it is sad to think that she is always
there making her confitures--there are so many other things to
be done in the world."

"For example?"

"Joining a marching regiment," she said, looking at him half-
laughing, half-shyly. "Monsieur Horace, where will you go when
you are tired of L----? You will be tired of it some day, I
know, and so shall I. Where will you go next?"

"I don't know," he answered; "you see, Madelon, in taking a
wife, I undertake a certain responsibility; I can't go
marching about the world as if I were a single man."

"You don't mean that!" she cried, "if I thought you meant
that, I--I--ah, why do you tease me?" she added, as Graham could
not help laughing, "you know you promised me I should go with
you everywhere. I am very strong, I love travelling, I want to
see the world. Where will you go? To America again? I will
adopt the customs and manners of any country; I will dress in
furs with a seal-skin cap, and eat blubber like an Esquimau,
or turn myself into an Indian squaw; would you like to have me
for a squaw, Monsieur Horace? I would lean all their duties; I
believe they carry their husband's game, and never speak till
they are spoken to. My ideas are very vague. But I would
learn--ah, yes, I could learn anything."

Mrs. Treherne was still sitting, thinking her sad thoughts
when she felt an arm passed round her neck, and turning round,
saw Madelon kneeling at her side. "Horace has gone out," she
said; "we have been talking over our plans, Aunt Barbara; we
have settled quite now that we will first go to Liege and Le
Trooz, and see Jeanne-Marie, and then go on to the south. It
is good of Monsieur Horace to go to Liege, for it is all to
please me, and it is quite out of his way."

"And you go on to L---- afterwards? You will be glad to find
yourself abroad again, Madeleine."

"Yes," she said, hesitating; "but I shall be sorry to leave
you, Aunt Barbara."

"Will you, my dear? I am afraid, Madeleine, that I have not
made you very happy, though I have only found it out in these
last few weeks."

"Aunt Barbara, how can you say such a thing?" cried Madelon.
"What have you not done for me? Why, I could never, never
thank you for it all; it is for that--because it is so much--
that I cannot say more. One cannot use the same words that one
does for ordinary things."

"I know, my dear," said Mrs. Treherne, smoothing the girl's
hair, "but nevertheless I have not made you happy, and I now
kn