"Why, whatever is the matter, mon enfant?" she cried, "you must have been dreaming, I think."
"No, I have not been dreaming," answered Madelon; and then, as the nun turned away to put the glass and candle on the table, she caught hold of her gown with all the strength of which her feeble fingers were capable.
"Don't go, please don't go, Soeur Lucie," she said, "I want to speak to you."
"In a moment; I am not going," answered the sister. "Well, what is it, ma petite?" she added, coming back to the bedside.
"What—what was it Soeur Ursule was saying to you just now?" asks Madelon.
"Just now!" cried Soeur Lucie, taken aback; "why, I thought you were asleep."
"No, I was not asleep," Madelon answered, "I only had my eyes shut."
"But that is very naughty, mon enfant, to pretend to be asleep when you are awake."
"I didn't pretend," said Madelon aggrieved, "only I hadn't opened my eyes, and I could not help hearing what you said."
"Ah well, if you heard, there is no use in my telling you," says Soeur Lucie, who was not at all above using that imperfect, but irrefragable, logic familiar to us from our nurseries; "so you had better go to sleep again, for I cannot stop here any longer. Let me smoothe your pillow."