s growing, had decided on coming to Paris, to
live there for good.

"And how old were you when you were married?" was Madame Deberle's
next question.

"Seventeen."

"You must have been very beautiful."

The conversation suddenly ceased, for Helene had not seemed to hear
the remark.

"Madame Manguelin!" announced the footman.

A young, retiring woman, evidently ill at ease, was ushered in. Madame
Deberle scarcely rose. It was one of her dependents, who had called to
thank her for some service performed. The visitor only remained for a
few minutes, and left the room with a courtesy.

Madame Deberle then resumed the conversation, and spoke of Abbe Jouve,
with whom both were acquainted. The Abbe was a meek officiating priest
at Notre-Dame-de-Grace, the parish church of Passy; however, his
charity was such that he was more beloved and more respectfully
hearkened to than any other priest in the district.

"Oh, he has such pious eloquence!" exclaimed Madame Deberle, with a
sanctimonious look.

"He has been very kind to us," said Helene. "My husband had formerly
known him at Marseilles. The moment he heard of my misfortune he took
charge of everything. To him we owe our settling in Passy."

"He has a brother, hasn't he?" questioned Juliette.

"Yes, a step-brother, for his mother married again. Monsieur Rambaud
was also acquainted with my husband. He has started a large business
in the Rue de Rambuteau, where he sells oils and other Southern
produce. I believe he makes a large amount of money by it." And she
added, with a laugh: "The Abbe and his brother make up my court."

Jeanne, sitting on the edge of her chair, and wearied to death, now
cast an impatient look at her mother. Her long, delicate, lamb-like
face wore a pained expression, as if she disliked all this
conversation; and she appeared at times to sniff the heavy, oppressive
odors floating in the room, while casting suspicious side-glances at
the furniture, as though her own exquisite sensibility warned her of
some undefined dangers. Finally, however, she turned a look of
tyrannical worship on her mother.

Madame Deberle noticed the child's uneasiness.

"Here's a little girl," she said, "who feels tired at being serious,
like a grown-up person. There are some picture-books on the table,
dear; they will amuse you."

Jeanne took up an album, but her eyes strayed from it to glance
imploringly at her mother. Helene, charmed by her hostess's excessive
k