t in, but
continued their conversation. The doctor urged Helene to spend the
afternoon occasionally in his garden in the Rue Vineuse.

"My wife," said he, "must return your visit, and she will in person
repeat my invitation. It would do your daughter good."

"But I don't refuse," she replied, laughing. "I do not require to be
fetched with ceremony. Only--only--I am afraid of being indiscreet. At
any rate, we will see."

Their talk continued, but at last the doctor exclaimed in a tone of
surprise: "Where on earth can Mother Fetu have gone? It must be a
quarter of an hour since she went to see after her neighbor's
soup-pot."

Helene then saw that the door was shut, but it did not shock her at
the moment. She continued to talk of Madame Deberle, of whom she spoke
highly to her husband; but noticing that the doctor constantly glanced
towards the door, she at last began to feel uncomfortable.

"It's very strange that she does not come back!" she remarked in her
turn.

Their conversation then dropped. Helene, not knowing what to do,
opened the window; and when she turned round they avoided looking at
one another. The laughter of children came in through the circular
window, which, with its bit of blue sky, seemed like a full round
moon. They could not have been more alone--concealed from all
inquisitive looks, with merely this bit of heaven gazing in on them.
The voices of the children died away in the distance; and a quivering
silence fell. No one would dream of finding them in that attic, out of
the world. Their confusion grew apace, and in the end Helene,
displeased with herself, gave the doctor a steady glance.

"I have a great many visits to pay yet," he at once exclaimed. "As she
doesn't return, I must leave."

He quitted the room, and Helene then sat down. Immediately afterwards
Mother Fetu returned with many protestations:

"Oh! oh! I can scarcely crawl; such a faintness came over me! Has the
dear good doctor gone? Well, to be sure, there's not much comfort
here! Oh, you are both angels from heaven, coming to spend your time
with one so unfortunate as myself! But God in His goodness will
requite you. The pain has gone down into my feet to-day, and I had to
sit down on a step. Oh, I should like to have some chairs! If I only
had an easy-chair! My mattress is so vile too that I am quite ashamed
when you come. The whole place is at your disposal, and I would throw
myself into the fire if you required it. Yes.