the first one she had spent in the church touched her, and her
eyes filled with sudden tears of painful ecstasy. As the old
German ceased, she went up to him with an impulse that
admitted of no hesitation, and, as well as she could, told him
all that was in her mind--her dreams, her strange weird
fancies, all that for the last few months had been haunting
and oppressing her with its weight of mystery. "Papa said I
could not understand," she said in conclusion, "but I think I
could. Will you not explain it to me? Can you not tell me what
it all means, and who--who is God?"

The German had heard in silence till then, but at this last
question he started from his listening attitude.

"_Was--was--_" he stammered, and suddenly rising--"_Ach, mein Gott!_"
he cried, with the familiar ejaculation, "to ask me!--to ask
me!"

He walked twice up and down the room, as stirred by some
hidden emotion, his head bowed, his hands behind his back,
murmuring to himself, and then stopped where Madelon was
standing by the window. She looked up, half trembling, into
the rugged face bent over her. He was her priest for the
moment, standing as it were between earth and heaven--her
confessor, to whom she had revealed the poor little secrets of
her heart; and she waited with a sort of awe for his answer.

"My child," he said at length, looking down sadly enough into
her eager, inquiring eyes, "when I was no older than thou art,
I had a pious, gentle mother, at whose knee night and morning