multitude of kneeling people, and, above all, the organ
peeling out, wave after wave of sound, which seemed to strike
her, surround her, thrill her with a sense of--what? What was
it all? What did it all mean? An awful instinct suddenly woke
in the child's heart, painfully struggling with inarticulate
cries, as it were, to make itself understood, even to herself.
Wholly inarticulate, for she had been taught no words that
could express, however feebly, these vague yearnings, these
unutterable longings, suddenly stirring in her heart. This
wonderful, solemn music, this place, so strange, so separate
from any other she had known, what was it? what did it all
mean? Ah, yes, what did it all mean? A little girl, no older
than herself, who knelt close by the door, with careless eyes
that roamed everywhere, and stared wondering at Madelon's
cotton frock and rough uncovered little head, could have
explained it all very well; she had a fine gilt prayer-book in
her hand, and knew most of her Catechism, and could have
related the history of all the saints in the church; she did
not find it at all impressive, though she liked coming well
enough on these grand fête-days, when everyone wore their best
clothes, and she could put on her very newest frock. But our
little stray Madelon, who knew of none of all these things,
could find nothing better to do at last than to creep into a
dark corner, between a side chapel and a confessional, crouch
down, and begin to sob with all her heart.

Presently the music ceased, and the people went pouring out of
the great doors of the church. Madelon, roused by the movement
around her, looked up, dried her eyes, and came out of her
corner; then, following the stream, found herself once more