Before preparing for the evening she went into the nursery, and for several moments sat beside the cradle where Jeanne was peacefully sleeping, her little face rosy with health. The poor child, she thought, could never know the sacrifice she had made for her. She was glad she had made it; she had done her duty; but it was hard, it was so hard! Then she bent over and kissed Jeanne on the cheek; the child drew her head away, and buried her face impatiently in the pillow. Blanche turned her gently in the crib, adjusted the lace covering, and stole out of the room.
Jules met her as she was closing the door softly behind her. "What have you been doing in there?" he cried petulantly. "Why can't you let Jeanne alone when she's asleep? Every time she takes a nap you go in and wake her up. No wonder—"
"I haven't waked her," Blanche replied apologetically. "I only went in to see if she needed anything, and I sat beside her a moment."
"Well, you'll spoil her if you keep on. From the way you act one would imagine that Jeanne was the only creature in the world worth thinking about!"
They both took their places at the table which Madeleine had prepared, and proceeded silently with their dinner. Madeleine, who hovered about them, wondered what the matter was; she had never seen Monsieur Jules like this before; he usually had a great deal to say. When she had left the room for a few minutes, Jules looked up from his plate.
"I've been wondering whether we ought to keep Madeleine or not. She's a great expense. We could get along just as well without her. The garçon could serve our meals. We have to pay for the service whether we get it or not."
When he had spoken he was startled by the look in his wife's face. Not keep Madeleine! The mere thought of parting with the old woman, whom she had come to regard almost as a second mother, shocked her so much that for a moment she could not formulate a reply.
"But we couldn't get along without her!" she said. "Think of all she does for me and for Jeanne!"
"Oh, Jeanne! It's always Jeanne, Jeanne. I'm sick of hearing her name. If Jeanne hadn't been born we shouldn't be in the pretty box we're in now, and you'd be going on with your work like a sensible woman. I tell you we must economize. We're under heavy expenses here, and we're going to lose a lot of money by this imaginary sickness of yours."
"I can't let Madeleine go," Blanche replied. "I should die without her. I should die of loneliness. And she loves you so, as much as if you were her son, and she loved your mother. She has often talked to me about her. I can't, I can't let her go. I'd rather—"