had
asked a question and their answer had been given the conversation
abruptly fell. They experienced some discomfort with her standing thus
behind their backs. They did not turn round, but spoke into their
plates, their shoulders bent beneath her gaze, while, to conform to
propriety, each mouthful they swallowed was as small as possible. On
the other hand, Helene had now regained her tranquillity, and felt
quite happy there.

"Don't fret, madame," said Rosalie; "the kettle is singing already. I
wish the fire would only burn up a little better!"

She wanted to see to it, but Helene would not allow her to disturb
herself. It would be all right by-and-by. An intense weariness now
pervaded the young woman's limbs. Almost mechanically she crossed the
kitchen and approached the window, where she observed the third chair,
which was very high, and when turned over became a stepladder.
However, she did not sit down on it at once, for she had caught sight
of a number of pictures heaped up on a corner of the table.

"Dear me!" she exclaimed, as she took them in her hand, inspired with
the wish of gratifying Zephyrin.

The little soldier gaped with a silent chuckle. His face beamed with
smiles, and his eyes followed each picture, his head wagging whenever
something especially lovely was being examined by madame.

"That one there," he suddenly remarked, "I found in the Rue du Temple.
She's a beautiful woman, with flowers in her basket."

Helene sat down and inspected the beautiful woman who decorated the
gilt and varnished lid of a box of lozenges, every stain on which had
been carefully wiped off by Zephyrin. On the chair a dish-cloth was
hanging, and she could not well lean back. She flung it aside,
however, and once more lapsed into her dreaming. Then the two
sweethearts remarked madame's good nature, and their restraint
vanished--in the end, indeed, her very presence was forgotten by them.
One by one the pictures had dropped from her hands on to her knees,
and, with a vague smile playing on her face, she examined the
sweethearts and listened to their talk.

"I say, my dear," whispered the girl, "won't you have some more
mutton?"

He answered neither yes nor no, but swung backwards and forwards on
his chair as though he had been tickled, then contentedly stretched
himself, while she placed a thick slice on his plate. His red epaulets
moved up and down, and his bullet-shaped head, with its huge
projecting ears, swayed