Helene’s heart, pierced to the quick, sank within her, and she dreaded to elicit what the remark might mean.

“What are you saying, my child?” she asked.  “Do you understand what you are talking about?  Medicine is never nice to take.  You must drink this.”

But Jeanne lay there in obstinate silence, and averted her head in order to get rid of the draught.  From that day onward she was full of caprices, swallowing or rejecting her medicines according to the humor of the moment.  She would sniff at the phials and examine them suspiciously as they stood on the night-table.  Should she have refused to drink the contents of one of them she never forgot its identity, and would have died rather than allow a drop from it to pass her lips.  Honest Monsieur Rambaud alone could persuade her at times.  It was he whom she now overwhelmed with the most lavish caresses, especially if the doctor were looking on; and her gleaming eyes were turned towards her mother to note if she were vexed by this display of affection towards another.

“Oh, it’s you, old friend!” she exclaimed the moment he entered.  “Come and sit down near me.  Have you brought me any oranges?”

She sat up and laughingly fumbled in his pockets, where goodies were always secreted.  Then she embraced him, playing quite a love comedy, while her revenge found satisfaction in the anguish which she imagined she could read on her mother’s pallid face.  Monsieur Rambaud beamed with joy over his restoration to his little sweetheart’s good graces.  But Helene, on meeting him in the ante-room, was usually able to acquaint him with the state of affairs, and all at once he would look at the draught standing on the table and exclaim:  “What! are you having syrup?”

Jeanne’s face clouded over, and, in a low voice, she replied:  “No, no, it’s nasty, it’s nauseous; I can’t take it.”

“What! you can’t drink this?” questioned Monsieur Rambaud gaily.  “I can wager it’s very good.  May I take a little of it?”

Then without awaiting her permission he poured out a large spoonful, and swallowed it with a grimace that seemed to betoken immeasurable satisfaction.

“How delicious!” he murmured.  “You are quite wrong; see, just take a little to try.”

Jeanne, amused, then made no further resistance.  She would drink whatever Monsieur Rambaud happened to taste.  She watched his every motion greedily, and appeared to study his features with a view to observing the effects of the medicine.  The good man for a month gorged himself in this way with drugs, and, on Helene gratefully thanking him, merely shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh! it’s very good stuff!” he declared, with perfect conviction, making it his pleasure to share the little one’s medicines.