in her arms to lull
her to deeper slumber against her shoulder; and at intervals whilst
her child thus rested she raised to Henri's eyes glistening with
passionate tears.

Stretched in her cot, the bedclothes tucked under her chin, and her
head, with its dark brown tresses, resting in the centre of the
pillow, Jeanne lay, relieved, but prostrate. Her eyelids were closed,
but she did not sleep. The lamp, placed on the table, which had been
rolled close to the fireplace, lit but one end of the room, and the
shade encompassed Helene and Henri, seated in their customary places
on each side of the bed. But the child did not part them; on the
contrary, she served as a closer bond between them, and her innocence
was intermingled with their love on this first night of its avowal. At
times Helene rose on tiptoe to fetch the medicine, to turn up the
lamp, or give some order to Rosalie; while the doctor, whose eyes
never quitted her, would sign to her to walk gently. And when she had
sat down again they smiled at one another. Not a word was spoken; all
their interest was concentrated on Jeanne, who was to them as their
love itself. Sometimes when the coverlet was being pulled up, or the
child's head was being raised, their hands met and rested together in
sweet forgetfulness. This undesigned, stealthy caress was the only one
in which they indulged.

"I am not sleeping," murmured Jeanne. "I know very well you are
there."

On hearing her speak they were overjoyed. Their hands parted; beyond
this they had no desires. The improvement in the child's condition was
to them satisfaction and peace.

"Are you feeling better, my darling?" asked Helene, when she saw her
stirring.

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 that
pleases me."

After the lapse of a moment, she opened her eyes with an effort and
looked at them. Then an angelic smile crossed her face, and her
eyelids dropped once more.

On the morrow, when the Abbe and Monsieur Rambaud made their
appearance, Helene gave way to a shrug of impatience. They were now a
disturbing element in her happy nest. As they went on questioning her,
shaking with fear lest they might receive bad tidings, she had the
cruelty to reply that Jeanne was no better. She spoke without
consideration, driven to this strait by the selfish desire of
treasuring for herself and Henri the bliss of having rescue