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I must go away this afternoon, but I was determined not to leave without wishing you good-bye." "Go away this afternoon!" faltered Madelon, "then you are going away quite and I shall never see you again!" "Yes, yes, some day, I hope," said Horace; "why, you don't think I am going to forget you?
Not fifty yards from where she had been sleeping stood the hotel where she had so often stayed, and where she had first met Horace Graham. There, too, everything was stirring and awakening into activity shutters being thrown back, windows opened, the sunny courtyard swept out. Madelon stood still for a moment looking on. She wondered whether her old friend, Mademoiselle Cécile, was still there; she thought it would be very pleasant to go in and see her, and have some breakfast in the big salle-
The Red Silk Purse. It was about three weeks later, that Madelon was sitting one evening at her bed-room window; it was open, and the breeze blew in pleasantly, bringing with it the faint scent of early roses and lingering violets.
"Yes, always the same, only not always quite so grand, you know, because to-day is a great fête. Why don't you go to church always?" "She is perhaps a little Protestant," suggested the father, "and goes to the Temple. Is that not it, my child?" "I do not know," said Madelon, bewildered; "I never went to any Temple, and I never heard of Protestants.
She reached out a hand as if she would shake Lot Gordon into obedience, wounded unto death although he was, but Lot only smiled up in her face. Then David Hautville bent his stern face down to the sick man's. "Lot Gordon, tell the truth before God, daughter of mine or no daughter of mine," said he, in his deep voice. Lot only followed Madelon with his longing, smiling eyes. "Speak, Lot Gordon!"
"Soeur Marie and I were clearing out a room downstairs, and we found it pushed away in a corner, so we thought we had better bring it up for you to see what was in it." "I know," said Madelon, "it was a trunk of mamma's; there are some things of hers put away in it, I think.
Madelon gave a forward bound, like a deer, but Burr sprang up and caught her by the arm. "Why do you stop me, Burr Gordon?" she cried, trying to wrest her arm away. "Do you think I have no manhood left, Madelon Hautville, that I will let you, you beg a woman who does not love me to marry me?" "She does love you, she shall love you!" "I tell you she does not!"
"This is yours apparently, Madeleine," said Soeur Lucie, her broad, good-humoured face illumined with a smile at the child's eagerness; "the sight of it has done you good, I think; it is long since you have looked so gay." "Yes, it is mine," cried Madelon; "where had it been all this time, Soeur Lucie?"
When Graham asked for Madelon, he was shown, not into the parlour, but into a corridor leading to it from the outer door; straw chairs were placed here also, on either side of the grating that divided it down the middle, and on the inner side was a window looking into another and smaller courtyard.
It is extremely pleasant to have one's admiration compelled, one's attention so determinedly sought after. And Candeille could be extremely amusing, and as Madelon in Moliere's "Les Precieuses" was quite inimitable. This, however, was in the olden days, just before Paris went quite mad, before the Reign of Terror had set in, and ci-devant Louis the King had been executed.
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