d to Madeleine and asked
her whether she was pleased to learn the art of embroidery.

"Pleased!" she said, "why, it's the very thing I have always been
longing for. That's just why I am going to get it. I told you that
things happened to me as they do in the fairy tales. So my wish is to
be fulfilled, and I'm going to paint pictures like the one Monsieur le
Cure showed me, all done with a needle."

I wanted to know more about Monsieur le Cure and the picture, and so she
told me he was her great friend and instructor at the convent. He had
one day taken her into the sacristy of his church, and there she had
seen the most lovely piece of embroidery one could imagine. It was under
glass and in a gold frame, and represented the Madonna surrounded by
little lambs with silky curls; one of them she was fondly petting. Over
her head two little angels were holding a large crown, all of
intertwined gold threads, and at her feet l'enfant Jesus was seated on
the grass amongst flowers, every one of which was a combination of
glossy silks and sparkling beads and spangles. I remember it all so
well, for I am sure that girl taught me, if not to admire, at least to
analyse the beauties of ecclesiastical embroidery.

By this time we had got quite confidential, and she said, "You were
going to tell me about your fairyland."

So I told her that I too was one of those privileged creatures to whom
all good things seemed to come without much waiting. I could not lay
claim to a fairy godmother, but my godfather was quite a match for any
good genius of either sex.

Yes, mademoiselle, every Thursday evening, as the clock struck half-past
six, he would appear in a hallowed place called the "House of Robes."[9]
There he stood, every inch a ruler, the centre figure in a group of
loyal vassals, waiting for a sign from his hand--I see him now--He
raises his magic wand; a great rite is about to be performed, and
spell-bound we listen for the coming sounds. Then onwards, upwards he
leads us, into realms of unfathomable mysteries, where Music rules
supreme."

"Who was that, monsieur? I cannot follow you."

"A magician, Maddalena! He could conjure up to your vision the dream of
a Midsummer night, and his were the Songs that needed no words. Now, he
has left us for the very realms his fancy had created. When he arrived
there, the gate was opened wide to admit him, and Elijah the prophet
stood ready with St. Paul to receive him. No wonder you are m