The sound of the music stirred within
her a sort of vague excitement, an indefinite longing, and she
was busy peopling the future--a child's future, it is true, not
extending beyond two or three weeks, but yet sufficient to
make her forget the past for the moment. She must have stood
there for nearly an hour; any one looking up might have
wondered to see the little head popped out of window, the
little figure so still and motionless. Up above the stars
twinkled unheeded; down below other stars seemed to be dancing
across the wide Place, but they were only the lamps of the
carriages as they drove to and fro from the theatre. And
yonder, on the outskirts of this busy town, with its lights
and crowds and gay bustle, sleeping under the silent, slow-
moving constellations, surrounded by the dark rustling trees,
stands the still convent, where a narrow room awaits this
dreaming eager little watcher. Our poor little Madelon! Not
more difference between this gay, familiar music to which all
her life has been set hitherto, and the melancholy chant of
the nuns, whose echoes have already passed from her memory,
than between the future she is picturing to herself and the
one preparing for her--but she does not know it.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260