been. Soeur Lucie could not think of
anything to tell her but that she was very naughty, and must
try to be good, which Madelon knew too well already. It would
have been more to the purpose, perhaps, if she had told her
she was not so very bad after all, but Soeur Lucie never
thought of that; perhaps she did not care much about the
child; by this time Madelon was beginning to be established as
the black sheep of the little community, and Soeur Lucie only
expressed the general sense; but being very good-natured, she
said in a kind way what other people said disagreeably.

Neither from her companions did she meet with much sympathy,
and, indeed, when out of disgrace, Madelon was apt to be
rather ungracious to her schoolfellows, with whom she had
little in common. The children who came daily to the convent
were of two classes--children of the poor and children of a
higher bourgeois grade, shopkeepers for the most part. Madelon
was naturally classed with the latter of these two sets during
the lesson hours, but she stood decidedly aloof from them
afterwards, at first through shyness, and then with a sort of
wondering disdain. She had never been used to children's
society; all her life her father had been careful to keep her
apart from companions of her own age, and, accustomed to
associate continually with grown-up people, she chose to
regard with great contempt the trivial chatter, and squabbles,
and amusements of her small contemporaries. After a time,
indeed, she condescended to astonish their minds with some of
her old stories, and was gratified by the admiration of a
round-eyed, open-mouthed audience, who listened with rapt
attention as she related some of the glories of past days,
balls, and theatres, and kursaals, princes and counts, and
fine dresses; it served in some sort to maintain the sense of
superiority which was sorely tried during the untoward events
of the lesson hours; but this also was destined to come to an
end. One day there was a whispering among the listeners, which
resulted in the smallest of them saying boldly,--

"Marie-Louise says your papa must have been a very bad man."

"What!" cries Madelon, jumping off the high stool on which she
had been seated. This little scene took place during the hour
of recreation, when the children ate their luncheon of bread
and fruit.

"Ah, yes," says Marie-Louise, a broad-faced, flaxen-haired
damsel, half a head taller than Madelon, and nodding her head
kn