There was war between the English governess and Emily Chandos. Emily was excessively popular; with her beauty, her gaiety, and her generous wilfulness; she did nearly what she liked in the school—except of course with the Miss Barlieus. For myself, I had learnt to love her. She had her faults—what girl is without them? She was vain, petulant, haughty when displeased, and a little selfish. But she possessed one great gift of attraction—that of taking hearts by storm. Miss Johnstone began by a mistake: the striving to put down Miss Chandos. She was over-strict besides with her lessons and exercises; and more than once reported her to Miss Annette for some trifling fault, magnified by her into a grave one. The girls espoused Emily's cause; and Miss Johnstone grew to be regarded, and also treated, with contempt. It vexed her greatly; and there were other things.

Her name was Margaret. But she had incautiously left an open letter about, in which she was repeatedly called "Peg." Of course that was quite enough for the girls, and they took to call her Peg, almost in her hearing. A new English pupil, who entered as weekly boarder, went up at the English dictation and addressed her as "Miss Pegg," believing it to be her real name. You should have seen Miss Johnstone's dark and angry face, and the dancing eyes of Emily Chandos.

Madame de Mellissie had left for Paris; but her son, Monsieur Alfred, remained at Nulle—his attraction being, as the girls said openly, Emily Chandos. Emily laughed as she listened: but denial she made none. They said another thing—that the beautiful hearts-ease ring she wore had been his love-gift: and still there was no express denial. "Have it so if you like," was all Emily said.

"She cannot think seriously of him, you know," Ellen Roper observed one day. "It is a match that could never be allowed by her family. He is quite a second-rate sort of Frenchman, and she is Miss Chandos of Chandos. He is a bit of a jackanapes too, vain and silly."

"Ellen Roper, I am within hearing, I beg to inform you," said Miss Chandos, from half way up the desk, her face in a lovely glow.

"That is just why I said it," returned Ellen Roper, who, however, had not known Emily was near, and started at the sound of her voice. "I daresay he has not above a thousand pounds or two a year; a very fair patrimony for a Frenchman, you know; but only fancy it for one in the position of Miss Chandos."

"Go on, Ellen Roper! I'll tell something of you by-and-by."

"And, setting aside everything else, there's another great barrier," went on Ellen Roper, making objections very strong in her spirit of mischief. "The De Mellissies are Roman Catholics; cela va, you know; while the Chandos family are staunch Conservative Protestants. Lady Chandos would almost as soon give Emily to the Grand Turk as to Alfred de Mellissie."

A sort of movement at the desk, and we looked round. Quietly seated on the low chair in the corner, her ears drinking in all, for we had been speaking in English, was Miss Johnstone. Had she been there all the time? Emily Chandos's bright cheek paled a little, as if there had fallen upon her a foreshadowing of ill.

I do not know that it would have come, but that circumstances worked for it. On this afternoon, this very same afternoon as we sat there, Emily was called out of the room by one of the maids, who said Mrs. Trehern had called to see her.

"Trehern?—Trehern?" cried Emily, as she went. "I don't know the name from Adam."

Back she soon came with a radiant face, and presented herself to Mademoiselle Annette, who was in class.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, some friends are here, and they wish me to go out with them. Will you give me permission? It is Mr. and Mrs. Trehern."

"Trehern? Trehern?" repeated Mademoiselle Annette. "I don't remember that name on your visiting list."

Emily knew quite well it was not there, since this was the first time she had seen either of the parties: but she had trusted to the good luck of Mademoiselle Annette's believing that it was.

"Mamma will be so vexed if I do not go. She is very intimate with the Treherns. They have only just arrived at the town, Mademoiselle, and have descended at the Hotel du Lion d'Or."

Which concluding words gave us the clue to Emily's eagerness for the visit. For it was at that renowned hotel that Mr. Alfred de Mellissie had been sojourning since his mother's departure. Mademoiselle Annette was firm.

"You know the rules of the school, my dear. We have heard nothing of these gentlepeople from your mamma, and it is impossible that you can be allowed to go."

Emily Chandos carried back her excuses to the salon, and after school gave vent to her mortification in a private outburst to us.

"Such a dreadful shame, these horrid French rules! As if the Treherns would have poisoned me! But I despatch a letter to mamma to-night to get permission. They are going to stay a month at Nulle. It is the bridal tour."

"Have they just come from England?"

"Not at all. She is French, and never was in England in her life. She is a friend"—dropping her voice still lower—"of the De Mellissies; at least her mother is: it was through Alfred they called upon me to-day."

"Then does Lady Chandos not know them?"

"She knows him. It is a Cornish family. This one, young Trehern, fell in love with a French girl, and has married her. They were married last Thursday, she told me. She had the most ravishing toilette on to-day: a white and blue robe: you might have taken it for silver. She's nearly as young as I am."

