"And where are you going now, then?"

"I am going to Spa."

"To Spa? Ah, indeed--and what are you going to do there?
Perhaps," said the Countess, more graciously, and with another
glance at the shabby frock and poor little bundle, "perhaps
you are going into some situation there?"

"Situation?" repeated Madelon, bewildered.

"Yes--you would make a very nice little nursery-maid, I dare
say," said the Countess, with much condescension; "and,
indeed, if you should be wanting any assistance in that way,
you have only to apply to me; and if you can produce good
credentials, I shall be most happy to assist you. I am always
ready to help deserving young people."

Madelon grew red as fire. "I am not a nursery-maid," she said,
with much indignation; "I don't know what you mean, and you
have no right to ask me so many questions--I will not answer
any more."

Another shriek and another tunnel; when they once more emerged
into daylight, Madelon had retreated into that corner of the
carriage remotest from the Countess, who, for her part, showed
some wisdom, perhaps, in making no attempt to resume the
conversation.

At Pepinster, they changed trains; and here Madelon found an