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Updated: May 1, 2025
Their pace was slow, and for a moment longer they could be seen at the end of the path, with the sunshine dancing over them. "Come," murmured Monsieur Rambaud to Helene. With a gesture she entreated him to wait. She was alone, and to her it seemed as though a page had been torn from the book of her life.
Still, he climbed the stairs every other day to inquire how Jeanne was getting on, and sometimes chatted with his brother professional, Doctor Deberle, who paid him all the deference due to an elder. Moreover, it was useless to try to deceive Jeanne. Her senses had become wondrously acute. The Abbe and Monsieur Rambaud paid a visit every night; they sat down and spent an hour in sad silence.
``A robust faith, writes one of the great admirers of the Revolution, M. Rambaud, ``sustained the Convention in this labour; it believed firmly that when it had formulated in a law the principles of the Revolution its enemies would be confounded, or, still better, converted, and that the advent of justice would disarm the insurgents.
She would drink whatever Monsieur Rambaud happened to taste. She watched his every motion greedily, and appeared to study his features with a view to observing the effects of the medicine. The good man for a month gorged himself in this way with drugs, and, on Helene gratefully thanking him, merely shrugged his shoulders.
And at this sight he stopped short in astonishment, which slowly developed into uneasiness. Shadows traversed the blinds; there seemed to be considerable bustle and stir up there. Perhaps Monsieur Rambaud had stayed to dine? But the worthy man never left later than ten o'clock. He, Henri, dared not go up; for what would he say should Rosalie open the door?
"Ah! that is why Jeanne was questioning me!" exclaimed Monsieur Rambaud. "Would it give you any pleasure to go away there?" Without vouchsafing any answer, the child clasped her little hands upon her bosom, while her pale face flushed with joy. Then, stealthily, and with some fear, she looked towards the doctor; it was he, she understood it, whom her mother was consulting.
She wished to go forward, and Monsieur Rambaud made no effort to hold her back. How sweet was the scene beneath the cloud of drapery! Perfumes were wafted upwards; the air was warm and still. Helene stooped down and chose one rose only, that she might place it in her bosom. But suddenly she commenced to tremble, and Monsieur Rambaud became uneasy. "Don't stay here," he said, as he drew her away.
In the meantime, Monsieur Rambaud, who with unconscious sadness had slowly lapsed into silence, observed Jeanne's evident discomfort. "Aren't you well, my darling?" he asked in a whisper. "No! I'm quite ill! Carry me up again, I implore you." "But we must tell your mamma." "Oh, no, no! mamma is busy; she hasn't any time to give to us. Carry me up, oh! carry me up again."
The child woke up from the long-continued pause with a sudden suggestion which seemed to be the outcome of her dreamy fit: "Would you like to go into the kitchen? We'll see if we can get a glimpse of mamma!" "Very well; let us go," replied Monsieur Rambaud. Jeanne felt stronger that day, and reaching the kitchen without any assistance pressed her face against a windowpane.
As it happened, Monsieur Rambaud was present at the moment; and when Helene began to spread a napkin, by way of tablecloth, on the bed, the child whispered in her ear: "Wait a moment when he has gone." And as soon as he had left them she burst out: "Now, quick! quick! It's far nicer when there's nobody but ourselves."
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