l him, knew
nothing of all this, we may be sure; but he was very good and
tender to the little girl, and did all he could to cheer and
console her in the sudden overpowering fits of grief that came
upon her from time to time. Finding that she liked to talk of
the past, he encouraged her to do so, being anxious, indeed,
to learn all he could of her former life, and to ascertain,
if, after all, there were indeed no friends to whom he could
apply, in the event of his mission to her Aunt Therese
proving, from any cause, unsuccessful. But as before, on this
point he obtained no sort of satisfaction. Madelon never got
much beyond the Florence artists, and her German countess, and
Russian princess. M. Linders, it was evident, had had no
friends beyond the acquaintance he had made at the different
places at which he had been wont to tarry from time to time;
and these, for the most part, Graham inferred to have been of
so doubtful a character that he could only rejoice for
Madelon's sake that all further chance of connection was
broken off. Madelon dwelt at great length on their last winter
at Florence; she loved Italy, she said; she liked it better
than France or Belgium, and Florence was such a beautiful
place; had Monsieur Horace ever been there? There were such
splendid churches, and palaces and galleries, with such grand
pictures and statues; the American used to take her to see
them. Papa had several friends there who knew a great deal
about pictures, who were artists indeed; she used to go to
their studios sometimes, and she liked hearing them talk. And
then there were the fetes and processions, and the country
people in such gay dresses, and all with such a blue sky and
such bright sunshine; and then the Sundays! very often she and
papa would go out into the country to some inn where they
would breakfast and dine; ah! it had been so pleasant. "I
shall never be so happy again," sighs Madelon.

The warm, glowing, picturesque Italian life had, as we know,
forcibly seized her imagination, her eyes shone with delight
as she recalled it, and, almost involuntarily in describing
it, she made use of the soft words and phrases of the Italian
tongue, which with the ready talent she possessed for
languages, she had caught up, and spoke fluently.

"Where did you go when you left Florence?" asked Graham.

"We came north across the Alps and through Switzerland to
Baden, and then we stayed a little while at Homburg, and then
we