“Not so very long,” said Graham, “you know I am to come and see you on my way back from Germany, and then if I can manage it, we will have another walk together.”

“That will be very nice,” said Madelon; and then, after a pause, she added, “Monsieur Horace, supposing Aunt Therese says she will not have me, what shall I do then?”

This very same question had, as we know, presented itself to Graham before now, and he had felt the full force of the possible difficulty that had now occurred to our unthinking Madelon for the first time.

“Indeed I do not know, Madelon,” he answered, half laughing, “but I don’t think we need be afraid; your aunt is not likely to turn you away.”

“But if she did,” persisted Madelon, “what should I do?  Would you take me away to live with you?”

“With me?” said Graham, smiling, “I don’t think that would quite do, Madelon; you know I am a soldiers’ doctor, and have to go where they go, and could not have you following the regiment.”

“Then you cannot come and go about as you please,” said Madelon; “I thought you always went where you liked; you are not with the regiment now.”

“No, I have a holiday just now; but that will come to an end in two or three weeks, and then I must do as I am bid, and go where I am told.”

“And you have no home then?  Ah, take me with you, Monsieur Horace, I should like to see the world—­let me go with you.”

“Would you like to put on a little red coat, and shoulder a musket and stand to be shot at?” says Graham, laughing at her.  “I hope to see more of the world than you would quite like, I fancy, Madelon, that is, if we have any luck and get ordered out to the Crimea.”

For indeed it was just the moment of the Crimean war, and while the events recorded in this little story were going on, the world was all astir with the great game in which kingdoms are staked, and a nation’s destinies decided; treaties were being torn, alliances formed, armies marching, all Europe arming and standing at arms to prepare for the mighty struggle, and Graham, like many another young fellow, was watching anxiously to see whether, in the great tide rolling eastward, some wave would not reach to where he stood, and sweep him away to the scene of action.

Madelon had not heard much about the Crimea, and did not very well know what Horace meant; but she understood the first part of his speech, and she, too, laughed at this picture of herself in a little red coat.  Presently, however, she recurred to her original question.

“If you were not marching about, would you let me come and live with you?” she asked again.

“Indeed, I do not say that I would,” said Graham, laughing, “and I don’t mean to settle down for a long time yet; I have to make my fortune, you know.”

“To make your fortune!” cries Madelon, pricking up her ears at the sound of the words, for indeed they had a most familiar ring in them; “why, I could do that for you,” she added after a moment’s pause.