ith your papa, or do
you go to school sometimes?"

"To school? oh no, never," said Madelon, not without some
wonder at the idea. "Papa would not send me to school. I
should not like it at all, and neither would he. I know he
would not get on at all well without me, and I love travelling
about with him. Last winter we were in Italy."

"And you never come to England?"

"No, never. I asked papa once if he would not go there, and he
said no, that we should not like it at all, it was so cold and
_triste_ there, one never amused one's-self."

"But I thought you had some relations there," said Graham.
"Surely I saw an uncle with you who was English?"

"Oh yes, Uncle Charles; but he never went to England either,
and he died a long time ago. I don't know of any other
relations."

"So you never talk English now, I suppose? Do you remember
telling me to speak English, because I spoke French so
funnily?"

"No," said Madelon, colouring and laughing. "How is it
possible I can have been so rude, Monsieur? I think you speak
it very well. But I have not forgotten my English, for I have
some books, and often we meet English or American gentlemen,
so that I still talk it sometimes."

"And German too," said Horace, looking at her book.

"Yes, and Italian; I learnt that last winter at Florence. We
meet a great many different people, you know, so I don't
forget."

"And you are always travelling about?"

"Yes, always; I should not like to live in one place, I think,
and papa would not like it either, he says. Do you remember
papa, Monsieur?"

"Very well," said Graham; and indeed he recalled perfectly the
little scene in the salle-a-manger of the Chaudfontaine hotel--
the long dimly lighted room, the two men playing at cards, and
the little child nestling close up to the fair one whom she
called papa. "Yes, I remember him very well," he added, after
a moment's pause.

"How strange that you should see us here again!" said Madelon.
"Did you know we were staying in the hotel, Monsieur?"

"Not at all," answered Horace, smiling. "I only arrived
yesterday, and had no notion that I should find an old
acquaintance to welcome me."

"How fortunate that I was waiting here, and that you saw my
name in that book," said Madelon, evidently looking on the
whole as a great event, brought about by a more remarkable
combination of circumstances than everyday life as a rule
afforded. "Without that you would not have known who I was,
perh