a question and their answer had been given the conversation abruptly fell. They experienced some discomfort with her standing thus behind their backs. They did not turn round, but spoke into their plates, their shoulders bent beneath her gaze, while, to conform to propriety, each mouthful they swallowed was as small as possible. On the other hand, Helene had now regained her tranquillity, and felt quite happy there.
'Don't fret, madame,' said Rosalie; 'the kettle is singing already. I wish the fire would only burn up a little better!'
She wanted to see to it, but Helene would not allow her to disturb herself. It would be all right by-and-by. An intense weariness now pervaded the young woman's limbs. Almost mechanically she crossed the kitchen and approached the window, where she observed the third chair, which was very high, and when turned over became a stepladder. However, she did not sit down on it at once, for she had caught sight of a number of pictures heaped up on a corner of the table.
'Dear me!' she exclaimed, as she took them in her hand, inspired with the wish of gratifying Zephyrin.
The little soldier gaped with a silent chuckle. His face beamed with smiles, and his eyes followed each picture, his head wagging whenever something especially lovely was being examined by madame.
'That one there,' he suddenly remarked, 'I found in the Rue du Temple. She's a beautiful woman, with flowers in her basket.'
Helene sat down and inspected the beautiful woman who decorated the gilt and varnished lid of a box of lozenges, every stain on which had been carefully wiped off by Zephyrin. On the chair a dish-cloth was hanging, and she could not well lean back. She flung it aside, however, and once more lapsed into her dreaming. Then the two sweethearts remarked madame's good nature, and their restraint vanished-in the end, indeed, her very presence was forgotten by them. One by one the pictures had dropped from her hands on to her knees, and, with a vague smile playing on her face, she examined the sweethearts and listened to their talk.
'I say, my dear,' whispered the girl, 'won't you have some more mutton?'
He answered neither yes nor no, but swung backwards and forwards on his chair as though he had been tickled, then contentedly stretched himself, while she placed a thick slice on his plate. His red epaulets moved up and down, and his bullet-shaped head, with its huge projecting ears, swayed to and fro over his yellow collar as though it were the head of some Chinese idol. His laughter ran all over him, and he was almost bursting inside his tunic, which he did not unbutton, however, out of respect for madame.
'This is far better than old Rouvet's radishes!' he exclaimed at last, with his mouth full.
This was a reminiscence of their country home; and at thought of it they both burst into immoderate laughter. Rosalie even had to hold on to the table to prevent herself from falling. One day, before their first communion, it seemed, Zephyrin had filched three black radishes from old Rouvet. They were very tough radishes indeed-tough enough to break one's teeth; but Rosalie all the same had crunched her share of the spoil at the back of the schoolhouse. Hence it was that every time they chanced to be taking a meal together Zephyrin never omitted to ejaculate: 'Yes; this is better than old Rouvet's radishes!'
And then Rosalie's laughter would become so violent that nine times out of ten her petticoat-string would give way with an audible crack.
'Hello! has it parted?' asked the little soldier, with triumph in his tone.
But Rosalie responded with a good slap.
'It's disgusting to make me break the string like this!' said she. 'I put a fresh one on every week.'
However, he came nearer to her, intent on some joke or other, by way of revenging the blow; but with a furious glance she reminded him that her mistress was looking on. This seemed to trouble him but little, for he replied with a rakish wink, as much as to say that no woman, not even a lady, disliked a little fun. To be sure, when folks are sweethearting, other people always like to be looking on.
'You have still five years to serve, haven't you?' asked Helene, leaning back on the high wooden-seated chair, and yielding to a feeling of tenderness.
'Yes, madame; perhaps only four if they don't need me any longer.'
It occurred to Rosalie that her mistress was thinking of her marriage, and with assumed anger, she broke in:
'Oh! madame, he can stick in the army for another ten years if he likes! I sha'n't trouble myself to ask the Government for him. He is becoming too much of a rake; yes, I believe he's going to the dogs. Oh! it's useless for you to laugh-that won't take with me. When we go before the mayor to get married, we'll see on whose side the laugh is!'
At this he chuckled all the more, in order that he might show himself a lady-killer before madame, and the maid's annoyance then became real.
'Oh!' said she, 'we know all about that! You know, madame, he's still a booby at heart. You've no idea how stupid that uniform makes them all! That's the way he goes on with his comrades; but if I turned him out, you would hear him sobbing on the stairs. Oh, I don't care a fig for you, my lad! Why, whenever I please, won't you always be there to do as I tell you?'
She bent forward to observe him closely; but, on seeing that his good-natured, freckled face was beginning to cloud over, she was suddenly moved, and prattled on, without any seeming transition:
'Ah! I didn't tell you that I've received a letter from auntie. The Guignard lot want to sell their house-aye, and almost for nothing too. We might perhaps be able to take it later on.'
'By Jove!' exclaimed Zephyrin, brightening, 'we should be quite at home there. There's room enough for two cows.'
With this idea they lapsed into silence. They were now having some dessert. The little soldier licked the jam on his bread with a child's greedy satisfaction, while the servant girl carefully pared an apple with a maternal air.
'Madame!' all at once exclaimed Rosalie, 'there's the water boiling now.'
Helene, however, never stirred. She felt herself enveloped by an atmosphere of happiness. She gave a continuance to their dreams, and pictured them living in the country in the Guignards' house and possessed of two cows. A smile came to her face as she saw Zephyrin sitting there to all appearance so serious, though in reality he was patting Rosalie's knee under the table, whilst she remained very stiff, affecting an innocent demeanor. Then everything became blurred. Helene lost all definite sense of her surroundings, of the place where she was, and of what had brought her there. The copper pans were flashing on the walls; feelings of tenderness riveted her to the spot; her eyes had a far-away look. She was not affected in any way by the disorderly state of the kitchen; she had no consciousness of having demeaned herself by coming there; all she felt was a deep pleasure, as when a longing has been satisfied. Meantime the heat from the fire was bedewing her pale brow with beads of perspiration, and behind her the wind, coming in through the half-open window, quivered delightfully on her neck.
'Madame, your water is boiling,' again said Rosalie. 'There will be soon none left in the kettle.'
She held the kettle before her, and Helene, for the moment astonished, was forced to rise. 'Oh, yes! thank you!'
She no longer had an excuse to remain, and went away slowly and regretfully. When she reached her room she was at a loss what to do with the kettle. Then suddenly within her there came a burst of passionate love. The torpor which had held her in a state of semi-unconsciousness gave way to a wave of glowing feeling, the rush of which thrilled her as with fire. She quivered, and memories returned to her-memories of her passion and of Henri.
While she was taking off her dressing-gown and gazing at her bare arms, a noise broke on her anxious ear. She thought she had heard Jeanne coughing. Taking up the lamp she went into the closet, but found the child with eyelids closed, seemingly fast asleep. However, the moment the mother, satisfied with her examination, had turned her back, Jeanne's eyes again opened widely to watch her as she returned to her room. There was indeed no sleep for Jeanne, nor had she any desire to sleep. A second fit of coughing racked her bosom, but she buried her head beneath the coverlet and stifled every sound. She might go away for ever now; her mother would never miss her. Her eyes were still wide open in the darkness; she knew everything as though knowledge had come with thought, and she was dying of it all, but dying without a murmur.
CHAPTER XXII.
Next day all sorts of practical ideas took possession of Helene's mind. She awoke impressed by the necessity of
