Madeline had come into the world. That was twenty years ago; and now, for the first time, they retraced the past step by step. It was like the opening and closing of a volume, each chapter having its joys and sorrow and commonplaces. In all these years their greatest happiness had been the little girl that grew up between them, giving them a common interest, and thus binding them more closely together.
"What hour does it strike?" asked Madame, as a bell began to toll.
"Nine."
At that instant, light but rapid footsteps were heard running on the sidewalk toward the house. The garden gate sprang open, and what looked like the figure of a woman rushed impetuously into the yard.
"Who is this?" said Monsieur, rising in the doorway, and looking toward the gate.
"Indeed, I know not," replied Madame, also rising.
The figure came running, and in an instant stood before them, in the light shining through the door.
"You see it is I," she said, breathless.
"Irène!" exclaimed Monsieur.
