ng
turns with the old servant and with the violinist, who
willingly came down from his upper regions to do all he could
to help his little favourite. In some respects she, perhaps,
made the best nurse of all, with her small skilful fingers,
and entire devotion to her father. She had a curious courage,
too, for such an inexperienced child, and the sense of an
emergency was quite sufficient to make her conquer the
horrible pang it gave her loving little heart to see her
father lying racked with pain, unconscious, and sometimes
delirious. She never failed to be ready when wanted; the
doctor complimented her, and said jokingly that the little
Signorina would make a capital doctor's assistant. Her German
friend nodded approval, and, best of all, it was always to his
Madelon that M. Linders turned in his most weary moments--from
her that he liked to receive drinks and medicine; and she it
was who, as he declared, arranged his pillows and coverings
more comfortably than anyone else. In delirium he asked for
her continually; his eyes sought her when she was not in the
room, and lighted up when she came with her little noiseless
step to his bedside. The old German, who had had a strong
dislike to, and prejudice against this man, took almost a
liking to him, as he noted the great love existing between him
and his little daughter.

The American did not return till M. Linders was nearly well
again, and thinking of departure. Madelon was in despair at
the idea of leaving Florence; it had been more like home to
her than any place she had yet known, and it almost broke her
heart to think of parting with her old German friend; but M.
Linders was impatient to be gone. He wanted change of air, he
said, after his illness; but, indeed, had other reasons which
he proclaimed less openly, but which were far more imperative,
and made him anxious to pay an earlier visit to Germany this
year than was usual with him. Certain speculations, on the
success of which he had counted, had failed, so that a grand
_coup_ at Homburg or Baden seemed no less necessary than
desirable to set him straight again with the world, and he
accordingly fixed on a day towards the end of April for their
departure.

The American made a festive little supper the evening before
in his _atelier_, but it was generally felt to be a melancholy
failure, for not even the artist's rather forced gaiety, nor
M. Linders' real indifference, could enliven it. As for the
old Ge