“Now, be good, and wipe your eyes,” said Hélène. “We’ll make everything all right.” The child acquiesced in all gentleness, but seemed somewhat afraid and glanced covertly at her mother. All at once her frame was shaken by a fit of coughing. “Good heavens! why, you’ve made yourself ill now! I cannot stay away from you a moment. Did you feel cold? “Yes, mamma; in the back.” “See here; put on this shawl. The dining-room stove is lighted, and you’ll soon feel warm. Are you hungry?” Jeanne hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to speak the truth and say no; but she darted a side glance at her mother, and, recoiling, answered in a whisper: “Yes, mamma.” “Ah, well, it will be all right,” exclaimed Hélène, desirous of tranquillizing herself. “Only, I entreat you, you naughty child, don’t frighten me like this again.” On Rosalie re-entering the room to announce that dinner was ready, Hélène severely scolded her. The little maid’s head drooped; she stammered out that it was all very true, for she ought to have looked better after mademoiselle. Then, hoping to mollify her mistress, she busied herself in helping her to change her clothes. “Good gracious! madame was in a fine state!” she remarked, as she assisted in removing each mud-stained garment, at which Jeanne glared suspiciously, still racked by torturing thoughts. “Madame ought to feel comfortable now,” exclaimed Rosalie when it was all over. “It’s awfully nice to get into dry clothes after a drenching.” Hélène, on finding herself once more in her blue dressing-gown, gave vent to a slight sigh, as though a new happiness had welled up within her. She again regained her old cheerfulness; she had rid herself of a burden in throwing off those bedraggled garments. She washed her face and hands; and while she stood there, still glistening with moisture, her dressing-gown buttoned up to her chin, she was slowly approached by Jeanne, who took one of her hands and kissed it. At table, however, not a word passed between mother and daughter. The fire flared with a merry roar, and there was a look of happiness about the little dining-room, with its bright mahogany and gleaming china. But the old stupor which drove away all thought seemed to have again fallen on Hélène; she ate mechanically, though with an appearance of appetite. Jeanne sat facing her, and quietly watched her over her glass, noting each of her movements. But all at once the child again coughed, and her mother, who had become unconscious of her presence, immediately displayed lively concern. “Why, you’re coughing again! Aren’t you getting warm?” “Oh, yes, mamma; I’m very warm.” Hélène leaned towards her to feel her hand and ascertain whether she was speaking the truth. Only then did she perceive that her plate was still full. “Why, you said you were hungry. Don’t you like what you have there?” “Oh, yes, mamma; I’m eating away.”