mory, that might have touched any one less animated by a
stern sense of duty than the Countess. As it was, she was not
in the least affected.

"On the contrary, _mon enfant_," she answered, "I shall be doing
you the greatest kindness, and no more than my duty, in taking
you back there; and we have agreed that you shall return with
me at once."

"I will not go!" cried Madelon, wildly; "I cannot, I will
not!--I will not! Do you hear? What right have you to take me?
I am not your child!--I will not go with you!"

She got up as she spoke, confronting the Countess, and trying
to throw all the energy of which she was capable into her
vehement words. But even in her own ears her voice sounded
shrill and weak, and seemed to die away as if she were talking
in her sleep; the very strength of her emotion appeared
unreal, and failing her when she most needed it: her words
seemed to have no meaning, and as she finished speaking, she
dropped down on her seat again with a little sob, feeling that
she was conquered, for she had no power of resistance left in
her.

So she lay upon the sofa in a sot of doze, while a tribunal of
three sat upon, condemned, and sentenced this poor little
criminal, who knew nothing of what they were saying after she
had made her own ineffectual little protest. Madame Bertrand,
indeed, good old soul, with the softest and kindest of hearts,
would not at first hear of her being sent away; she was fond
of the child, she said; she had known her for years, and felt
sure there was something in her story that they did not yet
understand. But Madame Bertrand was old--moreover, she was not
a little in awe of the niece whom she had called in to assist
her failing powers; moreover, she had perhaps a lurking idea
that they might after all be right, and that there was
something exceptionally heinous in running away from a
convent; so she was soon overruled by the other two, who
settled the matter in a very summary way--Madelon must return
to the convent with Madame la Comtesse that very day.

She was roused up presently, and made to drink some wine by
Madame Bertrand, who was in despair because she could eat none
of the good things she had provided, and felt nothing but and
old traitress, as Madelon stood up at last, looking about her
with dazed eyes; and then, without further opposition,
submissively put on her hat, took up her bundle, and prepared
to follow the Countess. Indeed, had Madame Bertrand known how