He turned his eyes questioningly on her and advanced a step, evincing all the sullenness peculiar to lads of his age, his head lowered, his thick lips pouting, and his eyebrows bent into a growing frown. Jeanne must have frightened him with the serious look she wore standing there in her black dress. She had not ceased holding her mother’s hand, and was nervously pressing her fingers on the bare part of the arm between the sleeve and glove. With head lowered she awaited Lucien’s approach uneasily, like a young and timid savage, ready to fly from his caress. But a gentle push from her mother prompted her to step forward. “Little lady, you will have to kiss him first,” Madame Deberle said laughingly. “Ladies always have to begin with him. Oh! the little stupid.” “Kiss him, Jeanne,” urged Hélène. The child looked up at her mother; and then, as if conquered by the bashful looks of the little noodle, seized with sudden pity as she gazed on his good-natured face, so dreadfully confused—she smiled divinely. A sudden wave of hidden tenderness rose within her and brightened her features, and she whispered: “Willingly, mamma!” Then, taking Lucien under the armpits, almost lifting him from the ground, she gave him a hearty kiss on each cheek. He had no further hesitation in embracing her. “Bravo! capital!” exclaimed the onlookers. With a bow Hélène turned to leave, accompanied to the door by Madame Deberle. “I beg you, madame,” said she, “to present my heartiest thanks to the doctor. He relieved me of such dreadful anxiety the other night.” “Is Henri not at home?” broke in Monsieur Letellier. “No, he will be away some time yet,” was Juliette’s reply. “But you’re not going away; you’ll dine with us,” she continued, addressing Mademoiselle Aurelie, who had risen as if to leave with Madame Grandjean. The old maid with each Saturday expected a similar invitation, then decided to relieve herself of shawl and bonnet. The heat in the drawing-room was intense, and Monsieur Letellier hastened to open a window, at which he remained standing, struck by the sight of a lilac bush which was already budding. Pauline, meantime, had begun playfully running after Lucien behind the chairs and couches, left in confusion by the visitors. On the threshold Madame Deberle held out her hand to Hélène with a frank and friendly movement. “You will allow me,” said she. “My husband spoke to me about you, and I felt drawn to you. Your bereavement, your lonely life—in short, I am very glad to have seen you, and you must not be long in coming back.” “I give you my promise, and I am obliged to you,” said Hélène, moved by these tokens of affection from a woman whom she had imagined rather flighty. They clasped hands, and each looked into the other’s face with a happy smile. Juliette’s avowal of her sudden friendship was given with a caressing air. “You are too lovely not to be loved!” she said.