o? Madame said they went every Sunday and _fete_
day."

"I suppose they like it," answered M. Linders. "Some people go
every day, and all day long--nuns, for instance, who have
nothing else to do."

"It is, then, when people have nothing else to do that they
go?" asked Madelon, misunderstanding him, with much
simplicity.

"Something like it," answered M. Linders, rather grimly; then,
with a momentary compunction, added, "Not precisely. They do
it also, I suppose, because they think it right."

"And do you not think it right, papa? Why should they? I have
seen people coming out of church before, but I never knew what
it was like inside. I _may_ go again some day?"

"When you are older, my child, I will take you again,
perhaps."

"But that little girl Nanette, papa, was only five years old
when she went first, her mother said, and I have never been at
all," said Madelon, feeling rather aggrieved.

"Well, when we go to Florence next winter, Madelon, you shall
visit all the churches. They are much more splendid than
these, and have the most beautiful pictures, which I should
like you to see."

"And will there be music, and lights, and flowers there, the
same as here, papa?"

"Oh! for that, it is much the same everywhere," replied M.
Linders. "People are much alike all the world over, as you
will find, Madelon. Priests, and mummery, and a gaping crowd,
to stare and say, 'How wonderful! how beautiful!' as you do
now, _ma petite;_ but you shall know better some day."

He spoke with a certain bitterness that Madelon did not
understand, any more than she did his little speech; but it
silenced her for a moment, and then she said more timidly,

"But, papa----"

"Well, Madelon!"

"But, papa, he said--_ce Monsieur_--he said that people go to
church _pour prier le bon Dieu_. What did he mean? We often say
'_Mon Dieu_,' and I have heard them talk of _le bon Dieu;_ is that
the same? Who is He then--_le bon Dieu?_"

M. Linders did not at once reply. Madelon was looking up into
his face with wide-open perplexed eyes, frowning a little with
an unusual effort of thought, with the endeavour to penetrate
a momentary mystery, which she instinctively felt lay
somewhere, and which she looked to him to explain; and he
_could_ not give her a careless, mocking answer; he sat staring
blankly at her for a few seconds, and then said slowly,

"I cannot tell you."

"Do you not know, papa?"

"Yes, yes, certainly I know," he a