"Convulsions are so terrible," broke in Madame Deberle. "My Lucien had
them when a mere baby. How uneasy you must have been, madame! However,
the dear little thing appears to be quite well now."

As she drawled out these words she kept her eyes on Helene, whose
superb beauty amazed and delighted her. Never had she seen a woman
with so queenly an air in the black garments which draped the widow's
commanding figure. Her admiration found vent in an involuntary smile,
while she exchanged glances with Mademoiselle Aurelie. Their
admiration was so ingenuously and charmingly expressed, that a faint
smile also rippled over Helene's face.

Then Madame Deberle stretched herself on the sofa. "You were not at
the first night at the Vaudeville yesterday, madame?" she asked, as
she played with the fan that hung from her waist.

"I never go to the theatre," was Helene's reply.

"Oh! little Noemi was simply marvellous! Her death scene is so
realistic! She clutches her bosom like this, throws back her head, and
her face turns green. Oh! the effect is prodigious."

Thereupon she entered into a minute criticism of the actress's
playing, which she upheld against the world; and then she passed to
the other topics of the day--a fine art exhibition, at which she had
seen some most remarkable paintings; a stupid novel about which too
much fuss was being made; a society intrigue which she spoke of to
Mademoiselle Aurelie in veiled language. And so she went on from one
subject to another, without wearying, her tongue ever ready, as though