came in, and the strangers disappeared. Some began to rub her wrists; others tried to comfort the mother, who was almost overcome. Madeline was her only child, and had been something like an angel in a house where the father was not always as gentle as he might have been. The mother, who had watched and cared for her all through the uncertainties of childhood, and who was soon to see her married to the noble young Joseph, could not bear up under the terror of the motionless sight of what had been her greatest comfort through the years of her life since she herself had grown from girlhood into the meridian of maternity. "Madeline, Madeline," she cried, wringing her hands, "wake up, Madeline! It is I who call you!"
But Madeline did not wake up.
Amid all the confusion, Irène thought to go in search of the father. She ran after the soldiers; but they had been marching for some time, and were far advanced. Her determination was as strong as her well-knit figure was able to hasten along. She passed out of the main thoroughfare of the town, and began to ascend
