her life. Assoon as the last of the mourners had disappeared, she knelt before thetomb with a painful effort. Abbe Jouve, robed in his surplice, had notyet risen to his feet. Both prayed for a long time. Then, withoutspeaking, but with a glowing glance of loving-kindness and pardon, thepriest assisted her to rise. 

"Give her your arm, " he said to Monsieur Rambaud. 

Towards the horizon stretched Paris, all golden in the radiance ofthat spring morning. In the cemetery a chaffinch was singing. 

 CHAPTER XXV. 

Two years were past and gone. One morning in December the littlecemetery lay slumbering in the intense cold. Since the evening beforesnow had been falling, a fine snow, which a north wind blew before it. From the paling sky the flakes now fell at rarer intervals, light andbuoyant, like feathers. The snow was already hardening, and a thicktrimming of seeming swan's-down edged the parapet of the terrace. Beyond this white line lay Paris, against the gloomy grey on thehorizon. 

Madame Rambaud was still praying on her knees in the snow before thegrave of Jeanne. Her husband had but a moment before risen silently tohis feet. Helene and her old lover had been married in November atMarseilles. Monsieur Rambaud had disposed of his business near theCentral Markets, and had come to Paris for three days, in order toconclude the transaction. The carriage now awaiting them in the Ruedes Reservoirs was to take them back to their hotel, and thence withtheir travelling-trunks to the railway station. Helene had made thejourney with the one thought of kneeling here. She remainedmotionless, with drooping head, as if dreaming, and unconscious of thecold ground that chilled her knees. 

Meanwhile the wind was falling. Monsieur Rambaud had stepped to theterrace, leaving her to the mute anguish which memory evoked. A hazewas stealing over the outlying districts of Paris, whose immensityfaded away in this pale, vague mist. Round the Trocadero the city wasof a leaden hue and lifeless, while the last snowflakes slowlyfluttered down in pale specks against the gloomy background. Beyondthe chimneys of the Army Bakehouse, the brick towers of which had acoppery tint, these white dots descended more thickly; a gauze seemedto be floating in the air, falling to earth thread by thread. Not abreath stirred as the dream-like shower sleepily and rhythmicallydescended from the atmosphere. As they neared the roofs the flakesseemed to falter in their flight; in myriads they ceaselessly pillowedthemselves on one another, in such intense silence that even blossomsshedding their petals make more noise; and from this moving mass, whose descent through space was inaudible, there sprang a sense ofsuch intense peacefulness that earth and life were forgotten. A milkywhiteness spread more and more over the whole heavens though they werestill darkened here and there by wreaths of smoke. Little by little, bright clusters of houses became plainly visible; a bird's-eye viewwas obtained of the whole city, intersected by streets and squares, which with their shadowy depths described the framework of the severaldistricts. 

Helene had slowly risen. On the snow remained the imprint of herknees. Wrapped in a large, dark mantle trimmed with fur, she seemedamidst the surrounding white very tall and broad-shouldered. Theborder of her bonnet, a twisted band of black velvet, looked like adiadem throwing a shadow on her forehead. She had regained herbeautiful, placid face with grey eyes and pearly teeth. Her chin wasfull and rounded, as in the olden days, giving her an air of sturdysense and determination. As she turned her head, her profile once moreassumed statuesque severity and purity. Beneath the untroubledpaleness of her cheeks her blood coursed calmly; everything showedthat honor was again ruling her life. Two tears had rolled from underher eyelids; her present tranquillity came from her past sorrow. Andshe stood before the grave on which was reared a simple pillarinscribed with Jeanne's name and two dates, within which the deadchild's brief existence was compassed. 

Around Helene stretched the cemetery, enveloped in its snowy pall, through which rose rusty monuments and iron crosses, like arms thrownup in agony. There was only one path visible in this lonely corner, and that had been made by the footmarks of Helene and MonsieurRambaud. It was a spotless solitude where the dead lay sleeping. Thewalks were outlined by the shadowy, phantom-like trees. Ever and anonsome snow fell noiselessly from a branch that had been too heavilyburdened. But nothing else stirred. At the far end, some little whileago, a black tramping had passed by; some one was being buried beneaththis snowy winding-sheet. And now another funeral train appeared onthe left. Hearses and mourners went their way in silence, like shadowsthrown upon a spotless linen cloth. 

