en seized with a romantic admiration for
Helene, independent of the interest she took in her for Angelot's sake,
and in other ways the Chateau de Lancilly was to her enchanted ground.
And now this fair, tall lady, whom she had disliked from the first,
talked of her ignorance and ill-breeding! She drew herself up, her lips
trembled; another such word and she would have walked out of the room,
fled down the corridor, escaped alone across the fields to Les
Chouettes. She knew every turn, every step in the chateau, every path in
the country, far better than these people did; they would not easily
overtake her.

But Madame de Sainfoy was not thinking of Henriette.

"What are you doing? Reading history?" she said to the others.
"Mademoiselle, I thought it was my wish that Helene should read history
with her sisters. The other day, if you remember, she could not tell
Monsieur de Sainfoy the date of the marriage of Philippe Duc d'Orleans
with the Princess Henriette of England. It is necessary to know these
things. The Emperor expects a correct knowledge of the old Royal Family.
Where is Helene?"

"She is in her own room, madame. Allow me an instant--"

The three children were left alone. Madame de Sainfoy walked quickly
into Mademoiselle Moineau's room, the little governess waddling after
her, and the door was shut.

Riette made a skip in the air and pirouetted on one foot. Then while
Sophie and Lucie stared open-mouthed, she was on a chair; then with a
wild spring, she was hanging by her hands to the top cornice of a great
walnut-wood press; then she was on her feet again, light as an
india-rubber ball.

"Ah, mon Dieu! sit down, Riette, or we shall all be beaten!" sighed the
trembling Lucie.

"Don't be frightened, children!" murmured Riette. "Where is our book?
Now, my angels, think, think of Henri Quatre and all his glory!"

In the meanwhile, Mademoiselle Moineau laid her complaint of Helene
before the Comtesse. Something was certainly the matter with the girl;
she would not read, she would not talk, her tasks of needlework were
neglected, she did not care to go out, or to do anything but sit in her
window and gaze across the valley.

"Of course there has been no opportunity--they have never met, except in
public--but if it were not entirely out of the question--" Mademoiselle
Moineau stammered, blushing, conscious, though she would never confess
it, of having nodded one day for a few minutes under a certain mulber