I felt, without exactly defining it, a slight contempt for these pitiless judges. Since then I have very often thought of that trial of mine, and I have come to the conclusion that individuals who are kind, intelligent, and compassionate become less estimable when they are together. The feeling of personal irresponsibility arouses their evil instincts, and the fear of ridicule chases away their good ones. When I had recovered my will power I began my fable again, determined not to mind what happened. My voice was more liquid on account of the emotion, and the desire to make myself heard caused it to be more resonant. There was silence, and before I had finished my fable the little bell rang. I bowed and came down the few steps from the platform, thoroughly exhausted. M. Auber stopped me as I was passing by the table. “Well, little girl,” he said, “that was very good indeed. M. Provost and M. Beauvallet both want you in their class.” I recoiled slightly when he told me which was M. Beauvallet, for he was the “ventriloquist” who had given me such a fright. “Well, which of these two gentlemen should you prefer?” he asked. I did not utter a word, but pointed to M. Provost. “That’s all right. Get your handkerchief out, my poor Beauvallet, and I shall entrust this child to you, my dear Provost.” I understood, and, wild with joy, I exclaimed, “Then I have passed?” “Yes, you have passed; and there is only one thing I regret, and that is that such a pretty voice should not be for music.” I did not hear anything else, for I was beside myself with joy. I did not stay to thank any one, but bounded to the door. “_Mon petit Dame!_ Mademoiselle, I have passed!” I exclaimed, and when they shook hands and asked me no end of questions I could only reply, “Oh, it’s quite true. I have passed, I have passed!” I was surrounded and questioned. “How do you know that you have passed? No one knows beforehand.” “Yes, yes; I know, though. Monsieur Auber told me. I am to go into Monsieur Provost’s class. Monsieur Beauvallet wanted me, but his voice is too loud for me!” A disagreeable girl exclaimed, “Can’t you stop that? And so they all want you!” A pretty girl, who was too dark, though, for my taste, came nearer and asked me gently what I had recited. “The fable of the ‘Two Pigeons,’” I replied. She was surprised, and so was every one; while, as for me, I was wildly delighted to surprise them all. I tossed my hat on my head, shook my frock out, and, dragging my two friends along, ran away dancing. They wanted to take me to the confectioner’s to have something, but I refused. We got into a cab, and I should have liked to push that cab along myself. I fancied I saw the words, “I have passed,” written up over all the shops.