and, amid tears
and sobs, could only repeat that she had left her charge as
usual, the evening before; and that, in the morning, going to
her cell, had discovered that she had vanished; how, or when,
or whither, she could not imagine. How she had escaped was
indeed at first a mystery, which could not fail to rouse an
eager curiosity in the sisters, and a not unpleasing
excitement succeeded the first indignation, as, with one
accord, they ran to examine Madelon's room. The window stood
wide open, the branches of the climbing rose-trees were broken
here and there, small footsteps could be traced on the flower-
bed below. It was all that was needed to make their
supposition a certainty--Madelon had run away.

This point settled, a calmer feeling began to prevail, and, as
their first consternation subsided, the nuns began to reflect
that after all worse things might have happened. If it had
been one of themselves indeed, that would have been a very
different matter; such a sin, such a scandal could not even be
thought of without horror. But this little stray girl, who
belonged to nobody, whom nobody had cared for, who had been a
trouble ever since she had come, and who had been left a
burthen and a responsibility on their hands--why should they
concern themselves so much about her flight? No doubt she had
made her escape to some friends she had known before she was
brought to the convent, from no one knew where, two or three
years ago. The nuns were not more averse than other people to
the drawing of convenient conclusions from insufficient
premises, and this theory of Madelon's having run away to her
friends once started, every one was ready to add their mite of
evidence in aid of its confirmation. Some thought she had
possibly started for England--it was an Englishman who had
brought her to the convent; others that she had friends in
Paris--it certainly was from Paris she had come; one suggested
one thing, and one another, and in the meantime, though
inquiries were made, the search was neither very energetic nor
very determined. When the evening came, it was generally felt
to be rather a relief than otherwise that nothing had been
heard of the small runaway. What could they do with her if she
came back? No one felt disposed to put in a claim for her--
least of all Soeur Lucie, whom she had brought into terrible
disgrace, and who had yet been really fond of the child, and
who for months after had a pang in her kind li