rpose since her first sense of discouragement had passed
away; there was something in the child's nature that refused
to acknowledge defeat as such, and she was only eager to begin
again. Our poor little Madelon, with her strange experiences
and inexperiences, her untutored faiths and instincts, shaking
off all rule, ignorant of all conventionalities, only bent,
amidst difficulties, and obstacles, and delays, on steadily
working towards one fixed and well-defined end--surely, tried
by any of the received laws of polite society, concerning
correct, well-educated young ladies of thirteen, she would be
found sadly wanting. Shall we blame her? or shall we not
rather, with a kindly compassion, try for a while to
understand from what point of view she had learnt to look at
life, and to arrive at some comprehension of, and sympathy
with her.

In the meantime, though it was evident she could do nothing
till she was well again, an old perplexity was beginning to
trouble Madelon; what was she to do without money? Once, a
strange chance--which, with a touch of convent superstition
that had been grafted on her mind, she was half disposed to
look upon as miraculous--had provided the requisite sum, but
the most sanguine hopes could hardly point to the repetition
of such a miracle or chance, and during long hours, when
Jeanne-Marie was attending to her customers below, or sitting
at her side, knitting, Madelon's brain was for ever working on
this old problem that had proved so hard before, when she sat
thinking it out in the convent cell. But at any rate she was
free here; she might come and go without scaling walls, or
fear of pursuing nuns; and then could she not earn some money?
The thought was an inspiration to Madelon--yes, when she was
strong and well enough, she would work day and night till she
had gained it. If she were only well.

It was about this time that Jeanne-Marie perceived a change in
her patient, hitherto so still and resigned, a certain uneasy
restlessness and longing to be up and about again.

"Jeanne-Marie, do you think I shall soon be well?" she would
ask again and again; "do you think the doctor will soon let me
get up?"

"You will never be well if you toss about like that," Jeanne-
Marie said grimly, one evening; "lie still, and I will tell
you some stories."

She sat down by her, and, as she knitted, told her one story
after another, fairy-tales for the most part, old stories that
Madelon knew by h