Angela Brazil “Parlez-vous franÇais, Mademoiselle? She opened the window, and out she fell. And what happened next I’ve never heard tell, Parlez-vous franÇais, Mademoiselle?”

chanted Raymonde, dancing into the dormitory and plumping down on Fauvette’s bed amid a pile of chiffons, muslins, and other flimsy articles of wearing apparel. “Why, what’s the matter, child? Whence this spread-out? You look weepy! Packing to go home? Mother ill? Or are you expelled?”

“Neither,” gulped Fauvette with a watery smile. “It’s only her—Mademoiselle! She’s turned all my drawers out on to the floor, and says I’ve got to tidy them. She lectured me hard in French. I couldn’t understand half of what she said, but I knew she was scolding. And I’ve to sort all these things out, and put them neatly away, and mend up everything that needs mending before this evening, or else she’ll tell the Bumble to come and look at them, and I shall get ‘sadly lacking in order’ down in my report again. It’s too bad!”

“It’s positively brutal of Mademoiselle!” said Raymonde reflectively. “If it had been Gibbie, now, it would have been no surprise to me. Don’t 217 cry, you little silly! You look like a weeping cherub on a monument! Shovel your clothes back again into your drawers, and put a tidy top layer. That’s what I always do!”

“So do I,” wailed Fauvette. “But it won’t work this time. Mademoiselle was really cross, and I could see she means to come to-night, and hold what she calls ‘une inspection’. She said something about making me an example. Why, if she wants an example, need she choose me?”

“It’s certainly breaking a butterfly,” agreed Raymonde. “I’m afraid there’s something seriously wrong with Mademoiselle. She’s completely altered this last week. She never used to worry about things, and she’s suddenly turned as fussy as Gibbie.”

Raymonde was not the only one who had noticed the change in the French mistress. It was apparent to everybody. Her entire character seemed suddenly to have altered. Whereas beforetime she had been easygoing, slack, and ready to shut eyes and ears to school-girl failings, she was now keenly vigilant and highly exacting. In classes and at music lessons she demanded the utmost attention, and no longer passed over mistakes, or allowed a bad accent. She prohibited the use of the English tongue altogether during meals, and insisted upon her pupils conversing in French, requiring each one to come to table primed with a suitable remark in that language. The number of fines which she inflicted was so heavy that the missionary box filled with a rapidity more gratifying to the local secretary of the society than to the contributors. The girls were considerably puzzled at this change 218 of face on the part of Mademoiselle, but Morvyth and Katherine gave it as their opinion that Miss Beasley lay at the back of it.

“The Bumble’s probably had a talk with her, and told her she must buck up or go!” suggested the former. “I’m sure she always thought Mademoiselle a slacker—which she certainly was! Possibly she’s given her till the end of the term to show what she’s capable of, and if she doesn’t come up to the mark, we shall start next term with a new French governess.”

“I shouldn’t care!” said Raymonde easily. “I never liked her much. We used to call her ‘the butterfly’, but she’s ‘the mosquito’ now. She’s developing a very unpleasant sting.”

Whatever might be the truth of Morvyth’s surmises as to the reason of Mademoiselle’s new attitude, the fact loomed large. Having determined to demonstrate her powers of discipline, she overdid it. She was one of those persons who cannot keep order and enforce rules without losing their tempers, and she stormed at the girls continually. She developed a mania for what she called “surveillance.” She was continually paying surprise visits to dormitory or schoolroom, and pouncing upon offenders who were talking, or otherwise neglecting their duties. It was even suspected that she listened behind doors. Fauvette, whose babyish characteristics led her into many pitfalls, seemed suddenly to become the scapegoat of Mademoiselle’s freshly acquired vigilance. Fauvette lacked spirit, and went down like a ninepin before the least word of reproof. Her feelings were easily hurt, and her tears always close to the surface. She sat now and 219 sobbed pathetically upon her pillow, without making the least effort to tidy up her belongings. Raymonde shook her head over her.

“You’re the sort of girl who ought to go through life with a nurse or a maid to look after you; you’re not fit to take care of yourself,” she decided. “Look here, how much wants doing to your clothes before the Mosquito comes buzzing round to inspect?”

“Shoals!” sighed Fauvette wearily. “I’m afraid I’ve left my mending. There are stockings, and gloves, and—all kinds of things.”

“Can you get it done in time?”

“Impossible!” and the tears dripped again on to a dainty muslin collar.

“Then there’s nothing for it but to get up a Mending Bee, and help you! We seven are sworn to stick together.”

“There’ll be squalls if you’re caught in the dormitory during recreation. I was told to stay here,” cautioned Fauvette.

“We’ve got to risk something,” returned Raymonde cheerily, scurrying off in search of the remaining five of the Mystics.

“You’ve all got to fetch work-baskets and come this instant,” she commanded. “It’s an urgency call, like last term when we made T bandages for Roumania, and nose-bags for the horses, only it’s even more important and urgent.”