Helene was awaking from her dream when she observed a beggar-womancrawling along near her. It was Mother Fetu, the snow deadening thesound of her huge man's boots, which were burst and bound round withbits of string. Never had Helene seen her weighed down by such intensemisery, or covered with filthier rags, though she was fatter thanever, and wore a stupid look. In the foulest weather, despite hardfrosts or drenching rain, the old woman now followed funerals in orderto speculate on the pity of the charitable. She well knew that amongstthe gravestones the fear of death makes people generous; and so sheprowled from tomb to tomb, approaching the kneeling mourners at themoment they burst into tears, for she understood that they were thenpowerless to refuse her. She had entered with the last funeral train, and a moment previously had espied Helene. But she had not recognizedher benefactress, and with gasps and sobs began to relate how she hadtwo children at home who were dying of hunger. Helene listened to her, struck dumb by this apparition. The children were without fire to warmthem; the elder was going off in a decline. But all at once MotherFetu's words came to an end. Her brain was evidently working beneaththe myriad wrinkles of her face, and her little eyes began to blink. Good gracious! it was her benefactress! Heaven, then, had hearkened toher prayers! And without seeking to explain the story about thechildren, she plunged into a whining tale, with a ceaseless rush ofwords. Several of her teeth were missing, and she could be understoodwith difficulty. The gracious God had sent every affliction on herhead, she declared. The gentleman lodger had gone away, and she hadonly just been enabled to rise after lying for three months in bed;yes, the old pain still remained, it now gripped her everywhere; aneighbor had told her that a spider must have got in through her mouthwhile she was asleep. If she had only had a little fire, she couldhave warmed her stomach; that was the only thing that could relieveher now. But nothing could be had for nothing--not even a match. Perhaps she was right in thinking that madame had been travelling?That was her own concern, of course. At all events, she looked verywell, and fresh, and beautiful. God would requite her for all herkindness. Then, as Helene began to draw out her purse, Mother Fetudrew breath, leaning against the railing that encircled Jeanne'sgrave. 

The funeral processions had vanished from sight. Somewhere in a graveclose at hand a digger, whom they could not see, was wielding hispickaxe with regular strokes. 

Meanwhile the old woman had regained her breath, and her eyes wereriveted on the purse. Then, anxious to extort as large a sum aspossible, she displayed considerable cunning, and spoke of the otherlady. Nobody could say that she was not a charitable lady; still, shedid not know what to do with her money--it never did one much good. Warily did she glance at Helene as she spoke. And next she ventured tomention the doctor's name. Oh! he was good. Last summer he had againgone on a journey with his wife. Their boy was thriving; he was a finechild. But just then Helene's fingers, as she opened the purse, beganto tremble, and Mother Fetu immediately changed her tone. In herstupidity and bewilderment she had only now realized that the goodlady was standing beside her daughter's grave. She stammered, gasped, and tried to bring tears to her eyes. Jeanne, said she, had been sodainty a darling, with such loves of little hands; she could still seeher giving her silver in charity. What long hair she had! and how herlarge eyes filled with tears when she gazed on the poor! Ah! there wasno replacing such an angel; there were no more to be found like her, were they even to search the whole of Passy. And when the fine dayscame, said Mother Fetu, she would gather some daisies in the moat ofthe fortifications and place them on her tomb. Then, however, shelapsed into silence frightened by the gesture with which Helene cuther short. Was it possible, she thought, that she could no longer findthe right thing to say? Her good lady did not weep, and only gave hera twenty-sou piece. 

Monsieur Rambaud, meanwhile, had walked towards them from the parapetof the terrace. Helene hastened to rejoin him. At the sight of thegentleman Mother Fetu's eyes began to sparkle. He was unknown to her;he must be a new-comer. Dragging her feet along, she followed Helene, invoking every blessing of Heaven on her head; and when she had creptclose to Monsieur Rambaud, she again spoke of the doctor. Ah! hiswould be a magnificent funeral when he died, were the poor people whomhe had attended for nothing to follow his corpse! He was rather ficklein his loves--nobody could deny that. There were ladies in Passy whoknew him well. But all that didn't prevent him from worshipping hiswife--such a pretty lady, who, had she wished, might have easily gonewrong, but had given up such ideas long ago. Their home was quite aturtle-doves' nest now. Had madame paid them a visit yet? They werecertain to be at home; she had but a few moments previously observedthat the shutters were open in the Rue Vineuse. They had formerly hadsuch regard for madame that surely they would be delighted to receiveher with open arms!

