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He saw that she had in no way recovered her agitation yet, and that she could hardly bear her companion's brainless chatter over this wedding. "That has been no ordinary love affair," said this astute Frenchman to himself. "I must decidedly cultivate this young lady's acquaintance, for I mean to pay you out well yet, ma belle Hélène."
Bending over the iron cot, she could at first make out nothing, but amidst the bed-clothes, tossed about in disorder, the dim light soon revealed Jeanne, with limbs quite stiff, her head flung back, the muscles of her neck swollen and rigid. Her sweet face was distorted, her eyes were open and fixed on the curtain-rod above. "My child!" cried Helene. "My God! my God! she is dying."
A rush of air swept over the throng, making the flames of the tapers leap, while amongst the flowers, fading as they exhaled their last perfume, the Divine Mother seemed to incline her head to smile on her infant Jesus. All at once, seized with an instinctive dread, Helene turned. "You're not ill, Jeanne, are you?" she asked.
Helene had risen to her feet, and stood, pale of face but erect, resting, as was her wont, one hand on my shoulder. Then Michael Texel read the scroll aloud.
For I began to be anxious how Helene would be able to comport herself in the company of one so dainty and full of devices and convenances as the lady of the Weiss Thor. But, by my faith, I need not have troubled about our little lass. For if there were any embarrassed, that one was certainly not Helene.
"That will do, Jimmy!" said I, and pushed on in silence, Jean Lafitte very grave, and Jimmy snuffling, now, in his grief at leaving the enchanted island. So, all much about the same time, we reached the Belle Helène and went aboard. The ladies went at once to their cabin, and I saw neither again that day, although I sent down duck, terrapin and ninety-three for their dinner that night.
He took her in his arms, and told Helene 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.
"When I give you permission," said Helene, gently. I have written this story for her eyes. Out of the blood and ashes of France a Man had arisen who moved real kings and queens on his chess-board which was a large part of the world. The Man was Napoleon Buonaparte, at present, for lack of a better name, First Consul of the French Republic.
To the observation of the President, once again, that arsenic had been administered, and to his question, what person other than she had a motive for poisoning the girls, or had such opportunity for doing so, Helene answered defiantly, ``You won't redden my face by talking of arsenic. I defy anybody to say they saw me give arsenic.
Entering my room and closing the door after me, I drew the miniature from my pocket and stood gazing at it for I know not how long. I stood staring at the portrait, I say, with a kind of fascination that astonished me, seeing that it had come to me in such a way. It was no French face of my imagination, and as I looked it seemed to me that I knew Mademoiselle Helene de Saint-Gre.
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