130 MADELINE.

She pushed it gently away. “It is yours, not mine,” said
she.

“Oh, no,” replied Madeline; “I never had so much money
in my life.” .

The old woman shook her head, repeating, “It is yours,
little one.” And no manner of inducement could make her
take it.

“And. your mother, the daughter of my old mistress,
Madame Dumonteau, where is she?” she asked.

“My mamma?”

“Yes, the same.”

“She is in Paris.”

“ And is she happy ?”

“Ah, no!” said Madeline, sadly. “Oh, if you know my
grandmamma, will you tell her how unhappy my dear mamma
is, and that since my papa died she has no one but me to love
her, and she must want her mother just as I want her?”

“He is dead, then, the American gentleman ?”

“My papa? Yes, he died two years ago, and we came to
Paris, for mamma could not bear to be so far away from her
dear France.”

The old woman stood leaning on her stick, lost in thought.

“Little one,’ she said presently, “can you come here
again, the day after to-morrow ?”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Madeline; “I came away to-day
alone, for I did not want Madame Virot to know, nor mamma.”