The old hag leered at Monsieur Rambaud as she thus mumbled away. Helistened to her with the composure of a brave man. The memories thatwere being called up before him brought no shadow to his unruffledface. Only it occurred to him that the pertinacity of the old beggarwas annoying Helene, and so he hastened to fumble in his pocket, inhis turn giving her some alms, and at the same time waving her away. The moment her eyes rested on another silver coin Mother Fetu burstinto loud thanks. She would buy some wood at once; she would be ableto warm her afflicted body--that was the only thing now to give herstomach any relief. Yes, the doctor's home was quite a nest ofturtle-doves, and the proof was that the lady had only last wintergiven birth to a second child--a beautiful little daughter, rosy-cheeked and fat, who must now be nearly fourteen months old. Onthe day of the baptism the doctor had put a hundred sous into her handat the door of the church. Ah! good hearts came together. Madame hadbrought her good luck. Pray God that madame might never have a sorrow, but every good fortune! yes, might that come to pass in the name ofthe Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!

Helene stood upright gazing on Paris, while Mother Fetu vanished amongthe tombs, muttering three _Paters_ and three _Aves_. The snow hadceased falling; the last of the flakes had fluttered slowly andwearily on to the roofs; and through the dissolving mist the goldensun could be seen tinging the pearly-grey expanse of heaven with apink glow. Over Montmartre a belt of blue fringed the horizon; but itwas so faint and delicate that it seemed but a shadow such as whitesatin might throw. Paris was gradually detaching itself from amidstthe smoke, spreading out more broadly with its snowy expanses thefrigid cloak which held it in death-like quiescence. There were now nolonger any fleeting specks of white making the city shudder, andquivering in pale waves over the dull-brown house-fronts. Amidst themasses of snow that girt them round the dwellings stood out black andgloomy, as though mouldy with centuries of damp. Entire streetsappeared to be in ruins, as if undermined by some gunpowder explosion, with roofs ready to give way and windows already driven in. Butgradually, as the belt of blue broadened in the direction ofMontmartre, there came a stream of light, pure and cool as the watersof a spring; and Paris once more shone out as under a glass, whichlent even to the outlying districts the distinctness of a Japanesepicture. 

Wrapped in her fur mantle, with her hands clinging idly to the cuffsof the sleeves, Helene was musing. With the persistency of an echo onethought unceasingly pursued her--a child, a fat, rosy daughter, hadbeen born to them. In her imagination she could picture her at thelove-compelling age when Jeanne had commenced to prattle. Baby girlsare such darlings when fourteen months old! She counted themonths--fourteen: that made two years when she took the remainingperiod into consideration--exactly the time within a fortnight. Thenher brain conjured up a sunny picture of Italy, a realm of dreamland, with golden fruits where lovers wandered through the perfumed nights, with arms round one another's waists. Henri and Juliette were pacingbefore her eyes beneath the light of the moon. They loved as husbandand wife do when passion is once more awakened within them. To thinkof it--a tiny girl, rosy and fat, its bare body flushed by the warmsunshine, while it strives to stammer words which its mother arrestswith kisses! And Helene thought of all this without any anger; herheart was mute, yet seemingly derived yet greater quietude from thesadness of her spirit. The land of the sun had vanished from hervision; her eyes wandered slowly over Paris, on whose huge framewinter had laid his freezing hand. Above the Pantheon another patch ofblue was now spreading in the heavens. 

Meanwhile memory was recalling the past to life. At Marseilles she hadspent her days in a state of coma. One morning as she went along theRue des Petites-Maries, she had burst out sobbing in front of the homeof her childhood. That was the last occasion on which she had wept. Monsieur Rambaud was her frequent visitor; she felt his presence nearher to be a protection. Towards autumn she had one evening seen himenter, with red eyes and in the agony of a great sorrow; his brother, Abbe Jouve, was dead. In her turn she comforted him. What followed shecould not recall with any exactitude of detail. The Abbe ever seemedto stand behind them, and influenced by thought of him she succumbedresignedly. When M. Rambaud once more hinted at his wish, she hadnothing to say in refusal. It seemed to her that what he asked was butsensible. Of her own accord, as her period of mourning was drawing toan end, she calmly arranged all the details with him. His handstrembled in a transport of tenderness. It should be as she pleased; hehad waited for months; a sign sufficed him. They were married inmourning garb. On the wedding night he, like her first husband, kissedher bare feet--feet fair as though fashioned out of marble. And thuslife began once more. 

