It was Mademoiselle Prefere, approaching stealthily behind us, who had asked the question with a peculiar smile. My first idea was to tell her to go to the devil; my second, that her mouth was as little suited for smiling as a frying-pan for musical purposes; my third was to answer her politely and assure her that I hoped she was very well. She sent the young girl out to take a walk in the garden; then, pressing one hand upon her pelerine and extending the other towards the Tableau d’Honneur, she showed me the name of Jeanne Alexandre written at the head of the list in large text. “I am very much pleased,” I said to her, “to find that you are satisfied with the behaviour of that child. Nothing could delight me more; and I am inclined to attribute this happy result to your affectionate vigilance. I have taken the liberty to send you a few books which I think may serve both to instruct and to amuse young girls. You will be able to judge by glancing over them whether they are adapted to the perusal of Mademoiselle Alexandre and her companions.” The gratitude of the schoolmistress not only overflowed in words, but seemed about to take the form of tearful sensibility. In order to change the subject I observed, “What a beautiful day this is!” “Yes,” she replied; “and if this weather continues, those dear children will have a nice time for their enjoyment.” “I suppose you are referring to the holidays. But Mademoiselle Alexandre, who has no relatives, cannot go away. What in the world is she going to do all alone in this great big house?” “Oh, we will do everything we can to amuse her.... I will take her to the museums and---” She hesitated, blushed, and continued, “--and to your house, if you will permit me.” “Why of course!” I exclaimed. “That is a first-rate idea.” We separated very good friends with one another. I with her, because I had been able to obtain what I desired; she with me, for no appreciable motive--which fact, according to Plato, elevated her into the highest rank of the Hierarchy of Souls. ... And nevertheless it is not without a presentiment of evil that I find myself on the point of introducing this person into my house. And I would be very glad indeed to see Jeanne in charge of anybody else rather than of her. Maitre Mouche and Mademoiselle Prefere are characters whom I cannot at all understand. I never can imagine why they say what they do say, nor why they do what they do; they have a mysterious something in common which makes me feel uneasy. As Jeanne said to me a little while ago: “One is uneasy about what one cannot understand.” Alas! at my age one has learned only too well how little sincerity there is in life; one has learned only too well how much one loses by living a long time in this world; and one feels that one can no longer trust any except the young. August 12.