Her questioner mistook her reflection for hesitation, and seemed disappointed. "Ah, but you do," said she, "though you don't like to tell me so. It is provincial, very provincial, Miss Foster admits.... Next week, when the young ladies come back, I shall wish myself more than ever with father." "What for? don't you like school?" Bessie was growing deeply interested in these random revelations. "No. How should I? I don't belong to them. Everybody slights me but madame. Miss Hiloe has set me down as quite _common_. It is so dreadful!" Bessie's heart had begun to beat very hard. "Is it?" said she in a tone of apprehension. "Do they profess to despise you?" "More than that--they _do_ despise me; they don't know how to scorn me enough. But you are not _common_, so why should you be afraid? My father is a master-mariner--John Fricker of Great Yarmouth. What is yours?" "Oh, mine was a clergyman, but he is long since dead, and my own mother too. The father and mother who have taken care of me since live at Beechhurst in the Forest, and _he_ is a doctor. It is my grandfather who sends me here to school, and he is a country gentleman, a squire. But I like my common friends best--_far_!" "If you have a squire for your grandfather you may speak as you please--Miss Hiloe will not call you common. Oh, I am shrewd enough: I know more than I tell. Miss Foster says I have the virtues of my class, but I have no business at a school like this. She wonders what Madame Fournier receives me for. Oh, I wish father may come over next month! Nobody can tell how lonely I feel sometimes. Will you call me Janey?" Janey's poor little face went down upon her knees, and there was the sound of sobs. Bessie's tender heart yearned to comfort this misery, and she would have gone over to administer a kiss, had she not been peremptorily warned not to risk it: there was the gleam of a light below the door. When that alarm was past, composure returned to the master-mariner's little daughter, and Bessie ventured to ask if the French girls were nice. The answer sounded pettish: "There are all sorts in a school like this. Elise Finckel lives in the Place St. Pierre: they are clock and watchmakers, the Finckels. Once I went there; then Elise and Miss Hiloe made friends, and it was good-bye to me! but clanning is forbidden." Bessie required enlightening as to what "clanning" meant. The explanation was diffuse, and branched off into so many anecdotes and illustrations that in spite of the moonlight, her nerves, her interest, and her forebodings, Bessie began to yield to the overpowering influence of sleep. The little comrade, listened to no longer, ceased her prattle and napped off too. * * * * * The next sound Bessie Fairfax heard was the irregular clangor of a bell, and behold it was morning! Some one had been into the _dortoir_ and had opened a window or two. The warm fragrant breath of sunshine and twitter of birds entered.