ver returned, drawn to the bedside by the physical
craving to see. She waited, standing erect, her arms hanging beside
her, and her face swollen by despair.

About one o'clock Abbe Jouve and Monsieur Rambaud arrived. The doctor
went to meet them, and muttered a few words. Both grew pale, and stood
stock-still in consternation, while their hands began to tremble.
Helene had not turned round.

The weather was lovely that day; it was one of those sunny afternoons
typical of early April. Jeanne was tossing in her bed. Her lips moved
painfully at times with the intolerable thirst which consumed her. She
had brought her poor transparent hands from under the coverlet, and
waved them gently to and fro. The hidden working of the disease was
accomplished, she coughed no more, and her dying voice came like a
faint breath. For a moment she turned her head, and her eyes sought
the light. Doctor Bodin threw the window wide open, and then Jeanne at
once became tranquil, with her cheek resting on the pillow and her
looks roving over Paris, while her heavy breathing grew fainter and
slower.

During the three weeks of her illness she had thus many times turned
towards the city that stretched away to the horizon. Her face grew
grave, she was musing. At this last hour Paris was smiling under the
glittering April sunshine. Warm breezes entered from without, with
bursts of urchin's laughter and the chirping of sparrows. On the brink
of the grave the child exerted her last strength to gaze again on the
scene, and follow the flying smoke which soared from the distant
suburbs. She recognized her three friends, the Invalides, the
Pantheon, and the Tower of Saint-Jacques; then the unknown began, and
her weary eyelids half closed at sight of the vast ocean of roofs.
Perhaps she was dreaming that she was growing much lighter and
lighter, and was fleeting away like a bird. Now, at last, she would
soon know all; she would perch herself on the domes and steeples;
seven or eight flaps of her wings would suffice, and she would be able
to gaze on the forbidden mysteries that were hidden from children. But
a fresh uneasiness fell upon her, and her hands groped about; she only
grew calm again when she held her large doll in her little arms
against her bosom. It was evidently her wish to take it with her. Her
glances wandered far away amongst the chimneys glinting with the sun's
ruddy light.

Four o'clock struck, and the bluish shadows of evening were