"But I thought you had some relations there," said Graham.
"Surely I saw an uncle with you who was English?"
"Oh yes, Uncle Charles; but he never went to England either, and he died a long time ago. I don't know of any other relations."
"So you never talk English now, I suppose? Do you remember telling me to speak English, because I spoke French so funnily?"
"No," said Madelon, colouring and laughing. "How is it possible I can have been so rude, Monsieur? I think you speak it very well. But I have not forgotten my English, for I have some books, and often we meet English or American gentlemen, so that I still talk it sometimes."
"And German too," said Horace, looking at her book.
"Yes, and Italian; I learnt that last winter at Florence. We meet a great many different people, you know, so I don't forget."
"And you are always travelling about?"
"Yes, always; I should not like to live in one place, I think, and papa would not like it either, he says. Do you remember papa, Monsieur?"
"Very well," said Graham; and indeed he recalled perfectly the little scene in the salle-à-manger of the Chaudfontaine hotel— the long dimly lighted room, the two men playing at cards, and the little child nestling close up to the fair one whom she called papa. "Yes, I remember him very well," he added, after a moment's pause.
"How strange that you should see us here again!" said Madelon.
"Did you know we were staying in the hotel, Monsieur?"