“Have you informed your noble visitor that we have made several additions to our usual company of performers and engaged a few sensational stars for the opening of the winter season? The son of a distinguished senator and the Vicomte de Passavant, brother to the illustrious writer--without counting two recruits whom you know already, but who are all the more honourable on that account--Prince Boris and the Marquis de Profitendieu--besides some others whose titles and virtues remain to be discovered.” “You see he hasn’t changed,” said the poor mother, smiling at these witticisms. I was so terribly afraid that he would begin to talk about Laura that I cut short my visit and went downstairs as fast as I could to find Rachel. She had turned up her sleeves to help in the arrangement of the class-room; but she hastily pulled them down again as she saw me come up. “It is extremely painful to me to have recourse to you,” she began, drawing me into a small room adjoining, which is used for private lessons. “I meant to apply to Felix Douviers--he asked me to; but now that I have seen Laura, I understand it’s impossible....” She was very pale, and as she said these last words, her chin and lips quivered so convulsively that for some moments she was unable to speak. I looked away from her, in the fear of adding to her discomfort. She had shut the door and was leaning against it. I tried to take her hand, but she tore it away from between mine. At last she went on again in a voice that seemed strangled by the immensity of her effort: “Can you lend me ten thousand francs? The term promises to be fairly good and I hope to be able to pay you back soon.” “When do you want it?” She made no answer. “I happen to have a little over a thousand francs on me,” I went on. “I can complete the sum to-morrow morning--this evening, if necessary.” “No; to-morrow will do. But if you can let me have a thousand francs at once without inconvenience....” I took out my pocket-book and handed them to her. “Would you like fourteen hundred?” She lowered her head and uttered a “yes” so faint that I could hardly hear it, then she tottered to a school bench, dropped down on it, and with her elbows leaning on the desk in front of her, stayed for a few moments, her face hidden in her hands. I thought she was crying, but when I put my hand on her shoulder, she raised her head and I saw that her eyes were dry. “Rachel,” I said, “don’t mind having had to ask me this; I am glad to be able to oblige you.” She looked at me gravely: “What is painful to me is to have to ask you not to mention it either to Grandfather or to Mamma. Since they gave the accounts of the school over to me, I have let them think that ... well, they don’t know. Don’t say anything, I beg you. Grandfather is old and Mamma takes so much trouble.” “Rachel, it’s not your mother who takes trouble.... It’s you.” “She _has_ taken trouble. She’s tired now. It’s my turn. I have nothing else to do.”