were transpiercing certain districts, and long streets, stretching in front of Helene, set streaks of sunshine amidst the shade.  It was only on the left that the far-spreading horizon, almost perfect in its circular sweep, was broken by the heights of Montmartre and Pere-Lachaise.  The details so clearly defined in the foreground, the innumerable denticles of the chimneys, the little black specks of the thousands of windows, grew less and less distinct as you gazed farther and farther away, till everything became mingled in confusion—­the pell-mell of an endless city, whose faubourgs, afar off, looked like shingly beaches, steeped in a violet haze under the bright, streaming, vibrating light that fell from the heavens.

Helene was watching the scene with grave interest when Jeanne burst gleefully into the room.

“Oh, mamma! look here!”

The child had a big bunch of wall-flowers in her hand.  She told, with some laughter, how she had waylaid Rosalie on her return from market to peep into her basket of provisions.  To rummage in this basket was a great delight to her.

“Look at it, mamma!  It lay at the very bottom.  Just smell it; what a lovely perfume!”

From the tawny flowers, speckled with purple, there came a penetrating odor which scented the whole room.  Then Helene, with a passionate movement, drew Jeanne to her breast, while the nosegay fell on her lap.  To love! to love!  Truly, she loved her child.  Was not that intense love which had pervaded her life till now sufficient for her wants?  It ought to satisfy her; it was so gentle, so tranquil; no lassitude could put an end to its continuance.  Again she pressed her daughter to her, as though to conjure away thoughts which threatened to separate them.  In the meantime Jeanne surrendered herself to the shower of kisses.  Her eyes moist with tears, she turned her delicate neck upwards with a coaxing gesture, and pressed her face against her mother’s shoulder.  Then she slipped an arm round her waist and thus remained, very demure, her cheek resting on Helene’s bosom.  The perfume of the wall-flowers ascended between them.

For a long time they did not speak; but at length, without moving, Jeanne asked in a whisper: 

“Mamma, you see that rosy-colored dome down there, close to the river; what is it?”

It was the dome of the Institute, and Helene looked towards it for a moment as though trying to recall the name.

“I don’t know, my love,” she answered gently.

The child appeared content with this reply, and silence again fell.  But soon she asked a second question.

“And there, quite near, what beautiful trees are those?” she said, pointing with her finger towards a corner of the Tuileries garden.

“Those beautiful trees!” said her mother.  “On the left, do you mean?  I don’t know, my love.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Jeanne; and after musing for a little while she added with a pout:  “We know nothing!”