the better for a change."

"Oh! then," exclaimed Juliette, "we can take Lucien, and we can all go
together. That will be pleasant, won't it?"

"Yes, indeed; I'll do whatever you wish," he answered, smiling.

Jeanne lowered her face, wiped two big tears of passionate anger and
grief from her eyes, and fell back in her chair as though she would
fain hear and see no more; while Madame Deberle, filled with ecstasy
by the idea of such unexpected pleasure, began chattering noisily. Oh!
how kind her husband was! She kissed him for his self-sacrifice. Then,
without the loss of a moment, she busied herself with sketching the
necessary preparations. They would start the very next week. Goodness
gracious! she would never have time to get everything ready! Next she
wanted to draw out a plan of their tour; they would need to visit this
and that town certainly; they could stay a week at Rome; they must
stop at a little country place that Madame de Guiraud had mentioned to
her; and she wound up by engaging in a lively discussion with Pauline,
who was eager that they should postpone their departure till such time
as she could accompany them with her husband.

"Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Juliette; "the wedding can take place
when we come back."

Jeanne's presence had been wholly forgotten. Her eyes were riveted on
her mother and the doctor. The proposed journey, indeed, now offered
inducements to Helene, as it must necessarily keep Henri near her. In
fact, a keen delight filled her heart at the thought of journeying
together through the land of the sun, living side by side, and
profiting by the hours of freedom. Round her lips wreathed a smile of
happy relief; she had so greatly feared that she might lose him; and
deemed herself fortunate in the thought that she would carry her love
along with her. While Juliette was discoursing of the scenes they
would travel through, both Helene and Henri, indeed, indulged in the
dream that they were already strolling through a fairy land of
perennial spring, and each told the other with a look that their
passion would reign there, aye, wheresoever they might breathe the
same air.

In the meantime, Monsieur Rambaud, who with unconscious sadness had
slowly lapsed into silence, observed Jeanne's evident discomfort.

"Aren't you well, my darling?" he asked in a whisper.

"No! I'm quite ill! Carry me up again, I implore you."

"But we must tell your mamma."

"Oh, no, no! mamma is busy; she h