"They wanted to bring her up as a
nun, and so she ran away. Well, thou hast done wisely, little
one; I also know something of convents and nuns, and if it
depends on me to protect thee, they shall not touch thee, _mon
enfant_." This was her final resolution as she sat knitting and
reflecting, with a great sympathy with, and tenderness for,
the poor little terrified, hunted girl, lying there at her
mercy.
Such tenderness, and power of sympathy with distress, were
indeed amongst Jeanne-Marie's strongest characteristics,
hidden though they were under a harsh, imperious manner and
exterior. For she too had had a strange, sad, troublous life,
with tragedy and sorrow enough in it, which it does not
concern us to relate here, and which were yet of no small
concern to our little Madelon, as she lay there, dependent on
this one woman for freedom, shelter, and even existence. For
if, as is surely the case, in our life of to-day lies a whole
prophecy of our life in the future, if in our most trivial
actions is hidden the germ of our greatest deeds, then our
most momentous decision in some sudden emergency, is but the
sure consummation and fruition of each unnoticed detail, our
action of to-day but the inevitable result of a whole precious
lifetime of preparation for some unforeseen crisis.
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