rain.  She gave up her ticket mechanically, passed through the gate, and followed the muddy road leading to the cottages.  She was very tired, she had never felt quite so tired before, and her knees trembled as they had done that day when the fever came on at the convent; she was so dizzy too, that she had to stop now and then, to grasp the one fact of her being where she was and not somewhere else altogether; her single idea was to go on walking until—­until when?  That was a question she could not have answered, only somewhere she must go, where she would be out of the way of countess or nuns, or any other enemy who might be lying in wait to pounce upon her.  This was all she thought about as she passed along the village street, which was dull and deserted-looking enough on this wet, grey afternoon, till the sight of a church with an open door, suggested something quite different, and which was a positive relief after that nightmare motion of walking perpetually with failing limbs, and a sense of pursuit behind.  She would go in there, and sit down and rest for a little while.  By-and-by, when the giddiness and trembling had gone off, she would be better able to think of what she should do; she would be out of the rain, too, there—­the cold rain, which had already drenched her cloak and skirt.

She went in; it was a village church of the simplest description, very small, with plain wooden benches and confessionals, and a high altar with inexpensive decorations, in nowise remarkable.  But hardly was Madelon inside the door, when she stood suddenly motionless, transfixed by a horrible terror that, weak and exhausted as she was, wholly seized and gained possession of her; for, raised in the middle of the aisle, covered with a black velvet pall and with a row of tall candles on either side, stood a coffin, with white embroidery of death’s heads on the pall, and little banners with painted death’s heads decorating every candle.  To the terrified, speechless child, the skulls seemed to become animated—­to grin; they seemed to move; the whole air was suddenly full of them, chattering, dancing, swarming round her; she tried to scream, but could not; she turned to fly from the dreadful, haunted spot, but with the first step she made, strength and consciousness gave way altogether, and she sank senseless to the ground.

Ten minutes later, a woman of the village, coming in to see the preparations for the funeral of Monsieur N——­, lately one of the great proprietors of the neighbourhood, nearly stumbled over Madelon’s prostrate form.  She started back, half uttering an exclamation of surprise and alarm; then, seeing that it was a child who was lying so still upon the stone floor, she knelt down by her, laid her head in her lap, and began rubbing her hands.  Madelon was not quite unconscious, apparently, for she moved her head uneasily, and uttered a low moan.  “She is not dead, at any rate,” muttered the woman, still chafing the cold little hands, while she studied