don't say
anything; surely I've deserved my breakfast to-day."

She had curled herself up before the fire in her own little
easy-chair. Then Rosalie poured out the coffee and milk. Jeanne took
her bowl on her lap, and gravely soaked her toast in its contents with
all the airs of a grown-up person. Helene had always forbidden her to
eat in this way, but that morning she remained plunged in thought. She
did not touch her own bread, and was satisfied with drinking her coffee.
Then Jeanne, after swallowing her last morsel, was stung with remorse.
Her heart filled, she put aside her bowl, and gazing on her mother's
pale face, threw herself on her neck: "Mamma, are you ill now? I
haven't vexed you, have I?--say."

"No, no, my darling, quite the contrary; you're very good," murmured
Helene as she embraced her. "I'm only a little wearied; I haven't
slept well. Go on playing: don't be uneasy."

The thought occurred to her that the day would prove a terribly long
one. What could she do whilst waiting for the night? For some time
past she had abandoned her needlework; sewing had become a terrible
weariness. For hours she lingered in her seat with idle hands, almost
suffocating in her room, and craving to go out into the open air for
breath, yet never stirring. It was this room which made her ill; she
hated it, in angry exasperation over the two years which she had spent
within its walls; its blue velvet and the vast panorama of the mighty
city disgusted her, and her thoughts dwelt on a lodging in some busy
street, the uproar of which would have deafened her. Good heavens! how
long were the hours! She took up a book, but the fixed idea that
engrossed her mind continually conjured up the same visions between
her eyes and the page of print.

In the meantime Rosalie had been busy setting the room in order;
Jeanne's hair also had been brushed, and she was dressed. While her
mother sat at the window, striving to read, the child, who was in one
of her moods of obstreperous gaiety, began playing a grand game. She
was all alone; but this gave her no discomfort; she herself
represented three or four persons in turn with comical earnestness and
gravity. At first she played the lady going on a visit. She vanished
into the dining-room, and returned bowing and smiling, her head
nodding this way and that in the most coquettish style.

"Good-day, madame! How are you, madame? How long it is since I've seen
you! A marvellously long time, to b