Alas! I find myself reduced to expedients of a questionable character. Madame de Gabry will not come back to Paris for at least three months more, at the very soonest. Without her, I have no tact, I have no common sense--I am nothing but a cumbersome, clumsy, mischief-making machine. Nevertheless, I cannot possibly permit them to make Jeanne a boarding-school servant! December 28. The idea that Jeanne was obliged to sweep the rooms had become absolutely unbearable. The weather was dark and cold. Night had already begun. I rang the school-door bell with the tranquillity of a resolute man. The moment that the timid servant opened the door, I slipped a gold piece into her hand, and promised her another if she would arrange matters so that I could see Mademoiselle Alexandre. Her answer was, “In one hour from now, at the grated window.” And she slammed the door in my face so rudely that she knocked my hat into the gutter. I waited for one very long hour in a violent snow-storm; then I approached the window. Nothing! The wind raged, and the snow fell heavily. Workmen passing by with their implements on their shoulders, and their heads bent down to keep the snow from coming in their faces, rudely jostled me. Still nothing. I began to fear I had been observed. I knew that I had done wrong in bribing a servant, but I was not a bit sorry for it. Woe to the man who does not know how to break through social regulations in case of necessity! Another quarter of an hour passed. Nothing. At last the window was partly opened. “Is that you, Monsieur Bonnard?” “Is that you, Jeanne?--tell me at once what has become of you.” “I am well--very well.” “But what else!” “They have put me in the kitchen, and I have to sweep the school-rooms.” “In the kitchen! Sweeping--you! Gracious goodness!” “Yes, because my guardian does not pay for my schooling any longer.” “Gracious goodness! Your guardian seems to me to be a thorough scoundrel.” “Then you know---” “What?” “Oh! don’t ask me to tell you that!--but I would rather die than find myself alone with him again.” “And why did you not write to me?” “I was watched.” At this instant I formed a resolve which nothing in this world could have induced me to change. I did, indeed, have some idea that I might be acting contrary to law; but I did not give myself the least concern about that idea. And, being firmly resolved, I was able to be prudent. I acted with remarkable coolness. “Jeanne,” I asked, “tell me! does that room you are in open into the court-yard?” “Yes.” “Can you open the street-door from the inside yourself?” “Yes,--if there is nobody in the porter’s lodge.” “Go and see if there is any one there, and be careful that nobody observes you.” Then I waited, keeping a watch on the door and window. In six or seven seconds Jeanne reappeared behind the bars, and said, “The servant is in the porter’s lodge.” “Very well,” I said, “have you a pen and ink?” “No.” “A pencil?” “Yes.”