"
"And then what are you going to do?"
"I don't know--I am not sure," answered Madelon, rather
embarrassed. "I shall write to a friend I have--Monsieur
Horace, you know--and he will tell me what to do."
"And why do you not write to him at once, _mon enfant?_"
"I cannot," was all Madelon's answer, nor could Jeanne-Marie
ever extract any further explanation on that point. The next
day Jeanne-Marie was missing from the restaurant for some
hours; but she reappeared in the afternoon, and presently came
out into the garden, where Madelon, seated in her favourite
corner, was nursing a big cat, and sorting out herbs for
drying.
"What a long time you have been away!" she said, as Jeanne-
Marie came up to her. "See, I have done all these; I think
there are enough to last you all the winter."
"Not quite," answered the woman; "bur never mind them now. Do
you want to know where I have been? I have been to Spa, and
seen Madame Bertrand."
"Have you?" cried Madelon; "did you tell her about me? Was
Mademoiselle Henriette there?"
"Mademoiselle Henriette is gone; she and her aunt had a grand
quarrel, and she left, and so Madame Bertrand is alone again.
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