nable to find a word in reply, Henri withdrew. He lingered for
a moment longer in the dining-room, awaiting he knew not what,
something that might possibly take place. But seeing that Doctor Bodin
did not come out, he groped his way down the stairs without even
Rosalie to light him. He thought of the awful speed with which
galloping consumption--a disease to which he had devoted earnest
study--carried off its victims; the miliary tubercles would rapidly
multiply, the stifling sensation would become more and more
pronounced; Jeanne would certainly not last another three weeks.

The first of these passed by. In the mighty expanse of heaven before
the window, the sun rose and set above Paris, without Helene being
more than vaguely conscious of the pitiless, steady advance of time.
She grasped the fact that her daughter was doomed; she lived plunged
in a stupor, alive only to the terrible anguish that filled her heart.
It was but waiting on in hopelessness, in certainty that death would
prove merciless. She could not weep, but paced gently to and fro,
tending the sufferer with slow, regulated movements. At times,
yielding to fatigue, she would fall upon a chair, whence she gazed at
her for hours. Jeanne grew weaker and weaker; painful vomiting was
followed by exhaustion; the fever never quitted her. When Doctor Bodin
called, he examined her for a little while and left some prescription;
but his drooping shoulders, as he left the room, were eloquent of such
powerlessness that the mother forbore to accompany him to ask even a
question.

On the morning after the illness had declared itself, Abbe Jouve had
made all haste to call. He and his brother now again came every
evening, exchanging a mute clasp of the hand with Helene, and never
venturing to ask any news. They had offered to watch by the bedside in
succession, but she sent them away when ten o'clock struck; she would
have no one in the bedroom during the night. One evening the Abbe, who
had seemed absorbed by some idea since the previous day, took her
aside.

"There is one thing I've thought of," he whispered. "Her health has
put obstacles in the darling child's way; but her first communion
might take place here."

His meaning at first did not seem to dawn on Helene. The thought that,
despite all his indulgence, he should now allow his priestly character
the ascendant and evince no concern but in spiritual matters, came on
her with surprise, and even wounded her som