om
followed by Madelon. "Mademoiselle Henriette!" he cried.

"Mademoiselle Henriette is in the garden," answered a shrill
voice from above; and at the same moment a trim little figure
appeared from amongst the currant and gooseberry bushes, and
came in at the open door leading into the passage.

"Does any one want me?" she cried.

"Pardon, Madame," said Madelon, coming forward to tell her
little story, whilst the waiter returned to his plates and
dishes, "I wanted to see Madame Bertrand, but they say she is
out, and that I must return later; might I leave my things
here for a little while till I come back?"

"Do you want a room, Mademoiselle?" said the other; "I regret
to say that the hotel is quite full; we have not a single bed
at your disposal."

"Ah, what shall I do? what do you think would be best?" said
poor Madelon, piteously, suddenly breaking down in the grown-
up part she had been half unconsciously acting, and ready to
burst into tears. Things were not turning out at all as she
had wished or intended. "I did want a room, but I thought I
should have found Madame Bertrand, and she would have helped
me; I don't know what to do now."

"Do you know my aunt? I am Madame Bertrand's niece," says
Mademoiselle Henriette in explanation. "She will not be in
just yet, but if you like to wait in here a little while, you
can do so, or you can return by-and-by."

She opened the door of a small parlour as she spoke, and stood
aside for Madelon to enter. A little faded room, with a high
desk standing in the window, gaudy ornaments on the
mantelpiece, a worn Utrecht velvet sofa, and a semicircle of
worsted-work chairs--not much in it all to awaken enthusiasm,
one would think, and yet, as Madelon came in, she forgot
disappointment, and fatigue, and everything else for a moment,
in a glad recognition of well-remembered objects.

"It is not a bit altered," she cried, quite joyfully, turning
to Mademoiselle Henriette as she spoke.

"You have been here before then," says Mademoiselle, looking
curiously at the child, and seeing for the first time, in the
clearer light of the room, what a child she was.

"Yes," answered Madelon, "I used to come here very often; we
liked coming, because Madame Bertrand was so kind. I know she
will be glad to see me again--ah!" she cried, breaking off in
the middle of her sentence, "there is the little china dog I
used to play with, and the bonbonniere with the flowers
painted on the to