eyes in that room that had any desire to look upon it. And the cries
and the "Quelle injustice!" that fell on the ears then from the hidden
feelings had all the weirdness of the unseen, but heard. And all the
other girls in the room, in fear and trembling, would begin to move
their lips in a perfect whirlwind of study, or write violently
on their slates, or begin at that very instant to rule off their
copy-books for the next day's verb.

Pupasse--her name was Marie Pupasse but no one thought of calling
her anything but Pupasse, with emphasis on the first syllable and
sibilance on the last--had no parents only a grandmother, to describe
whom, all that is necessary to say is that she was as short as Pupasse
was tall, and that her face resembled nothing so much as a little
yellow apple shriveling from decay. The old lady came but once a week,
to fetch Pupasse fresh clothes, and a great brown paper bag of nice
things to eat. There was no boarder in the school who received
handsomer bags of cake and fruit than Pupasse. And although, not two
hours before, a girl might have been foremost in the shrill cry, "It
is Pupasse who made the noise! It is Pupasse who made me laugh!" there
was nothing in that paper bag reserved even from such a one. When the
girl herself with native delicacy would, under the circumstances,
judge it discreet to refuse, Pupasse would plead, "Oh, but take it to
give me pleasure!" And if still the refusal continued, Pupasse would
take her bag and go into the summer-house in the corner of the garden,
and cry until the unforgiving one would relent. But the first offering
of the bag was invariably to the stern dispenser of fools' caps and
the unnamed humiliation of the reversed skirt: Madame Joubert.

Pupasse was in the fifth class. The sixth--the abécédaires--was
the lowest in the school. Green was the color of the fifth;