He did find them, and their contents were such as to drive all thoughts of his tour out of his head.  It was with a wild throb of excitement and exultation, such as he had never known before, that, on opening the first that came to hand, one that had been lying there for nearly a week, he read that the regiment to which he was attached was under immediate orders for the Crimea, and that he must return, without loss of time, to England.  Even then, however, he did not forget little Madelon.  He knew that she would be counting on his promised return, and could not bear the idea of going away without seeing her again, and wishing her good-bye.  He calculated that he had still half a day to spare, and, notwithstanding his hurry, resolved to return by Brussels rather than Paris, choosing those trains that would allow him to spend a couple of hours in Liege, and pay a visit to the convent.

It was only three days since he had last seen the white walls and grey roofs that were growing quite familiar to him now, and yet how life seemed to have changed its whole aspect to him—­and not to him only, perhaps, but to somebody else too, who within those walls had been spending three of the saddest, dreariest days her small life had ever known.

When Graham asked for Madelon, he was shown, not into the parlour, but into a corridor leading to it from the outer door; straw chairs were placed here also, on either side of the grating that divided it down the middle, and on the inner side was a window looking into another and smaller courtyard.  As Graham sat there waiting, an inner door opened and a number of children came trooping out; they were the externes, children of the bourgeois class for the most part, who came to school twice a-day at the convent; indeed they were the only pupils, the building not being large enough to accommodate boarders.

The children, laughing and chattering, vanished through the front door to disperse to their different homes, and then, in a minute, the inner door opened again, and a small figure appeared; a nun followed, but she remained in the background, whilst Madelon came forward with a look of eager expectation on the mignonne face that seemed to have grown thinner and paler since Graham had last seen it only three days ago.  His return, so much sooner than she had expected, had filled her with a sudden joy, and raised in her a vague hope, that she stood sadly in need of just then, poor child!

“So you see I have come back sooner than I expected, Madelon,” said Graham, taking the little hands that were stretched out to him so eagerly through the grating, “but I don’t know what you will say to me, for I shall not have time for the walk I promised you, when I thought I should stay two or three days in Liege.  I must go away this afternoon, but I was determined not to leave without wishing you good-bye.”

“Go away this afternoon!” faltered Madelon, “then you are going away quite—­and I shall never see you again!”