While the belt of blue was broadening on the horizon, this awakeningof memory came with an astounding effect on Helene. Had she livedthrough a year of madness, then? To-day, as she pictured the woman whohad lived for nearly three years in that room in the Rue Vineuse, sheimagined that she was passing judgment on some stranger, whose conductrevolted and surprised her. How fearfully foolish had been her act!how abominably wicked! Yet she had not sought it. She had been livingpeacefully, hidden in her nook, absorbed in the love of her daughter. Untroubled by any curious thoughts, by any desire, she had seen theroad of life lying before her. But a breath had swept by, and she hadfallen. Even at this moment she was unable to explain it; she hadevidently ceased to be herself; another mind and heart had controlledher actions. Was it possible? She had done those things? Then an icychill ran through her; she saw Jeanne borne away beneath roses. But inthe torpor begotten of her grief she grew very calm again, once morewithout a longing or curiosity, once more proceeding along the path ofduty that lay so straight before her. Life had again begun for her, fraught with austere peacefulness and pride of honesty. 

Monsieur Rambaud now moved near her to lead her from this place ofsadness. But Helene silently signed to him her wish to linger a littlelonger. Approaching the parapet she gazed below into the Avenue de laMuette, where a long line of old cabs in the last stage of decaystretched beside the footpath. The hoods and wheels looked blanched, the rusty horses seemed to have been rotting there since the darkages. Some cabmen sat motionless, freezing within their frozen cloaks. Over the snow other vehicles were crawling along, one after the other, with the utmost difficulty. The animals were losing their foothold, and stretching out their necks, while their drivers with many oathsdescended from their seats and held them by the bridle; and throughthe windows you could see the faces of the patient "fares, " recliningagainst the cushions, and resigning themselves to the stern necessityof taking three-quarters of an hour to cover a distance which in otherweather would have been accomplished in ten minutes. The rumbling ofthe wheels was deadened by the snow; only the voices vibrated upward, sounding shrill and distinct amidst the silence of the streets; therewere loud calls, the laughing exclamations of people slipping on theicy paths, the angry whip-cracking of carters, and the snorting ofterrified horses. In the distance, to the right, the lofty trees onthe quay seemed to be spun of glass, like huge Venetian chandeliers, whose flower-decked arms the designer had whimsically twisted. The icynorth wind had transformed the trunks into columns, over which waveddowny boughs and feathery tufts, an exquisite tracery of black twigsedged with white trimmings. It was freezing, and not a breath stirredin the pure air. 

Then Helene told her heart that she had known nothing of Henri. For ayear she had seen him almost every day; he had lingered for hours andhours near her, to speak to her and gaze into her eyes. Yet she knewnothing of him. Whence had he come? how had he crept into herintimacy? what manner of man was he that she had yielded to him--shewho would rather have perished than yield to another? She knew nothingof him; it had all sprung from some sudden tottering of her reason. Hehad been a stranger to her on the last as on the first day. In vaindid she patch together little scattered things and circumstances--hiswords, his acts, everything that her memory recalled concerning him. He loved his wife and his child; he smiled with delicate grace; heoutwardly appeared a well-bred man. Then she saw him again withinflamed visage, and trembling with passion. But weeks passed, and hevanished from her sight. At this moment she could not have said whereshe had spoken to him for the last time. He had passed away, and hisshadow had gone with him. Their story had no other ending. She knewhim not. 

Over the city the sky had now become blue, and every cloud hadvanished. Wearied with her memories, and rejoicing in the puritybefore her, Helene raised her head. The blue of the heavens wasexquisitely clear, but still very pale in the light of the sun, whichhung low on the horizon, and glittered like a silver lamp. In that icytemperature its rays shed no heat on the glittering snow. Belowstretched the expanses of roofs--the tiles of the Army Bakehouse, andthe slates of the houses on the quay--like sheets of white clothfringed with black. On the other bank of the river, the square stretchof the Champ-de-Mars seemed a steppe, the black dots of the stragglingvehicles making one think of sledges skimming along with tinklingbells; while the elms on the Quai d'Orsay, dwarfed by the distance, looked like crystal flowers bristling with sharp points. Through allthe snow-white sea the Seine rolled its muddy waters edged by theermine of its banks; since the evening before ice had been floatingdown, and you could clearly see the masses crushing against the piersof the Pont des Invalides, and vanishing swiftly beneath the arches. The bridges, growing more and more delicate with the distance, seemedlike the steps of a ladder of white lace reaching as far as thesparkling walls of the Cite, above which the towers of Notre-Damereared their snow-white crests. On the left the level plain was brokenup by other peaks. The Church of Saint-Augustin, the Opera House, theTower of Saint-Jacques, looked like mountains clad with eternal snow. Nearer at hand the pavilions of the Tuileries and the Louvre, joinedtogether by newly erected buildings, resembled a ridge of hills withspotless summits. On the right, too, were the white tops of theInvalides, of Saint-Sulpice, and the Pantheon, the last in the dimdistance, outlining against the sky a palace of fairyland withdressings of bluish marble. Not a sound broke the stillness. Grey-looking hollows revealed the presence of the streets; the publicsquares were like yawning crevasses. Whole lines of houses hadvanished. The fronts of the neighboring dwellings alone showeddistinctly with the thousand streaks of light reflected from theirwindows. Beyond, the expanse of snow intermingled and merged into aseeming lake, whose blue shadows blended with the blue of the sky. Huge and clear in the bright, frosty atmosphere, Paris glittered inthe light of the silver sun. 

Then Helene for the last time let her glance sweep over the unpityingcity which also remained unknown to her. She saw it once more, tranquil and with immortal beauty amidst the snow, the same as whenshe had left it, the same as it had been every day for three longyears. Paris to her was full of her past life. In its presence she hadloved, in its presence Jeanne had died. But this companion of herevery-day existence retained on its mighty face a wondrous serenity, unruffled by any emotion, as though it were but a mute witness of thelaughter and the tears which the Seine seemed to roll in its flood. She had, according to her mood, endowed it with monstrous cruelty oralmighty goodness. To-day she felt that she would be ever ignorant ofit, in its indifference and immensity. It spread before her; it waslife. 

However, Monsieur Rambaud now laid a light hand on her arm to lead heraway. His kindly face was troubled, and he whispered:

"Do not give yourself pain. "

He divined her every thought, and this was all he could say. MadameRambaud looked at him, and her sorrow became appeased. Her cheeks wereflushed by the cold; her eyes sparkled. Her memories were already faraway. Life was beginning again. 

"I'm not quite certain whether I shut the big trunk properly, " sheexclaimed. 

Monsieur Rambaud promised that he would make sure. Their train startedat noon, and they had plenty of time. Some gravel was being scatteredon the streets; their cab would not take an hour. But, all at once, heraised his voice:

"I believe you've forgotten the fishing-rods!" said he. 

"Oh, yes; quite!" she answered, surprised and vexed at herforgetfulness. "We ought to have bought them yesterday!"

The rods in question were very handy ones, the like of which could notbe purchased at Marseilles. They there owned near the sea a smallcountry house, where they purposed spending the summer. MonsieurRambaud looked at his watch. On their way to the railway station theywould still be able to buy the rods, and could tie them up with theumbrellas. Then he led her from the place, tramping along, and takingshort cuts between the graves. The cemetery was empty; only theimprint of their feet now remained on the snow. Jeanne, dead, layalone, facing Paris, for ever and for ever. 

 AFTERWARD

There can be no doubt in the mind of the judicial critic that in thepages of "A Love Episode" the reader finds more of the poetical, moreof the delicately artistic, more of the subtle emanation of creativeand analytical genius, than in any other of Zola's works, with perhapsone exception. The masterly series of which this book is a partfurnishes a well-stocked gallery of pictures by which posterity willreceive vivid and adequate impressions of life in France during acertain period. There was a strain of Greek blood in Zola's veins. Itwould almost seem that down through the ages with this blood there hadcome to him a touch of that old Greek fatalism, or belief in destinyor necessity. The Greek tragedies are pervaded and permeated, steepedand dyed with this idea of relentless fate. It is called heredity, inthese modern days. Heredity plus environment, --in these we find thekeynote of the great productions of the leader of the "naturalistic"school of fiction. 

