ght she
had already enjoyed. She was sure that for a long time past she had
loved. When had that love begun? She hardly knew. But it would last as
long as she might live. One loves but once.

These personal emotions, mingling with the literary enchantments of the
poets, caused Jacqueline's pen to fly over her paper without effort, and
she produced a composition so far superior to anything she usually wrote
that it left the lucubrations of her companions far behind. M. Regis,
the professor, said so to the class. He was enthusiastic about it, and
greatly surprised. Belle, who had been always first in this kind of
composition, was far behind Jacqueline, and was so greatly annoyed at
her defeat that she would not speak to her for a week. On the other
hand Colette and Dolly, who never had aspired to literary triumphs, were
moved to tears when the "Study on the comparative merits of Three
Poems, 'Le Lac,' 'Souvenir,' and 'La Tristesse d'Olympio,'" signed
"Mademoiselle de Nailles," received the honor of being read aloud. This
reading was followed by a murmur of applause, mingled with some hisses
which may have proceeded from the viper of jealousy. But the paper
made a sensation like that of some new scandal. Mothers and governesses
whispered together. Many thought that that little de Nailles had
expressed sentiments not proper at her age. Some came to the conclusion
that M. Regis chose subjects for composition not suited to young girls.
A committee waited on the unlucky professor to beg him to be more
prudent for the future. He even lost, in consequence of Jacqueline's
success, one of his pupils (the most stupid one, be it said, in the
class), whose mother took her away, saying, with indignation, "One might
as well risk the things they are teaching at the Sorbonne!"

This literary incident greatly alarmed Madame de Nailles! Of all things
she dreaded that her daughter should early become dreamy and romantic.
But on this point Jacqueline's behavior was calculated to reassure her.
She laughed about her composition, she frolicked like a six-year-old
child; without any apparent cause, she grew gayer and gayer as the time
approached for the execution of her plot.

The evening before the day fixed on for the first sitting, Modeste, the
elderly maid of the first Madame de Nailles, who loved her daughter,
whom she had known from the moment of her birth, as if she had been her
own foster-child, arrived at the studio of Hubert Marien i