However, one afternoon old Doctor Bodin, who visited them in the character of a family friend, prolonged his stay, and stealthily, but carefully, examined Jeanne with his little blue eyes.  He questioned her as though he were having some fun with her, and on this occasion uttered no warning word.  Two days later, however, he made his appearance again; and this time, not troubling to examine Jeanne, he talked away merrily in the fashion of a man who has seen many years and many things, and turned the conversation on travelling.  He had once served as a military surgeon; he knew every corner of Italy.  It was a magnificent country, said he, which to be admired ought to be seen in spring.  Why didn’t Madame Grandjean take her daughter there?  From this he proceeded by easy transitions to advising a trip to the land of the sun, as he styled it.  Helene’s eyes were bent on him fixedly.  “No, no,” he exclaimed, “neither of you is ill!  Oh, no, certainly not!  Still, a change of air would mean new strength!” Her face had blanched, a mortal chill had come over her at the thought of leaving Paris.  Gracious heavens! to go away so far, so far! to lose Henri in a moment, their love to droop without a morrow!  Such was the agony which the thought gave her that she bent her head towards Jeanne to hide her emotion.  Did Jeanne wish to go away?  The child, with a chilly gesture, had intertwined her little fingers.  Oh! yes, she would so like to go!  She would so like to go away into the sunny land, quite alone, she and her mother, quite alone!  And over her poor attenuated face with its cheeks burning with fever, there swept the bright hope of a new life.  But Helene would listen to no more; indignation and distrust led her to imagine that all of them—­the Abbe, Doctor Bodin, Jeanne herself—­were plotting to separate her from Henri.  When the old doctor noticed the pallor of her cheeks, he imagined that he had not spoken so cautiously as he might have done, and hastened to declare that there was no hurry, albeit he silently resolved to return to the subject at another time.

It happened that Madame Deberle intended to stop at home that day.  As soon as the doctor had gone Helene hastened to put on her bonnet.  Jeanne, however, refused to quit the house; she felt better beside the fire; she would be very good, and would not open the window.  For some time past she had not teased her mother to be allowed to go with her; still she gazed after her as she went out with a longing look.  Then, when she found herself alone, she shrunk into her chair and sat for hours motionless.

“Mamma, is Italy far away?” she asked as Helene glided towards her to kiss her.

“Oh! very far away, my pet!”

Jeanne clung round her neck, and not letting her rise again at the moment, whispered:  “Well, Rosalie could take care of everything here.  We should have no need of her.  A small travelling-trunk would do for us, you know!  Oh! it would be delightful, mother dear!  Nobody but us two!  I should come back quite plump—­like this!”