“Can you?” said Horace laughing, for indeed he spoke French with a fine English accent and idiom.  “Let me hear you.  Where did you learn it?”

“Uncle Charles taught me; he is English,” she answered, speaking correctly enough, with a pretty little accent.

“Indeed!” cried Graham.  “Your mother was English, then?”

“Yes.  Mamma came from England, papa says, and Uncle Charles almost always talks English to me.  I would not let him do it, only papa wished me to learn.”

“And have you any other relations in England?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “We have never been in England, and papa says he will never go, for he detests the English; but I only know Uncle Charles and you, and I like you.”

“What is your Uncle Charles’ other name?  Can you tell me?”

“Leroy,” she answered promptly.

“But that is not an English name,” said Graham.

This was a little beyond Madelon, but after some consideration, she said with much simplicity,

“I don’t know whether it is not English.  But it is only lately his name has been Leroy, since he came back from a journey he made; before that it was something else, I forget what, but I heard him tell papa he would like to be called Leroy, as it was a common name; and papa told me, in case anyone asked me.”

“I understand,” said Graham; and indeed he did understand, and felt a growing compassion for the poor little girl, whose only companions and protectors were a gambler and a sharper.

They were still talking, when the silence of the courtyard was broken by a sudden confusion and bustle.  The sound of the music and dancing had already ceased; and now a medley of voices, a shrill clamour of talking and calling, made themselves heard through the open hall door.

“Henri!  Henri!  Ou est-il donc, ce petit drole?”

“Allons, Pauline, depeche-toi, mon enfant, ton pere nous attend!”

“Ciel! j’ai perdu mon fichu et mes gants.”

“Enfin.”

“The people are going away,” says Madelon; and, in fact, in another minute the whole party, talking, laughing, hurrying, came streaming out by twos and threes into the moonlight, and, crossing the road and bridge, disappeared one by one in the station beyond, the sound of their voices still echoing back through the quiet night.  The last had hardly vanished when a tall solitary figure appeared in the courtyard, and advanced, looking round as if searching for some one.

“Madelon!” cried the same voice that Graham had heard that morning in the garden.

“There is papa looking for me; I must go,” exclaimed the child at the same moment; and before Graham had time to speak, she had slipped off his knee and darted up to her father; then taking his hand, the two went off together, the small figure jumping and dancing by the side of the tall man as they disappeared within the doorway of the hotel.