“I beseech you, Hélène! Oh! I beseech you—” She started to her feet, and gazed around her with sudden anxiety. They were quite alone; she could see the three others walking slowly along one of the walks. Henri was bold enough to lay his hand on her shoulder, and she trembled as she felt its pressure. “As you wish,” she stammered, knowing full well what question it was that he desired to ask. Then, hurriedly, they exchanged a few words. “At the house in the Passage des Eaux,” said he. “No, it is impossible—I have explained to you, and you swore to me—” “Well, wherever you like, so that I may see you! In your own house—this evening. Shall I call?” The idea was repellant to her. But she could only refuse with a sign, for fear again came upon her as she observed the two ladies and Malignon returning. Madame Deberle had taken the young man away under pretext of showing him some clumps of violets which were in full blossom notwithstanding the cold weather. Hastening her steps, she entered the pavilion before the others, her face illumined by a smile. “It’s all arranged,” she exclaimed. “What’s all arranged?” asked Hélène, who was still trembling with excitement and had forgotten everything. “Oh, that marriage! What a riddance! Pauline was getting a bit of a nuisance. However, the young man has seen her and thinks her charming! To-morrow we’re all going to dine with papa. I could have embraced Malignon for his good news!” With the utmost self-possession Henri had contrived to put some distance between Hélène and himself. He also expressed his sense of Malignon’s favor, and seemed to share his wife’s delight at the prospect of seeing their little sister settled at last. Then he turned to Hélène, and informed her that she was dropping one of her gloves. She thanked him. They could hear Pauline laughing and joking in the garden. She was leaning towards Malignon, murmuring broken sentences in his ear, and bursting into loud laughter as he gave her whispered answers. No doubt he was chatting to her confidentially about her future husband. Standing near the open door of the pavilion, Hélène meanwhile inhaled the cold air with delight. It was at this moment that in the bedroom up above a silence fell on Jeanne and Monsieur Rambaud, whom the intense heat of the fire filled with languor. The child woke up from the long-continued pause with a sudden suggestion which seemed to be the outcome of her dreamy fit: “Would you like to go into the kitchen? We’ll see if we can get a glimpse of mamma!” “Very well; let us go,” replied Monsieur Rambaud.