ewhat. With a careless
gesture she exclaimed: "No, no; I would rather she wasn't worried. If
there be a heaven, she will have no difficulty in entering its gates."

That evening, however, Jeanne experienced one of those deceptive
improvements in health which fill the dying with illusions as to their
condition. Her hearing, rendered more acute by illness, had enabled
her to catch the Abbe's words.

"It's you, dear old friend!" said she. "You spoke about the first
communion. It will be soon, won't it?"

"No doubt, my darling," he answered.

Then she wanted him to come near to speak to her. Her mother had
propped her up with the pillow, and she reclined there, looking very
little, with a smile on her fever-burnt lips, and the shadow of death
already passing over her brilliant eyes.

"Oh! I'm getting on very well," she began. "I could get up if I
wanted. But tell me: should I have a white gown and flowers? Will the
church be as beautiful as it was in the Month of Mary?"

"More beautiful, my pet."

"Really? Will there be as many flowers, and will there be such sweet
chants? It will be soon, soon--you promise me, won't you?"

She was wrapt in joy. She gazed on the curtains of the bed, and
murmured in her transport that she was very fond of the good God, and
had seen Him while she was listening to the canticles. Even now she
could hear organs pealing, see lights that circled round, and flowers
in great vases hovering like butterflies before her eyes. Then another
fit of coughing threw her back on the pillow. However, her face was
still flushed with a smile; she seemed to be unconscious of her cough,
but continued:

"I shall get up to-morrow. I shall learn my catechism without a
mistake, and we'll be all very happy."

A sob came from Helene as she stood at the foot of the bed. She had
been powerless to weep, but a storm of tears rushed up from her bosom
as Jeanne's laughter fell on her ear. Then, almost stifling, she fled
into the dining-room, that she might hide her despair. The Abbe
followed her. Monsieur Rambaud had at once started up to engage the
child's attention.

"Oh dear! mamma cried out! Has she hurt herself?" she asked.

"Your mamma?" he answered. "No, she didn't cry out; she was laughing
because you are feeling so well."

In the dining-room, her head bowed dejectedly on the table, Helene
strove to stifle her sobs with her clasped hands. The Abbe hung over
her, and prayed her to restrain her emotion.