asn't any time to give to us. Carry
me up, oh! carry me up again."

He took her in his arms, and told Helene that the child felt tired. In
answer she requested him to wait for her in her rooms; she would
hasten after them. The little one, though light as a feather, seemed
to slip from his grasp, and he was forced to come to a standstill on
the second landing. She had leaned her head against his shoulder, and
each gazed into the other's face with a look of grievous pain. Not a
sound broke upon the chill silence of the staircase. Then in a low
whisper he asked her:

"You're pleased, aren't you, to go to Italy?"

But she thereupon burst into sobs, declaring in broken words that she
no longer had any craving to go, and would rather die in her own room.
Oh! she would not go, she would fall ill, she knew it well. She would
go nowhere--nowhere. They could give her little shoes to the poor.
Then amidst tears she whispered to him:

"Do you remember what you asked me one night?"

"What was it, my pet?"

"To stay with mamma always--always--always! Well, if you wish so
still, I wish so too!"

The tears welled into Monsieur Rambaud's eyes. He kissed her lovingly,
while she added in a still lower tone:

"You are perhaps vexed by my getting so angry over it. I didn't
understand, you know. But it's you whom I want! Oh! say that it will
be soon. Won't you say that it will be soon? I love you more than the
other one."

Below in the pavilion, Helene had begun to dream once more. The
proposed journey was still the topic of conversation; and she now
experienced an unconquerable yearning to relieve her overflowing
heart, and acquaint Henri with all the happiness which was stifling
her. So, while Juliette and Pauline were wrangling over the number of
dresses that ought to be taken, she leaned towards him and gave him
the assignation which she had refused but an hour before.

"Come to-night; I shall expect you."

But as she at last ascended to her own rooms, she met Rosalie flying
terror-stricken down the stairs. The moment she saw her mistress, the
girl shrieked out:

"Madame! madame! Oh! make haste, do! Mademoiselle is very ill! She's
spitting blood!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

On rising from the dinner-table the doctor spoke to his wife of a
confinement case, in close attendance on which he would doubtless have
to pass the night. He quitted the house at nine o'clock, walked down
to the riverside, and