Thereupon the footman pushed open the door of a drawing-room, furnished in yellow and black, of dazzling effect, and, moving aside, announced: 

“Madame Grandjean!”

Helene, standing on the threshold, started back.  She had just noticed at the other end of the room a young woman seated near the fireplace on a narrow couch which was completely covered by her ample skirts.  Facing her sat an elderly person, who had retained her bonnet and shawl, and was evidently paying a visit.

“I beg pardon,” exclaimed Helene.  “I wished to see Doctor Deberle.”

She had made the child enter the room before her, and now took her by the hand again.  She was both astonished and embarrassed in meeting this young lady.  Why had she not asked for the doctor?  She well knew he was married.

Madame Deberle was just finishing some story, in a quick and rather shrill voice.

“Oh! it’s marvellous, marvellous!  She dies with wonderful realism.  She clutches at her bosom like this, throws back her head, and her face turns green.  I declare you ought to see her, Mademoiselle Aurelie!”

Then, rising up, she sailed towards the doorway, rustling her skirts terribly.

“Be so kind as to walk in, madame,” she said with charming graciousness.  “My husband is not at home, but I shall be delighted to receive you, I assure you.  This must be the pretty little girl who was so ill a few nights ago.  Sit down for a moment, I beg of you.”

Helene was forced to accept the invitation, while Jeanne timidly perched herself on the edge of another chair.  Madame Deberle again sank down on her little sofa, exclaiming with a pretty laugh,

“Yes, this is my day.  I receive every Saturday, you see, and Pierre then announces all comers.  A week or two ago he ushered in a colonel suffering from the gout.”

“How silly you are, my dear Juliette!” expostulated Mademoiselle Aurelie, the elderly lady, an old friend in straitened circumstances, who had seen her come into the world.

There was a short silence, and Helene gazed round at the luxury of the apartment, with its curtains and chairs in black and gold, glittering like constellations.  Flowers decorated mantel-shelf, piano, and tables alike, and the clear light streamed through the windows from the garden, in which could be seen the leafless trees and bare soil.  The room had almost a hot-house temperature; in the fireplace one large log was glowing with intense heat.  After another glance Helene recognized that the gaudy colors had a happy effect.  Madame Deberle’s hair was inky-black, and her skin of a milky whiteness.  She was short, plump, slow in her movements, and withal graceful.  Amidst all the golden decorations, her white face assumed a vermeil tint under her heavy, sombre tresses.  Helene really admired her.

“Convulsions are so terrible,” broke in Madame Deberle.  “My Lucien had them when a mere baby.  How uneasy you must have been, madame!  However, the dear little thing appears to be quite well now.”