across the bridge into the railway station. Indeed she had
only just time to take her ticket, before the train for Spa
came rushing up with slackening speed into the station. There
were few passengers either coming or going at this early hour,
but Madelon's heart gave a great jump as she saw two black-
robed figures get out of one of the carriages and come towards
her. In another moment she saw they were Soeurs de Charité,
with a dress quite different from that worn by the nuns; but
the imaginary alarm suggested very real causes of fear, which
somehow had almost slipped from her mind since the first hours
of her escape from the convent. In her new, glad sense of
freedom, she had quite forgotten that the hour had long since
arrived when her flight must most certainly be discovered, and
that there were, after all, still only six miles of road
between her and her old life; and it was with quite a newly
awakened dread that even now unfriendly eyes might be watching
her from some one of the carriage-windows, that she jumped
hastily into the nearest compartment she could find. It was
not empty, however, for the Countess, who had preceded her
across the bridge had already taken her place, and was
arranging her flounces in one corner. She looked up, astounded
at Madelon's somewhat precipitate entrance; and as the train
moved off, she treated her small companion to a most
unceremonious stare, which took in every detail of her
personal appearance.

"Are you travelling alone?" she asked, at length, abruptly.

"Yes, madame," said Madelon, getting rather red. She had
resented the stare, and did not want to be talked to; her one