"Why, Eliza, my dear child, what is the matter?" Madame Permon exclaimed, drawing the girl toward her. "You have been crying. Have they been scolding you here?" "No, madame," Eliza replied in a low tone. "Are you afraid they may? Have you trouble with your lessons?" persisted Madame Permon. With the same dejected air, Eliza answered as before, "No, madame." "But what, then, is the matter, my dear?" cried Madame Permon; "such red eyes mean much crying." Eliza was silent. "Come, Eliza!" Napoleon demanded with an elder brother's authority; "speak! answer Madame here What is the matter?" But even to her brother, Eliza made no reply. [Illustration: _"'Come, Eliza! What is the matter?' demanded Napoleon."_] Then Madame Permon, as tenderly as if she had been the girl's mother, led her aside; and finding a remote seat in a corner, she drew the child into her lap. "Eliza," she said with gracious kindliness, "I must know why you are in sorrow. Think of me as your mother, dear; as one who must act in her place until you return to her. Speak to me as to your mother. Let me have your love and confidence. Tell me, my child, what troubles you." The tender solicitude of her mother's friend quite vanquished Eliza's stubbornness. Her tears burst out afresh; and between the sobs she stammered,-- "You know, Madame, that Lucie de Montluc leaves the school in eight days." "I did not know it, Eliza," Madame Permon said, keeping back a smile; "but if that so overcomes you, then am I sorry too." "Oh, no, Madame'" Eliza said, just a bit indignant at being misunderstood; "it is not her leaving that makes me cry; but, you see, on the day she goes away her class will give her a good--by supper." "What! and you are not invited?" exclaimed Madame Permon. "Ah, that is the trouble, Madame," cried Eliza, the tears gathering again. "I am invited." "And yet you cry?" "It is because each girl is to contribute towards the supper; and I, Madame, can give nothing. My allowance is gone." "So!" Madame Permon whispered, glad to have at last reached the real cause of the trouble, "that is the matter. And you have nothing left?" "Only a dollar, Madame," replied Eliza. "But if I give that, I shall have no more money; and my allowance does not come to me for six weeks. Indeed, what I have is not enough for my needs until the six weeks are over. Am I not miserable?" Napoleon, who had gradually drawn nearer the corner, thrust his hand into his pocket as he heard Eliza's complaint. But he drew it out as quickly. His pocket was empty. Mortified and angry, he stamped his foot in despair. But no one noticed this pantomime. "How much, my dear, is necessary to quiet this great sorrow?" Madame Permon asked of Eliza with a smile. Eliza looked into her good friend's eyes. "Oh, Madame! it is an immense sum," she replied, "Let me know the worst," Madame Permon said, with affected distress. "How much is it?" "Two dollars!" confessed Eliza in despair.