“And what about Jeanne?” again asked the doctor.

The little girl had just buried her head against her mother’s shoulder in the caressing manner so characteristic of her; and as an answer was about to cross Helene’s lips, she murmured: 

“Oh! mamma, you know what you promised me, don’t you?”

“What was it?” asked those around her.

Then, as her daughter gave her an imploring look, Helene laughingly replied:  “Jeanne does not wish her dress to be known.”

“Yes, that’s so,” said the child; “you don’t create any effect when you tell your dress beforehand.”

Every one was tickled with this display of coquetry, and Monsieur Rambaud thought he might tease the child about it.  For some time past Jeanne had been ill-tempered with him, and the poor man, at his wits’ end to hit upon a mode of again gaining her favor, thought teasing her the best method of conciliation.  Keeping his eyes on her face, he several times repeated:  “I know; I shall tell, I shall tell!”

Jeanne, however, became quite livid.  Her gentle, sickly face assumed an expression of ferocious anger; her brow was furrowed by two deep wrinkles, and her chin drooped with nervous agitation.

“You!” she screamed excitedly; “you will say nothing!” And, as he still feigned a resolve to speak, she rushed at him madly, and shouted out:  “Hold your tongue!  I will have you hold your tongue!  I will!  I will!”

Helene had been unable to prevent this fit of blind anger, such as sometimes took possession of the child, and with some harshness exclaimed:  “Jeanne, take care; I shall whip you!”

But Jeanne paid no heed, never once heard her.  Trembling from head to foot, stamping on the ground, and choking with rage, she again and again repeated, “I will!  I will!” in a voice that grew more and more hoarse and broken; and her hands convulsively gripped hold of Monsieur Rambaud’s arm, which she twisted with extraordinary strength.  In vain did Helene threaten her.  At last, perceiving her inability to quell her by severity, and grieved to the heart by such a display before so many people, she contented herself by saying gently:  “Jeanne, you are grieving me very much.”

The child immediately quitted her hold and turned her head.  And when she caught sight of her mother, with disconsolate face and eyes swimming with repressed tears, she on her side burst into loud sobs, and threw herself on Helene’s neck, exclaiming in her grief:  “No, mamma! no, mamma!”

She passed her hands over her mother’s face, as though to prevent her weeping.  Helene, however, slowly put her from her, and then the little one, broken-hearted and distracted, threw herself on a seat a short distance off, where her sobs broke out louder than ever.  Lucien, to whom she was always held up as an example to follow, gazed at her surprised and somewhat pleased.  And then, as Helene folded up her work, apologizing for so regrettable an incident, Juliette remarked to her: