“To the vote, _mesdames_,” said the curé. “I fear, Mademoiselle Hélène, you have a bad chance.” “O Monsieur le Curé!” burst from Hélène, “her poor old grandfather will die of disappointment.” “My poor child, I hope not,” said the curé, evidently touched by her distress, but unable to repress a smile at this extreme view. “Your _protegée’s_ having a grandfather is indeed an advantage on the wrong side.” “He’s blind, Monsieur le Curé! and paralyzed! and eighty-six years old!” urged Hélène, gaining courage from desperation, “and his one prayer is to see the _petite_ safe somewhere before he dies. O Monsieur le Curé!--” She stopped, the big tears rolling down her cheeks. “_Voyons!_” said the good old pastor, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting at his spectacles. “Let us take the vote, and then we shall see. You have a child already, have you not, mademoiselle?” “Yes, Monsieur le Curé; I have two, but one is in the country, at the Succursale.” The votes were taken, and, by a very small majority, I carried it. My voters congratulated me, while Hélène’s friends crowded round her, condoling. But the poor child would not be comforted; overcome by the previous emotion and the final disappointment, she sobbed as if her heart would break. “Oh! really, it’s too cruel to let that dear child be disappointed,” said Berthe. “Can’t we do something, Monsieur le Curé? Can’t we by any possibility squeeze in another child?” “Nothing easier, madame; you have only to create a new _bourse_, or get subscribers to the amount of three hundred francs a year for the term of the child’s education,” replied Monsieur le Curé. “Then I subscribe for two years down,” said Berthe impulsively. “Who follows suit?” “I do,” said another speaker; “I will subscribe for one year!” “And I will give forty francs,” said a third. “And I a hundred,” said the curé, who was always to the fore when a good work was to be helped on. In a few minutes, the green table glistened with gold pieces and notes. It was all done so quickly that Hélène had not had time to ask what it was all about, when Berthe ran up to her with the good news that her child was taken in, and, embracing her tenderly, bade her dry her tears. “How good you are, madame!” said the young girl, returning her caress with fervor; “but I knew you were good; you have the face of an angel!” “It is better to have the heart of one,” said Berthe, laughing, and hastily rubbing a dew-drop from her own fair face. “Now, I must make haste away, or I shall be late for my lesson,” said Hélène, after thanking the members who gathered about her, this time embracing and congratulating. “What lesson are you going to take, _ma petite_?” inquired Berthe affectionately. “I am going to give one, madame,” replied Hélène. “I live by giving music lessons.” “Then you must come and give me some,” said Berthe. “Here is my address. Come to me to-morrow as early as you can.”