This little scene took place during the hour
of recreation, when the children ate their luncheon of bread
and fruit.
"Ah, yes," says Marie-Louise, a broad-faced, flaxen-haired
damsel, half a head taller than Madelon, and nodding her head
knowingly. "Those are very fine stories that you tell us
there, Mademoiselle, but when I related them at home they said
it was clear your papa must have been a very wicked man."
Madelon turned quite white and walked up to the girl, her
teeth set, her small fists clenched. "You are wicked!" she
stammered out; "how dare you say such things? I--I will never
speak to you again!" and then she turned, and walked off
without another word.
The matter did not end here, however, for the children talked
of it among themselves, the nuns heard of it, and, finally, it
reached the ears of Madame la Superieure herself. Madelon,
summoned into the awful presence of her aunt, received the
strictest orders never again to refer to these past
experiences in any way. "You are my child now," says Madame,
overwhelming the poor little culprit before her with her
severest demeanour, "and must learn to forget all these
follies.
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