down the
road. It was morning.

Chapter IV: _Unending Childhood_

After whooping-cough came chicken-pox, and it was settled that Michael
should leave the Kindergarten where these illnesses were caught. A
French governess was to teach him every morning and to walk with him
every afternoon. Mrs. Fane wrote to Nurse to tell her of this decision
and to announce that a Madame Flauve would on Monday next arrive at 64
Carlington Road to superintend the education of Michael. This news
reached Nurse on the preceding Friday and threw her into an agitation.
The whole house was turned upside down: curtains were changed; floors
were beeswaxed; furniture was polished; pictures were dusted. All
Saturday and Friday a great cleaning took place, and on Sunday every
cushion was smoothed and patted; chairs were adjusted; mats were shaken;
flowers were distributed, until in the evening Nurse and Cook and Annie,
followed by Michael, marched over the house and examined their
handiwork.

"Well, I hope we shall see something worth looking at," said Mrs. Frith.
"I never worked so hard in all my natural."

"Oh, yes. Must get the place nice. Not going to have strange people come
here and grumble," said Nurse.

"What is this Madame Flauve? Is she a lady?" Cook asked.

"Oh, yes. Yes. A lady. French. Very particular," Nurse replied.

Michael wondered what his governess would be like. He never remembered
to have seen Nanny so reverently excited before.

"I've heard a lot about these French women," said Mrs. Frith. "A lot
about them, I have. They live very gay, don't they?"

"Doesn't matter how they live. No. No. Must have everything at its
best," Nurse insisted.

By the time the scouring of the house was done, Michael was prepared for
the advent of a creature so lovely that he made up his mind the mere
sight of her would fill him with joy. He had not settled exactly which
princess she would most nearly resemble. As he turned over the pages of
his fairy-books, he would fancy with every illustration that here was to
be seen the image of his beautiful French governess. As he lay awake in
his bed on a quiet Sunday evening, so pleasant was the imagination of
her radiancy that fears and horrors were driven away by the power of her
beauty's spell. The night acquired something of the peace and sanctity
of Christmas Eve, when the air was hallowed by Santa Claus on his jovial
pilgrimage. He had never felt so little oppressed by the night, s