accustomed to strangers ever to feel shy with them, but she
cared little for them, unless, as in Horace Graham's case,
they happened to take her fancy.

It must no be imagined, however, that M. Linders was quite
without conscience as regarded his child; there were some
people with whom he took care that she should not associate,
some society into which he never took her. Many an evening did
Madelon spend happily enough while her father was out, in the
snug little parlours of the hotels, where Madame, the
landlady, would be doing up her accounts perhaps, and
Monsieur, the landlord, reposing after the exertions of the
day; whilst Mademoiselle Madelon, seated at the table, would
build card-houses, or play at dominoes, and eat galette and
confitures to her heart's content. Here, too, she would get
queer little glimpses into life--hearing very likely how
Monsieur B. had made off without paying his bill, or how those
trunks that Madame la Comtesse C. had left eighteen months
ago, as a pledge of her return, had been opened at last, and
been found to contain but old clothes, fit for the rag-market;
how a few francs might be advantageously added on here and
there in the bill for the rich English family at the _premier;_
how the gentleman known as No. 5 was looked upon as a
suspicious character; and how Pierre the waiter had been set
to watch the door of No. 8, who had spent three months in the
house without paying a sou, and was daily suspected of
attempting to abscond. All these, and a dozen similar stories,
and half the gossip of the town, would come buzzing round
Madelon's ears as she sat gravely balancing one card one the
top of the other. She heard and comprehended them with such