moustache, and looked like a dragoon) kissed
me impetuously; and then, as a final appeal
carried me—secretly covered up with a cloak
into Madame Freschon's room, that I might
behold myself in her great mirror. The
effect was not what they anticipated.
Directly I saw myself I went down on my
knees, and began to weep and cry out that I
would not be dressed like that—I would
have a frock on! They tried to make me
hear reason, by asking, if I had ever heard of
a shepherd-boy tending his flocks in white
muslin I which I answered by asking, if they
had ever heard of one in Turkey-red calico,
with gilt spangles? Madame Duvivier said
I was a savage; and, after a little consultation,
I was dragged up to the grenier, where
Mademoiselle Laure, with her long black
hair down to her knees, was raving.

My part came in there: I had to calm her
frenzy by playing on the lyre, and reciting my
speech with agreeable and soothing gestures.
I was pushed towards her by Madame, who,
in an awful voice, ordered me to commence.
Lyre in hand I stood, and, in a faint voice,
began my charming; but I charmed the
reverse of wisely. I had got to the end of
the second line, when Miss Knipe screamed
out, "Little David, stand on both legs!" A
titter ensued. I had got my left foot curled
up round my right knee. I went on growing
more nervous every moment; until, about
midway, Madame Duvivier yelled ferociously,
"David, if you does not put down dat ittle
leg, I tie it to de ground!"

The titter became a laugh—the tragedy
a comedy; the mad woman was convulsed,
and the audience too. They saw it would
not do. So I was stripped of my finery, and
a French girl of my size being invested with
it, went through the rôle with great boldness
and success.

On another great holiday, Freschon
thought, that instead of the usual games
in the court, we had better take a walk
into the country. Nothing loth, we set out,
two by two, each with her chosen companion.
Mine was a French girl, Laurence by name,
a queer creature, with a long moveable nose
and wild spirits. As we walked, I gave her
an account of the meeting of Henry the
Eighth and Francis the First on the Field of
the Cloth of Gold, embellishing it with little
incidents not mentioned in history, but
perhaps none the less true for that. We
were then trudging along the road which
runs through this memorable field; and
suddenly the idea struck us that it would be
pleasant to walk as far as Ardres: no sooner
conceived than suggested aloud to those
behind and before. Some said it was five
miles, others that it was eight; one remembered
that Madame Freschon's sister had
given us a general invitation to visit her
at all opportunities, and that our presence
would therefore be most welcome. We
had six hours before dark. In short, the
fates were propitious, the teacher undecided,
and we imperious—we would go! The line
of march had been broken up during the
debate, and it was not reformed. Some of
us made little excursions into the fields to
gather wild flowers as mementoes of our
walk; others tramped up and down that
tantalising succession of little rises and falls in
the road, with a respectable, solid perseverance,
which showed a strong innate sense of
duty. Ardres seemed a terribly long way off;
but the rest we anticipated, and the galettes
which Madame's sister would be sure to give
us, sustained us when inclined to weary. At
last we saw a wall, a gateway, houses, a little
river, and women washing clothes in it—
Ardres. Through the gateway we went into
a queer old street; and inquiring our way,
found the house we sought near the market-
place. I believe that at this time (it was the
hour for the collation) we had forgotten all
historical and romantic histories, and thought
chiefly of galettes. The door was a long
time in being opened, and then the Flemish
servant, to our unutterable disgust, said her
mistress was not at home! Some murmured
aloud; others stoically faced about, and
marched out of the town, declaring that
nobody should ever catch them at Ardres again.
I felt misanthropic, hungry, and footsore;
Laurence was crossly and mischievously
vivacious. We looked and felt like a garrison
reduced to capitulate on hard terms. And to
add to our distress, now that our faces were
set towards home, there was the cruel
anticipation of what Madame Freschon would
say when we arrived there. The little girls
were very tired, and some even cried.
Laurence carried one on her back for nearly a
mile, but then she could go no further, and
the child walked the rest of the way, fretting
and making us feel dreadfully remorseful.
When we were within a couple of miles of
home, and it was growing dark, we met
Madame's father coming to meet us. How
our hearts sank! but only to rise with a
delicious rebound when, on entering the gates,
we were received with a motherly blandness,
inconceivable to me under the circumstances.
The supper was all ready, and we
were pressed to partake of it even by Madame
Duvivier, who was usually so grim. Prayers
and bed were naturally expected to follow:
but no; vain hope! our transgression was
not to go unpunished. As soon as the benedicite
was said, with a sweet, satisfied smile
on her countenance and the most natural air
in the world, Madame rose and cried:

"En classe, mesdemoiselles!"

Crushed and dismayed, we all went into
our departments, and were compelled to do
the afternoon's lessons. That over, the greater
number went to bed; but the Italian class,
of which I was one, was still detained to
prepare our work for the signor on the morrow.
The only revenge we had left us was
pretending not to be tired, and exchanging