Armed with their sewing materials, the girls slipped one by one upstairs, and, settling themselves upon the beds in the immediate vicinity of Fauvette’s, set to work. It was a formidable task. Their comrade had brought a large assortment of garments 220 to school with her, and had happily left them unmended, trusting to take them home to be repaired. At present they were mixed in a hopeless jumble on the floor and on her bed, just where Mademoiselle had tipped out the drawers. Stockings, underclothes, gloves, handkerchiefs, photos, old letters, ribbons, ties, beads, lockets, books, and an assortment of odd treasures were lying together in utter confusion.

Fauvette brightened at the sight of her friends, mopped her eyes, and pushed back her fluffy hair from her hot forehead.

“Brace up!” Raymonde encouraged her. “We’re not going to help unless you’ll do your own share. Sort those things out, and be putting them in your drawers while we do your mending. Morvyth, take these stockings; Katherine, you’re artistic, so I’ll give you baby ribbon to thread through these bodices. Ardiune, you may mend gloves. Ave, collect those hair ribbons, and put them neatly inside that box, and stack those photos together. Why they’re not in an album I can’t imagine!”

“Because I generally sleep with one or two of them under my pillow,” confessed Fauvette. “Why shouldn’t I, if I like? There’s no harm in it. Oh! please be careful with those beads, you’ll break the strings!”

“I can’t think why you need so many empty chocolate boxes,” commented Aveline, sweeping up treasures with a ruthless hand. “Your drawers will be so full they won’t shut. Throw half of them away!”

“No, no! I always keep them to remind me of 221 the people who gave them to me. You mustn’t throw any of them away. They’re chock-full of memories.”

“Rather have them chock-full of chocs, myself!” remarked Morvyth dryly. “Fauvette, you’re interesting and pretty—when you don’t cry (for goodness’ sake look at your red eyes in the glass!); but you’re as sentimental as an Early Victorian heroine. You ought to wear a bonnet and a crinoline, and carry a little fringed parasol, and talk about your ‘papa’! If you don’t get safely engaged to an officer before you’re out of your teens, you’ll turn into one of those faded females who bore one with sickly reminiscences of their past, and spend the remainder of your life pampering a pet poodle. Here, I’ve mended two pairs of stockings for you.”

“And I’ve done three pairs,” said Raymonde, folding up the articles in question and putting them in her friend’s second long drawer. “We’re getting on. Kathy, have you finished the bodices? We’ll soon have you straightened up, Baby, and if Mademoiselle––Oh!”

Raymonde’s sudden ejaculation was caused by a vision of no less a person than Miss Gibbs, who was standing in the doorway of the dormitory regarding the sewing party in some astonishment.

“What are you girls doing here?” she demanded, making a bee-line for them among the beds.

Nobody answered, and for a moment or two blank dismay spread itself over the countenances of the Mystics. Then Raymonde’s lucky star came to the rescue, and popped an inspiration into her head.

“You were telling us in Social History class 222 yesterday, Miss Gibbs, about the necessity of women co-operating in their work if they are ever to command a higher scale of pay,” she explained glibly; “so we thought we’d better begin to put our principles into practice. Fauvette had fallen into arrears, and was in danger of—er—trouble, so we all came just to boost her up to standard, and let her get a fair start again. It’s on the basis of a Women’s Union or—or—Freemasons. We thought we were bound to help one another.”

Miss Gibbs was not a remarkably humorous person, but on this occasion the corners of her mouth were distinctly observed to twitch. She mastered the weakness instantly, however, and remarked:

“I’m glad to hear that you are interested in co-operation. This is certainly a practical demonstration of the theory, and Fauvette ought to be grateful to you. Be quick and finish straightening the things, and, if anybody asks questions, you may say that you have my permission to remain here until tea-time.”

The girls sat at attention till the door closed upon their mistress, then their mingled amazement and gratitude burst forth.

“Good old Gibbie!”

“She’s an absolute sport to-day!”

“Never known her in such a jinky mood before!”

“The fact of the matter is,” observed Raymonde sagely, “I believe Gibbie absolutely loathes Mademoiselle, and that for once in a way she’s not above taking a legitimate chance of paying her out.”

When the French mistress came round that evening on her tour of inspection, she found Fauvette’s drawers in apple-pie order right to the very bottoms—beads, 223 ties, and collars carefully arranged in boxes, and nicely mended stockings placed in a row.

“It only show vat you can do ven you try!” she commented. “In a woman to be untidy is—ah! I have not your English idiom?”

“The limit!” wickedly suggested Raymonde, who was standing close by.

But Mademoiselle, who had been warned against the acquisition of slang, glared at her till she beat a hasty retreat.

