It was all lighted
up, the table strewn with books and papers; but no one was
there. Madelon was in a state of wild excitement and triumph.
"Look here," she cried; "I promised to make your fortune, did
I not, Monsieur Horace?--and I have done it! Ah! you will be
rich now--see here!" she poured the contents of her bag on the
table before him. "Are you glad?" she said.
"Glad!--what on earth are you talking about? Where did you get
this money, Madelon?"
"Where?--why, there, at the tables, to be sure--where else?" she
answered, getting frightened at his manner.
"But--gracious powers! are you out of your senses, child?"
cried Graham. "Whatever possessed you to come here? What
business have you in a place like this? Are you alone?"
"Yes, I am alone. I came to make your fortune," answered
Madelon, dismayed.
"My fortune!" he repeated. "What can have put such a notion
into your head? As for that money, the sooner you get rid of
it the better. What the devil--good heavens! a baby like you!--
here, give it to me!"
"What are you going to do?" cried Madelon, struck with sudden
fear, as he swept it up in his hand.
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