"
Madelon drank off her medicine, but she was not satisfied, and
in a moment her brain was at work again.
"I can't make out where I am," she said, looking up at Jeanne-
Marie with the old wistful look in her eyes--"is it in an
hotel? --is papa coming? I thought I was at the convent with
Aunt Therese. Ah! do help me!"
"I will tell you nothing unless you lie still," said Jeanne-
Marie, as Madelon made a most futile attempt to raise herself
in bed. She considered a moment, and then said--"Don't you
remember, _ma petite?_ Your papa is dead, and you are not at the
convent any more, and need not go back there unless you like.
You are with me, Jeanne-Marie, at Le Trooz, and I will take
care of you till you are well. Now you are not to talk any
more."
Madelon lay silent for a minute. "Yes, I remember," she said
at last, slowly. "Papa is dead, and Monsieur Horace--he is not
here?" she cried, with startling eagerness.
"No, no," said Jeanne-Marie, "no one is here but me."
"Because you know," Madelon went on, "I cannot see him yet--I
cannot--it would not do to see him, you know, till--till--ah! you
do not know about that----" She stopped suddenly, and Jeanne-
Marie smoothed the pillow again with her rough, kindly hands.
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