ding a
newspaper; whilst a waiter moved about, arranging knives and
forks, table-napkins, and _pistolets_, with occasional pauses
for such glimpses of the outer world as could be obtained
through the muslin curtains hanging before the somewhat dingy
windows.

"Is Madame Bertrand at home?" asked Madelon, coming up to him.

The man stared down at the shabbily dressed little figure
before him, glanced at the bundle hanging on her arm, and then
answered civilly enough that Madame Bertrand was not at home.
Did Mademoiselle want anything?

"I wanted to speak to Madame Bertrand," answered Madelon
rather piteously; "will she be back soon, do you think? When
can I see her?"

"_Eh, je n'en sais rien_," said the man. "If Mademoiselle wants
to see her, she had better call again--or she can leave a
message," and he went on laying the tables.

Madelon sat down despondingly on a chair near the door, hardly
knowing what to do next. It was the first check in the
carrying out of her little programme, a programme so neatly
arranged, but with this defect, mainly arising from
inexperience, that it had made no sort of allowance for
unforeseen circumstances--and yet of such so many were likely
to arise. She had quite settled in her own mind what she was
going to say to Madame Bertrand, and also what Madame Bertrand
would say to her, but she had not provided for this other
contingency of not finding her at all. She sat and considered
for a minute. Two or three men came in laughing and talking,
and stared in her face as they passed by and called for what
they wanted. She began to feel uncomfortable; she could not
stay there till Madame Bertrand returned; what if she were to
go to the Redoute first, and then return to the hotel? Yes,
that would be the best plan; if only she had not felt so very
tired, with such aching limbs and head; the sight and smell of
the meat and wine made her feel almost faint. However, that
could not be helped, she must do the best she could. She went
up to the waiter again. "I must go now," she said, "but I will
come back presently to see Madame Bertrand; may I leave these
things here?" and she held up her bundle.

"Mademoiselle wants a room--or is it something for Madame?"
said the man, perplexed at this strange little visitor, who
was wholly out of the range of his experience.

"No, no, it is mine," said Madelon; "if I might leave it here----"

The waiter set down the tray he was holding, and left the ro