ion, as though she had already lived all alone in some unknown
sphere. When they who hovered round her wished to attract her
attention, they named themselves that she might recognize them; but
she would gaze at them fixedly, without a smile, then turn herself
round towards the wall with a weary look. A gloominess was settling
over her; she was passing away amidst the same vexation and sulkiness
as she had displayed in past days of jealous outbursts. Still, at
times the whims characteristic of sickness would awaken her to some
consciousness. One morning she asked her mother:

"To-day is Sunday, isn't it?"

"No, my child," answered Helene; "this is only Friday. Why do you wish
to know?"

Jeanne seemed to have already forgotten the question she had asked.
But two days later, while Rosalie was in the room, she said to her in
a whisper: "This is Sunday. Zephyrin is here; ask him to come and see
me."

The maid hesitated, but Helene, who had heard, nodded to her in token
of consent. The child spoke again:

"Bring him; come both of you; I shall be so pleased."

When Rosalie entered the sick-room with Zephyrin, she raised herself
on her pillow. The little soldier, with bare head and hands spread
out, swayed about to hide his intense emotion. He had a great love for
mademoiselle, and it grieved him unutterably to see her "shouldering
arms on the left," as he expressed it in the kitchen. So, in spite of
the previous injunctions of Rosalie, who had instructed him to put on
a bright expression, he stood speechless, with downcast face, on
seeing her so pale and wasted to a skeleton. He was still as
tender-hearted as ever, despite his conquering airs. He could not even
think of one of those fine phrases which nowadays he usually concocted
so easily. The maid behind him gave him a pinch to make him laugh. But
he could only stammer out:

"I beg pardon--mademoiselle and every one here--"

Jeanne was still raising herself with the help of her tiny arms. She
widely opened her large, vacant eyes; she seemed to be looking for
something; her head shook with a nervous trembling. Doubtless the
stream of light was blinding her as the shadows of death gathered
around.

"Come closer, my friend," said Helene to the soldier. "It was
mademoiselle who asked to see you."

The sunshine entered through the window in a slanting ray of golden
light, in which the dust rising from the carpet could be seen
circling. March had come, and the sprin