limbs, which seemed as if it would overpower her
before she had gone a dozen yards from the house. She went on
bravely, however, trying to brace herself with the
consciousness of a great purpose, very near its fulfilment
now; but somehow she seemed almost to have forgotten what it
was, or why she had ever formed it. Her keenest feeling at
that moment was, perhaps, that expressed by the quick, furtive
glance with which she looked round from time to time, as some
following footstep made itself heard behind her. The sudden
alarm at Chaudfontaine had given rise to a haunting dread,
which she was unable to shake off, though even that was rather
a vague sensation than a well-defined, reasonable fear.

Still she kept on her way, strong in the strength of a
resolution that had so taken possession of all the deepest
feelings and affections of a most ardent little nature, that
nothing but absolute physical inability could have held her
back from keeping to it now. It was perhaps well for her,
however, that with her childish pleasure in planning every
detail, she had arranged everything beforehand with such
minuteness, that she had no need to reflect now as to what she
had to do. She had only to go on mechanically, and indeed she
seemed to have no power of reflection left in her at all, as
she walked slowly up the street, past the gay shops, where, a
happy, chattering little girl, she had so often lingered with
her father, to choose some pretty trifle. Almost without
thinking, so familiar was the road, did she enter the Redoute,
and ascend the wide staircase; and then at last she feels a
thrill as she sees before her the big salons that she has so
often re-visited in her dreams, with their gilding, and
mirrors, and velvet, that she loves so well, and with which
some of her happiest hours are associated--sees, too, the long
green tables, where Monsieur Horace's fortune is to be made,
and Madelon's promise redeemed at last.

Nothing seemed so strange to our inexperienced Madelon, as
that everything should be unchanged; only yesterday she had
been sitting quietly in the convent garden, with long years
separating her from the old life--and now it seemed but
yesterday that she had been here. She went straight up to the
_rouge-et-noir_ table. She was familiar with both it and
roulette, but of the two games _rouge-et-noir_ was that which M.
Linders had always most affected; and without thinking much
about it, Madelon had fixed upon