than three weeks the sky had remained blue and cloudless. It
was like a miraculous spring celebrating the new youth and blossoming
that had burst into life in Helene's heart. Every afternoon she went
down into the garden with Jeanne. A place was assigned her against the
first elm on the right. A chair was ready for her; and on the morrow
she would still find on the gravel walk the scattered clippings of
thread that had fallen from her work on the previous afternoon.

"You are quite at home," Madame Deberle repeated every evening,
displaying for Helene one of those affections of hers, which usually
lasted some six months. "You will come to-morrow, of course; and try
to come earlier, won't you?"

Helene, in truth, felt thoroughly at her ease there. By degrees she
became accustomed to this nook of greenery, and looked forward to her
afternoon visit with the longing of a child. What charmed her most in
this garden was the exquisite trimness of the lawn and flower beds.
Not a single weed interfered with the symmetry of the plants. Helene
spent her time there, calmly and restfully. The neatly laid out flower
beds, and the network of ivy, the withered leaves of which were
carefully removed by the gardener, could exercise no disturbing
influence on her spirit. Seated beneath the deep shadow of the
elm-trees, in this quiet spot which Madame Deberle's presence perfumed
with a faint odor of musk, she could have imagined herself in a
drawing-room; and only the sight of the blue sky, when she raised her
head, reminded her that she was out-of-doors, and prompted her to
breathe freely.

Often, without seeing a soul, the two women would thus pass the
afternoon. Jeanne and Lucien played at their feet. There would be long
intervals of silence, and then Madame Deberle, who disliked reverie,
would chatter for hours, quite satisfied with the silent acquiescence
of Helene, and rattling off again if the other even so much as nodded.
She would tell endless stories concerning the ladies of her
acquaintance, get up schemes for parties during the coming winter,
vent magpie opinions on the day's news and the society trifling which
filled her narrow brain, the whole intermingled with affectionate
outbursts over the children, and sentimental remarks on the delights
of friendship. Helene allowed her to squeeze her hands. She did not
always lend an attentive ear; but, in this atmosphere of unceasing
tenderness, she showed herself greatly touched b