"True, you are a doctor!" she murmured, "and I knew it. But I was
distracted. Oh, let us hurry!"

On the staircase she wished him to go first. She could not have
admitted the Divinity to her home in a more reverent manner. Upstairs
Rosalie had remained near the child, and had lit the large lamp on the
table. After the doctor had entered the room he took up this lamp and
cast its light upon the body of the child, which retained its painful
rigidity; the head, however, had slipped forward, and nervous
twitchings were ceaselessly drawing the face. For a minute he looked
on in silence, his lips compressed. Helene anxiously watched him, and
on noticing the mother's imploring glance, he muttered: "It will be
nothing. But she must not lie here. She must have air."

Helene grasped her child in a strong embrace, and carried her away on
her shoulder. She could have kissed the doctor's hand for his good
tidings, and a wave of happiness rippled through her. Scarcely,
however, had Jeanne been placed in the larger bed than her poor little
frame was again seized with violent convulsions. The doctor had
removed the shade from the lamp, and a white light was streaming
through the room. Then, opening a window, he ordered Rosalie to drag
the bed away from the curtains. Helene's heart was again filled with
anguish. "Oh, sir, she is dying," she stammered. "Look! look! Ah! I
scarcely recognize her."

The doctor did not reply, but watched the paroxysm attentively.

"Step into the alcove," he at last exclaimed. "Hold her hands to
prevent her from tearing herself. There now, gently, quietly! Don't