all aflame.  The glass roof of the Palais de l’Industrie appeared like a bed of glowing embers amidst the Champs-Elysees groves.  Farther on, behind the roof of the Madeline, the huge pile of the Opera House shone out like a mass of burnished copper; and the summits of other buildings, cupolas, and towers, the Vendome column, the church of Saint-Vincent de Paul, the tower of Saint-Jacques, and, nearer in, the pavilions of the new Louvre and the Tuileries, were crowned by a blaze, which lent them the aspect of sacrificial pyres.  The dome of the Invalides was flaring with such brilliancy that you instinctively feared lest it should suddenly topple down and scatter burning flakes over the neighborhood.  Beyond the irregular towers of Saint-Sulpice, the Pantheon stood out against the sky in dull splendor, like some royal palace of conflagration reduced to embers.  Then, as the sun declined, the pyre-like edifices gradually set the whole of Paris on fire.  Flashes sped over the housetops, while black smoke lingered in the valleys.  Every frontage turned towards the Trocadero seemed to be red-hot, the glass of the windows glittering and emitting a shower of sparks, which darted upwards as though some invisible bellows were ever urging the huge conflagration into greater activity.  Sheaves of flame were also ever rising afresh from the adjacent districts, where the streets opened, now dark and now all ablaze.  Even far over the plain, from a ruddy ember-like glow suffusing the destroyed faubourgs, occasional flashes of flame shot up as from some fire struggling again into life.  Ere long a furnace seemed raging, all Paris burned, the heavens became yet more empurpled, and the clouds hung like so much blood over the vast city, colored red and gold.

With the ruddy tints falling upon her, yielding to the passion which was devouring her, Helene was still gazing upon Paris all ablaze, when a little hand was placed on her shoulder, and she gave a start.  It was Jeanne, calling her.  “Mamma! mamma!”

She turned her head, and the child went on:  “At last!  Didn’t you hear me before?  I have called you at least a dozen times.”

The little girl, still in her Japanese costume, had sparkling eyes, and cheeks flushed with pleasure.  She gave her mother no time for answer.

“You ran away from me nicely!  Do you know, they were hunting for you everywhere?  Had it not been for Pauline, who came with me to the bottom of the staircase, I shouldn’t have dared to cross the road.”

With a pretty gesture, she brought her face close to her mother’s lips, and, without pausing, whispered the question:  “Do you love me?”

Helene kissed her somewhat absently.  She was amazed and impatient at her early return.  Had an hour really gone by since she had fled from the ball-room?  However, to satisfy the child, who seemed uneasy, she told her that she had felt rather unwell.  The fresh air was doing her good; she only needed a little quietness.