and while he showed it to Helene, the little
governess sat down on a stone bench that encircled a large mulberry
tree, the only shady place in the garden. They could hear the children's
voices not far off. Helene sat down near Mademoiselle Moineau. Angelot
went away and came back with a leaf filled with fruit, to which Helene
helped herself with a smile. As he was going to hand it to Mademoiselle
Moineau, she put out a hand to stop him.

"She is asleep," she whispered.

It was true. The warmth, the fatigue, the sudden rest and silence, had
been too much for the little lady, who was growing old. Her eyes were
shut, her hands were folded, her chin had sunk upon her chest; and even
as Angelot stared in unbelieving joy, a distinct snore set Helene
suddenly laughing.

"I must wake her," she said softly. "We must go, we must find the
children."

"Oh no, no!" he murmured. "Let the poor thing rest--see how tired she
is! The children are safe--you can hear them. Do not be so cruel to
her--and to me."

"_I_ cruel?" said Helene; and she added half to herself--"No--other
people are cruel--not I."

Angelot did not understand her. She looked up at him rather dreamily, as
he stood before her. Perhaps the gulf of impossibility between them kept
her, brought up and strictly sheltered as she had been, from realising
the meaning of the young man's face. It was very grave; Angelot had
never before felt so utterly in earnest. His eyes were no longer sleepy,
for all the strength of his nature, the new passion that possessed him,
was shining in them. It was a beautiful, daring face, so attractive that
Helene gazed for a speechless moment or two before she understood that
the beauty and life and daring were all for her. Then the pale girl
flushed a little and dropped her eyes. She had had compliments enough in
Paris, had been told of her loveliness, but never with silent speech
such as this. This conquest, though only of a young cousin, had
something different, something new. Helene, hopeless and tired at
nineteen, confessed to herself that this Angelot was adorable. With a
sort of desperation she gave herself up to the moment's enjoyment, and
said no more about waking Mademoiselle Moineau, who snored on
peacefully, or about finding the children. She allowed Angelot to sit
down on her other side, and listened to him with a sweet surprise as he
murmured in her ear--"Who is cruel, then, tell me! No, you are not, you
are an angel--but who