“There is nothing wrong there,” was the quiet remark that filled her with delight. “Lay her down again. We must not worry her more.” However, another, though much less violent, paroxysm followed. From Jeanne’s lips burst some broken words. At short intervals two fresh attacks seemed about to convulse her, and then a great prostration, which again appeared to alarm the doctor, fell on the child. He had placed her so that her head lay high, with the clothes carefully tucked under her chin; and for nearly an hour he remained there watching her, as though awaiting the return of a healthy respiration. On the other side of the bed Hélène also waited, never moving a limb. Little by little a great calm settled on Jeanne’s face. The lamp cast a sunny light upon it, and it regained its exquisite though somewhat lengthy oval. Jeanne’s fine eyes, now closed, had large, bluish, transparent lids, which veiled—one could divine it—a sombre, flashing glance. A light breathing came from her slender nose, while round her somewhat large mouth played a vague smile. She slept thus, amidst her outspread tresses, which were inky black. “It has all passed away now,” said the doctor in a whisper; and he turned to arrange his medicine bottles prior to leaving. “Oh, sir!” exclaimed Hélène, approaching him, “don’t leave me yet; wait a few minutes. Another fit might come on, and you, you alone, have saved her!” He signed to her that there was nothing to fear; yet he tarried, with the idea of tranquillizing her. She had already sent Rosalie to bed; and now the dawn soon broke, still and grey, over the snow which whitened the housetops. The doctor proceeded to close the window, and in the deep quiet the two exchanged a few whispers. “There is nothing seriously wrong with her, I assure you,” said he; “only with one so young great care must be taken. You must see that her days are spent quietly and happily, and without shocks of any kind.” “She is so delicate and nervous,” replied Hélène after a moment’s pause. “I cannot always control her. For the most trifling reasons she is so overcome by joy or sorrow that I grow alarmed. She loves me with a passion, a jealousy, which makes her burst into tears when I caress another child.” “So, so—delicate, nervous, and jealous,” repeated the doctor as he shook his head. “Doctor Bodin has attended her, has he not? I’ll have a talk with him about her. We shall have to adopt energetic treatment. She has reached an age that is critical in one of her sex.” Recognizing the interest he displayed, Hélène gave vent to her gratitude. “How I must thank you, sir, for the great trouble you have taken!”