Mr. Jones looked back at her, as he dropped the knocker, with a sort of tender self-complacency, for he expected that she would be rather taken aback by the splendor to which he was bringing her; but Sarah only trembled and grew timid; she would have given the world to turn and run away any distance so that in the end she reached home. The door opened, at least the upper half, and they were admitted into a hall paved with little Dutch tiles, spotlessly clean, through which they were led into a parlor barren and prim in all its appointments, but which was evidently the grand reception-room of the establishment. Nothing could have been more desolate than the room, save that it was redeemed by two narrow windows which overlooked the angle of the green inclosure in which the house stood. This angle was separated by a low wall from what seemed a broad and spacious garden, well filled with fruit-trees and flowering shrubbery. The spring was just putting forth its first buds, and Sarah forgot the chilliness within as she saw the branches of a young apple-tree, flushed with the first tender green, drooping over the wall. It reminded her pleasantly of the orchard at home. The door opened, and, with a nervous start, Sarah arose with her father to receive the little Frenchwoman who came in with a fluttering courtesy, eager to do the honors of her establishment. Madame Monot took Sarah out of her father's hands with a graceful dash that left no room for appeal. "She knew it all--exactly what the young lady required--what would best please her very respectable parents--there was no need of explanations--the young lady was fresh as a rose--very charming--in a few months they should see--that was all--Monsieur Jones need have no care about his child--Madame would undertake to finish her education very soon--music, of course--an instrument had just come from Europe on purpose for the school--then French, nothing easier--Madame could promise that the young lady should speak French beautifully in one--two--three--four months, without doubt--Monsieur Jones might retire very satisfied--his daughter should come back different--perfect, in fact." With all this volubility, poor Jones was half talked, half courtesied out of the house, without having uttered a single last word of farewell, or held his daughter one moment against the honest heart that yearned to carry her off again, despite his great ambition to see her a lady.