a wondering, artless, gentle expression, akin to a child's.

"And here's his reverence; everybody has come now!" resumed Rosalie,
as she opened the door once more.

Whilst Monsieur Rambaud pressed Helene's hand and sat down without
speaking, smiling like one who felt quite at home, Jeanne threw her
arms round the Abbe's neck.

"Good-evening, dear friend," said she. "I've been so ill!"

"So ill, my darling?"

The two men at once showed their anxiety, the Abbe especially. He was
a short, spare man, with a large head and awkward manners, and dressed
in the most careless way; but his eyes, usually half-closed, now
opened to their full extent, all aglow with exquisite tenderness.
Jeanne relinquished one of her hands to him, while she gave the other
to Monsieur Rambaud. Both held her and gazed at her with troubled
looks. Helene was obliged to relate the story of her illness, and the
Abbe was on the point of quarrelling with her for not having warned
him of it. And then they each questioned her. "The attack was quite
over now? She had not had another, had she?" The mother smiled as she
listened.

"You are even fonder of her than I am, and I think you'll frighten me
in the end," she replied. "No, she hasn't been troubled again, except
that she has felt some pains in her limbs and had some headaches. But
we shall get rid of these very soon."