s
there. Madelon was in a state of wild excitement and triumph.

"Look here," she cried; "I promised to make your fortune, did
I not, Monsieur Horace?--and I have done it! Ah! you will be
rich now--see here!" she poured the contents of her bag on the
table before him. "Are you glad?" she said.

"Glad!--what on earth are you talking about? Where did you get
this money, Madelon?"

"Where?--why, there, at the tables, to be sure--where else?" she
answered, getting frightened at his manner.

"But--gracious powers! are you out of your senses, child?"
cried Graham. "Whatever possessed you to come here? What
business have you in a place like this? Are you alone?"

"Yes, I am alone. I came to make your fortune," answered
Madelon, dismayed.

"My fortune!" he repeated. "What can have put such a notion
into your head? As for that money, the sooner you get rid of
it the better. What the devil--good heavens! a baby like you!--
here, give it to me!"

"What are you going to do?" cried Madelon, struck with sudden
fear, as he swept it up in his hand.

"Take it back, of course," he answered, striding into the next
room.

"Ah! you shall not!" she cried passionately, running after
him, and seizing his hand; "it is mine, it is mine, you shall
not have it!"

"Hush, Madelon," he said, turning round sharply, "don't make a
disturbance here."

She made no answer, but clung with her whole weight to his arm
as he approached the table. She dragged his hand back, she
held it tight between hers; her face was quite pale, her teeth
set in her childish passion.

"Madelon, let go!" said Graham; "do you hear what I say? Let
go!"

"Give me my money back!" she cried, in a passionate whisper;
"you have no right to take it; it is my own."

"Let go," he repeated, freeing his hand as he spoke. She
seized it again, but it was too late; he had placed the money
on the table, and with the other hand pushed it into the
middle. A horrible pause, while Madelon clung tighter and
tighter, watching breathlessly till she saw the croupier rake
in the whole. All was lost, then; she flung Horace's hand
away, and rushed out of the room. "Madelon!" he cried, and
followed her. Down the lighted staircase, out into the lighted
street, he could see the swift little figure darting along the
Place Royale, where he had been walking not half an hour ago,
all quiet and dark now; the music gone, the people dispersed,
the rain falling heavily. Still she ran on, int