Mademoiselle Moineau cocked her little arched nose--she was very like a fluffy old bird--and smiled rather mischievously. "We shall do very well, when Mademoiselle de la Marinière understands us," she said. "I have no wish to complain, but at present she is a little sure of herself, a little distrustful of me, and so--" "Ignorance and ill-breeding," said the Comtesse, coolly. "Excuse her--she will know better in time." Riette's eyes fell, and she became crimson. The good-natured Sophie caught her hand and squeezed it, thinking she was going to cry; but such weakness was far from Riette; the red of her cheeks was a flame of pure indignation. Ignorant! Ill-bred! She had been very much pleased when the little papa decided suddenly on sending her to join Sophie and Lucie in their lessons; she had been seized with a romantic admiration for Hélène, independent of the interest she took in her for Angelot's sake, and in other ways the Château de Lancilly was to her enchanted ground. And now this fair, tall lady, whom she had disliked from the first, talked of her ignorance and ill-breeding! She drew herself up, her lips trembled; another such word and she would have walked out of the room, fled down the corridor, escaped alone across the fields to Les Chouettes. She knew every turn, every step in the château, every path in the country, far better than these people did; they would not easily overtake her. But Madame de Sainfoy was not thinking of Henriette. "What are you doing? Reading history?" she said to the others. "Mademoiselle, I thought it was my wish that Hélène should read history with her sisters. The other day, if you remember, she could not tell Monsieur de Sainfoy the date of the marriage of Philippe Duc d'Orléans with the Princess Henriette of England. It is necessary to know these things. The Emperor expects a correct knowledge of the old Royal Family. Where is Hélène?" "She is in her own room, madame. Allow me an instant--" The three children were left alone. Madame de Sainfoy walked quickly into Mademoiselle Moineau's room, the little governess waddling after her, and the door was shut. Riette made a skip in the air and pirouetted on one foot. Then while Sophie and Lucie stared open-mouthed, she was on a chair; then with a wild spring, she was hanging by her hands to the top cornice of a great walnut-wood press; then she was on her feet again, light as an india-rubber ball. "Ah, mon Dieu! sit down, Riette, or we shall all be beaten!" sighed the trembling Lucie. "Don't be frightened, children!" murmured Riette. "Where is our book? Now, my angels, think, think of Henri Quatre and all his glory!" In the meanwhile, Mademoiselle Moineau laid her complaint of Hélène before the Comtesse. Something was certainly the matter with the girl; she would not read, she would not talk, her tasks of needlework were neglected, she did not care to go out, or to do anything but sit in her window and gaze across the valley.