d round she suddenly caught sight of her
mistress. She raised an exclamation, and then, like Zephyrin, seemed
turned to stone. But a moment afterwards she poured forth a torrent of
excuses.

"It's my share, madame--oh, it's my share! I would not have taken any
more soup, I swear it! I told him, 'If you would like to have my bowl
of soup, you can have it.' Come, speak up, Zephyrin; you know that was
how it came about!"

The mistress remained silent, and the servant grew uneasy, thinking
she was annoyed. Then in quavering tones she continued:

"Oh, he was dying of hunger, madame; he stole a raw carrot for me!
They feed him so badly! And then, you know, he had walked goodness
knows where all along the river-side. I'm sure, madame, you would have
told me yourself to give him some broth!"

Gazing at the little soldier, who sat with his mouth full, not daring
to swallow, Helene felt she could no longer remain stern. So she
quietly said:

"Well, well, my girl, whenever the lad is hungry you must keep him to
dinner--that's all. I give you permission"

Face to face with them, she had again felt within her that tender
feeling which once already had banished all thoughts of rigor from her
mind. They were so happy in that kitchen! The cotton curtain, drawn
half-way, gave free entry to the sunset beams. The burnished copper
pans set the end wall all aglow, lending a rosy tint to the twilight
lingering in the room. And there, in the golden shade, the lovers'
little round faces shone out, peaceful and radiant, like moons. Their
love was instinct with such calm certainty that no neglect was even
shown in keeping the kitchen utensils in their wonted good order. It
blossomed amidst the savory odors of the cooking-stove, which
heightened their appetites and nourished their hearts.

"Mamma," asked Jeanne, one evening after considerable meditation, "why
is it Rosalie's cousin never kisses her?"

"And why should they kiss one another?" asked Helene in her turn.
"They will kiss on their birthdays."

CHAPTER VII.

The soup had just been served on the following Tuesday evening, when
Helene, after listening attentively, exclaimed:

"What a downpour! Don't you hear? My poor friends, you will get
drenched to-night!"

"Oh, it's only a few drops," said the Abbe quietly, though his old
cassock was already wet about the shoulders.

"I've got a good distance to go," said Monsieur Rambaud. "But I shall