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you cannot find him, come to me; I will help you in your search when my work is done.”

Madeleine's face brightened; one kind word, one look of sympathy on her loneliness, was enough to cheer her onward. Oh, surely, when the Evil One invented a curse to lead us to recklessness and despair, he never imagined any thing so perfect for his work as uncheered toil, solitude, and mental suffering without sympathy! The labouring body or mind, and none to share its cares or hopes!

CHAPTER VII.

Madeleine rose smiling, and thanking her new friend, hastened forward. Jacques was young, and amidst the partial uncleanness of face incidental to his occupation, a comely man of some four-and-twenty years; he stood watching the steps of the hurrying girl; there were several men of various classes in the house and about the door, who all turned to stare at the pretty modest face approaching. Madeleine saw this and stopped.

"Madame Leon," cried one of them, looking in at the door, "here is a handsome demoiselle evidently seeking some place or person; go ask her what it is; she's worth the trouble."

These latter words were significantly uttered; and with the last one, a stout, well-looking dame came forth. Madeleine stood in confusion and irresolute at a short distance off. "You are seeking some one, ma fille?" asked the woman, in a motherly tone: can I assist you?"

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"If you please, madame," she replied. "A workman, Jacques the mason, bade me say he sent me here for information.”

“Oh, Jacques!” she cried, looking a little annoyed. “Does he know you?"

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Madeleine briefly explained how; and ended by her untiring question about Gilles Frémont. The woman's face assumed a look of surprise as she said hurriedly," Jacques did well to send you; I think I can find out what you want; but take care, mon enfant, to whom you address yourself; speak to no one but me; come in, I will take charge of you.' And passing by the assembled persons with a quiet, sedate look, before which all fell back, she led Madeleine into the auberge, and thence into an inner room, apart from all. Once the door closed, she endeavoured to elicit from the girl how she knew Gilles Frémont, and why she was seeking him?—but something sealed her tongue; she, all confidence generally, could

not feel it towards this woman; and she merely stated that some one had spoken to her of him; she had a very serious circumstance to relate to him alone; she could tell no one else.

"What person can have spoken to you of him?" asked the woman in surprise; "you, a young girl like you, evidently from the country.

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Madeleine felt her position a most awkward one, alone and unknown, inquiring for a strange man: if he should arrive, what could she say? And lost in these thoughts she looked down, blushing deeply; not a movement of hers was lost upon the woman; the other saw this, and looking up at last, said, "It was le bon curé of our village who spoke to me of him." "A curé!" exclaimed the hostess, opening her eyes, " 'Tis very strange: from whence do you come, petite ?"

Madeleine was silent.

"Shew me your papers," cried the other, holding out her hand. "Papers!" asked Madeleine. "What papers?" "Well, your passport; you must shew it to the police, or they will detain you."

“Detain me!—Passport!" she exclaimed, rising in terror. "Let me go, pray let me go, I have none; if they detain me, I shall never see-Gilles Frémont," she concluded, after a moment's hesitation.

man.

"I cannot comprehend it," uttered the really amazed wo"Surely a young, pretty girl like you cannot-but no, 'tis impossible! for Gilles Frémont is old enough to be your father; and-but there is no accounting for what women will do. Tell me candidly, you are safe with me, is this Frémont a lover of yours?"

"Mine!" exclaimed the girl, blushing in deep indignant refutation. "I have no lovers; and-and-" she added with simplicity, sighing deeply at the same time at the memories it awakened, "our bon curé, who has known me from my infancy, had me chosen Rosière the other day."

"A Rosière!" almost shrieked the hostess, laughing till she cried; "and seeking Gilles Frémont!"

Madeleine's heart trembled with the terror her words and manner excited; she sprang up, and stood gazing with distended eyes on the other.

"Come, sit down," said the woman at last, taking her hand and reseating her almost forcibly, her alarm was so great. "Pardon me, petite, I could not help laughing; there, don't be afraid of me, I am not a bad body when folks know me; trust me, your secret will be safe, and I may serve you;

at all events I will screen you from the police by saying you are my niece, else they would arrest you, having no passport."

"I am very much obliged to you, madame," uttered she, struggling to keep back her tears; "you are very kind to a stranger, a friendless girl like myself; and I will tell you why I seek Gilles Frémont. He does not know me, but I am his daughter." "Daughter! You the child of a man like that! And he has not seen you, you say? By whom were you brought up? where do you come from? and above all, why seek him now?" I only knew he lived a few weeks since."

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"And are you so homeless as to hope for one with him?" "I care not how homely it may be, so I am with him,” she responded. "I can work too, for I daresay my father will get occupation again soon; Monsieur Lafon told me he would employ him shortly."

"What do you think your father is, ma fille?"

"A workman, is he not? He was a woodcutter at Monsieur Lafon's."

The woman smiled strangely, and seemed about to speak; then pausing, she tried to elicit from Madeleine her whole history; but this she withheld, merely saying that circumstances made her desirous of seeking her father's care; promising at some future time to confide all to her new friend.

