duty to snatch, as it were, a brand from the burning—a pupil from under M. Paul's nose.
"Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!" cried she. "Que vais-je devenir? Monsieur va me tuer, je suis sure; car il est d'une colère!"
Nerved by the courage of desperation, she opened the door.
"Mademoiselle La Malle au piano!" was her cry. Ere she could make good her retreat, or quite close the door, this voice uttered itself:—
"Dès ce moment!—la classe est défendue. La première qui ouvrira cette porte, ou passera par cette division, sera pendue—fut-ce Madame Beck elle même!"
Ten minutes had not succeeded the promulgation of this decree, when Rosine's French pantoufles were again heard shuffling along the corridor.
"Mademoiselle," said she, "I would not for a five franc piece go into that classe again just now: Monsieur's lunettes are really terrible; and here is a commissionaire come with a message from the Athénée. I have told Madame Beck I dare not deliver it, and she says I am to charge you with it."
"Me? No, that is rather too bad! It is not in