It was growing near to the end of the term, and examinations loomed imminently on the horizon. They were to be conducted this year by Miss Beasley’s brother, a clergyman, and a former lecturer at Oxford. He had made a special study of modern languages, so that his standard of requirement in regard to French grammar was likely to be a high one. Up till now the Fifth Form had plodded through DÉjardin’s exercises in an easy fashion, without worrying greatly about the multitude of their mistakes, over which their mistress had indeed shaken her head, but had made no special crusade to amend. Now, in view of the awe-inspiring visit of the Reverend T. W. Beasley, M.A., Mademoiselle had instituted an eleventh-hour spurt of diligence, and kept her pupils with reluctant noses pressed hard to the grindstone. Irregular verbs and exceptions of gender seemed much worse when taken in such large doses. The girls began to wish either that the Tower of Babel had never been attempted, or that the world had reached a sufficient stage of civilization to adopt a universal language. Over one point in particular 224 they considered that they had a just and pressing grievance. The French classes of Form V came on the time-table from 12 to 12.30, being the last subjects of morning school. Dinner was at one o’clock, and in the intervening half-hour the girls put away their books, washed their hands and tidied their hair, and refreshed their flagging spirits by a run round the garden. Mademoiselle had been wont to close her book at the exact minute of the half-hour, but now she utterly ignored the clock, and would go on with the lesson till a quarter or even ten minutes to one. The wrath of the Form knew no bounds. They valued their short exercise before dinner extremely. To have it thus cut off was an infringement of their rights. Mademoiselle, who was perfectly aware that she was exceeding the limit of the time-table, sheltered herself behind excuses.

“Ven I take your verbs I forget it is so late,” she would remark. “Ze lesson slip avay, and ve not yet done all ve should.”

The girls held an indignation meeting to discuss the subject. Even Maudie Heywood’s appetite for knowledge was glutted by this extra diet of French syntax, and Muriel Fuller and Magsie Mawson, amiable nonentities who rarely ruffled the surface of the school waters, for once verified the proverb that the worm will turn.

“It’s not fair!” raged Ardiune.

“Ma’m’selle knows she ought to stop at half-past!” urged Magsie in injured tones.

“It’s taking a mean advantage!” echoed Muriel.

“And we can’t really work properly when she goes on so long!” wailed Maudie. 225

“I vote we strike!” suggested Morvyth fiercely. “Let’s tell her we won’t go in for the exam. at all, if she goes on lengthening out the lessons.”

Several of the Form brightened up at the suggestion, but Aveline, a shade more practical, shook her head discouragingly.

“If we do, there’ll be a fine old row! The Mosquito’ll appeal to the Bumble, who’d have her back up directly. I think we’d better not try that on. We don’t want to take home ‘conduct disgraceful’ in our reports.”

“Ave’s right,” agreed Raymonde. “We know the Bumble! This is a matter for tact, not brute force. We must manage Mademoiselle. She pretends she forgets the time—very well, then, we must take steps to bring it palpably to her notice. Will you leave the matter in my hands? I’ve got an idea.”

Raymonde’s inspirations were so well known in the Form, that the rest willingly consented to appoint her as a sub-committee of one to undertake the full management of the affair. Before the next French class she made a tour of the monitresses’ bedrooms. They had instituted an early-rising society among themselves this term, and almost everyone was provided with an alarum-clock. Raymonde boldly borrowed five of these, without asking leave of their owners, and set them all carefully for 12.30, winding them up to their fullest extent. She then placed them inside the book cupboard in the class-room, and covered them with some sheets of exercise paper.

The lesson proceeded even more painfully than usual. Ardiune got hopelessly mixed between indefinite 226 pronouns and indefinite pronominal adjectives, and Fauvette floundered over the negations, while Muriel found the proper placing of the p’s and l’s in the conjugation of appeler an impossible problem. As 12.30 drew near, there was much glancing at wrist-watches. Mademoiselle kept her eyes persistently turned away from the clock, with the evident intention of once more ignoring the time. This morning, however, Fate, in the person of Raymonde, had been against her. Exactly at the half-hour five alarums started punctually inside the cupboard, raising such a din that it was impossible to hear a word. Mademoiselle flew to investigate, took them out, shook them, and laid them on their backs, but they were wound up to their fullest extent, and nothing short of a hammer would have stopped them. The noise was terrific.

The baffled French governess, clapping her hands over her ears, raised her eyebrows in a signal of dismissal, and the girls availed themselves of the permission with record speed. The alarums burred cheerily on for about twenty minutes, after which, by Mademoiselle’s instructions, they were replaced in the monitresses’ bedrooms by Hermie. The Fifth were prepared for trouble, but to their surprise no notice was taken of the incident at head-quarters. Possibly Mademoiselle was aware that her late efforts at discipline were regarded by Miss Beasley with as little favour as her former slackness, and considered it useless to appeal to her Principal. She took the hint, however, and in future terminated the lesson punctually at the half-hour, so on this occasion the girls considered that they had most decidedly scored.