which lay beneath the window, quiet, almost deserted after the
bustle of the day, and full of white moonlight and black
shadows. Her father was out, and she was watching for his
return, though it was now long past eleven o'clock.

There was nothing unusual on her part in this late vigil, for
she was quite accustomed to sit up for her father, when he
spent his evenings away from home; but there must have been
something strange and forlorn-looking in the little figure
standing there all alone at such an hour, for a gentleman, who
had come in late from the theatre, paused as he was turning
the key of the door before entering his room, looked at her
once or twice, and, after a moment's hesitation, walked up to
the window. Madelon did not notice him till he was close
behind her, and then turned round with a little start,
dropping her book.

"I did not think it was you--" she began; then seeing a
stranger, stopped short in the middle of her speech.

"I am afraid I have startled you," said the gentleman in
English-French, but with a pleasant voice and manner, "and
disappointed you too."

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur," she answered, "I thought it was
papa; I have been looking for him so long," and she turned
round to the window again.

It was five years since Horace Graham and Madeleine had spent
an hour together in the courtyard at Chaudfontaine, so that it