't
you, sir?"

This determined Helene. The youth which dwelt within her, in spite of
the cold demureness of her great beauty, displayed itself in a
charming, ingenuous fashion. She became a thorough school-girl,
unaffected and gay. There was no prudishness about her. She laughingly
declared that she must not expose her legs, and asked for some cord to
tie her skirts securely round her ankles. That done, she stood upright
on the swing, her arms extended and clinging to the ropes.

"Now, push, Monsieur Rambaud," she exclaimed delightedly. "But gently
at first!"

Monsieur Rambaud had hung his hat on the branch of a tree. His broad,
kindly face beamed with a fatherly smile. First he tested the strength
of the ropes, and, giving a look at the trees, determined to give a
slight push. That day Helene had for the first time abandoned her
widow's weeds; she was wearing a grey dress set off with mauve bows.
Standing upright, she began to swing, almost touching the ground, and
as if rocking herself to sleep.

"Quicker! quicker!" she exclaimed.

Monsieur Rambaud, with his hands ready, caught the seat as it came
back to him, and gave it a more vigorous push. Helene went higher,
each ascent taking her farther. However, despite the motion, she did
not lose her sedateness; she retained almost an austre demeanor; her
eyes shone very brightly in her beautiful, impassive face; her
nostrils only were inflated, as though to drink in the air.

Not a fold of her skirts was out of place, but a plait of her hair
slipped down.

"Quicker! quicker!" she called.

An energetic push gave her increased impetus. Up in the sunshine she
flew, even higher and higher. A breeze sprung up with her motion, and
blew through the garden; her flight was so swift that they could
scarcely distinguish her figure aright. Her face was now all smiles,
and flushed with a rosy red, while her eyes sparkled here, then there,
like shooting stars. The loosened plait of hair rustled against her
neck. Despite the cords which bound them, her skirts now waved about,
and you could divine that she was at her ease, her bosom heaving in
its free enjoyment as though the air were indeed her natural place.

"Quicker! quicker!"

Monsieur Rambaud, his face red and bedewed with perspiration, exerted
all his strength. A cry rang out. Helene went still higher.

"Oh, mamma! Oh, mamma!" repeated Jeanne in her ecstasy.

She was sitting on the lawn gazing at her mother, her litt