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Updated: June 9, 2025
Often, with her eyes fixed on its expanse, Helene had wept, leaning on the window-rail in order to hide her tears from her ailing child. One day, too the very day when she had imagined her daughter to be at the point of death she had remained for a long time, overcome and choked with grief, watching the smoke which curled up from the Army Bakehouse.
She propped her elbows on the window-rail and listened, grateful for this bath of sweetness to her spirit after the day's profound ennui. Estelle came softly into the dark room and joined her; they leaned side by side. Mi sono innamorato d'una stella, Sognai, Io t'amerò, one sweet and sentimental song succeeded the other.
But Helene, her elbows trembling on the window-rail, still breathless from her hasty ascent, saw nothing, and merely heard her heart beating against her swelling breast.
This gave her some amusement, and she got wet to the sleeves. Her doll must, of course, like herself, have a headache, and she therefore hastened to put it astride the window-rail, with its back against the side wall. She thought, as she saw the drops pelting down upon it, that they were doing it some good.
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