n feeling could tyrannise
over la petite Madelaine,--she was so gentle, so loving (when she dared
show her love), so perfectly tractable and unoffending; but in the
Chateau du Resnel no one could have passed two whole days without
perceiving she was no favourite, except with one old servant--the same
who had placed her in her dying father's arms, and recorded for her
his last precious benediction--and with her little brother, who
always vowed to those most in his confidence, and to Madelaine herself,
when her tears flowed for some short, sharp sorrow, that when he
was a man, "toutes ces demoiselles"--meaning his elder sisters and
monitresses--should go and live away where they pleased, and leave
him and la petite Madelaine to keep house together.

Except from these two, any one would have observed that there were
"shortcomings" towards her; "shortcomings" of tenderness from the
superiors of the household--"shortcomings" of observances from the
menials; anything was good enough for Madelaine--any time was time
enough for Madelaine. She had to finish wearing out all her sisters' old
frocks and wardrobes in general, to eat the crumb of the loaf they had
pared the crust from, and to be satisfied with half a portion of soupe
au lait, if they had chosen to take double allowance; and, blessedly for
la petite Madelaine, it was her nature to be satisfied with everything
not embittered by marked and intentional unkindness. It was her nature
to sacrifice itself for others. Might that sacrifice have been repaid by
a return of love, her little heart would have overflowed with happiness.
As it was, she had not yet learnt to reason upon the want of sympathy;
she felt without analysing. She was not harshly treated,--was seldom
found fault with, though far more rarely commended,--was admitted to
share in her sisters' sports, with the proviso that she had no choice in
them,--old Jeannette and le petit frere Armand loved her dearly; so did
Roland, her father's old faithful hound,--and on the whole, la petite
Madelaine was a happy little girl.

And happier she was, a thousand times happier, than her cousin
Adrienne--than Adrienne de St Hilaire, the spoilt child of fortune and
of her doting parents, who lived but in her and for her, exhausting all
the ingenuity of love, and all the resources of wealth, in vain
endeavours to perfect the felicity of their beautiful but heartless
idol.

The families of St Hilaire and Du Resnel were, as has