"Ah, why must I live? Oh! that I could die--if I could only
die!" cries the poor child passionately in her thoughts,
stretching out her hands in her young impatience of life and
suffering. "I love him--is it wrong? How can I help it? I loved
him before I knew what it meant, I never knew till----"
She stopped suddenly, with a blush that seemed to set her
cheeks all a-flame--she had never known till half-an-hour ago,
when she had looked up and met his eyes for that one moment.
Ah! why had he looked at her so? And she--oh, merciful heavens!
had she betrayed herself? At the very thought Madelon started
as if she had been stung. She turned from the window, she
covered her face with her hands, and escaping swiftly, she
fled to her own room, and throwing herself on the bed, buried
her face in the pillow, to wrestle through her poor little
tragedy of love, and self-consciousness, and despair.
And while Madelon is crying her heart out upstairs, this is
what has been going on below. There had been an uncomfortable
pause in the sitting-room after her swift retreat; Mrs.
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