It has been said that art, in itself, should have no moral. It hasbeen further charged that the tendencies of some of Zola's works arehurtful. But, in the books of this master, the aberrations of vice arenowhere made attractive, or insidiously alluring. The shadow ofexpiation, remorse, punishment, retribution is ever present, like adeath's-head at a feast. The day of reckoning comes, and bitterly dothe culprits realize that the tortuous game of vice is not worth thecandle. Casuistical theologians may attempt to explain away thenotions of punishment in the life to come, of retribution beyond thegrave. But the shallowest thinker will not deny the realities ofremorse. To how many confessions, to how many suicides has it led? Ofhow many reformed lives has it been the mainspring? The greatlecturer, John B. Gough, used to tell a story of a railway employeewhose mind was overthrown by his disastrous error in misplacing aswitch, and who spent his days in the mad-house repeating the phrase:"If I only had, if I only had. " His was not an intentional or wilfuldereliction. But in the hearts of how many repentant sinners doesthere not echo through life a similar mournful refrain. This lessonhas been taught by Zola in more than one of his romances. 

In "A Love Episode" how poignant is this expiation! In all literaturethere is nothing like the portrayal of the punishment of HeleneGrandjean. Helene and little Jeanne are reversions of type. The old"neurosis, " seen in earlier branches of the family, reappears in thesecharacters. Readers of the series will know where it began. Poorlittle Jeanne, most pathetic of creations, is a study in abnormaljealousy, a jealousy which seems to be clairvoyant, full ofsupernatural intuitions, turning everything to suspicion, a jealousywhich blights and kills. Could the memory of those weeks of anguishfade from Helene's soul? This dying of a broken heart is not merelythe figment of a poet's fancy. It has happened in real life. Thecoming of death, save in the case of the very aged, seems, nearlyalways, brutally cruel, at least to those friends who survive. Parentsknow what it is to sit with bated breath and despairing heart besidethe bed of a sinking child. Seconds seem hours, and hours weeks. Theimpotency to succour, the powerlessness to save, the dumb despair, theoverwhelming grief, all these are sorrowful realities. How vividly arethey pictured by Zola. And, added to this keenness of grief in thecase of Helene Grandjean, was the sense that her fault had contributedto the illness of her daughter. Each sigh of pain was a reproach. Thepallid and ever-paling cheek was a whip of scorpions, lashing themother's naked soul. Will ethical teachers say that there is nosalutary moral lesson in this vivid picture? To many it seems betterthan a cart-load of dull tracts or somnolent homilies. Poor, patheticlittle Jeanne, lying there in the cemetery of Passy--where later waserected the real tomb of Marie Bashkirtseff, though dead she yet spokea lesson of contrition to her mother. And though the second marriageof Helene has been styled an anti-climax, yet it is true enough tolife. It does not remove the logical and artistic inference that thememory of Jeanne's sufferings lingered with ever recurring poignancyin the mother's heart. 

In a few bold lines Zola sketches a living character. Take the pictureof old Mere Fetu. One really feels her disagreeable presence, and isannoyed with her whining, leering, fawning, sycophancy. One almostresents her introduction into the pages of the book. There issomething palpably odious about her personality. A pleasing contrastis formed by the pendant portraits of the awkward little soldier andhis kitchen-sweetheart. This homely and wholesome couple one may meetany afternoon in Paris, on leave-of-absence days. Their portraits, andthe delicious description of the children's party, are evidentlystudies from life. With such vivid verisimilitude is the latterpresented that one imagines, the day after reading the book, that hehas been present at the pleasant function, and has admired the fluffydarlings, in their dainty costumes, with their chubby cavaliers. 

It is barely fair to an author to give him the credit of knowingsomething about the proper relative proportions of his characters. Andso, although Dr. Deberle is somewhat shadowy, he certainly serves theauthor's purpose, and--well, Dr. Deberle is not the hero of "AnEpisode of Love. " Rambaud and the good Abbe Jouve are certainly strongenough. There seems to be a touch of Dickens about them. 

Cities sometimes seem to be great organisms. Each has anindividuality, a specific identity, so marked, and peculiarities soespecially characteristic of itself, that one might almost allow it asoul. Down through the centuries has fair Lutetia come, growing in theartistic graces, until now she stands the playground of princes andthe capital of the world, even as mighty Rome among the ancients. Andshall we object, because a few pages of "A Love Episode" are devotedto descriptions of Paris? Rather let us be thankful for them. Thesedescriptions of the wonderful old city form a glorious pentatych. Theyare invaluable to two classes of readers, those who have visited Parisand those who have not. To the former they recall the days in whichthe spirit of the French metropolis seemed to possess their being andto take them under its wondrous spell. To the latter they supply hintsof the majesty and attractiveness of Paris, and give some inkling ofits power to please. And Zola loved his Paris as a sailor loves thesea. 

C. C. STARKWEATHER.