The letter despatched to Lady Chandos by Emily set forth the praises of Mrs. Trehern, and especially dwelt upon the fact that her mother was a dear friend of Madame de Mellissie. Not a word said it, though, that Mr. Alfred de Mellissie was sojourning at the Lion d'Or, or at Nulle. And there came back permission from Lady Chandos for Emily to visit them: she wrote herself to Miss Barlieu, desiring that it might be so. Emily was in her glory.

A great apparent friendship sprang up between her and young Mrs. Trehern, who was something like herself, inexperienced and thoughtless. She was of good family, pleasing in manners, and quite won the hearts of the Miss Barlieus. Relatives of hers, the De Rosnys, lived in their chÂteau near Nulle—the cause of her passing sojourn there. We schoolgirls remembered how Maximilian de Bethune, the young Baron de Rosny, had been the envoy despatched by Henri le Grand to solicit assistance of Queen Elizabeth, in the years subsequent to the great slaughter of the Huguenots. We assumed that Mrs. Trehern might be of the same family; but did not know it.

Often and often she arrived at the school to take out Emily Chandos. At length the Miss Barlieus began to grumble: Mademoiselle Chandos went out too frequently, and her studies were getting in arrear. Emily protested it was her mamma's wish and pleasure that she should take advantage of the sojourn of Mrs. Trehern to go out, and exhibited part of a letter from Lady Chandos, in which the same appeared to be intimated. Mademoiselle Annette shook her head, and said it was a good thing the month of Mrs. Trehern's stay was drawing to its close.

Now it happened about this time that an uncle of Miss Johnstone's passed through Nulle on his way to Paris, staying for a day at the Hotel du Lion d'Or. He invited his niece to go to see him, saying she might bring any one of the young ladies with her. She chose me, to my own surprise: perhaps the reason was that I had never taken an active part in annoying her as some of the rest had. The Miss Barlieus allowed me to go; for they looked upon it, not that I was about to pay an indiscriminate visit, but going out with one of the governesses, under her safe convoy and companionship.

"Where are you off to, little Hereford," demanded Emily Chandos, who was attiring herself before the one glass in the bedroom when I went up, for she was to spend the afternoon with the Treherns.

"Miss Johnstone's uncle is at the Lion d'Or, and she has asked me to dinner there. We are to dine at the table d'hÔte."

"The Lion d'Or!" cried Emily, turning round. "What a chance! to have that sharp-sighted duenna, Peg, dining at table with us!"

"What, do you—do the Treherns dine at the table d'hÔte?"

"Where else should they dine? The hotel is too full, just now, to admit of private dinners."

Mr. Johnstone came for us, and we walked about, looking at the old town, until six o'clock, the dinner hour. A novel scene to me was that crowded dining-room, with its array of company, of waiters, and of good cheer; so novel that for some time I did not notice four seats, immediately opposite to us, quite vacant. All eyes were raised at the four who came in to fill them. Mr. and Mrs. Trehern; she dressed elaborately, perfectly; not a fold of her robe out of place, not a hair of her many braids; Alfred de Mellissie, with his airs of a petit maÎtre, but good-looking enough; and Emily Chandos, with her gay and sparkling beauty.

"Just look there, Miss Hereford! Do you see that?"

Miss Johnstone's words were spoken in a low tone of consternation. I would not understand to whom she alluded.

"See what, Miss Johnstone?"

"Miss Chandos," she answered, devouring Emily with her eyes. "I wonder if the Demoiselles Barlieu know that while she has been pretending to visit the Treherns, it has been a cloak for her meeting that Frenchman?"

"Oh, Miss Johnstone! she has visited the Treherns?

"I can see through a mill-stone," was Miss Johnstone's cold answer.

Never were more defiant looks cast upon a governess than Emily Chandos threw over the table at Miss Johnstone. That the latter provoked them by her manner there was no doubt. I think—I always had thought—that she was envious of Miss Chandos, though whence or why the feeling should have arisen I cannot say. They were the most distinguished group at table, Mr. Trehern—a fine, big, burly Cornishman—and his wife, Monsieur de Mellissie and Emily: and the waiters treated them with marked distinction. Even the appurtenances of their dinner were superior, for none others within the range of my view ventured upon sparkling Moselle and ice. They rose from table earlier than many, Emily throwing me a laughing nod, as she took Mr. Trehern's arm, Alfred de Mellissie following with Mrs. Trehern; but not vouchsafing the slightest notice of Miss Johnstone.

"She may take her leave of it," I heard the latter whisper to herself.

Mr. Johnstone did not mend the matter, or his niece's temper. "What a lovely girl that is!" he exclaimed. "She is English."

"Yes," answered Miss Johnstone, her lips parting with acrimony. "She is one of my pupils."

"One of your pupils! How is it she took no notice of you?"

