to exercise her
talents in behalf of a little hotel on the Seine, where, as she had
assured her new employer, she would soon distinguish herself by her
industry and sobriety. The almost empty apartment was perfectly neat.
Madame Rene herself had brushed her threadbare gown with care, and, by
the aid of spotless white collar and cuffs, given herself quite a
holiday appearance. Very soon she and Donald, seated by the shining
little window, were talking together in English and like old friends, as
indeed they were. The reader shall hear her story in her own words,
though not with all the interruptions of conversation under which it was
given.

* * * * *

"It's no wonder you thought me a Frenchwoman, Mr. Donald. Many have
thought the same of me, from the day I grew up. But though I look so
like one, and speak the language readily, I was born in England. I
studied French at school, and liked it best of all my lessons. In fact,
I studied little else, and even spoke it to myself, for there was no
one, excepting the French teacher, who could talk it with me. I never
liked him. He was always pulling my ears and treating me like a child
when I fancied myself almost a woman. Then I took to reading French
stories and romances, and they turned my head. My poor home grew stupid
to me, and I took it into my heart to run away and see if I could not
get to be a great lady. About that time a French family moved into our
neighborhood, and I was proud to talk with the children and to be told
that I spoke 'like a native' (just as if I did!), and that, with my
black hair and gray eyes, I looked like a Normandy girl. This settled
it. I knew my parents never would consent to my leaving home, but I
resolved to 'play' I was French, and get a situation in some English
family as a French nurse--a real Normandy _bonne_ with a high cap. I was
seventeen then. The _bonne_ in the latest romance I had read became a
governess, and then married a marquis, the eldest son of her employer,
and kept her carriage. Why should not some such wonderful thing happen
to me? You see what a silly, wicked girl I was.

"Well, I ran away to another town, took the name of Eloise Louvain (my
real name was Elizabeth Luff), and for a time I kept up my part and
enjoyed it. The parents who engaged me could not speak French, and as
for the children--dear, what a shame it was!--they got all they knew of
the language from me. Then I went to live