A smile arises on her face; I have seen her full of that smile.
My eyes grow dim and my hands tremble.

I wish she would speak.
"Tell me----" Her down-bent neck unfolds, and she lifts her head to speak.

At that moment, by the light of the flame that I hold, whose great revealing kindness I am guarding, our eyes fall on an inscription scratched in the wall--a heart--and inside it two initials, H-S.

Ah, that design was made by me one evening.

Little Helen was lolling there then, and I thought I adored her.