Miss Johnstone made no reply, but the acrimony on her lips grew sharper: very sharp indeed when she saw Emily escorted home by M. de Mellissie, with Mrs. Trehern's maid in attendance.

The explosion came next day. Miss Johnstone lodged a formal complaint in private before the Miss Barlieus. Miss Chandos, she felt perfectly certain, was being made clandestine love to by Monsieur Alfred de Mellissie!

"Seated at the table d'hÔte with the young man!—accompanied by him home afterwards!" cried Mademoiselle Annette. "It is not to be believed."

Miss Johnstone said it was, and called me as a witness. Emily Chandos was commanded to the salon, and questioned.

She could not deny it; she did not attempt it: rather braved it out.

"Where was the harm of it, Mademoiselle Annette? Monsieur de Mellissie did not attempt to eat me."

"You know that the customs and ideas of our country are against this kind of thing," emphatically pronounced Miss Barlieu. "I am surprised at you, Mademoiselle Emily; you have deceived us. I shall write to Miladi your mother to-day. If she sanctions this public visiting, I cannot. I cannot possibly allow any young lady in my establishment to run the risk of being talked of as imprudent. You will not go to Mrs. Trehern again; she has shown herself little capable of taking care of you."

"Do you mean, Mademoiselle, that I am not to go out in future when invited?" asked Emily, her heart beating visibly.

"I shall very unmistakeably point out to your mamma the desirability of your not again going out to visit; certainly you will not while Monsieur de Mellissie remains at Nulle," was the pointed reply of Miss Barlieu.

And Emily Chandos knew that her liberty was over. But for this, would she have taken the irrevocable step she did take? Alas! it was soon too late to speculate.

An immediate reply came from Lady Chandos, interdicting all indiscriminate visiting for Emily; and saying that she must make good use of her time in study, as she would leave school early in the spring.

Did the arrival of that letter expedite the catastrophe? I cannot tell. It was known that Madame de Mellissie, the mother, was at Nulle again, and a very short while went on.

We were doing English with Miss Johnstone one afternoon, when Mrs. Trehern called. Emily was allowed to see her, but Mademoiselle Barlieu accompanied her to the salon. Some sort of explanation took place, and Mrs. Trehern was informed that Miss Chandos could not visit her again. She left, and Emily returned to the class, but the English lesson was over then. Over in disgrace, for none of us had done well; at least, Miss Johnstone said we had not. By way of punishment, she protested she should make us finish it after supper.

We had bread-and-butter and shrimps for supper that night—I shall always remember it; and we prolonged it as much as we could, drinking three cups of tea each, and eating as many shrimps as we could get. Emily Chandos did not appear, and Mademoiselle Caroline—who had viewed the scandal, touching Alfred de Mellissie, with shocked displeasure—would not allow her to be called, saying she was 'sulking.' But the supper, spin it out as we would, could not last all night, and Miss Johnstone, as good as her word, called us up with our English books.

"Go and find Miss Chandos," she said to me. "She has chosen to go without her supper, but she shall not escape her lesson."

Emily was not to be found. Amidst a search of commotion, the like of which I had never seen, it was discovered that she had quitted the house. The De Mellissies, the next inquired for, had quitted the town. A telegraphic message went to Chandos, and Mademoiselle Barlieu took to her bed with chagrin.

The despatch brought back Mr. Chandos, Emily's brother. About the same hour that he arrived, a letter was received from London from M. Alfred de Mellissie, saying that he and Miss Chandos had just been married by special licence, and also by the rites of the Romish Church. That his English mother had aided and abetted the step, although she did not accompany them in their flight to England, there was no question of.

Miss Barlieu saw Mr. Chandos in her chamber; the affair had made her really ill. Afterwards, as I was passing down the stairs, he came forth from the drawing-room from an interview with Miss Annette. She was talking very fast, her eyes streaming with grief, and Mr. Chandos strove to soothe her.

"It all comes of that indiscriminate visiting, sir, that was allowed to Mademoiselle Chandos," she said, with bitter tears. "I told my sister ten times that Miladi Chandos was wrong to permit it. Ah! sir, we shall not ever get over the blow. Nothing of the kind has ever happened to us."

"Do not distress yourself," Mr. Chandos answered. "I can see that no shadow of blame rests with you. That lies with Emily and the De Mellissies: my sister's fortune is a great prize to a Frenchman."

What made me gather myself into a nook of the wall, and gaze upon Mr. Chandos, as he passed out in the dusk of the evening? Not the deep, mellow tones—not the sweet accent of voice in which his words were spoken. That they were all that, my ear told me; but something else had struck upon me—his face and form. Where had I seen him?

Somewhere, I felt certain. The contour of the pale face, with its fine and delicate features; something in the tall, slim figure, even in the manner of turning his head as he spoke: all seemed to touch on a chord of my memory. Where, where could I have seen Mr. Chandos?

The question was not solved, and time went steadily on again.