tify some of their singularly
distorted notions of principle; especially I expressed my ideas of the
evil and baseness of a lie. In an unguarded moment, I chanced to say
that, of the two errors; I considered falsehood worse than an
occasional lapse in church-attendance. The poor girls were tutored to
report in Catholic ears whatever the Protestant teacher said. An
edifying consequence ensued. Something--an unseen, an indefinite, a
nameless--something stole between myself and these my best pupils: the
bouquets continued to be offered, but conversation thenceforth became
impracticable. As I paced the alleys or sat in the berceau, a girl
never came to my right hand but a teacher, as if by magic, appeared at
my left. Also, wonderful to relate, Madame's shoes of silence brought
her continually to my back, as quick, as noiseless and unexpected, as
some wandering zephyr.

The opinion of my Catholic acquaintance concerning my spiritual
prospects was somewhat naively expressed to me on one occasion. A
pensionnaire, to whom I had rendered some little service, exclaimed one
day as she sat beside me: "Mademoiselle, what a pity you are a
Protestant!"

"Why, Isabelle?"

"Parceque, quand vous serez morte--vous brulerez tout de suite dans
l'Enfer."

"Croyez-vous?"

"Certainement que j'y crois: tout le monde le sait; et d'ailleurs le
pretre me l'a dit."

Isabelle was an odd, blunt little creature. She added, _sotto voce_:
"Pour assurer votre salut la-haut, on ferait bien de vous bruler toute
vive ici-bas."

I laughed, as, indeed, it was impossible to do otherwise.

* * * * *

Has the reader forgotten Miss Ginevra Fanshawe? If so, I must be
allowed to re-introduce that young lady as a thriving pupil of Madame
Beck's; for such she was. On her arrival in the Rue Fossette, two or
three days after my sudden settlement there, she encountered me with
very little surprise. She must have had good blood in her veins, for
never was any duchess more perfectly, radically, unaffectedly
_nonchalante_ than she: a weak, transient amaze was all she knew of the
sensation of wonder. Most of her other faculties seemed to be in the
same flimsy condition: her liking and disliking, her love and hate,
were mere cobweb and gossamer; but she had one thing about her that
seemed strong and durable enough, and that was--her selfishness.

She was not proud; and--_bonne d'enfants_ as I was--she would forthwith
have made of