the ceiling. Bending over the iron cot, she could at first make outnothing, but amidst the bed-clothes, tossed about in disorder, the dimlight soon revealed Jeanne, with limbs quite stiff, her head flungback, the muscles of her neck swollen and rigid. Her sweet face wasdistorted, her eyes were open and fixed on the curtain-rod above."My child!" cried Helene. "My God! my God! she is dying."Setting down the lamp, Helene touched her daughter with tremblinghands. The throbbing of the pulse and the heart's action seemed tohave died away. The child's puny arms and legs were stretched outconvulsively, and the mother grew frantic at the sight."My child is dying! Help, help!" she stammered. "My child! my child!"She wandered back to her room, brushing against the furniture, andunconscious of her movements; then, distracted, she again returned tothe little bed, throwing herself on her knees, and ever appealing forhelp. She took Jeanne in her arms, rained kisses on her hair, andstroked her little body, begging her to answer, and seeking one word--only one word--from her silent lips. Where was the pain? Would shehave some of the cooling drink she had liked the other day? Perhapsthe fresh air would revive her? So she rattled on, bent on making thechild speak."Speak to me, Jeanne! speak to me, I entreat you!"Oh, God! and not to know what to do in this sudden terror born of thenight! There was no light even. Then her ideas grew confused, thoughher supplications to the child continued--at one moment she wasbeseeching, at another answering in her own person. Thus, the paingripped her in the stomach; no, no, it must be in the breast. It wasnothing at all; she need merely keep quiet. Then Helene tried tocollect her scattered senses; but as she felt her daughter stark andstiff in her embrace, her heart sickened unto death. She tried toreason with herself, and to resist the yearning to scream. But all atonce, despite herself, her cry rang out"Rosalie, Rosalie! my child is dying. Quick, hurry for the doctor."Screaming out these words, she ran through dining-room and kitchento a room in the rear, where the maid started up from sleep, givingvent to her surprise. Helene speeded back again. Clad only in hernight-dress she moved about, seemingly not feeling the icy cold of theFebruary night. Pah! this maid would loiter, and her child would die!Back again she hurried through the kitchen to the bedroom before aminute had elapsed. Violently, and in the dark, she slipped on apetticoat, and threw a shawl over her shoulders. The furniture in herway was overturned; the room so still and silent was filled with theechoes of her despair. Then leaving the doors open, she rushed downthree flights of stairs in her slippers, consumed with the thoughtthat she alone could bring back a doctor.