“Oh, mamma, see what a number of stars!”

But behind them, like an echo of their own, came the footfall of Mother Fetu.  Nearer and nearer she approached, till they could hear her muttering the opening words of the Angelic Salutation “Ave Marie, gratia plena,” repeating them over and over again with the same confused persistency.  She was telling her beads on her homeward way.

“I have still something left—­may I give it to her?” Jeanne asked her mother.

And thereupon, without waiting for a reply, she left them, running towards the old woman, who was on the point of entering the Passage des Eaux.  Mother Fetu clutched at the coin, calling upon all the angels of Heaven to bless her.  As she spoke, however, she grasped the child’s hand and detained her by her side, then asking in changed tones: 

“The other lady is ill, is she not?”

“No,” answered Jeanne, surprised.

“May Heaven shield her!  May it shower its favors on her and her husband!  Don’t run away yet, my dear little lady.  Let me say an Ave Maria for your mother’s sake, and you will join in the ‘Amen’ with me.  Oh! your mother will allow you; you can catch her up.”

Meanwhile Henri and Helene trembled as they found themselves suddenly left alone in the shadow cast by a line of huge chestnut trees that bordered the road.  They quietly took a few steps.  The chestnut trees had strewn the ground with their bloom, and they were walking upon this rosy-tinted carpet.  On a sudden, however, they came to a stop, their hearts filled with such emotion that they could go no farther.

“Forgive me,” said Henri simply.

“Yes, yes,” ejaculated Helene.  “But oh! be silent, I pray you.”

She had felt his hand touch her own, and had started back.  Fortunately Jeanne ran towards them at the moment.

“Mamma, mamma!” she cried; “she made me say an Ave; she says it will bring you good luck.”

The three then turned into the Rue Vineuse, while Mother Fetu crept down the steps of the Passage des Eaux, busy completing her rosary.

The month slipped away.  Two or three more services were attended by Madame Deberle.  One Sunday, the last one, Henri once more ventured to wait for Helene and Jeanne.  The walk home thrilled them with joy.  The month had been one long spell of wondrous bliss.  The little church seemed to have entered into their lives to soothe their love and render its way pleasant.  At first a great peace had settled on Helene’s soul; she had found happiness in this sanctuary where she imagined she could without shame dwell on her love; however, the undermining had continued, and when her holy rapture passed away she was again in the grip of her passion, held by bonds that would have plucked at her heartstrings had she sought to break them asunder.  Henri still preserved his respectful demeanor, but she could not do otherwise than see the passion burning in his face.  She dreaded some outburst, and even grew afraid of herself.