mortal terror; but now she was eating, and eating so
prettily, with all an invalid's characteristic dawdling and hesitancy!

"You won't be angry, mamma? I'm doing my best. Why, I'm at my third
bit of bread! Are you pleased?"

"Yes, my darling, quite pleased. Oh! you don't know all the joy the
sight gives me!"

And then, in the happiness with which she overflowed, Helene
forgetfully leaned against Henri's shoulder. Both laughed gleefully at
the child, but over her face there suddenly crept a sullen flush; she
gazed at them stealthily, and drooped her head, and refused to eat any
more, her features glooming the while with distrust and anger. At last
they had to lay her back in bed again.

CHAPTER XIII.

Months slipped away, and Jeanne was still convalescent. August came,
and she had not quitted her bed. When evening fell she would rise for
an hour or two; but even the crossing of the room to the window--where
she reclined on an invalid-chair and gazed out on Paris, flaming with
the ruddy light of the dying sun--seemed too great a strain for her
wearied frame. Her attenuated limbs could scarce bear their burden,
and she would declare with a wan smile that the blood in her veins
would not suffice for a little bird, and that she must have plenty of
soup. Morsels of raw meat were dipped in her broth. She had grown to
like this mixture, as she longed to be able to go down to play in the
garden.

The weeks and the months which slipped by were ever instinct with the
same delightful monotony, and Helene forgot to count the days. She
never left the house; at Jeanne's side she forgot the whole world. No
news from without reached her ears. Her retreat, though it looked down
on Paris, which with its smoke and noise stretched across the horizon,
was as secret and secluded as any cave of holy hermit amongst the
hills. Her child was saved, and the knowledge of it satisfied all her
desires. She spent her days in watching over her return to health,
rejoicing in a shade of bright color returning to her cheeks, in a
lively look, or in a gesture of gladness. Every hour made her daughter
more like what she had been of old, with lovely eyes and wavy hair.
The slower Jeanne's recovery, the greater joy was yielded to Helene,
who recalled the olden days when she had suckled her, and, as she
gazed on her gathering strength, felt even a keener emotion than when
in the past she had measured her two little feet