inders; and a moment afterwards he perceived little
Madeleine, sitting nestled close up to her father's side. The
lamplight shone on her curly head and innocent _mignonne_ face
as she watched the game with eager eyes; it was piquant, and
she was marking for her father, and when he had a higher score
than his opponent, she laughed and clapped her hands with
delight.

Graham stood watching this little scene for a minute; and
somehow, as he looked at the little motherless girl, there
came the thought of small rosy children he knew far away in
England, who, having said their prayers, and repeated their
Sunday hymns, perhaps, had been tucked into little white beds,
and been fast asleep hours ago; and a kind, foolish notion
entered the young fellow's head, that, for that one evening at
least, he must get the brown-eyed child, who had taken his
fancy so much, away from the drinking, and smoking, and card-
playing, into a purer atmosphere. He went up to the table, and
leant over her chair.

"Will you come out again and have a walk with me in the
garden?" he said in English.

The man opposite, who was dealing, looked up sharply and
suspiciously. Madelon turned round, and gazed up into the kind
face smiling down on her, then shook her head with great
decision.

"Not a little walk? I will tell you such pretty stories, all
about fairies, and moonlight, and little boys and girls, and
dragons," said Horace, drawing largely on his imagination, in
his desire to offer a sufficient inducement.

"No," said Madelon, "I can't come; I am marking for papa."

"What is it?" said M. Linders, who understood very little
English; "what does this gentleman want, _mon enfant?_"

"I was asking your little girl if she would take a walk with
me in the garden," says Horace, getting rather red, and in his
bad French.

"Monsieur is too good," answers M. Linders, making a grand
bow, whilst his companion, having finished dealing, sat
puffing away at his cigar, and drumming impatiently with his
fingers on the table; "but the hour is rather late; what do
you say, Madelon? Will you go with Monsieur?"

"No, papa," says the child, "I am marking for you; I don't
want to go away."

"You see how it is, Monsieur," said M. Linders, turning to
Graham with a smile and shrug. "This little one thinks herself
of so much importance, that she will not leave me."

"Are you then mad," cried his companion, "that you think of
letting Madelon go out at this tim