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"Thou also woudst have known nothing, unless some good friends had taught thee." And so these kindly people went their way. Madelon, meanwhile, was relating all her adventures to her father. He was too rejoiced at having found her again to scold her for running away; but he was greatly put out, nevertheless, as he listened to her little history.
"And later, when you are grown into a woman as you will be, you know, by-and-by and you think of the years when you were when you were a little girl, you will like to recall them; will you not, Madelon? You will remember that they were happy?" "Yes, papa, I have been happy, ah, so happy!" says Madelon, half crying, and nestling closer to him; "but why do you talk so? What do you mean?"
"But it is the nuns that have become saints," cries Soeur Lucie, with the happiest conviction; and Madelon, unable to argue out her own ideas on the subject, contented herself with repeating, that anyhow they had not all been nuns like Soeur Lucie, which was indisputable.
She had heard his rattling cough as she picked her way out of the icy yard, and Madelon also heard it when she entered it. She knocked at the side door, and Margaret Bean opened it. She had a gruel cup in her hand. "I want to see him," said Madelon. Margaret Bean looked at her. Her starched calico apron flared out widely over her lank knees across the doorway.
But puzzle as he might, he never once dreamed of the truth that his sister Madelon had promised to marry Lot Gordon in a month's time, and sent her "yes" by word of mouth of Margaret Bean that morning.
"Monsieur Horace, where will you go when you are tired of L ? You will be tired of it some day, I know, and so shall I. Where will you go next?" "I don't know," he answered; "you see, Madelon, in taking a wife, I undertake a certain responsibility; I can't go marching about the world as if I were a single man."
"I tell you, your death will be due to that wound that Madelon Hautville, with maybe your cousin at her back, gave you." Lot's face glared white at the doctor. "I gave the wound to myself!" The doctor laughed. "I tell you, I gave the wound myself!" "Take your wound into court, and see what they say." "What do you mean?"
To Madelon, as he came out from them, he looked more a man than he had ever done; for all unconsciously to her mind of strong and simple bent, he had seemed at times scarce a man but rather some strange character from a book, which had gotten life through too strong imagining. Moreover to-day his likeness to Burr came out strongly.
"Indeed I do not," replied Graham. "It is true that everyone has not the same way," said the child, with an air of being well informed, and evidently regarding her father's way as a profession like another, only superior to most. "What do you do, Monsieur?" "I am going to be a doctor, Madelon." "A doctor," she said reflecting; "I do not think that can be a good way.
"I swan!" said one. "Wouldn't like to be in the way when that gal was headed anywheres," said another. "If that gal belonged to me I'd get her some stronger bits," said the man who had been cleaning the bay horse when Madelon came for the white. "I believe she's lost her mind," said the tavern-keeper. "It's the last time I'll ever let her have a horse, and I told her so."
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