She was accustomed to early hours at home, was our little Marie-Jeanne, being a busy young person, whose usefulness in minding turkeys, and similar offices, was never questioned in the d’Aumale household. Accordingly, she was quite wide-awake when, very early next morning, the shutters were opened, and somebody passed down the dormitory, pausing at each little white bed to pass the holy-water to its small occupant, and elicit “Deo Gratiases” of varying degrees of drowsiness in answer to a very brisk “Benedicamus Domino.” Some of the “Deo Gratiases” were very, very sleepy—but certainly not Marie-Jeanne’s. Hers absolutely vibrated with energy, and the emphatic bump with which she immediately transferred her small person from bed to floor was but its fitting sequel. “The dear little one!” said a voice; and Marie Jeanne, interrupting her toilet, looked up to see a very tall and beautiful lady pass the asperges to the nun, who had put her lonely little self to sleep last night, and come and take her in her arms. “Shall I send one of the ‘bleues’ to help her to dress, Madame?” inquired the nun. But the beautiful lady shook her head. “I will help her, myself,” she told the Sister, “but indeed I think she will not need much helping.” She was quite right. Everything that a little girl could reasonably be expected to do for herself, Marie Jeanne d’Aumale did. But, as she explained (afterwards, naturally, for she rightly gathered conversation was not allowed in the dormitory), the uniform of Saint-Cyr, which she donned this morning for the first time, was not at all like the style of garment she had been accustomed to wear at home, and one had to learn the ways of the fastenings.