The truth was, the children had just set out for the famous glaciers. As Jeanne pretended that they were reaching the mountains, they had lifted their feet very high, as though to step over the rocks. Lucien, however, quite out of breath with his exertions, at last made a false step, and fell sprawling in the middle of an imaginary ice-field. Disgusted, and furious with child-like rage, he no sooner found himself on the ground than he burst into tears. “Lift him up,” called Hélène. “He won’t let me, mamma. He is rolling about.” And so saying, Jeanne drew back, as though exasperated and annoyed by such a display of bad breeding. He did not know how to play; he would certainly cover her with dirt. Her mouth curled, as though she were a duchess compromising herself by such companionship. Thereupon Madame Deberle, irritated by Lucien’s continued wailing, requested her sister to pick him up and coax him into silence. Nothing loth, Pauline ran, cast herself down beside the child, and for a moment rolled on the ground with him. He struggled with her, unwilling to be lifted, but she at last took him up by the arms, and to appease him, said, “Stop crying, you noisy fellow; we’ll have a swing!” Lucien at once closed his lips, while Jeanne’s solemn looks vanished, and a gleam of ardent delight illumined her face. All three ran towards the swing, but it was Pauline who took possession of the seat. “Push, push!” she urged the children; and they pushed with all the force of their tiny hands; but she was heavy, and they could scarcely stir the swing. “Push!” she urged again. “Oh, the big sillies, they can’t!” In the pavilion, Madame Deberle had just felt a slight chill. Despite the bright sunshine she thought it rather cold, and she requested Malignon to hand her a white cashmere burnous that was hanging from the handle of a window fastening. Malignon rose to wrap the burnous round her shoulders, and they began chatting familiarly on matters which had little interest for Hélène. Feeling fidgety, fearing that Pauline might unwittingly knock the children down, she therefore stepped into the garden, leaving Juliette and the young man to wrangle over some new fashion in bonnets which apparently deeply interested them. Jeanne no sooner saw her mother than she ran towards her with a wheedling smile, and entreaty in every gesture. “Oh, mamma, mamma!” she implored. “Oh, mamma!” “No, no, you mustn’t!” replied Hélène, who understood her meaning very well. “You know you have been forbidden.”