At table, however, not a word passed between mother and daughter.  The fire flared with a merry roar, and there was a look of happiness about the little dining-room, with its bright mahogany and gleaming china.  But the old stupor which drove away all thought seemed to have again fallen on Helene; she ate mechanically, though with an appearance of appetite.  Jeanne sat facing her, and quietly watched her over her glass, noting each of her movements.  But all at once the child again coughed, and her mother, who had become unconscious of her presence, immediately displayed lively concern.

“Why, you’re coughing again!  Aren’t you getting warm?”

“Oh, yes, mamma; I’m very warm.”

Helene leaned towards her to feel her hand and ascertain whether she was speaking the truth.  Only then did she perceive that her plate was still full.

“Why, you said you were hungry.  Don’t you like what you have there?”

“Oh, yes, mamma; I’m eating away.”

With an effort Jeanne swallowed a mouthful.  Helene looked at her for a time, but soon again began dreaming of the fatal room which she had come from.  It did not escape the child that her mother took little interest in her now.  As the dinner came to an end, her poor wearied frame sank down on the chair, and she sat there like some bent, aged woman, with the dim eyes of one of those old maids for whom love is past and gone.

“Won’t mademoiselle have any jam?” asked Rosalie.  “If not, can I remove the cloth?”

Helene still sat there with far-away looks.

“Mamma, I’m sleepy,” exclaimed Jeanne in a changed voice.  “Will you let me go to bed?  I shall feel better in bed.”

Once more her mother seemed to awake with a start to consciousness of her surroundings.

“You are suffering, my darling! where do you feel the pain?  Tell me.”

“No, no; I told you I’m all right!  I’m sleepy, and it’s already time for me to go to bed.”

She left her chair and stood up, as though to prove that there was no illness threatening her:  but her benumbed feet tottered over the floor on her way to the bedroom.  She leaned against the furniture, and her hardihood was such that not a tear came from her, despite the feverish fire darting through her frame.  Her mother followed to assist her to bed; but the child had displayed such haste in undressing herself that she only arrived in time to tie up her hair for the night.  Without need of any helping hand Jeanne slipped between the sheets, and quickly closed her eyes.

“Are you comfortable?” asked Helene, as she drew up the bedclothes and carefully tucked her in.

“Yes, quite comfortable.  Leave me alone, and don’t disturb me.  Take away the lamp.”

Her only yearning was to be alone in the darkness, that she might reopen her eyes and chew the cud of her sorrows, with no one near to watch her.  When the light had been carried away, her eyes opened quite wide.