"Soeur Lucie, and
Soeur Francoise, and numbers of others."
"Ah! yes; but I don't mean in the convent!--any one out of the
convent, I mean? Did I talk of--Monsieur Horace?"
"Sometimes," said Jeanne-Marie, counting her stitches
composedly.
"What did I say about him?" asked Madelon, anxiously. "Please
will you tell me? I can't remember, you know."
Jeanne-Marie looked at her for a moment, and then said, rather
bluntly,--
"Nothing that anybody could understand. You called to him, and
then you told him not to come; that was all, and not common
sense either."
"Ah, that is all right," said Madelon, satisfied; her secret
at least was safe, and never, never, should it be revealed
till she had accomplished her task. As she once more mentally
recorded this little vow, she looked at Jeanne-Marie, who was
still sitting by her bedside knitting.
"Jeanne-Marie," she said in her tired, feeble little voice,
and putting out one of her small thin hands, "you are very,
very good to me; I can't think how any one can be so kind as
you are; I shall love you all my life.
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