PUPASSE


Every day, every day, it was the same overture in Madame Joubert's
room in the Institute St. Denis; the strident:

"Mesdemoiselles; à vos places! Notre Père qui est dans le ciel--Qui a
fait ce bruit?"

"It's Pupasse, madame! It's Pupasse!" The answer invariably was
unanimous.

"But, Madame Joubert,--I assure you, Madame Joubert,--I could not help
it! They know I could not help it!"

By this time the fresh new fool's cap made from yesterday's "Bee"
would have been pinned on her head.

"Quelle injustice! Quelle injustice!"

This last apostrophe in a high, whining nasal voice, always procured
Pupasse's elevation on the tall three-legged stool in the corner.

It was a theory of the little girls in the primary class that Madame
Joubert would be much more lenient to their own little inevitabilities
of bad conduct and lessons if Pupasse did not invariably comb her