ngly, speaking to Madelon in a tone of
condescending good-nature, which was quite lost upon the
child, who was beyond caring for kindness or unkindness just
then. She was only conscious of some terrible burden, which
she could not define nor reason upon, but which seemed to
oppress and weigh her down, making her incapable of thought,
or speech, or motion. When they got into the railway-carriage
she could only lean back in the corner, with a general sense
that something dreadful had happened, or was going to happen;
but that her head ached too much, and felt too confused, for
her to remember what it was all about.

They changed carriages at Pepinster, and, still in the same
dream of misery, Madelon followed the Countess from one train
to another. They set off again, but presently, as the
slackening speed showed that they were approaching another
station, she suddenly woke up to the keenest perception of her
situation, with a quickening of her numbed senses to the most
vivid realization of all she had lost, of all she might have
to endure. Ah! it was all true, and no dream--she had run away
from the convent to make Monsieur Horace's fortune; and she
had not done it, and now all was over, and she was being taken
back to the convent--and there would be no more chance of
escape for her--never more. In the agony of this thought she
turned towards the Countess, with a half-formed intention of
throwing herself at her feet, and imploring, in such voice and
accents as should admit of no refusal, to be allowed to go
away--anyhow, anywhere, only as far as possible from Liege. But
she checked herself as she saw that the Countess, with a
handkerchief thrown over her face, had comfortably composed
herself to sleep in one corner, and a new idea suggested
itself as the train stopped at a little village station. The
child glanced towards the woman; she still slept, or appeared
to do so, and the next moment Madelon had opened the door,
and, taking up her bundle, had slid swiftly and silently out
of the carriage.

The train moved on, and a drowsy Countess might presently
awake to find with astonishment that she was alone in the
compartment; but our little Madelon, left standing on the
platform, had slipped out of her sight and knowledge for ever.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Restaurant at Le Trooz.

The train disappeared, and our forlorn little Madelon remained
standing alone on the platform. Forlorn, indeed! It was
raining hard now,