"I am sure they think you very bad," she said to Madame Arles, one day, in a spirit of mischief.
"Bad! bad! Adèle, why? how?"—and that strange tortuous look came to her eye, with a quick flush to her cheeks.
"Ah, now, dear Madame, don't be disturbed; 'tis only your religion they think so bad, and fear you will mislead me. Tenez! this little rosary" (and she displays it to the eye of the wondering Madame Arles) "they would have taken from me."
Madame pressed the beads reverently to her lips, while her manner betrayed a deep religious emotion, (as it seemed to Adèle,) which she had rarely seen in her before.
"And you claimed it, my child?"
"Not for any faith I had in it; but it was my mother's."
The good woman kissed Adèle.
"You must long to see her, my child!"
A shade of sorrow and doubt ran over the face of the girl. This did not escape the notice of Madame Arles, who, with a terribly dejected and distracted air, replaced the rosary in her hands.
"Mon ange!" (in this winsome way she was accustomed at times to address Adèle) "we cannot talk of these things. I have promised as much to the Doctor; it is better so; he is a good man."