Nearby, in the meantime, Hélène was pacing up and down her room. She was seized with a wondrous longing to be up and moving about; the idea of going to bed seemed to her insufferable. She glanced at the clock—twenty minutes to nine; what was she to do? she rummaged about in a drawer, but forgot what she was seeking for. Then she wandered to her bookshelves, glancing aimlessly over the books; but the very reading of the titles wearied her. A buzzing sprang up in her ears with the room’s stillness; the loneliness, the heavy atmosphere, were as an agony to her. She would fain have had some bustle going on around her, have had some one there to speak to—something, in short, to draw her from herself. She twice listened at the door of Jeanne’s little room, from which, however, not even a sound of breathing came. Everything was quiet; so she turned back once more, and amused herself by taking up and replacing whatever came to her hand. Then suddenly the thought flashed across her mind that Zephyrin must still be with Rosalie. It was a relief to her; she was delighted at the idea of not being alone, and stepped in her slippers towards the kitchen. She was already in the ante-room, and was opening the glass door of the inner passage, when she detected the re-echoing clap of a swinging box on the ears, and the next moment Rosalie could be heard exclaiming: “Ha, ha! you think you’ll nip me again, do you? Take your paws off!” “Oh! that’s nothing, my charmer!” exclaimed Zephyrin in his husky, guttural voice. “That’s to show how I love you—in this style, you know—” But at that moment the door creaked, and Hélène, entering, discovered the diminutive soldier and the servant maid seated very quietly at table, with their noses bent over their plates. They had assumed an air of complete indifference; their innocence was certain. Yet their faces were red with blushes, and their eyes aflame, and they wriggled restlessly on their straw-bottomed chairs. Rosalie started up and hurried forward. “Madame wants something?” Hélène had no pretext ready to her tongue. She had come to see them, to chat with them, and have their company. However, she felt a sudden shame, and dared not say that she required nothing. “Have you any hot water?” she asked, after a silence. “No, madame; and my fire is nearly out. Oh, but it doesn’t matter; I’ll give you some in five minutes. It boils in no time.” She threw on some charcoal, and then set the kettle in place; but seeing that her mistress still lingered in the doorway, she said: “I’ll bring the water to you in five minutes, madame.” Hélène responded with a wave of the hand. “I’m not in a hurry for it; I’ll wait. Don’t disturb yourself, my girl; eat away, eat away. There’s a lad who’ll have to go back to barracks.”