ank
dwellings. The lines of house-fronts, the yawning streets, the islands
of roofs, were burning with a more sullen glow. The flashes of fire
died away in the darkening windows, as though the houses were reduced
to embers. Distant bells rang out; a rumbling noise fell on the ears,
and then subsided. With the approach of night the expanse of sky grew
more vast, spreading a vault of violet, streaked with gold and purple,
above the ruddy city. But all at once the conflagration flared afresh
with 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 the
clustering 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 in
hand, screaming out in the familiar fashion of a favorite servant:
"Oh, madame, come quick! His reverence the Abbe is digging the ground
down in the doctor's garden."

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

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

"They must be for the church," quietly said Helene, who was busy with
some 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 following
Tuesday. His evenings would be wholly taken up with the ceremonies
incident to the month of Mary. The parish priest had assigned him the
task of decorating the church. It would be a great success. All the
ladies were giving him flowers. He was expecting two palm-trees about
fourteen feet high, and meant to place them to the right and left of
the altar.

"Oh! mamma, mamma!" murmured Jeanne, listening, wonderstruck.

"Well," said Helene, with a smile, "since you cannot come to us, my
old friend, we will go to see you. Why, you've quite turned Jeanne's
head with your talk about flowers."

She had few religious tendencies; she never even went to mass, on the
plea that her daughter's health suffered from the shivering fits which
seized her when she came out of a church. In her presence the old
priest avoided all reference to religion. It was h