lf; and slow,
stupid, or lazy girls found no mercy at her hands.

Eleanor's unusual abilities, the extent of her knowledge and reading on
general subjects, the rapidity with which she picked up conversational
French and wielded it in discussions with Madame, and finally her
industry and perseverance, won Madame's admiration and good-will. I
think she almost believed that Mademoiselle Arkwright's word was to be
relied upon.

Eleanor never toadied her, which I fear we others (we were so utterly at
her mercy!) did sometimes; assuming an interest we did not feel in her
dissertations on the greatness of France and the character of her
especial idol, the first Napoleon.

If Madame respected Eleanor, we school-girls almost revered her. "She
talks so splendidly," Lucy said one day.

Not that the rest of us were by any means dumb. The fact that English
was forbidden did not silence us, and on Sunday when (to Madame's
undisguised chagrin) Miss Mulberry allowed us to speak English, we
chattered like sparrows during an anthem. But Eleanor introduced a kind
of talk which was new to most of us.

We could all chatter of people and places, and what was said on this
occasion or what happened on another. We had one good mimic (Emma), and
two or three of us were smart in description. We were observant of
details and appearances, and we could one and all "natter" over our
small grievances without wearying of the subject, and without ever
speculating on their causes, or devising remedies for them.

But, with Eleanor, facts served more as points to talk from, than as
talk in themselves. Through her influence the Why and How of things
began to steal into our conversation. We had more discussion and less
gossip, and found it better fun.

"One never tells you anything without your beginning to argue about it,"
said one of the girls to her one day.

"I'm very sorry," said poor Eleanor.

"You're very clever, you mean," said Emma. "What a lawyer you'd have
made, Eleanor! While we growl at the Toad's tyranny, you make a case out
of it."

(I regret to have to confess that, owing to a peculiarity of complexion,
Madame was familiarly known to us, behind her back, as the Toad.)

"Well, I don't know," said Eleanor, puckering her brows and nursing her
knees, as we all sat or lounged on the school-room floor, during the
after-dinner recreation minutes, in various awkward but restful
attitudes; "I can growl as well as anybody, but I never fee