trange, pathetic yearning that
older people have for a child's love--a love so pure, and
fresh, and ingenuous, that when it is freely and frankly
given, it is surely the most flattering and precious in the
world. Madelon gave Jeanne-Marie all the love she had to
bestow, but the first place in her heart was already taken;
and perhaps the woman had discovered that it was so, and was
half jealous of this unknown Monsieur Horace, whom she divined
to be at the bottom of all Madelon's plans and ideas. But if
it were so, she never spoke of it, nor of any of the half-
formed hopes and projects she may have had; and Madelon never
could have guessed them, as her kind, sad hostess silently
made up her small wardrobe into a bundle, and patched the old
black silk frock once more, sighing over it the while. And had
Madelon then no regrets at leaving the little cottage, where
she had been tended with such motherly care? Some, perhaps;
for as she sat that last evening watching Jeanne-Marie at her
work, she, too, sighed a little; and at last, clasping her
arms round the woman's neck, she cried, "Jeanne-Marie, I will
love you always--always!--I will never forget you!"

"That is as may be," says melancholy Jeanne-Marie, disengaging
herself.

"Ah! you will not believe me," said Madelon; "but I tell you I
never forget, and you have been so good, so kind to me!
Sometimes I think I should like to stay with you always--would
you let me?"

"Would I let you?" said Jeanne-Marie, dropping her work
suddenly, and looking at the child. "No, I would not let you,"
she said, after a moment's pause, "unless you had nowhere else
to go; but you have other friends, it appears, and it is well
for you. No, I would not let you, for it would be as bad a
thing for you as could be. Ask any of the neighbours what they
would think of it--ask them if they think you would get good or
bad from me, and see what they would say!" She gave a little
scornful laugh.

"I don't know what you mean," said Madelon, fixing her great
eyes on her with a puzzled look--"I don't care what they would
say. You are one of the best people I ever knew, and I love
you with all my heart; but I _must_ go away."

"Why must you?" asks Jeanne-Marie, stitching away at the black
frock.

"That is what I cannot tell you," said Madelon. "No, I will
not tell any one, though I should like to tell you, too,"
added the poor child, gazing wistfully at almost the only
friend she had in the wor