"Set this gentleman's heart at ease, will you?" continued she, presenting the slate, upon which his sum was written, to Mad. de Rosier. "He looks the picture, or rather the reality, of honesty and good humour this morning, I think. I am sure that he has not done any thing that he is ashamed of." Little Herbert's countenance glowed with pleasure at receiving such praise from his mother; but he soon checked his pride, for he discovered Favoretta, upon whom every eye had turned, as Mrs. Harcourt concluded her speech. Favoretta was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, and she turned her face to the wall when Herbert looked at her; but Herbert saw that she was in disgrace. "Your sum is quite right, Herbert," said Mad. de Rosier. "Herbert, take your slate," said Matilda; and the young gentleman had at length the politeness to relieve her outstretched arm. "Send him out of the way," whispered Mrs. Harcourt. "Go out of the room, Herbert, my dear," said Mad. de Rosier, who never made use of artifices upon any occasion to get rid of children--"go out of the room, Herbert, my dear: for we want to talk about something which we do not wish that you should hear." Herbert, though he was anxious to know what could be the matter with Favoretta, instantly withdrew, saying, "Will you call me again when you've done talking?" "We can speak French," added Mad. de Rosier, looking at Favoretta, "since we cannot trust that little girl in a room by herself; we must speak in a language which she does not understand, when we have any thing to say that we do not choose she should hear." "After all this preparation," said Mrs. Harcourt, in French, "my little mouse will make you laugh; it will not surprise or frighten you, Matilda, quite so much as the mouse of last night. You must know that I have been much disturbed by certain noises." "More noises!" said Matilda, drawing closer, to listen. "More noises!" said Mrs. Harcourt, laughing; "but the noises which disturbed my repose were not heard in the dead of the night, just as the clock struck twelve--the charming hour for being frightened out of one's wits, Matilda: my noises were heard in broad daylight, about the time 'When lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake.' Was not there music and dancing here, early yesterday morning, when I had the headache, Isabella?" "Yes, mamma," said Isabella: "Herbert's dulcimer-boy was here! We call him Herbert's dulcimer-boy, because Herbert gave him two buns the other day;--the boy and his father came from gratitude, to play a tune for Herbert, and we all ran and asked Mad. de Rosier to let him in."