Her conviction was such that Helene gave way.  She cloaked Jeanne in a shawl, and told Rosalie to take a heavy wrap with her.  The child was in an ecstasy, which spoke silently from the depths of her large sparkling eyes; she even wished to descend the staircase without help in order that her strength might be made plain.  However, her mother’s arms were stretched out behind her, ready to lend support.  When they had reached the foot of the stairs and entered the garden, they both gave vent to an exclamation.  So little did this umbrageous, thicket-girt spot resemble the trim nook they had seen in the springtime that they failed to recognize it.

“Ah! you wouldn’t believe me!” declared Rosalie, in triumphant tones.

The clumps of shrubbery had grown to great proportions, making the paths much narrower, and, in walking, their skirts caught in some of the interwoven branches.  To the fancy it seemed some far-away recess in a wood, arched over with foliage, from which fell a greeny light of delightful charm and mystery.  Helene directed her steps towards the elm beneath which she had sat in April.

“But I don’t wish her to stay here,” said she.  “It is shady and coldish.”

“Well, well, you will see in a minute,” answered the maid.

Three steps farther on they emerged from the seeming forest, and, in the midst of the leafy profusion they found the sun’s golden rays streaming on the lawn, warm and still as in a woodland clearing.  As they looked up they saw the branches standing out against the blue of the sky with the delicacy of guipure.  The tea-roses on the huge bush, faint in the heat, dropped slumberously from their stems.  The flower-beds were full of red and white asters, looking with their old-world air like blossoms woven in some ancient tapestry.

“Now you’ll see,” said Rosalie.  “I’m going to put her all right myself.”

She had folded and placed the wrap on the edge of a walk, where the shadow came to an end.  Here she made Jeanne sit down, covering her shoulders with a shawl, and bidding her stretch out her little legs.  In this fashion the shade fell on the child’s head, while her feet lay in the sunshine.

“Are you all right, my darling?” Helene asked.

“Oh, yes,” was her answer.  “I don’t feel cold a bit, you know.  I almost think I am sweltering before a big fire.  Ah! how well one can breathe!  How pleasant it is!”

Thereupon Helene, whose eyes had turned uneasily towards the closed window-shutters of the house, expressed her intention of returning upstairs for a little while, and loaded Rosalie with a variety of injunctions.  She would have to watch the sun; she was not to leave Jeanne there for more than half an hour; and she must not lose sight of her for a moment.

“Don’t be alarmed, mamma,” exclaimed the child, with a laugh.  “There are no carriages to pass along here.”