"What's the matter?" said Hermione.
"She says she has a headache, but I think she is mostly sulking," I
replied. "I am going to write to my step-mother; I think I know how to
manage her."
"Dumps, how bright you look--and how happy!" Yes, I was happy; I was
feeling in my heart of hearts that I really meant to do my very best.
On the next landing we met Mademoiselle Wrex. See looked approvingly at
us. I told her about Augusta, and she said she would see to the young
lady, but in the meantime we must follow her downstairs. We went down
and down. How airy and fresh, and I must say how cold also, the house
felt! I had always imagined that French houses were warm. When we
arrived on the ground _etage_ we turned to our left and entered a very
large room. Like all the other rooms in the house, it was bare of
carpet. On a sort of dais at the top of the room there stood the
Baroness von Gablestein. She was one of the handsomest and most
distinguished-looking women I had ever seen. She was not young; she
must have been between forty and fifty years of age. Her hair was dark
by nature, but was now very much mixed with grey. She had dark and very
thick eyebrows, and a broad and massive forehead. She wore her hair on
a high cushion rolled back from her face. The rest of her features were
regular and very clearly cut. Her lips were sweet but firm, and her
eyes dark and very penetrating. But it was not her mere features, it
was the clear, energetic, and yet joyous expression of her face which so
captivated me that I, Dumps, stood perfectly still when I saw her, and
did not move for the space of two or three seconds. I felt some one
poke me in the back, and a voice in broken English said, "But stare not
so. Go right forward."
I turned, and saw a girl much shorter than myself, and much more podgy,
who glanced at me, smiled, and pointed to a bench where I was to sit.
The Baroness read a few verses of Scripture in the French tongue, and
then we all knelt down and a collect for the day was read, also in
French, and then we were desired to join our different classes in the
schoolroom. I stood still, and so did Hermione. The Baroness seemed to
observe us for the first time, and raised her brows.
Mademoiselle Wrex came up and said something to her.
"Ah, yes," I heard her say in very sweet, clear English. "The dear
children! But certainly I will speak with them."
She went down two or three steps and came to meet us.
"You are Rachel Grant," she said. "Welcome to our school.--And you are
Hermione Aldyce. Welcome to our school."
She had a sort of regal manner; she bent and kissed me on the centre of
my forehead, and she did the same to Hermione.
"I trust you will enjoy your life here. I trust you will in all
respects be worthy of the reputation of our school; and I trust, also,
that we shall do our utmost to make you happy and wise."
She paused for a minute.
"My dear children," she said then, "this is a very busy hour for me, and
I will see you later; in the meantime I leave you in the care of
Mademoiselle Wrex, who will take you to those teachers who will
superintend your studies."
I felt my cheeks growing very red. Hermione was cool and composed. We
followed Mademoiselle Wrex through several rooms into the schoolroom,
and there we were examined by a German lady, who put us in a very low
form as regarded that language. We were next questioned by a French
mademoiselle, who did likewise; but an English lady, with a
matter-of-fact and very quiet face, rescued us from the ignominious
position in which we found ourselves with regard to German and French by
discovering that our attainments in our mother-tongue were by no means
contemptible.
In the end we found, so to speak, our level, and our school life began
right merrily.
Late that evening I found time to write a few words to my step-mother.
"I will tell you all about the school later on," I began. "At present
I feel topsy-turvy and whirly-whirly; I don't know where I am, nor
what has happened to me. I dare say I shall like it very much, but I
will keep my long letter for Sunday; we have all the time we want for
ourselves on Sunday; no one interferes, and we are allowed to talk in
our own tongue--that is, if we wish to do so. What I am specially
writing to you about now is Augusta. She is taking the change in her
circumstances very badly, I must say, my dear step-mother; she is not
reconciled. She would not get up this morning, nor would she undress
last night. She pleads a headache, and will not eat. But, at the
same time, Mademoiselle Wrex, who has the charge of our department,
cannot find anything special the matter with her. I think it is a
case of homesickness, but not the ordinary sort, for she is certainly
not pining for her mother. It really is a case of grieving because
she cannot attend my father's lectures. She does think a great deal
of him, and seems to have set her whole life by his example. Now, if
you could get him to send her the tiniest little note, just the merest
line, to say he hopes she will do well and like her French and
German--oh, anything will do--she will do her duty and will be as
happy as the day is long. You are so clever, I know you can manage
it. I haven't time for another word.--Your affectionate
step-daughter, Rachel Grant."