"No, no," said Pauline, "we don't talk of it at all: it is quite lost, but Nellie is getting good; she doesn't cry any more; she is resigned. Mother will get her one, I know, to replace the lost one, by-and-by." "Your sister Nellie is of the angel type; but perhaps--I say not anything to a certainty--she may be rewarded sooner than she thinks." "Why, Mademoiselle," cried Pauline, opening her eyes in astonishment, "do you know anything?" "Whisper it not, dear. I have at present nothing to say. At _present_--remember; but there may be news in the future. Allow me, my little one, to examine your bangle with its heart of the ruby--still more close than I have hitherto done." Pauline allowed the bangle to be removed from her wrist Mademoiselle noticed the curious and very beautiful engraving of the delicate gold. "And the other was an exact counterpart, was it not?" she queried. "Precisely the same," said Pauline, "only that it held a turquoise and mine holds a ruby." Mademoiselle took a pencil from her pocket, and also a little notebook. She made some almost invisible tracings in the notebook and then returned the bangle to Pauline. "You will speak no words," she said, "but you will cultivate a _soupcon_ of that precious hope which sustains the heart." Pauline promised, and went away, feeling more uncomfortable than glad. Mademoiselle spent the rest of her day in quite an agreeable manner. She had dropped all those traits which had made her disliked at Hazlitt Chase, and amused the young people by her witty talk and her gay demeanour. The strange children at Castle Beverley thought her altogether delightful: her pupils also considered her delightful, but with a reserve in their minds which confined that delight to holidays and differentiated it from the working days. Mademoiselle could not be induced to stay to supper. No, she said she must hurry home. She was staying in the same house where that sweet girl, Brenda Carlton, with her dear little pupils, was living. "I have a small attic there," she said humbly. "The terms are moderate, and I am filled with sweet content. But I have promised to take some disconsolate little children for a treat to-night, and I would not disappoint them for the world." To Penelope, Mademoiselle hardly spoke; but before she went away, she went up to the young lady and uttered some extravagant words of praise of her sister. "But you yourself are coming to see us. We look forward to your visit with the delight supreme," said Mademoiselle. "I am coming in to Marshlands to-morrow," said Penelope. "Brenda has asked me to spend a part of the day there."