Somehow Soeur Lucie was touched with a sudden feeling of
unwonted tenderness for her little charge. "_Pauvre petite_,"
she murmured, gently raising one hand that hung over the side
of the bed, and smoothing back a stray lock of hair. Madelon
opened her eyes for a moment; "Monsieur Horace," she said, "I
have not forgotten, I--I will----" and then she turned away and
fell sound asleep again.
CHAPTER IX.
The Red Silk Purse.
It was about three weeks later, that Madelon was sitting one
evening at her bed-room window; it was open, and the breeze
blew in pleasantly, bringing with it the faint scent of early
roses and lingering violets. In the garden below, lengthening
shadows fell across the cherished centre square of grass, the
trees were all golden-green in the western sunlight; black-
veiled Sisters were walking about breaking the stillness with
their voices and laughter; along the convent wall the vines
were shooting and spreading their long tender sprays, and on
the opposite side a great westeria was shedding showers of
lilac blossoms with every breath of wind amongst the shrubs
and evergreens below.
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