"
"And you have no other friends?"
"Oh, yes," said Madelon, her eyes shining suddenly, "there was
the American artist, who lived in our house in Florence, and
the old German who taught me to sing and play the violin; I
was very fond of him, he was so good--so good."
"Who were they?" asked Graham.
Madelon explained, not in the least understanding the purport
of all these questions, but her explanation did not help
Graham much. In truth, he was revolving some anxious thoughts.
In accepting the charge of this sick man, he felt that he had
incurred a certain responsibility, not only towards M.
Linders, but towards his little girl, and any relations or
friends that he might have. It was on Madelon's account above
all that he felt uneasy; what was to become of her if her
father died--and Graham had little doubt that he was dying--all
friendless and alone in the world as she would apparently be?
Had any arrangements for the future been made, any provision
left for her? What was to become of this poor child, clinging
so closely to her father, and so dependent upon him that she
seemed to have no thoughts nor ideas apart from him?
Graham had been questioning Madame Lavaux as to what she knew
of M.
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