It was at the house
of his sister, who was married to a country doctor in Kent,
that this double process of love-making and convalescence went
on, with the greatest success and satisfaction to all parties;
and it was Miss Maria Leslie, the ward of his brother-in-law,
Dr. Vavasour, who was the owner of those bluest eyes and
rosiest cheeks.
Meanwhile Madelon, stitching, stitching away at her work,
thought vaguely of Monsieur Horace as being still in that far-
off country from which he had last written to her, and
wondered a little how soon a letter written to the English
address he had given her would reach him. What would he say
and think when he received it? And when, ah! when would she be
able to write it? She worked on steadily, and yet it was
already September when the last stitch was put in, and she
could give the work to Jeanne-Marie. A few days afterwards the
woman put thirty francs into her hands.
"There is your money," she said; "now what are you going to do
with it?"
"I am going away," answered Madelon.
"Yes?" said Jeanne-Marie, without any apparent emotion, "and
where are you going?"
"I am going to Spa.
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