looked to her the reflection of the fearful formality of the dining-room below. The hours passed so pleasantly that she knew not they were passing, and was surprised to find that it was time to retire for the night.
Even then Anna would not be gainsaid; she must put her darling to bed and see that she was snug and comfortable.
“You are so like your sainted mother,” Anna would say over and over again, as she helped her to undress. And Helène would cry only to be soothed again by gentle caresses and soft murmuring words. It was just like the days of her childhood when Anna would send her to sleep with plaintive songs and tales of “Red Riding Hood,” and “Aladdin’s Wonderful Lamp.” And when at last she fell asleep—she slept without a dream, the peaceful, happy sleep of a child.
The next morning, early, Anna was at the bedside to see to Helène’s wants. She insisted on dividing