back; he himself, impatient of ill-luck, and of continual
defeat in the scenes of his former triumphs, grew restless and
irritable, wandered from place to place in search of better
fortune and better health, and at length, at the end of a
fortnight's stay at Wiesbaden, after winning a large sum at
_rouge-et-noir_, and losing half of it the next day, announced
abruptly that he was tired of Germany, and should set off at
once for Paris. Madelon had noticed the alteration in her
father less than anyone else perhaps; she was used to changes
of fortune, and whatever he might feel he never showed it in
his manner to her; outwardly, at least, this summer had
appeared to her very similar to any preceding one, and she was
too much accustomed to M. Linders' sudden moves, to find
anything unusual in this one, although, dictated as it was by
a caprice of weariness and disgust, it took them away from the
Germany tables just at the height of the season. Once more,
then, the two set out together, and towards the middle of
August found themselves established in their old quarters in
the Paris Hotel, where Madame Linders had died, and where
Madame Lavaux still reigned head of the establishment.

PART II.

Chapter I.

After five Years.

One evening, about three weeks after their arrival in Paris,
Madelon was standing at a window at the end of the long
corridor into which M. Linders' apartment opened; the moon was
shining brightly, and she had a book in her hand, which she
was reading by its clear light, stopping, however, every
minute to gaze down into the front courtyard of the hotel,
which lay beneath the window, quiet, almost deserted after the
bustle of the day, and full of white moonlight and black
shadows. Her father was out, and she was watching for his
return, though it was now long past eleven o'clock.

There was nothing unusual on her part in this late vigil, for
she was quite accustomed to sit up for her father, when he
spent his evenings away from home; but there must have been
something strange and forlorn-looking in the little figure
standing there all alone at such an hour, for a gentleman, who
had come in late from the theatre, paused as he was turning
the key of the door before entering his room, looked at her
once or twice, and, after a moment's hesitation, walked up to
the window. Madelon did not notice him till he was close
behind her, and then turned round with a little start,
dropping her book.

"