He still leaned towards her, her cool breath playing on his cheek. Till now no confession had escaped them; preserving silence, their intimacy had only been marred for a few days past by a vague sensation of discomfort. But amidst these bursts of happy laughter, gazing upon the little folks before her, Hélène became once more, in sooth, a very child, surrendering herself to her feelings, while Henri’s breath beat warm upon her neck. The whacks from the cudgel, now louder than ever, filled her with a quiver which inflated her bosom, and she turned towards him with sparkling eyes. “Good heavens! what nonsense it all is!” she said each time. “See how they hit one another!” “Oh! their heads are hard enough!” he replied, trembling. This was all his heart could find to say. Their minds were fast lapsing into childhood once more. Punch’s unedifying life was fostering languor within their breasts. When the drama drew to its close with the appearance of the devil, and the final fight and general massacre ensued, Hélène in leaning back pressed against Henri’s hand, which was resting on the back of her arm-chair; while the juvenile audience, shouting and clapping their hands, made the very chairs creak with their enthusiasm. The red curtain dropped again, and the uproar was at its height when Malignon’s presence was announced by Pauline, in her customary style: “Ah! here’s the handsome Malignon!” He made his way into the room, shoving the chairs aside, quite out of breath. “Dear me! what a funny idea to close the shutters!” he exclaimed, surprised and hesitating. “People might imagine that somebody in the house was dead.” Then, turning towards Madame Deberle, who was approaching him, he continued: “Well, you can boast of having made me run about! Ever since the morning I have been hunting for Perdiguet; you know whom I mean, my singer fellow. But I haven’t been able to lay my hands on him, and I have brought you the great Morizot instead.” The great Morizot was an amateur who entertained drawing-rooms by conjuring with juggler-balls. A gipsy table was assigned to him, and on this he accomplished his most wonderful tricks; but it all passed off without the spectators evincing the slightest interest. The poor little darlings were pulling serious faces; some of the tinier mites fell fast asleep, sucking their thumbs. The older children turned their heads and smiled towards their parents, who were themselves yawning behind their hands. There was thus a general feeling of relief when the great Morizot decided to take his table away. “Oh! he’s awfully clever,” whispered Malignon into Madame Deberle’s neck. But the red curtain was drawn aside once again, and an entrancing spectacle brought all the little folks to their feet.