another without speaking a word, each heart engulfed in the same
overflowing charity. Nothing to Helene seemed sweeter than this mutual
feeling, which arose in such an unusual way, and to which she yielded
without resistance, filled as she was with divine pity. At first she
had felt somewhat afraid of the doctor; in her own drawing-room she
would have been cold and distrustful, in harmony with her nature.
Here, however, in this garret they were far from the world, sharing
the one chair, and almost happy in the midst of the wretchedness and
poverty which filled their souls with emotion. A week passed, and they
knew one another as though they had been intimate for years. Mother
Fetu's miserable abode was filled with sunshine, streaming from this
fellowship of kindliness.

The old woman grew better very slowly. The doctor was surprised, and
charged her with coddling herself when she related that she now felt a
dreadful weight in her legs. She always kept up her monotonous
moaning, lying on her back and rolling her head to and fro; but she
closed her eyes, as though to give her visitors an opportunity for
unrestrained talk. One day she was to all appearance sound asleep, but
beneath their lids her little black eyes continued watching. At last,
however, she had to rise from her bed; and next day Helene presented
her with the promised bonnet and gown. When the doctor made his
appearance that afternoon the old woman's laggard memory seemed
suddenly stirred. "Gracious goodness!" said she, "I've forgotten my
neighbor's soup-pot; I promised to attend to it!"

Then she disappeared, closing the door behind her and leaving the
couple alone. They did not notice that they were shut in, but
continued their conversation. The doctor urged Helene to spend the
afternoon occasionally in his garden in the Rue Vineuse.