He took her in his arms, and told Hélène that the child felt tired. In answer she requested him to wait for her in her rooms; she would hasten after them. The little one, though light as a feather, seemed to slip from his grasp, and he was forced to come to a standstill on the second landing. She had leaned her head against his shoulder, and each gazed into the other’s face with a look of grievous pain. Not a sound broke upon the chill silence of the staircase. Then in a low whisper he asked her:
“You’re pleased, aren’t you, to go to Italy?”
But she thereupon burst into sobs, declaring in broken words that she no longer had any craving to go, and would rather die in her own room. Oh! she would not go, she would fall ill, she knew it well. She would go nowhere—nowhere. They could give her little shoes to the poor. Then amidst tears she whispered to him:
“Do you remember what you asked me one night?”
“What was it, my pet?”
“To stay with mamma always—always—always! Well, if you wish so still, I wish so too!”
The tears welled into Monsieur Rambaud’s eyes. He kissed her lovingly, while she added in a still lower tone:
“You are perhaps vexed by my getting so angry over it. I didn’t understand, you know. But it’s you whom I want! Oh! say that it will be soon. Won’t you say that it will be soon? I love you more than the other one.”
Below in the pavilion, Hélène had begun to dream once more. The proposed journey was still the topic of conversation; and she now experienced an unconquerable yearning to relieve her overflowing heart, and acquaint Henri with all the happiness which was stifling her. So, while Juliette and Pauline were wrangling over the number of dresses that ought to be taken, she leaned towards him and gave him the assignation which she had refused but an hour before.
“Come to-night; I shall expect you.”