"Good night, Madelon. I will come and see after you to-morrow
morning," he said smiling, as he left her.
She looked up at him for a moment with a most pitiful, eager
longing in her eyes; then suddenly seizing his hands in her
wild excited way--"Oh, Monsieur Horace, Monsieur Horace, if I
could only tell you!" she cried; and then, as he left the
room, and closed the door, she flung herself upon the floor in
quite another passion of tears than that she had given way to
in the Promenade a Sept Heures.
CHAPTER XVII.
The old Letter.
When Horace went to see after Madelon the next morning, he
found her already up and dressed. She opened her bedroom door
in answer to his knock, and stood before him, her eyes cast
down, her wavy hair all smooth and shining, even the old black
silk frock arranged and neat--a very different little Madelon
from the passionate, despairing, weeping child of the evening
before.
"Good morning, Madelon," said Graham, taking her hand and
looking at her with a smile and a gleam in his kind eyes; "how
are you to-day? Did you sleep well?"
"I am very well, Monsieur," says Madelon, with her downcast
eyes.
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