The cumulative effect of these disasters reached a culminating point, and a sudden hush fell upon the room. The children looked a trifle scared. Paul, with milk drops trickling down his nose, blushed and looked solemn. Very guilty and awkward he felt. Mlle. Fleury in fluent, rattling French explained her view of the situation, at first, however, without effect. At such moments mere sound and fury are vain; subtle, latent influences of the personality alone can calm a panic, and these the little person did not, of course, possess. To Paul the whole picture appeared in very vivid detail. With the simplicity of the child and the larger vision of the man he perceived how closely tears and laughter moved before them; and it really pained him to see her confused and rather helpless amid all the debris. She was pretty, slim, and graceful; futile anger did not sit well upon her. There she stood, little more than a girl herself, staring at him for a moment speechless, the dainty ruffles of her neat grey dress sticking up about her pretty throat, he thought, like the bristles of an enraged kitten. The hair, too, by her ears and neck suddenly seemed to project untidily and increased the effect. The sunlight from the window behind her spread through it, making it cloud-like. ‘C’est tout mon—ma faute,’ he said, stretching out both hands impulsively, ‘tout!’ in his villainous Quebec French. ‘Scold _me_ first, please.’ There was milk on his left eyebrow, and a crumb of cake in his beard as well. The governess stared at him, her eyes still blazing ominously. Her lips quivered. Then, fortunately, she laughed; no one really could have done otherwise. And that laugh saved the situation. The children, who had been standing motionless as statues awaiting their doom, sprang again into life. In a trice the milk had been mopped up, the tongs replaced, and the tea-pot put to bed under its ornamented cosy. ‘I forgeeve—this time,’ she said. ‘But you are vairy troublesome.’ In future, none the less, she forgave always; her hostility, never quite sure of itself, vanished from that moment. ‘Blue Summer’ouse,’ whispered Jonah in his ear, ‘and bring your Wind-Vision to read to us at the Meeting.’ ‘But not too much Wind-Vision, please, Meester Reevairs,’ she said, overhearing the whisper. ‘They think of nothing else.’ Paul stared at her. The thought in his mind was that she ought to come too, only he knew the children would not approve. ‘Then I must moderate their enthusiasm,’ he said gravely at last. Mlle. Fleury laughed in his face. ‘_You_ are worst of ze lot, I know—worst of all. Your Aventures and plays trouble all their lesson-time.’ ‘It is my education,’ he said, as Jonah tugged at his coat from behind to get him out of the room. ‘You educate _them_; they educate _me_; I improve slowly. Voilá!’ ‘But vairy slowly, n’est-ce pas? And you make up all such _expériences_ like ze Wind-Vision to fill their minds.’