ed
herself as much as though twelve children of her own age had been
beside her.

But evening came at last. Six o'clock was about to strike. And Helene,
rousing herself from the troubled stupor in which she had spent the
afternoon, hurriedly threw a shawl over her shoulders.

"Are you going out, mamma?" asked Jeanne in her surprise.

"Yes, my darling, just for a walk close by. I won't be long; be good."

Outside it was still thawing. The footways were covered with mud. In
the Rue de Passy, Helene entered a boot shop, to which she had taken
Mother Fetu on a previous occasion. Then she returned along the Rue
Raynouard. The sky was grey, and from the pavement a mist was rising.
The street stretched dimly before her, deserted and fear-inspiring,
though the hour was yet early. In the damp haze the infrequent
gas-lamps glimmered like yellow spots. She quickened her steps, keeping
close to the houses, and shrinking from sight as though she were on
the way to some assignation. However, as she hastily turned into the
Passage des Eaux, she halted beneath the archway, her heart giving way
to genuine terror. The passage opened beneath her like some black
gulf. The bottom of it was invisible; the only thing she could see in
this black tunnel was the quivering gleam of the one lamp which
lighted it. Eventually she made up her mind, and grasped the iron
railing to prevent herself from slipping. Feeling her way with the tip
of her boots she landed successively on the broad steps. The walls,
right and left, grew closer, seemingly prolonged by the darkness,
while the bare branches of the trees above cast vague shadows, like
those of gigantic arms with closed or outstretched hands. She trembled
as she thought that one of the garden doors might open and a man
spring out upon her. There were no passers-by, however, and she
stepped down as quickly as possible. Suddenly from out of the darkness
loomed a shadow which coughed, and she was frozen with fear; but it
was only an old woman creeping with difficulty up the path. Then she
felt less uneasy, and carefully raised her dress, which had been
trailing in the mud. So thick was the latter that her boots were
constantly sticking to the steps. At the bottom she turned aside
instinctively. From the branches the raindrops dripped fast into the
passage, and the lamp glimmered like that of some miner, hanging to
the side of a pit which infiltrations have rendered dangerous.

Helene climbed stra