recently the child had recovered from a long illness, nothing,
I think, would have induced her to let her go; but she only
supposed she was over-tired with her strange night journey;
and, in fact, the wine and the rest together had so far
revived Madelon that she appeared quite capable of walking
down to the station with the Countess. Madame Bertrand gave
her great hug as she wished her good-bye, and was perhaps a
little aggrieved at the passive way in which Madelon received
it.

"If ever you want help, come back to me--will you not, _mon
enfant?_--and I will help you, if I can."

"Yes," said Madelon; "but they will not let me run away again;
will they?"

"Let you run away, _ma petite?_"

"Yes--Aunt Therese, you know. She won't let me do it again."

"Your aunt? You told me she was dead;" cried Madame.

"Yes, so she is," said Madelon. "I was forgetting, I think.
Good-bye, Madame Bertrand. You will let me stay next time,
will you not? But I must go now?" And she followed the
Countess out of the house without another word.

Madame la Comtesse, having got her own way, was kind enough to
the child who had so unwittingly strayed across her path. When
they reached the station she gave her her ticket, made her sit
down in the waiting-room, and even offered her refreshment in
the interval before the train started. Indeed, we should err
if we attributed to the Countess, whom this little episode in
our Madelon's history has brought for the second, and we may
trust for the last, time before us--we should err, I say, in
attributing to her any feeling of ill-will towards Madelon, or
any special interest in her conduct or fate. Neither need it
be imagined that she was actuated by any large views of duty
towards the world in general: she was not at all benevolent,
but neither was she particularly ill-natured; she was merely a
shallow-minded, frivolous woman, who, having long since
lowered her standard of perfection to suit her own
attainments, saw fit to measure every one else by her own
narrow ideal, and to set them right where they proved
themselves wanting--a convenient process, which enabled her to
satisfy her vague sense of duty, and right and wrong, without
any reference to her own possible shortcomings. In capturing
our little stray Madelon, and taking her back to the convent,
she felt she was doing a deed that would afford her matter for
self-congratulation for days to come; and she was gracious and
affable accordi