With his ears on the alert, he must during the last moment have heard some of the words spoken in the next room; for his poor hands were now trembling more and more, while his tongue faltered, so that he could only half articulate his sentences.
Helene, who was unable to quiet herself, now began the conversation anew. 'Marry again! And whom, pray?' she suddenly asked the priest, as she laid her work down on the table. 'You have some one in view, have you not?'
Abbe Jouve rose from his chair and stalked slowly up and down. Without halting, he nodded assent.
'Well! tell me who he is,' she said.
For a moment he lingered before her erect, then, shrugging his shoulders, said: 'What's the good, since you decline?'
'No matter, I want to know,' she replied. 'How can I make up my mind when I don't know?'
He did not answer her immediately, but remained standing there, gazing into her face. A somewhat sad smile wreathed his lips. At last he exclaimed, almost in a whisper: 'What! have you not guessed?'
No, she could not guess. She tried to do so, with increasing wonder, whereupon he made a simple sign-nodding his head in the direction of the dining-room.
'He!' she exclaimed, in a muffled tone, and a great seriousness fell upon her. She no longer indulged in violent protestations; only sorrow and surprise remained visible on her face. She sat for a long time plunged in thought, her gaze turned to the floor. Truly, she had never dreamed of such a thing; and yet, she found nothing in it to object to. Monsieur Rambaud was the only man in whose hand she could put her own honestly and without fear. She knew his innate goodness; she did not smile at his
Meanwhile the Abbe had again begun walking from one to the other end of the room, and on passing the dining-room door he gently called Helene. 'Come here and look!'
She rose and did as he wished.
Monsieur Rambaud had ended by seating Jeanne in his own chair; and he, who had at first been leaning against the table, had now slipped down at the child's feet. He was on his knees before her, encircling her with one of his arms. On the table was the carriage drawn by the chicken, with some boats, boxes, and bishops' mitres.
'Now, do you love me well?' he asked her. 'Tell me that you love me well!'
'Of course, I love you well; you know it.'
He stammered and trembled, as though he were making some declaration of love.
'And what would you say if I asked you to let me stay here with you always?'
'Oh, I should be quite pleased. We would play together, wouldn't we? That would be good fun.'
'Ah, but you know I should always be here.'
Jeanne had taken up a boat which she was twisting into a gendarme's hat. 'You would need to get mamma's leave,' she murmured.
By this reply all his fears were again stirred into life. His fate was being decided.
'Of course,' said he. 'But if mamma gave me leave, would you say yes, too?'
Jeanne, busy finishing her gendarme's hat, sang out in a rapturous strain: 'I would say yes! yes! yes! I would say yes! yes! yes! Come, look how pretty my hat is!'
Monsieur Rambaud, with tears in his eyes, rose to his knees and kissed her, while she threw her arms round his neck. He had entrusted the asking of Helene's consent to his brother, whilst he himself sought to secure that of Jeanne.
'You see,' said the priest, with a smile, 'the child is quite content.'
Helene still retained her grave air, and made no further inquiry. The Abbe, however, again eloquently took up his plea, and emphasized his brother's good qualities. Was he not a treasure-trove of a father for Jeanne? She was well acquainted with him; in trusting him she gave no hostages to fortune. Then, as she still remained silent, the Abbe with great feeling and dignity declared that in the step he had taken he had not thought of his brother, but of her and her happiness.
'I believe you; I know how you love me,' Helene promptly answered. 'Wait; I want to give your brother his answer in your presence.'
The clock struck ten. Monsieur Rambaud made his entry into the bedroom. With outstretched hands she went to meet him.
'I thank you for your proposal, my friend,' said she. 'I am very grateful; and you have done well in speaking-'
She was gazing calmly into his face, holding his big hand in her grasp. Trembling all over, he dared not lift his eyes.
'Yet I must have time to consider,' she resumed. 'You will perhaps have to give me a long time.'
'Oh! as long as you like-six months, a year, longer if you please,' exclaimed he with a light heart, well pleased that she had not forthwith sent him about his business.
His excitement brought a faint smile to her face. 'But I intend that we shall still continue friends,' said she. 'You will come here as usual, and simply give me your promise to remain content till I speak to you about the matter. Is that understood?'
He had withdrawn his hand, and was now feverishly hunting for his hat, signifying his acquiescence by a continuous bobbing of the head. Then, at the moment of leaving, he found his voice once more.
'Listen to me,' said he. 'You now know that I am there-don't you? Well, whatever happens I shall always be there. That's all the Abbe should have told you. In ten years, if you like; you will only have to make a sign. I shall obey you!'
And it was he who a last time took Helene's hand and gripped it as though he would crush it. On the stairs the two brothers turned round with the usual good-bye:
'Till next Tuesday!'
'Yes, Tuesday,' answered Helene.
On returning to her room a fresh downfall of rain beating against the shutters filled her with grave concern. Good heavens! what an obstinate downpour, and how wet her poor friends would get! She opened the window and looked down into the street. Sudden gusts of wind were making the gaslights flicker, and amid the shiny puddles and shimmering rain she could see the round figure of Monsieur Rambaud, as he went off with dancing gait, exultant in the darkness, seemingly caring nothing for the drenching torrent.
Jeanne, however, was very grave, for she had overheard some of her playfellow's last words. She had just taken off her little boots, and was sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, in deep cogitation. On entering the room to kiss her, her mother discovered her thus.
'Good-night, Jeanne; kiss me.'
Then, as the child did not seem to hear her, Helene sank down in front of her, and clasped her round the waist, asking her in a whisper: 'So you would be glad if he came to live with us?'
The question seemed to bring no surprise to Jeanne. She was doubtless pondering over this very matter. She slowly nodded her head.
'But you know,' said her mother, 'he would be always beside us-night and day, at table-everywhere!'
A great trouble dawned in the clear depths of the child's eyes. She nestled her cheek against her mother's shoulder, kissed her neck, and finally, with a quiver, whispered in her ear: 'Mamma, would he kiss you?'
A crimson flush rose to Helene's brow. In her first surprise she was at a loss to answer, but at last she murmured: 'He would be the same as your father, my darling!'
Then Jeanne's little arms tightened their hold, and she burst into loud and grievous sobbing. 'Oh! no, no!' she cried chokingly. 'I don't want it then! Oh! mamma, do please tell him I don't. Go and tell him I won't have it!'
She gasped, and threw herself on her mother's bosom, covering her with tears and kisses. Helene did her utmost to appease her, assuring her she would make it all right; but Jeanne was bent on having a definite answer at once.
'Oh! say no! say no, darling mother! You know it would kill me. Never! Oh, never! Eh?'
'Well, I'll promise it will never be. Now, be good and lie down.'
For some minutes longer the child, speechless with emotion, clasped her mother in her arms, as though powerless to tear herself away, and intent on guarding her against all who might seek to take her from her. After some time Helene was able to put her to bed; but for a part of the night she had to watch beside her. Jeanne would