"Well, enfant," said the woman, taking her hand_and surveying it, "you must keep your secret, I suppose; however, I will befriend you, and you shall find your father. But you talk of work; these hands seem to have done little."

"I had no occasion to labour, madame; but I can do so now, and am not above it; only give me employment."

"Well, we must speak to Frémont; only, take this hint, keep a still tongue, except, of course to your father, to him you must tell all, and keep to yourself;" these words she whispered. "We are often deceived," she mentally ejaculated; "but I will watch her closely. I have taken a fancy to this child. If she be innocent, what a lovely thing innocence is!" And the woman's face grew sombre and saddened for a moment. She was, however, aroused from all sentiment by the door gently opening, and a man's head being thrust through the aperture.

"La mère Leon," he said, "why have you hidden yourself? Here are a dozen asking for you. Ha! a pretty girl; fresh and pretty. Who is that, la mère?" And he entered as he spoke,

"Gilles Frémont," said the hostess, "come here; shut the door, I want you."

"That suits me, when you have a girl like this beside you." And he closed the door and advanced.

It would be impossible to describe Madeleine's emotion. Not all the anxious desire to see her father which had driven her to the rash step she had taken could prompt her to rush into his arms, claiming his love and blessing, as she had thought so fondly of doing when they should meet. No, her feelings were more repulsion towards this man; there was a careless, reckless, libertine manner about him, before which she involuntarily shrank back. He was about forty, of a cold, forbidding countenance, yet over which the reckless air we have before alluded to cast an almost refinement of expression; he was so perfectly calm and at ease, certainly above the class workman, far too polished for that, though not by any means a gentleman; then his dress was quiet, rather shabby, but not that of a man doing any laborious work; neither did the hands, though coarse in form, indicate much hard-earned-bread-getting. As he advanced he stared freely at the shrinking girl, and at last exclaimed

"Where have I seen you before? I know your face perfectly; where have I seen you?" And he tried to take her hand, but her first impulse was to shrink back.

"You alarm the child," said Madame Leon kindly; "she is not used to Parisian manners. Search in your memory, Gilles Frémont, and you will possibly discover why you think have seen her before; 'tis perhaps a likeness.'

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"Likeness? no, 'tis herself," he added. "We have met lately; but where, petite? Do you not know me?"

"She knows you; but I question if she has ever seen you before," said the hostess.

"Let the girl speak, la mère," he said coarsely. "I want her to tell me; there, I knew I should win you to kindness at last." And soothing his tone to gentleness, he took the hand she relinquished to his grasp. "And now, gentillette, tell me where we met; for you look so modest, it puzzles

me."

"Hush!" cried the woman, hastily. "You forget yourself. And you, child, tell him why you have been seeking him."

"Seeking me?" he exclaimed in deep surprise and pleasure. "Ah, come, tell me that; I long to hear; I knew we had met before." And seating himself beside her, he kissed the hand still in his grasp; but with a sudden effort she withdrew it, and, clasping both hers together, said in low tremu-lous accents,

"This must be ended, or I shall die. Tell me, monsieur,

my -," she paused, the word father clung to the roof of her mouth, she could not utter it then. "Tell me," she continued, "do you not remember a Therèse, one you loved, sixteen years since ?"

"Oh-h!" he laughed, "you go far back. I have loved many; how remember one in the lot?"

"I mean," she continued, almost crying, "Therèse Delisle of Amiens; your wife, and my mother."

The man jumped up, an expression of almost laughter passed like a shadow over his face, then veiling it with his open palm, he looked all surprise at his newly-discovered child as he asked, hurrying question after question,

"And you have come to seek your father? who told you he lived? how did you find him? you are Madeleine Frémont, then ?"

"I have been seeking you all day," she uttered in tears, she scarcely knew whether of joy or sorrow. "I left No-” "Hush!" he cried hastily, "do not name place or person; but perhaps madame knows all?" And he turned towards the hostess, who was all attention.

"No," answered Madeleine, "I merely said you were my father."

"Good, sensible child," he said paternally, "come to your father's arms! I love you dearly already."

And, forgetting her first impression, the girl clung to her father's neck.

"You need not be afraid of me, Gilles Frémont," said the landlady, rising from her seat; "I have known more of your secrets than the finding this daughter of yours." And she prepared to leave the room.

"Stay," he cried, catching her hand; "not in anger, la bonne mère; but there are family secrets too painful, perhaps, to have openly canvassed,-that was all I meant."

"Well, well," she answered good-naturedly, "I forgive you; only be a good father to the girl, for I have taken a liking to her, poor little thing, seeking you as she has done." "I love her dearly," he exclaimed, encircling the girl in his arms. "And now, ma chère Madame Lean, not a word of this to any one. I merely wish it said that I have brought home my daughter," and he winked at the hostess," to take charge of my house."

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