"And is that all, Madeleine? Doesn't she speak of any one else? Doesn't she ever speak of--of me?" "Oh, yes, Monsieur Jules, she thinks you've been very good to her and her mother. She often speaks of that." This was all the information that Jules could extract from Madeleine. On several occasions he tried her again, but though she seemed amused by his questions, she evaded them. Once he said to her: "Madeleine, how would you like to go away with me--to travel--a long distance?" Madeleine carefully considered the question. Then she replied simply: "I should not like to leave Paris, Monsieur Jules, but, if you wanted me to go, I would go." After that, Madeleine was less worried. She had little to say, and, like most silent people, she observed and thought a great deal. For Mademoiselle Blanche she had conceived a genuine affection, and she looked forward with regret to the time when she would have to leave the _rue St. Honoré_ for Jules' lonely apartment. One Saturday night, on their return from the Circus, Jules asked Mademoiselle Blanche if she were going to high mass the next day as usual. He was surprised when she replied that she was going at eight o'clock instead. "But that is too early," he said. "You won't have sleep enough." "I'm going to communion," she explained. "Oh!" He could not understand why this announcement should impress him as it did. He had supposed that of course she went to communion; she had probably gone to confession early in the afternoon before the _matinée_. Once again he felt awed by her goodness. How strange it was that she should be in the confessional at three o'clock, and two hours later perform in her fleshings before a crowd of people! The very publicity of her life seemed to exalt the simplicity and the purity of her character. Jules was so absorbed in thinking of these things that he did not speak again till the cab reached the _rue St. Honoré_. Then, as he helped Mademoiselle out, he said: "I'll go to church with you to-morrow, if you will let me. You won't leave before half-past seven, will you?" She protested that he ought not to get up so early; he needed a good night's rest after his hard work of the week. But he laughed and waved his hand to her in parting, and told her not to wait for him after a quarter to eight; now that he didn't have Madeleine to call him, he might not wake up in time. He was in time, however, and as he walked to church in the cold December air with Mademoiselle by his side, he felt repaid for his sacrifice. She wore a tight-fitting fur coat and a black cloth dress, with the little fur-trimmed hat he had admired when he first walked with her in the _Champs Élysées_. Her face was protected by a thick dotted veil, but under it he could see her sparkling eyes and the color in her cheeks. "I'm paying you a very great compliment," he said, as they hurried along towards _St. Philippe de Roule_. "I haven't got up so early on a Sunday since I was a boy."