less, my darling," said her mother, caressing her.
"The old woman is well now. I shall not go out any more; I'll stay all
day with you!"

CHAPTER IV.

During the following week Madame Deberle paid a return visit to Madame
Grandjean, and displayed an affability that bordered on affection.

"You know what you promised me," she said, on the threshold, as she
was going off. "The first fine day we have, you must come down to the
garden, and bring Jeanne with you. It is the doctor's strict
injunction."

"Very well," Helene answered, with a smile, "it is understood; we will
avail ourselves of your kindness."

Three days later, on a bright February afternoon, she accompanied her
daughter down to the garden. The porter opened the door connecting the
two houses. At the near end of the garden, in a kind of greenhouse
built somewhat in the style of a Japanese pavilion, they found Madame
Deberle and her sister Pauline, both idling away their time, for some
embroidery, thrown on the little table, lay there neglected.

"Oh, how good of you to come!" cried Juliette. "You must sit down
here. Pauline, move that table away! It is still rather cool you know
to sit out of doors, but from this pavilion we can keep a watch on the
children. Now, little ones, run away and play; but take care not to
fall!"

The large door of the pavilion stood open, and on each side were
portable mirrors, whose covers had been removed so that they allowed
one to view the garden's expanse as from the threshold of a tent. The
garden, with a green sward in the centre, flanked by beds of flowers,
was separated from the Rue Vineuse by a plain iron railing, but
against this grew a thick green hedge, which prevented the curious
from gazing in. Ivy, clematis, and woodbine clung and wound around the
railings, and behind this first curtain of foliage came a second one
of lilacs and laburnums. Even in the winter the ivy leaves and the
close network of branches sufficed to shut off the view. But the great
charm of the garden lay in its having at the far end a few lofty
trees, some magnificent elms, which concealed the grimy wall of a
five-story house. Amidst all the neighboring houses these trees gave
the spot the aspect of a nook in some park, and seemed to increase the
dimensions of this little Parisian garden, which was swept like a
drawing-room. Between two of the elms hung a swing, the seat of which
was green with damp.

Hele