“What are you crying about, silly child? What ails you?”
Madeline answered nothing, but wept more violently.
“Are you sick?”
“No, ma’am,” sobbed the unhappy child.
“What’s the matter with you, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Crying like a baby, and don’t know for what? Shame on you!”
Madeline moved away from her mother’s side, as if a hand had been suddenly pressed against her.
“Come, now! There’s been enough of this! Dry up your tears at once, and be a good girl! Here! Let me wipe them all away.”
And she caught Madeline with one hand, while with the other she held a handkerchief to her eyes. But the fountain of tears was not so easily dried up. Madeline wept on, sobbing in a wild, convulsed manner.