ed at this invitation, and gladly accepted it. The two
proceeded to the carriage, in which Madame Permon was awaiting them; and
the three were soon on the road to the school of St. Cyr, in which, as I
have told you, Eliza Bonaparte was a scholar.

They were ushered into the parlor, and Eliza was summoned. She soon
appeared; but she entered the room slowly and disconsolately; her eyes
were red with crying. Eliza was evidently in trouble.

"Why, Eliza, my dear child, what is the matter?" Madame Permon
exclaimed, drawing the girl toward her. "You have been crying. Have they
been scolding you here?"

"No, madame," Eliza replied in a low tone.

"Are you afraid they may? Have you trouble with your lessons?" persisted
Madame Permon.

With the same dejected air, Eliza answered as before, "No, madame."

"But what, then, is the matter, my dear?" cried Madame Permon; "such red
eyes mean much crying."

Eliza was silent.

"Come, Eliza!" Napoleon demanded with an elder brother's authority;
"speak! answer Madame here What is the matter?"

But even to her brother, Eliza made no reply.

[Illustration: _"'Come, Eliza! What is the matter?' demanded
Napoleon."_]

Then Madame Permon, as tenderly as if she had been the girl's mother,
led her aside; and finding a remote seat in a corner, she drew the child
into her lap.

"Eliza," she said with gracious kindliness, "I must know why you are in
sorrow. Think of me as your mother, dear; as one who must act in her
place until you return to her. Speak to me as to your mother. Let me
have your love and confidence. Tell me, my child, what troubles you."

The tender solicitude of her mother's friend quite vanquished Eliza's
stubbornness. Her tears burst out afresh; and between the sobs she
stammered,--

"You know, Madame, that Lucie de Montluc leaves the school in eight
days."

"I did not know it, Eliza," Madame Permon said, keeping back a smile;
"but if that so overcomes you, then am I sorry too."

"Oh, no, Madame'" Eliza said, just a bit indignant at being
misunderstood; "it is not her leaving that makes me cry; but, you see,
on the day she goes away her class will give her a good--by supper."

"What! and you are not invited?" exclaimed Madame Permon. "Ah, that is
the trouble, Madame," cried Eliza, the tears gathering again. "I am
invited."

"And yet you cry?"

"It is because each girl is to contribute towards the supper; and I,
Madame, can give nothing. My allowance is gon