“Good heavens! how annoying!” exclaimed Madame Deberle when she saw the procession start off.  “If only Henri had postponed that consultation!  I told him how it would be!”

She did not know what to do with Helene, who remained prostrate on a seat in the pavilion.  Henri might have stayed with her and afforded her some consolation.  His absence was a horrible nuisance.  Luckily, Mademoiselle Aurelie was glad to offer her services; she had no liking for such solemn scenes, and while watching over Helene would be able to attend to the luncheon which had to be prepared ere the children’s return.  So Juliette hastened after the funeral, which was proceeding towards the church by way of the Rue de Passy.

The garden was now deserted; a few workmen only were folding up the hangings.  All that remained on the gravelled path over which Jeanne had been carried were the scattered petals of a camellia.  And Helene, suddenly lapsing into loneliness and stillness, was thrilled once more with the anguish of this eternal separation.  Once again—­only once again!—­to be at her darling’s side!  The never-fading thought that Jeanne was leaving her in anger, with a face that spoke solely of gloomy hatred, seared her heart like a red-hot iron.  She well divined that Mademoiselle Aurelie was there to watch her, and cast about for some opportunity to escape and hasten to the cemetery.

“Yes, it’s a dreadful loss,” began the old maid, comfortably seated in an easy-chair.  “I myself should have worshipped children, and little girls in particular.  Ah, well! when I think of it I am pleased that I never married.  It saves a lot of grief!”

It was thus she thought to divert the mother.  She chatted away about one of her friends who had had six children; they were now all dead.  Another lady had been left a widow with a big lad who struck her; he might die, and there would be no difficulty in comforting her.  Helene appeared to be listening to all this; she did not stir, but her whole frame quivered with impatience.

“You are calmer now,” said Mademoiselle Aurelie, after a time.  “Well, in the end we always have to get the better of our feelings.”

The dining-room communicated with the Japanese pavilion, and, rising up, the old maid opened the door and peered into the room.  The table, she saw, was covered with pastry and cakes.  Meantime, in an instant Helene sped through the garden; the gate was still open, the workmen were just carrying away their ladder.

On the left the Rue Vineuse turns into the Rue des Reservoirs, from which the cemetery of Passy can be entered.  On the Boulevard de la Muette a huge retaining wall has been reared, and the cemetery stretches like an immense terrace commanding the heights, the Trocadero, the avenues, and the whole expanse of Paris.  In twenty steps Helene had reached the yawning gateway, and saw before her the lonely expanse of white gravestones and black crosses.  She entered.  At the corners