"No, no!" cried Helene; "leave the window open. Should it not be so?"
she appealed to the doctor.

The wind entered in slight puffs, rustling the curtains to and fro;
but she was quite unconscious of it. Yet the shawl had slipped off her
shoulders, and her hair had become unwound, some wanton tresses
sweeping down to her hips. She had left her arms free and uncovered,
that she might be the more ready; she had forgotten all, absorbed
entirely in her love for her child. And on his side, the doctor, busy
with his work, no longer thought of his unbuttoned coat, or of the
shirt-collar that Jeanne's clutch had torn away.

"Raise her up a little," said he to Helene. "No, no, not in that way!
Give me your hand."

He took her hand and placed it under the child's head. He wished to
give Jeanne another spoonful of the medicine. Then he called Helene
close to him, made use of her as his assistant; and she obeyed him
reverently on seeing that her daughter was already more calm.

"Now, come," he said. "You must let her head lean against your
shoulder, while I listen."

Helene did as he bade her, and he bent over her to place his ear
against Jeanne's bosom. He touched her bare shoulder with his cheek,
and as the pulsation of the child's heart struck his ear he could also
have heard the throbbing of the mother's breast. As he rose up his
breath mingled with Helene's.

"There is nothing wrong there," was the quiet remark that filled her