little eyes, long nose, foolish
mouth, and pointed tongue. And she was so amusing, when Madame
Joubert's head was turned, that the little girls, being young and
innocent, would forget themselves and all burst out laughing. It
sounded like a flight of singing birds through the hot, close, stupid
little room; but not so to Madame Joubert.

"Young ladies! But what does this mean?"

And, terror-stricken, the innocents would call out with one voice,
"It's Pupasse, madame! It's Pupasse who made us laugh!" There was
nothing but fools' caps to be gained by prevaricating, and there was
frequently nothing less gained by confession. And oh, the wails and
the sobs as the innocents would be stood up, one by one, in their
places! Even the pigtails at the backs of their little heads were
convulsed with grief. Oh, how they hated Pupasse then! When their
_bonnes_ came for them at three o'clock,--washing their tear-stained
faces at the cistern before daring to take them through the
streets,--how passionately they would cry out, the tears breaking
afresh into the wet handkerchiefs:

"It's that Pupasse! It's that _vilaine_ Pupasse!"

To Pupasse herself would be meted out that "peine forte et dure," that
acme of humiliation and disgrace, so intensely horrible that many a
little girl in that room solemnly averred and believed she would kill
herself before submitting to it. Pupasse's voluminous calico skirt
would be gathered up by the hem and tied up over her head! Oh, the
horrible monstrosity on the stool in the corner then! There were no
eyes in that room that had any desire to look upon it. And the cries
and the "Quelle injustice!" that fell on the ears then from the hidden
feelings had all the weirdness of the unseen, but heard. And all the
other girls in the room, in fear and trembling, would begin to move
their lips in a perfect whirlwind of study, or write violently
on their slates, or begin at that very instant to rule off their
copy-books for the next day's verb.

Pupasse--her name was Marie Pupasse but no one thought of calling
her anything but Pupasse, with emphasis on the first syllable and
sibilance on the last--had no parents only a grandmother, to describe
whom, all that is necessary to say is that she was as short as Pupasse
was tall, and that her face resembled nothing so much as a little
yellow apple shriveling from decay. The old lady came but once a week,
to fetch Pupasse fresh clothes, and a great brown paper bag of