As for Madelon, the pretence of
slumber soon passed into reality, for, after lying awake for a
while listening to the low voices and rustling movements in
the next room, fatigue and her own enforced tranquillity
overcame her, and she fell sound asleep.
It must have been long past midnight when she awoke again with
a sudden feeling of fright and strangeness, for which she
could not account, but which made her spring off the bed and
listen if she could hear any one moving. All was very still;
not a sound came from the adjoining apartment; her own room
was quite dark, for the windows and outside shutters were
closed. Madelon felt scared, lonely, desolate, without knowing
why; and then, all at once, she remembered the reason. All
that the Sister had said came back with fresh meaning and
distinctness to her senses restored by sleep; and, sitting
down on the floor just where she was, she began to cry with a
low moaning, sobbing sound, as a child cries when it is sorry
and not naughty.
No one heard her, no one came near her; she was all alone, and
in a few minutes she stopped crying, half frightened at her
own voice in the silence and darkness.
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