rthier's bells could be heard ringing in unison with
the softer notes of the piano; Madame Deberle and Pauline were
clapping their hands, by way of beating time. It was a polka, and
Helene caught a glimpse of Jeanne and Lucien, as they passed by
smiling, 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 brightness
blinded her. She was terror-stricken--she dared not return to the
drawing-room with the tale of passion written so legibly on her face.
So, hastily crossing the garden, she climbed to her own home, the
noises of the ball-room still ringing in her ears.

CHAPTER X.

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

The rain had ceased, and the clouds were trooping off like some herd
of monsters hurrying in disorderly array into the gloom of the
horizon. A blue gap, that grew larger by degrees, had opened up above
the city. But Helene, her elbows trembling on the window-rail, still
breathless from her hasty ascent, saw nothing, and merely heard her
heart beating against her swelling breast. She drew a long breath, but
it seemed to her that the spreading valley with its river, its two
millions of people, its immense city, its distant hills, could not
hold air enough to enable her to breathe peacefully and regularly
again.

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

Instinctively she buried