ibility.

She had just been in St. Servan ten days, when she had an example of
what she described in a letter home as a "stage quarrel" between the
Mademoiselles Loire. It began at second _dejeuner_ over some trivial
point in the education of Marie, about whom they were very apt to be
jealous. Their voices gradually rose higher and higher, the remarks
made being anything but complimentary, till finally Mademoiselle Loire
leaped from her seat, saying she would not stay there to be insulted,
and darted upstairs. Her sister promptly followed, continuing her
argument as she went, but arriving too late at the study door, which
was bolted on the inside by the fugitive.

After various fruitless attempts to make herself heard, Mademoiselle
Therese returned to the dining-room, and after a few words of
politeness to Barbara, began once more on the subject of dispute, this
time with Marie, her niece. Apparently the latter took a leaf out of
her aunt's book, for after speaking noisily for a few minutes, she said
_she_ would not be insulted either, and followed her upstairs.
Thereupon Mademoiselle Therese's anger knew no bounds, and finding that
Marie had taken refuge beside her aunt in the study, she began to beat
a lively tattoo upon the door.

The two boys, full of curiosity, followed to see what was going on, so
Barbara was left in solitary grandeur, with the ruins of an omelette
before her, and she, "having hunger," went on stolidly with her meal.
She was, in truth, a little disgusted with the whole affair, and was
not sorry to escape to her room before Mademoiselle Therese returned.
They were making such a noise below that it was useless to attempt to
do any work, and she was just thinking of going out for a walk, when
her door burst open and in rushed Mademoiselle Loire, dragging Marie
with her.

"Keep her with you," she panted; "she says she will kill my sister.
Keep her with you while I go down and argue with Therese."

Barbara looked sharply at the girl, and it seemed to her that though
she kept murmuring, "I'll kill her I--I'll kill her!" half her anger
was merely assumed, and that there was no necessity for alarm.

"How can they be so silly and theatrical?" she muttered. Then,
glancing round the room to see if there were anything she could give
her, she noticed a bottle of Eno's Fruit Salts, and her eyes twinkled.
It was not exactly the same thing as sal volatile, of course, but at
any rate it would keep the