“Is it understood that we can rely on you for to-morrow evening?” asked Madame Deberle.

Helene no longer had the will to decline.  She would see whether it were possible when she reached the street.  It finished by their being the last to leave.  Pauline and Jeanne already stood on the opposite pavement awaiting them.  But a tearful voice brought them to a halt.

“Ah, my good lady, what a time it is since I had the happiness of seeing you!”

It was Mother Fetu, who was soliciting alms at the church door.  Barring Helene’s way, as though she had lain in wait for her, she went on: 

“Oh, I have been so very ill always here, in the stomach, you know.  Just now I feel as if a hammer were pounding away inside me; and I have nothing at all, my good lady.  I didn’t dare to send you word about it—­May the gracious God repay you!”

Helene had slipped a piece of money into her hand, and promised to think about her.

“Hello!” exclaimed Madame Deberle, who had remained standing within the porch, “there’s some one talking with Pauline and Jeanne.  Why, it is Henri.”

“Yes, yes” Mother Fetu hastened to add as she turned her ferret-like eyes on the ladies, “it is the good doctor.  I have seen him there all through the service; he has never budged from the pavement; he has been waiting for you, no doubt.  Ah! he’s a saint of a man!  I swear that to be the truth in the face of God who hears us.  Yes, I know you, madame; he is a husband who deserves to be happy.  May Heaven hearken to your prayers, may every blessing fall on you!  In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!”

Amidst the myriad furrows of her face, which was wrinkled like a withered apple, her little eyes kept gleaming in malicious unrest, darting a glance now on Juliette, now on Helene, so that it was impossible to say with any certainty whom she was addressing while speaking of “the good doctor.”  She followed them, muttering on without a stop, mingling whimpering entreaty with devout outbursts.

Henri’s reserve alike astonished and moved Helene.  He scarcely had the courage to raise his eyes towards her.  On his wife quizzing him about the opinions which restrained him from entering a church, he merely explained that to smoke a cigar was his object in coming to meet them; but Helene understood that he had wished to see her again, to prove to her how wrong she was in fearing some fresh outrage.  Doubtless, like herself, he had sworn to keep within the limits of reason.  She never questioned whether his sincerity could be real.  She simply experienced a feeling of unhappiness at seeing him unhappy.  Thus it came about, that on leaving them it the Rue Vineuse, she said cheerfully: 

“Well, it is settled then; to-morrow at seven.”