Madeleine

In this great city of Glasgow,

there's a square,

Blythswood Square.

There's nothing very remarkable about its appearance,

and very little except for the solid,

well-built Victorian Houses

to suggest its earlier prosperity.

But there is one house in this square

which is exceptional

for it has an interest which time can never change.

Number seven,

which still remains,

was the home of Madeleine Smith.

Her strange, romantic story has survived

the elegance of the house she lived in,

and perhaps her spirit still remains

to listen for the ghostly footsteps

of Emile L'Angelier across the area,

or to listen for the tap of his stick on the railings

outside her bedroom window.

The story of this house is the story

of two human beings and what became of them.

Madeleine?

Yes, Mama?

Come, we're going in.

It has a good lock?

Oh, yes, sir, the best.

The ladies should be careful, sir.

I fear there is much dust.

You hear that, Janet?

Keep close to Mama.

This is the hall.

So I had divined.

Well, it has solidity.

How many bedrooms are there?

There are three principal bedrooms, sir.

Two on this floor and

one very commodious room in the basement.

Here is the drawing room.

Open the door please.

The handle looks dusty.

There, my dear.

Ah.

Yes, you were right, my dear.

It is dignified.

Dirty, but dignified.

I grasp essentials quickly, my dear.

Isn't it exciting?

Well, Madeleine, what do you think of it?

I like it.

I like this room very much.

Oh, Mama, look at the bars on the window.

Come along.

Come and look at the kitchen.

I think we should take this house, Mama.

What was that?

Nothing at all.

Go to sleep, Janet.

I'm going to open the window and leave you now.

You haven't finished telling me

what happened to the prince.

He went far away across the sea,

and never came back again.

Oh, poor prince.

Get into bed!

You haven't kissed me good night.

Now, this is the last time.

There's Mr. Minnoch.

Who is Mr. Minnoch?

You know perfectly well who Mr. Minnoch is.

He gave you a top last year.

Has he come to dinner?

Mm-hmm.

Papa has asked him.

He's been away for a time.

Will he have brought me another present this time?

Don't be greedy.

Good evening, Christina.

Good evening, sir.

I'm not late, I hope.

Oh, no, sir.

Good.

And how do you like your new home?

We all like it, sir.

Very much.

Miss Madeleine.

Good evening, Mr. Minnoch.

What a pleasure to see you.

It seems a long time.

It is.

Your stay in the south was agreeable, I hope.

I missed my friends.

I've brought these as an offering.

How exceedingly kind of you.

Mama will love them.

Papa, here is Mr. Minnoch.

Bravo.

Good, dear.

Delightful.

In spite of my clumsiness with the pages.

I was clumsy.

I sang many wrong notes, I'm sure.

Madeleine, I've never heard you sing in French before.

Have you not, Mama?

Sing the one about the spinning wheel and the little dog.

Pray, excuse me, Mama,

I'm so out of practice it must be tedious.

That it is not, Miss Madeleine,

but we must not tire you.

Indeed, I must take my leave.

Good night, ma'am.

Good night.

My warmest thanks.

I feel now that I am truly home.

You were most welcome, Mr. Minnoch.

And we shall look forward to your coming again soon.

And we must thank you again for your gift,

must we not, girls?

Yes.

Indeed.

Good night, Miss Bessie.

Good night.

Good night, Miss Madeleine.

Your music will be in my ears all night.

It will spoil your rest.

Disturb it perhaps, but never spoil it.

I'll see you to the door.

Most kind, sir.

Madeleine, bring me Mr. Minnoch's card.

Thank you.

"To the ladies of Blythswood Square."

That should read "To the lady,"

I fancy, Madeleine.

They were for you, Mama.

Mamas do not receive yellow roses from young men,

certainly not in such profusion.

Bessie, you must improve your singing.

I do not like French songs.

Besides, nobody understands them except Madeleine.

And Papa.

Papa does not speak French.

Nevertheless, he is clever enough to understand, Bessie.

Well, to bed, everyone.

It's late.

Yes, my love.

Night, Papa.

He stayed a long time.

But not too long.

No, indeed.

He's very welcome.

A fine man, Madeleine.

And a handsome one.

Yes, Papa.

Good night, Mama.

Good night.

I will turn out the lights.

Oh, if Janet coughs, give her the syrup.

Yes, Mama.

Good night, Papa.

Good night, my daughter.

You sang charmingly.

We must be quiet.

I thought the maid--

She knows.

Will you be cold?

No.

Madeleine,.

You're wearing perfume.

Yes.

I put it on.

I...

Gone.

We are like children hiding.

I heard you singing tonight.

It was for you.

But you had a visitor this evening.

He's a friend of Papa's.

I could be jealous of him, even for that.

You need not be.

Soon Papa will know you and accept you, as I do.

I wish I could believe that.

He came to the warehouse today.

I know.

And in my shirtsleeves I carried parcels to his carriage.

He gave me a coin.

But dearest, you won't always be in that position.

Besides,

I love you.

I shall tell him that.

You're cold.

I must go.

When shall I see you again?

I don't know.

Papa has talked about going to the country.

Well I might come there too.

No, that might be difficult.

I will write,

tomorrow.

I will write.

For these and all thy other gifts bestowed,