our
nurseries; "so you had better go to sleep again, for I cannot
stop here any longer. Let me smoothe your pillow."

"No," said Madelon, escaping from her hands with an impatient
toss. "Ah, don't go away yet," she added piteously. "Was it
true what Soeur Ursule said about me?"

"About you, _mon enfant?_"

"Yes, about me--that I was to become a nun."

"Ah!" said Soeur Lucie, with the air of being suddenly
enlightened, "yes--yes, I suppose so, since she said it. Now I
must go, and do you go to sleep."

"No, no," cried Madelon, raising herself in the bed and
stretching out both arms after Soeur Lucie's retreating figure.
"Ah, Soeur Lucie, don't leave me. I can't be a nun; don't let
them make me a nun!"

There was something so pitiful and beseeching in her accent,
something so frail-looking in the little, white, imploring
hands, that Soeur Lucie's heart was touched. She came back
again.

"_Ecoute_, Madelon," she said, "you will be ill again to-morrow
if you talk so much; lie down now, and tell me what it is you
want. No one is going to make you a nun now, you know."

"No, not now, but by-and-by. Is it true that Aunt Therese said
I was to be made one?"

"Yes, that is true enough, I believe; but there is nothing to
be unhappy about in that," answered Soeur Lucie, who naturally
looked at things from a different point of view than
Madelon's. "There are many girls who would be glad of such a
chance; for you see, _mon enfant_, it is only because nothing
could be refused to our late sainted Superior, that it has
been arranged at all."

"Soeur Ursule said I should be a burthen," answered Madelon. "I
don't want to be a burthen; I only want to go away. Ah! why do
you keep me? I am miserable here; I always have been, and I
always shall be--always."

"But that is foolish," replied Soeur Lucie, "for you will be
very happy--far happier than you could ever be out in the
world, _ma petite;_ it is full of snares, and temptations, and
wickedness, that never can come near us here. Look at me; I
was no older than you when I first came here, and never has
girl been happier, I believe. No, no, Madelon," she went on,
with a good-natured wish to make things pleasant, "you will
stay with us, and be our child, and we will take care of you."

"I don't want you to take care of me!" cries Madelon, the
burning tears starting painfully to her eyes. "I hate
convents, and I hate nuns, and it is wicked and cruel to keep
me here!"

"