in her hand to see if
she would soon be able to walk.

At the same time some anxiety remained to Helene. On several occasions
she had seen a shadow come over Jeanne's face--a shadow of sudden
distrust and sourness. Why was her laughter thus abruptly turned to
sulkiness? Was she suffering? was she hiding some quickening of the
old pain?

"Tell me, darling, what is the matter? You were laughing just a moment
ago, and now you are nearly crying! Speak to me: do you feel a pain
anywhere?"

But Jeanne abruptly turned away her head and buried her face in the
pillow.

"There's nothing wrong with me," she answered curtly. "I want to be
left alone."

And she would lie brooding the whole afternoon, with her eyes fixed on
the wall, showing no sign of affectionate repentance, but plunged in a
sadness which baffled her forlorn mother. The doctor knew not what to
say; these fits of gloom would always break out when he was there, and
he attributed them to the sufferer's nervousness. He impressed on
Helene the necessity of crossing her in nothing.

One afternoon Jeanne had fallen asleep. Henri, who was pleased with
her progress, had lingered in the room, and was carrying on a
whispered conversation with Helene, who was once more busy with her
everlasting needlework at her seat beside the window. Since the
terrible night when she had confessed she loved him both had lived on
peacefully in the consciousness of their mutual passions, careless of
the morrow, and without a thought of the world. Around Jeanne's bed,
in this room that still reverberated with her agony, there was an
atmosphere of purity which shielded them from any outburst. The
child's innocent breath fell on them with a quieting influence. But as
the little invalid slowly grew well again, their love in very sympathy
took new strength, and they would sit side by side with beating
hearts, speaking little, and then only in whispers, lest the little
one might be awakened. Their words were without significance, but
struck re-echoing chords within the breast of each. That afternoon
their love revealed itself in a thousand ways.

"I assure you she is much better," said the doctor. "In a fortnight
she will be able to go down to the garden."

Helene went on stitching quickly.

"Yesterday she was again very sad," she murmured, "but this morning
she was laughing and happy. She has given me her promise to be good."

A long silence followed. The child was still plunged in sl