people. If Miss Minchin knew everything on earth and was like what she is now, she 'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look at Robespierre—"
She stopped and examined Ermengarde's countenance, which was beginning to look bewildered. "Don't you remember? " she demanded. "I told you about him not long ago. I believe you 've forgotten."
"Well, I don't remember all of it," admitted Ermengarde.
"Well, you wait a minute," said Sara, "and I 'll take off my wet things and wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again."
She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers. Then she jumped on the bed, and drawing the coverlet about her shoulders, sat with her arms round her knees.
"Now, listen," she said.
She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, and told such stories of it that Ermengarde's eyes grew round with alarm and she held her breath. But though she was rather terrified, there was a delightful thrill in listening, and she was not likely to forget Robespierre again, or to have any doubts about the Princesse de Lamballe.
"You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it," Sara explained. "And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and when I think of her, I never see her
