n
compositions prepared since the last lesson lay ready before them,
neatly tied with ribbon, waiting to be gathered by the hand of the
Professor as he made his rapid round of the desks. The month was July,
the morning fine, the glass-door stood ajar, through it played a fresh
breeze, and plants, growing at the lintel, waved, bent, looked in,
seeming to whisper tidings.

M. Emanuel was not always quite punctual; we scarcely wondered at his
being a little late, but we wondered when the door at last opened and,
instead of him with his swiftness and his fire, there came quietly upon
us the cautious Madame Beck.

She approached M. Paul's desk; she stood before it; she drew round her
the light shawl covering her shoulders; beginning to speak in low, yet
firm tones, and with a fixed gaze, she said, "This morning there will
be no lesson of literature."

The second paragraph of her address followed, after about two minutes'
pause.

"It is probable the lessons will be suspended for a week. I shall
require at least that space of time to find an efficient substitute for
M. Emanuel. Meanwhile, it shall be our study to fill the blanks
usefully.

"Your Professor, ladies," she went on, "intends, if possible, duly to
take leave of you. At the present moment he has not leisure for that
ceremony. He is preparing for a long voyage. A very sudden and urgent
summons of duty calls him to a great distance. He has decided to leave
Europe for an indefinite time. Perhaps he may tell you more himself.
Ladies, instead of the usual lesson with M. Emanuel, you will, this
morning, read English with Mademoiselle Lucy."

She bent her head courteously, drew closer the folds of her shawl, and
passed from the classe.

A great silence fell: then a murmur went round the room: I believe some
pupils wept.

Some time elapsed. The noise, the whispering, the occasional sobbing
increased. I became conscious of a relaxation of discipline, a sort of
growing disorder, as if my girls felt that vigilance was withdrawn, and
that surveillance had virtually left the classe. Habit and the sense of
duty enabled me to rally quickly, to rise in my usual way, to speak in
my usual tone, to enjoin, and finally to establish quiet. I made the
English reading long and close. I kept them at it the whole morning. I
remember feeling a sentiment of impatience towards the pupils who
sobbed. Indeed, their emotion was not of much value: it was only an
hysteric agitation. I to