“Don’t be silly,” said her mother at intervals, when the chatter put her out of patience.

“But, mamma, I’m paying my friend a visit.  She’s speaking to me, and I must answer her.  At tea nobody ought to put the cakes in their pockets, ought they?”

Then she turned and began again: 

“Good-bye, madame; your tea was delicious.  Remember me most kindly to your husband.”

The next moment came something else.  She was going out shopping in her carriage, and got astride of a chair like a boy.

“Jean, not so quick; I’m afraid.  Stop! stop! here is the milliner’s!  Mademoiselle, how much is this bonnet?  Three hundred francs; that isn’t dear.  But it isn’t pretty.  I should like it with a bird on it—­a bird big like that!  Come, Jean, drive me to the grocer’s.  Have you some honey?  Yes, madame, here is some.  Oh, how nice it is!  But I don’t want any of it; give me two sous’ worth of sugar.  Oh!  Jean, look, take care!  There! we have had a spill!  Mr. Policeman, it was the cart which drove against us.  You’re not hurt, madame, are you?  No, sir, not in the least.  Jean, Jean! home now.  Gee-up! gee-up.  Wait a minute; I must order some chemises.  Three dozen chemises for madame.  I want some boots too and some stays.  Gee-up! gee-up!  Good gracious, we shall never get back again.”

Then she fanned herself, enacting the part of the lady who has returned home and is finding fault with her servants.  She never remained quiet for a moment; she was in a feverish ecstasy, full of all sorts of whimsical ideas; all the life she knew surged up in her little brain and escaped from it in fragments.  Morning and afternoon she thus moved about, dancing and chattering; and when she grew tired, a footstool or parasol discovered in a corner, or some shred of stuff lying on the floor, would suffice to launch her into a new game in which her effervescing imagination found fresh outlet.  Persons, places, and incidents were all of her own creation, and she amused herself as much as though twelve children of her own age had been beside her.

But evening came at last.  Six o’clock was about to strike.  And Helene, rousing herself from the troubled stupor in which she had spent the afternoon, hurriedly threw a shawl over her shoulders.

“Are you going out, mamma?” asked Jeanne in her surprise.

“Yes, my darling, just for a walk close by.  I won’t be long; be good.”

Outside it was still thawing.  The footways were covered with mud.  In the Rue de Passy, Helene entered a boot shop, to which she had taken Mother Fetu on a previous occasion.  Then she returned along the Rue Raynouard.  The sky was grey, and from the pavement a mist was rising.  The street stretched dimly before her, deserted and fear-inspiring, though the hour was yet early.  In the damp haze the infrequent gas-lamps glimmered like yellow spots.  She quickened her steps, keeping close to the houses,