illed 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. Fortunately
Jeanne ran towards them at the moment.

"Mamma, mamma!" she cried; "she made me say an _Ave_; she says it will
bring you good luck."

The three then turned into the Rue Vineuse, while Mother Fetu crept
down the steps of the Passage des Eaux, busy completing her rosary.

The month slipped away. Two or three more services were attended by
Madame Deberle. One Sunday, the last one, Henri once more ventured to
wait for Helene and Jeanne. The walk home thrilled them with joy. The
month had been one long spell of wondrous bliss. The little church
seemed to have entered into their lives to soothe their love and
render its way pleasant. At first a great peace had settled on
Helene's soul; she had found happiness in this sanctuary where she
imagined she could without shame dwell on her love; however, the
undermining had continued, and when her holy rapture passed away she
was again in the grip of her passion, held by bonds that would have
plucked at her heartstrings had she sought to break them asunder.
Henri still preserved his respectful demeanor, but she could not do
otherwise than see the passion burning in his face. She dreaded some
outburst, and even grew afraid of herself.

One afternoon, going homewards after a walk with Jeanne, she passed
along the Rue de l'Annonciation and entered the church. The child was
complaining of feeling very tired. Until the last day she had been
unwilling to admit that the evening services exhausted her, so intense
was the pleasure she derived from them; but her cheeks had grown
waxy-pale, and the doctor advised that she should take long walks.

"Sit down here," said her mother. "It will rest you; we'll only stay
ten minutes."

She herself walked towards some chairs a short way off, and knelt
down. She had placed Jeanne close to a pillar. Workmen were busy at
the other end of the nave, taking down the hangings and removing the
flowers, the ceremonials attending the month of Mary having come to an
end the evening before. With her face buried in her hands Helene saw
nothing and heard nothing; she was eagerly catechising her heart,
asking whether she ought not to confess to Abbe Jouve what an awful
life had come upon her. He would advise her, perhaps restore her lo