Madelon, sitting forward on her chair, her chin propped on her
hands, her embroidery lying in her lap, saw and heeded none of
these things; her eyes were fixed dreamily on the sky, but her
thoughts were by no means dreamy, very intent rather upon one
idea which she was endeavouring to rescue from the region of
dreams and vagueness, and set before her with a distinctness
that should ensure a practical result. This idea, which indeed
was no new one, but simply that of running away from the
convent, which had first occurred to her three weeks before,
had presented itself with more assurance to her mind during
every day of her convalescence; and now that she was nearly
well again, it was fast becoming an unalterable resolution.
There were difficulties in the way--she was considering them
now--but she knew she should be able to overcome them; we say
advisedly; she _knew_ it, for the child already recognized in
herself an unwavering strength of mind and purpose, which
assured her that no foreseen obstacles could stand between her
and any fixed end that she proposed to herself; as for
unforeseen ones--our small-experienced Madelon did not take
them into account at all.
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