Hélène still retained her grave air, and made no further inquiry. The Abbé, however, again eloquently took up his plea, and emphasized his brother’s good qualities. Was he not a treasure-trove of a father for Jeanne? She was well acquainted with him; in trusting him she gave no hostages to fortune. Then, as she still remained silent, the Abbé with great feeling and dignity declared that in the step he had taken he had not thought of his brother, but of her and her happiness. “I believe you; I know how you love me,” Hélène promptly answered. “Wait; I want to give your brother his answer in your presence.” The clock struck ten. Monsieur Rambaud made his entry into the bedroom. With outstretched hands she went to meet him. “I thank you for your proposal, my friend,” said she. “I am very grateful; and you have done well in speaking—” She was gazing calmly into his face, holding his big hand in her grasp. Trembling all over, he dared not lift his eyes. “Yet I must have time to consider,” she resumed. “You will perhaps have to give me a long time.” “Oh! as long as you like—six months, a year, longer if you please,” exclaimed he with a light heart, well pleased that she had not forthwith sent him about his business. His excitement brought a faint smile to her face. “But I intend that we shall still continue friends,” said she. “You will come here as usual, and simply give me your promise to remain content till I speak to you about the matter. Is that understood?” He had withdrawn his hand, and was now feverishly hunting for his hat, signifying his acquiescence by a continuous bobbing of the head. Then, at the moment of leaving, he found his voice once more. “Listen to me,” said he. “You now know that I am there—don’t you? Well, whatever happens I shall always be there. That’s all the Abbé should have told you. In ten years, if you like; you will only have to make a sign. I shall obey you!” And it was he who a last time took Hélène’s hand and gripped it as though he would crush it. On the stairs the two brothers turned round with the usual good-bye: “Till next Tuesday!” “Yes, Tuesday,” answered Hélène. On returning to her room a fresh downfall of rain beating against the shutters filled her with grave concern. Good heavens! what an obstinate downpour, and how wet her poor friends would get! She opened the window and looked down into the street. Sudden gusts of wind were making the gaslights flicker, and amid the shiny puddles and shimmering rain she could see the round figure of Monsieur Rambaud, as he went off with dancing gait, exultant in the darkness, seemingly caring nothing for the drenching torrent. Jeanne, however, was very grave, for she had overheard some of her playfellow’s last words. She had just taken off her little boots, and was sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, in deep cogitation. On entering the room to kiss her, her mother discovered her thus. “Good-night, Jeanne; kiss me.”