meared with the rich savoury paste of liver
sausage, and drank her sweet weak tea and knew that she was very tired,
sleepy and tired. She glanced, from her place next to Emma Bergmann and
on Fraulein's left hand, down the table to where Mademoiselle sat next
the Martins in similar relation to the vice-president. Mademoiselle,
preceding her up through the quiet house carrying the jugs of hot water,
had been her first impression on her arrival the previous night. She had
turned when they reached the candle-lit attic with its high uncurtained
windows and red-covered box beds, and standing on the one strip of
matting in her full-skirted grey wincey dress with its neat triple row
of black ribbon velvet near the hem, had shown Miriam steel-blue eyes
smiling from a little triangular sprite-like face under a high-standing
pouf of soft dark hair, and said, "Voila!" Miriam had never imagined
anything in the least like her. She had said, "Oh, thank you," and
taken the jug and had hurriedly and silently got to bed, weighed down
by wonders. They had begun to talk in the dark. Miriam had reaped sweet
comfort in learning that this seemingly unreal creature who was, she
soon perceived, not educated--as she understood education--was the
resident French governess, was seventeen years old and a Protestant.
Such close quarters with a French girl was bewildering enough--had
she been a Roman Catholic, Miriam felt she could not have endured her
proximity. She was evidently a special kind of French girl--a Protestant
from East France--Besanon--Besanon--Miriam had tried the pretty word
over until unexpectedly she had fallen asleep.

They had risen hurriedly in the cold March gloom and Miriam had not
spoken to her since. There she sat, dainty and quiet and fresh. White
frillings shone now at the neck and sleeves of her little grey dress.
She looked a clean and clear miniature against the general dauby effect
of the English girls--poor though, Miriam was sure; perhaps as poor as
she. She felt glad as she watched her gentle sprite-like wistfulness
that she would be upstairs in that great bare attic again to-night. In
repose her face looked pinched. There was something about the nose and
mouth--Miriam mused... _frugal_--John Gilpin's wife--how sleepy she was.

3

The conversation was growing boisterous. She took courage to raise her
head towards the range of girls opposite to her. Those quite near to her
she could not scrutinise. Some influ