My Little Lady | Page 9

and presently from the
hotel the sound of the music, and the measured beat of feet, came
softened to the ear, mingled with the low rush of the stream, and the
ceaseless ringing of the hammers in the village forges.
Horace had not sat there above ten minutes, and was debating
whether--his Belgian friend notwithstanding--a stroll along the
river-bank would not be a pleasanter termination to his evening than a
return to the dancing, when he saw a small figure appear in the hall
doorway, stand a moment as is irresolute, and then come slowly across
the courtyard towards him. As she came near he recognised little
Madelon. She pauses when she was within a yard or two of him, and
stood contemplating him with her hands clasped behind her back.
"So you have come out too," he said.

"_Mais oui--tout ce tapage m'agace les nerfs_," answered the child,
pushing her hair off her forehead with one of her old- fashioned little
gestures, and then standing motionless as before, her hands behind her,
and her eyes fixed on Graham. Somehow he felt strangely attracted by
this odd little child, with her quaint vehement ways and speeches, who
stood gazing at him with a look half farouche, half confiding, in her
great brown eyes.
"Monsieur," she began, at last.
"Well," said Graham.
"Monsieur, I would like to see the little green fish. May I look at it?"
"To be sure," he answered. "Come here, and I will show it to you."
"And, Monsieur, I do like breloques very much," continues Madelon,
feeling that this is a moment for confession.
"Very well, then, you can look at all these. See, here is the little fish to
begin with."
"And may I have it in my own hand to look at?" she asked, willing to
come to some terms before capitulating.
"Yes, you shall have it to hold in your own hand, if you will come
here."
She came close to him then, unclasping her hands, and holding a tiny
palm to receive the little trinket.
Horace was engaged in unfastening it from the rest of the bunch, and
whilst doing so he said,
"Will you not tell me your name? Madelon, is it not?"
"My name is Madeleine, but papa and every one call me Madelon."
"Madeleine what?"

"Madeleine Linders."
"Linders!" cried Horace, suddenly enlightened; "what, is M. Linders--"
the famous gambler he had nearly said, but checked himself--"is that
tall gentleman with a beard, whom I saw in the salon just now, your
papa?"
"Yes, that is my papa. Please may I have that now?"
He put the little flexible toy into her hand, and she stood gazing at it for
a moment, almost afraid to touch it, and then pushing it gently
backwards and forwards with one finger.
"It does move!" she cried delighted. "I never saw one like it before."
"Would you like to keep it?" asked Graham.
"Always, do you mean?--for my very own?"
"Yes, always."
"Ah, yes!" she cried, "I should like it very much. I will wear it round
my neck with a string, and love it so much, --better than Sophie."
She looked at it with great admiration as it glittered in the moonlight;
but her next question fairly took Horace aback.
"Is it worth a great deal of money, Monsieur?" she inquired.
"Why, no, not a great deal--very little, in fact," he replied.
"Ah! then, I will beg papa to let me keep it always, always, and not to
take it away."
"I daresay he will let you keep it, if you tell him you like it," said
Graham, not clearly understanding her meaning.
"Oh! yes, but then he often gives me pretty things, and then sometimes
he says he must take them away again, because they are worth so much

money. I don't mind, you know, if he wants them; but I will ask him to
let me keep this."
"And what becomes of all your pretty things?"
"I don't know; I have none now," she answered, "we left them behind at
Spa. Do you know one reason why I would not dance to-night?" she
added, lowering her voice confidentially.
"No; what was it?"
"Because I had not my blue silk frock with lace, that I wear at the balls
at Wiesbaden and Spa. I can dance, you know, papa taught me; but not
in this old frock, and I left my other at Spa."
"And what were your other reasons?" asked Graham, wondering more
and more at the small specimen of humanity before him.
"Oh! because the room here is so small and crowded. At Wiesbaden
there are rooms large--so large--quite like this courtyard," extending
her small arms by way of giving expression to her vague sense of
grandeur; "and looking- glasses all round, and