did the fever rise, that the strongest medicines were of no avail.  He brought all his fortitude and knowledge to bear on the case, inspired with the one thought that his own happiness and life were at stake.  On his mind there had now fallen a great stillness; not once during those three anxious weeks did his passion break its bonds.  Helene’s breath no longer woke tremors within him, and when their eyes met they were only eloquent of the sympathetic sadness of two souls threatened by a common misfortune.

Nevertheless every moment brought their hearts nearer.  They now lived only with the one idea.  No sooner had he entered the bed-chamber than by a glance he gathered how Jeanne had spent the night; and there was no need for him to speak for Helene to learn what he thought of the child’s condition.  Besides, with all the innate bravery of a mother, she had forced from him a declaration that he would not deceive her, but allow her to know his fears.  Always on her feet, not having had three hours’ uninterrupted sleep for three weeks past, she displayed superhuman endurance and composure, and quelled her despair without a tear in order that she might concentrate her whole soul upon the struggle with the dread enemy.  Within and without her heart there was nothing but emptiness; the world around her, the usual thoughts of each hour, the consciousness of life itself, had all faded into darkness.  Existence held nothing for her.  Nothing now bound her to life but her suffering darling and this man who promised her a miracle.  It was he, and he only, to whom she looked, to whom she listened, whose most trivial words were to her of the first importance, and into whose breast she would fain have transfused her own soul in order to increase his energy.  Insensibly, and without break, this idea wrought out its own accomplishment.  Almost every evening, when the fever was raging at its worst and Jeanne lay in imminent peril, they were there beside her in silence; and as though eager to remind themselves that they stood shoulder to shoulder struggling against death, their hands met on the edge of the bed in a caressing clasp, while they trembled with solicitude and pity till a faint smile breaking over the child’s face, and the sound of quiet and regular breathing, told them that the danger was past.  Then each encouraged the other by an inclination of the head.  Once again had their love triumphed; and every time the mute caress grew more demonstrative their hearts drew closer together.

One night Helene divined that Henri was concealing something from her.  For ten minutes, without a word crossing his lips, he had been examining Jeanne.  The little one complained of intolerable thirst; she seemed choking, and there was an incessant wheezing in her parched throat.  Then a purple flush came over her face, and she lapsed into a stupor which prevented her even from raising her eyelids.  She lay motionless; it might have been imagined she was dead but for the sound coming from her throat.