“Will you come out again and have a walk with me in the garden?” he said in English.

The man opposite, who was dealing, looked up sharply and suspiciously.  Madelon turned round, and gazed up into the kind face smiling down on her, then shook her head with great decision.

“Not a little walk?  I will tell you such pretty stories, all about fairies, and moonlight, and little boys and girls, and dragons,” said Horace, drawing largely on his imagination, in his desire to offer a sufficient inducement.

“No,” said Madelon, “I can’t come; I am marking for papa.”

“What is it?” said M. Linders, who understood very little English; “what does this gentleman want, mon enfant?”

“I was asking your little girl if she would take a walk with me in the garden,” says Horace, getting rather red, and in his bad French.

“Monsieur is too good,” answers M. Linders, making a grand bow, whilst his companion, having finished dealing, sat puffing away at his cigar, and drumming impatiently with his fingers on the table; “but the hour is rather late; what do you say, Madelon?  Will you go with Monsieur?”

“No, papa,” says the child, “I am marking for you; I don’t want to go away.”

“You see how it is, Monsieur,” said M. Linders, turning to Graham with a smile and shrug.  “This little one thinks herself of so much importance, that she will not leave me.”

“Are you then mad,” cried his companion, “that you think of letting Madelon go out at this time of night?  It is nearly eleven o’clock, and she can hardly keep her eyes open.”

“My eyes are wide, wide open, Uncle Charles,” exclaimed Madelon, indignantly; “I’m not a bit tired, but I don’t want to go out now.”

“Monsieur will perhaps join our party,” said Monsieur Linders, very politely.  “I should be delighted to try my luck with a fresh adversary.”

“Thank you,” said Graham, “but I hardly ever touch cards.”  Then turning to Madelon, he added, “I must go away now, since you will not come for a walk.  Won’t you wish me good-bye?  I shall not be here to-morrow.”

She turned round and put her little hand into his for a moment; then with a sudden shy caprice snatched it away, and hid her face on her father’s shoulder, just peeping at him with her bright eyes.  But she started up again suddenly as he was leaving the room, calling out “Adieu, Monsieur, bon voyage,” and kissing her hand to him.  He smiled and nodded in return, bowed to M. Linders, and so went away.  There was a moment’s silence after he went, and then, “You have made a fine acquaintance this evening, Madelon,” said her uncle.

Madelon made a little moue, but did not answer.

“Are you then mad, Adolphe,” he said again, “that you permit Madeleine to pick up an acquaintance with anyone who chooses to speak to her?  An Englishman too!”

“Papa is not mad,” cried Madelon, between whom and her uncle there was apparently a standing skirmish.  “He was a very kind gentleman, and I like him very much; he gave me this little goldfish, and I shall keep it always, always,” and she kissed it with effusion.