"Yes--you will want me, _pauvre petite_. Good Heavens! that a child so small, so young should be left without me to take care of her! Bah, I must not think of it. Madelon, there is one thing more you must promise me--never to become a nun." "A nun, papa?" "Yes, a nun," he repeated, in his feeble vehement way, "a nun like your aunt Therese. Do you know what it means? To grow pious, and narrow-minded, and sour, to live for ever shut up between four walls from which there is no escape, to think yourself better than all the world. Madelon, promise me never to become a nun; if I thought that were the future in store for you--promise me, I say." "I promise, papa," she said, quite solemnly, putting her hands together with a quaint little gesture; "indeed I should not like it at all." "If I could only foresee--if I could only arrange," he said piteously. "God knows I have done what I think is best for you, my child, and yet--who knows what may come of it? Madelon," he went on in a faint, pleading, broken voice, "you will not let them make you think ill of me, and blame and despise me when I am dead? They will try perhaps, but you must always love me, my darling, as you do now; it must not be all in vain--all that I have been striving for--ah, don't cry--there-- we won't talk any more now--another time." There was a minute's silence in the darkening twilight; Madelon's face was hidden in her father's shoulder, as he lay there with his arm still round her and his eyes closed, faint and exhausted. All of a sudden he roused himself with a start. "Ah, I am dying!" he cried, with a hoarse voice, "and it is all dark! Light the candles, Madelon--light them quickly, I must see you once more before I die!" Startled, awe-struck, only half realizing the meaning of his words, Madelon slid off the bed and prepared to obey. At that moment there came a tremendous knocking at the door of the room, and a voice half chanting, half shouting,-- "Are you here, my friend? Are you within to-night? Can one enter? Open quick; it is I, it is your friend! Are you ready for your little revenge? I am ready, for my part; I will give it to you--yes, with pleasure--yes, with an open heart!" "It is Legros!" cried M. Linders from his bed, in a sudden spasm of rage, "it is that villain, that _miserable!_ Yes, yes, come in; Madelon, light the candles quickly; where are the cards? Ah--I will have my revenge yet!" The door burst open, and Legros entered, just as Madelon had succeeded in lighting the candles. He stopped short in his uproarious entrance, suddenly sobered by the appearance of M. Linders, as he lay propped up with pillows, his white face and bandaged head, and eyes gleaming with fever and rage. "Papa is very ill," says Madelon. "Monsieur, do not stay to- night, I beg of you!" "What are you saying, Madelon?" cried her father; "I forbid you to say that again; bring me the cards. Legros, I am ready for you; ah, there is then one more chance in life!"