for her most tenderly, and thinking himself well repaid by the
clinging grasp of her small hand, by the spring of joy with
which she welcomed him after any absence, by her gleeful voice
and laughter, her perfect trust and confidence in him.

There must have been something good and true about this man,
roué and gambler though he was, that, somehow, he himself and
those around him had missed hitherto, but that sprang
willingly into life when appealed to by the innocent faith,
the undoubting love of his little child. Thus much Madelon all
unconsciously accomplished, but more than this she could not
do. M. Linders did not become a reformed character for her
sake: he had never had any particular principles, and
Madelon's loving innocence, which aroused all his best
emotions, had no power to stir in him any noble motives or
high aspirations, which, if they existed at all, were buried
too deep to be awakened by the touch of her small hand. His
misdeeds had never occasioned him much uneasiness, except as
they had affected the conduct of others towards himself; and
he had no reproaches, expressed or implied, to fear from
Madelon. "No one had ever so believed in him before!" he would
sigh, with a feeling not without a certain pathos in its way,
though with the ring of false sentiment characteristic of the
man, and with an apparent want of perception that it was
ignorance rather than belief that was in question. Madelon
believed indeed in his love, for it answered readily to her
daily and hourly appeals, but she cannot be aid to have
believed in his honour and integrity, for she can hardly have
known what they meant, and she made no claims upon _them_. It
was, perhaps, happy for her that the day when she should have