"When you have considered the matter, madam, we shall be glad to receive your answer," observed Mademoiselle Annette, as she rose. And Mrs. Paler acquiesced. "Anne," began Mademoiselle Annette, as we walked home, "I do not think that situation will suit you. You will not be comfortable in it." "But why?" I asked, feeling my golden visions of Paris dimmed by the words. "I think it would perfectly suit me, Mademoiselle." "Madame Paler is not a nice lady; she is not a gentlewoman. I question, too, if she would make you comfortable." "I am willing to risk it. You and Mademoiselle Barlieu have told me all along that I cannot expect everything." "That is true, my child. Go where you will, you must look out for disagreeables and crosses. The lives of all of us are made up of trials; none, save ourselves, can feel them; few, save ourselves, can see, or will believe in them. Many a governess, tossed and turned about in the world's tempest, weary of her daily task, sick of its monotony, is tempted, no doubt, to say, 'Oh that I were established as the Demoiselles Barlieu are, with a home and school of my own!' But I can tell you, Anne, that often and often I and my sister envy the lot of the poorest governess out on her own account, because she is free from anxiety." She spoke truly. Every individual lot has its peculiar trials, and none can mitigate them. "The heart knoweth its own bitterness." I walked on by her side then, in my young inexperience, wondering whether _all_ people had these trials, whether they would come to me. It was my morning of life, when the unseen future looks as a bright and flowery dream. Mademoiselle Annette broke the silence. "You will never forget, my dear, that you have a friend in us. Should you meet with any trouble, should you be at any time out of a situation, come to us; our house is open to you." "Thank you, thank you, dear Mademoiselle Annette," I replied, grasping her hand. "I will try and do brave battle with the world's cares; I have not forgotten my mother's lessons." "Anne," she gravely responded, "do not _battle_: rather welcome them." Well, I was engaged. And, as the Demoiselles Barlieu observed, it was not altogether like my entering the house of people entirely strange, for they were acquainted with the family of Mr. Paler: himself they had never before seen, but two of his sisters had been educated in their establishment. A week or two after the Palers had settled themselves in Paris, I was escorted thither by a friend of the Miss Barlieus. The address given me was Avenue de St. Cloud, Commune de Passy. We found it a good-looking, commodious house, and my travelling protector, Madame Bernadotte, left me at the door. A young girl came forward as I was shown into a room. "Are you Miss Hereford, the new governess?" "Yes. I think I have had the pleasure of seeing you at Nulle," I answered, holding out my hand to her.