But when she
mentioned Madame Lavaux, the name linked itself at once with
recent memories and emotions, and its accustomed association
with her every-day life made it a rallying point, as it were,
for her scattered ideas. Madame Lavaux had been cross and
unkind to her the night before; Madame had buoyed her up with
false hopes of her father's recovery only that morning;
Madelon did not want her, would not see her. She stood still
for a few minutes after the Soeur de Charite had left the room,
all her sorrows and doubts and certainties resolved for the
moment into a dull, unreasoning dread of seeing Madame Lavaux
come in; and then, suddenly fancying she heard footsteps
approaching the door, she hastily blew out her candle, and all
dressed as she was, crept under the coverlet of the bed. She
would pretend to be asleep, she thought, and then no one would
disturb her. The footsteps passed on, but presently the door
did open, and some one looked in: it was Madame Lavaux, who,
seeing that Madelon made no sign, concluded that she was
asleep, and went away softly, with a kind pity in her heart
for the desolate child.
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