Often, without seeing a soul, the two women would thus pass the afternoon.  Jeanne and Lucien played at their feet.  There would be long intervals of silence, and then Madame Deberle, who disliked reverie, would chatter for hours, quite satisfied with the silent acquiescence of Helene, and rattling off again if the other even so much as nodded.  She would tell endless stories concerning the ladies of her acquaintance, get up schemes for parties during the coming winter, vent magpie opinions on the day’s news and the society trifling which filled her narrow brain, the whole intermingled with affectionate outbursts over the children, and sentimental remarks on the delights of friendship.  Helene allowed her to squeeze her hands.  She did not always lend an attentive ear; but, in this atmosphere of unceasing tenderness, she showed herself greatly touched by Juliette’s caresses, and pronounced her to be a perfect angel of kindness.

Sometimes, to Madame Deberle’s intense delight, a visitor would drop in.  Since Easter she had ceased receiving on Saturdays, as was usual at this time of the year.  But she dreaded solitude, and a casual unceremonious visit paid her in her garden gave her the greatest pleasure.  She was now busily engaged in settling on the watering-place where she would spend her holiday in August.  To every visitor she retailed the same talk; discoursed on the fact that her husband would not accompany her to the seaside; and then poured forth a flood of questions, as she could not make up her mind where to go.  She did not ask for herself, however; no, it was all on Lucien’s account.  When the foppish youth Malignon came he seated himself astride a rustic chair.  He, indeed, loathed the country; one must be mad, he would declare, to exile oneself from Paris with the idea of catching influenza beside the sea.  However, he took part in the discussions on the merits of the various watering-places, all of which were horrid, said he; apart from Trouville there was not a place worthy of any consideration whatever.  Day after day Helene listened to the same talk, yet without feeling wearied; indeed, she even derived pleasure from this monotony, which lulled her into dreaming of one thing only.  The last day of the month came, and still Madame Deberle had not decided where to go.

As Helene was leaving one evening, her friend said to her:  “I must go out to-morrow; but that needn’t prevent you from coming down here.  Wait for me; I shan’t be back late.”

Helene consented; and, alone in the garden, there spent a delicious afternoon.  Nothing stirred, save the sparrows fluttering in the trees overhead.  This little sunny nook entranced her, and, from that day, her happiest afternoons were those on which her friend left her alone.

A closer intimacy was springing up between the Deberles and herself.  She dined with them like a friend who is pressed to stay when the family sits down to table; when she lingered under the elm-trees and Pierre came down to announce dinner, Juliette would implore her to remain, and she sometimes yielded.  They were family dinners, enlivened by the noisy pranks of the children.  Doctor Deberle and Helene seemed good friends, whose sensible and somewhat reserved natures sympathized well.  Thus it was that Juliette frequently declared:  “Oh, you two would get on capitally!  Your composure exasperates me!”