‘I treated him shockingly,’ she says to herself, ‘but what else could I do? Humiliate myself before him--confess that I had run away from school, and that now, like a naughty child, I wanted to be punished and then forgiven? If he had been an old man I might have done so. If he had been the least homely and comfortable-looking I might have done so--but he was so handsome and so proud-looking--and so young.’ Presently she adds:-- 41 wonder what M’sieur Belleisle is doing? Perhaps I had better ring for the waiter, and make arrangements for leaving by the morning train.5 She crosses the room, lays her hand upon the bell, is about to ring, when Monsieur Belleisle, who has noiselessly entered the room, quietly takes her hand. At the first touch of his cold fingers Madeline’s face again flushes crimson, and she draws her hand away. Madeline cannot see his face--his head is hung too much forward, but his body bends in all humility before her. ‘My Madeline is cruel,’ he says in a strangely insinuating tone, ‘but I confess to myself that she is right. I confess I have been to blame, but I am an honourable man, and I will make all amends.5 ‘By marrying me, I suppose you mean, M’sieur?’ The Frenchman smiles. ‘That is what I would wish to do, but since it is not _your_ wish, I will talk about it no more. I will do what you desire, Mam’selle!’ ‘You know what I wish. It is to return to Madame Collemache!’ The Frenchman shrugs his shoulders and spreads out both his hands. ‘Even so,’ he says; ‘but you know, Mam’selle, you cannot leave till daybreak, for you have troubled yourself to enquire. Well, in order to screen yourself from _scandal_’--he lays peculiar stress on the word--‘I will introduce you to a lady who I know will be philanthropist enough to give you the shelter of her presence to-night, and take you back to Madame Collemache on the morrow.’ His manner is obsequious--far too obsequious to be genuine--but this Madeline does not observe. She only feels a soft sense of relief steal over her, and in her gratitude she impulsively takes the Frenchman’s hand. ‘You are too good, M’sieur,’ she says, ‘and I shall never rest until I have repaid you. I will intercede with Madame Collemache--I will write to Mr. White, my guardian--I will get you your reward!’ The Frenchman bows still lower. ‘My Madeline will not trouble herself so much on my account,’ he says. ‘I have won a leetle of Madeline’s esteem--and so I have my reward. And now I have a leetle favour to ask for in return.’ Madeline’s face falls, and though he does not appear to be looking at her he notices it in a moment.