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 little hands clasped on her bosom, looking as though she herself had drunk in all the air that was stirring. Her breath failed her; with a rythmical movement of the shoulders she kept time with the long strokes of the swing. And she cried, 'Quicker! quicker!' while her mother still went higher, her feet grazing the lofty branches of the trees.
'Higher, mamma! oh, higher, mamma!'
But Helene was already in the very heavens. The trees bent and cracked as beneath a gale. Her skirts, which were all they could see, flapped with a tempestuous sound. When she came back with arms stretched out and bosom distended she lowered her head slightly and for a moment hovered; but then she rose again and sank backwards, her head tilted, her eyes closed, as though she had swooned. These ascensions and descents which made her giddy were delightful. In her flight she entered into the sunshine-the pale yellow February sunshine that rained down like golden dust. Her chestnut hair gleamed with amber tints; and a flame seemed to have leaped up around her, as the mauve bows on her whitening dress flashed like burning flowers. Around her the springtide was maturing into birth, and the purple-tinted gems of the trees showed like delicate lacquer against the blue sky.
Jeanne clasped her hands. Her mother seemed to her a saint with a golden glory round her head, winging her way to paradise, and she again stammered: 'Oh, mamma! oh! mamma!'
Madame Deberle and Malignon had now grown interested, and had stepped under the trees. Malignon declared the lady to be very bold.
'I should faint, I'm sure,' said Madame Deberle, with a frightened air.
Helene heard them, for she dropped these words from among the branches: 'Oh, my heart is all right! Give a stronger push, Monsieur Rambaud!'
And indeed her voice betrayed no emotion. She seemed to take no heed of the two men who were onlookers. They were doubtless nothing to her. Her tress of hair had become entangled, and the cord that confined her skirts must have given way, for the drapery flapped in the wind like a flag. She was going still higher.
All at once, however, the exclamation rang out:
'Enough, Monsieur Rambaud, enough!'
Doctor Deberle had just appeared on the house steps. He came forward, embraced his wife tenderly, took up Lucien and kissed his brow. Then he gazed at Helene with a smile.
'Enough, enough!' she still continued exclaiming.
'Why?' asked he. 'Do I disturb you?'
She made no answer; a look of gravity had suddenly come over her face. The swing, still continuing its rapid flights, owing to the impetus given to it, would not stop, but swayed to and fro with a regular motion which still bore Helene to a great height. The doctor, surprised and charmed, beheld her with admiration; she looked so superb, so tall and strong, with the pure figure of an antique statue whilst swinging thus gently amid the spring sunshine. But she seemed annoyed, and all at once leaped down.
'Stop! stop!' they all cried out.
From Helene's lips came a dull moan; she had fallen upon the gravel of a pathway, and her efforts to rise were fruitless.
'Good heavens!' exclaimed the doctor, his face turning very pale. 'How imprudent!'
They all crowded round her. Jeanne began weeping so bitterly that Monsieur Rambaud, with his heart in his mouth, was compelled to take her in his arms. The doctor, meanwhile, eagerly questioned Helene.
'Is it the right leg you fell on? Cannot you stand upright?' And as she remained dazed, without answering, he asked: 'Do you suffer?'
'Yes, here at the knee; a dull pain,' she answered, with difficulty.
He at once sent his wife for his medicine case and some bandages, and repeated:
'I must see, I must see. No doubt it is a mere nothing.'
He knelt down on the gravel and Helene let him do so; but all at once she struggled to her feet and said: 'No, no!'
'But I must examine the place,' he said.
A slight quiver stole over her, and she answered in a yet lower tone:
'It is not necessary. It is nothing at all.'
He looked at her, at first astounded. Her neck was flushing red; for a moment their eyes met, and seemed to read each other's soul; he was disconcerted, and slowly rose, remaining near her, but without pressing her further.
Helene had signed to Monsieur Rambaud. 'Fetch Doctor Bodin,' she whispered in his ear, 'and tell him what has happened to me.'
Ten minutes later, when Doctor Bodin made his appearance, she, with superhuman courage, regained her feet, and leaning on him and Monsieur Rambaud, contrived to return home. Jeanne followed, quivering with sobs.
'I shall wait,' said Doctor Deberle to his brother physician. 'Come down and remove our fears.'
In the garden a lively colloquy ensued. Malignon was of opinion that women had queer ideas. Why on earth had that lady been so foolish as to jump down? Pauline, excessively provoked at this accident, which deprived her of a pleasure, declared it was silly to swing so high. On his side Doctor Deberle did not say a word, but seemed anxious.
'It is nothing serious,' said Doctor Bodin, as he came down again -'only a sprain. Still, she will have to keep to an easy-chair for at least a fortnight.'
Thereupon Monsieur Deberle gave a friendly slap on Malignon's shoulder. He wished his wife to go in, as it was really becoming too cold. For his own part, taking Lucien in his arms, he carried him into the house, covering him with kisses the while.
CHAPTER V.
Both windows of the bedroom were wide open, and in the depths below the house, which was perched on the very summit of the hill, lay Paris, rolling away in a mighty flat expanse. Ten o'clock struck; the lovely February morning had all the sweetness and perfume of spring.
Helene reclined in an invalid chair, reading in front of one of the windows, her knee still in bandages. She suffered no pain; but she had been confined to her room for a week past, unable even to take up her customary needlework. Not knowing what to do, she had opened a book which she had found on the table-she, who indulged in little or no reading at any time. This book was the one she used every night as a shade for the night-lamp, the only volume which she had taken within eighteen months from the small but irreproachable library selected by Monsieur Rambaud. Novels usually seemed to her false to life and puerile; and this one, Sir Walter Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' had at first wearied her to death. However, a strange curiosity had grown upon her, and she was finishing it, at times
