Pupasse was radiant; she was more than delighted, and the more she
read the better pleased she was. Such a handsome long list, and so
many sins she had never thought of--never dreamed of! She set herself
with zeal to commit them to memory. But a hand on the door--Madame
Joubert! You never could have told that those little girls had not
been sitting during the whole time, with their hands clasped and eyes
cast up to the ceiling, or moving their lips as the prayer-beads
glided through their fingers. Their versatility was really marvelous.

[Illustration: THE FIRST COMMUNION.]

Poor Pupasse! God solved the dilemma of her education, and madame's
increasing sensitiveness about her appearance in the fifth class, by
the death of the old grandmother. She went home to the funeral, and
never returned--or at least she returned, but only for madame. There
was a little scene in the parlor: Pupasse, all dressed in black, with
her bag of primary books in her hand, ready and eager to get back to
her classes and fools' caps; madame, hesitating between her interests
and her fear of ridicule; Madame Joubert, between her loyalty to
school and her conscience. Pupasse the only one free and untrammeled,
simple and direct.

That little school parlor had been the stage for so many scenes!
Madame Joubert detested acting--the comedy, as she called it. There
was nothing she punished with more pleasure up in her room. And
yet--

"Pupasse, _ma fille_, give me your grammar."