She rose and did as he wished.

Monsieur Rambaud had ended by seating Jeanne in his own chair; and he, who had at first been leaning against the table, had now slipped down at the child’s feet.  He was on his knees before her, encircling her with one of his arms.  On the table was the carriage drawn by the chicken, with some boats, boxes, and bishops’ mitres.

“Now, do you love me well?” he asked her.  “Tell me that you love me well!”

“Of course, I love you well; you know it.”

He stammered and trembled, as though he were making some declaration of love.

“And what would you say if I asked you to let me stay here with you always?”

“Oh, I should be quite pleased.  We would play together, wouldn’t we?  That would be good fun.”

“Ah, but you know I should always be here.”

Jeanne had taken up a boat which she was twisting into a gendarme’s hat.  “You would need to get mamma’s leave,” she murmured.

By this reply all his fears were again stirred into life.  His fate was being decided.

“Of course,” said he.  “But if mamma gave me leave, would you say yes, too?”

Jeanne, busy finishing her gendarme’s hat, sang out in a rapturous strain:  “I would say yes! yes! yes!  I would say yes! yes! yes!  Come, look how pretty my hat is!”

Monsieur Rambaud, with tears in his eyes, rose to his knees and kissed her, while she threw her arms round his neck.  He had entrusted the asking of Helene’s consent to his brother, whilst he himself sought to secure that of Jeanne.

“You see,” said the priest, with a smile, “the child is quite content.”

Helene still retained her grave air, and made no further inquiry.  The Abbe, however, again eloquently took up his plea, and emphasized his brother’s good qualities.  Was he not a treasure-trove of a father for Jeanne?  She was well acquainted with him; in trusting him she gave no hostages to fortune.  Then, as she still remained silent, the Abbe with great feeling and dignity declared that in the step he had taken he had not thought of his brother, but of her and her happiness.

“I believe you; I know how you love me,” Helene promptly answered.  “Wait; I want to give your brother his answer in your presence.”

The clock struck ten.  Monsieur Rambaud made his entry into the bedroom.  With outstretched hands she went to meet him.

“I thank you for your proposal, my friend,” said she.  “I am very grateful; and you have done well in speaking—­”

She was gazing calmly into his face, holding his big hand in her grasp.  Trembling all over, he dared not lift his eyes.

“Yet I must have time to consider,” she resumed.  “You will perhaps have to give me a long time.”

“Oh! as long as you like—­six months, a year, longer if you please,” exclaimed he with a light heart, well pleased that she had not forthwith sent him about his business.