the others.

"Here it is!" he cried, with an air of triumph.

He unfolded the prospectus and began to read, or rather to spell with
difficulty:

"Gymnase Moronval--in the--in the--"

"Give it to me," said Mademoiselle Constant; and taking it from him, she
read it at one glance.

"Moronval Academy--situated in the finest quarter of Paris--a
family school--large garden--the number of pupils limited--course of
instruction--particular attention paid to the correction of the accent
of foreigners--"

Mademoiselle Constant interrupted herself here to breathe, and to
exclaim, "This seems all right enough!"

"I think so," said the cook.

The reading of the prospectus was resumed, but Jack was soundly asleep,
and heard no more.

He was dreaming. Yes, while his future was thus under discussion
around this kitchen-table, while his mother was dancing as Folly in
her rose-colored skirts and silver bells, he was dreaming of the kind
priest, and of the tender voice that had murmured--"Poor child!"

CHAPTER II.~~THE SCHOOL IN THE AVENUE MONTAIGNE.

"23 Avenue Montaigne, in the best quarter of Paris," said the
prospectus. And no one can deny that the Avenue Montaigne is well
situated in the Champs Elysees, but it has an incongruous unfinished
aspect, as of a road merely sketched and not completed.

By the side of the fine hotels with their plate-glass windows hung with
silken draperies, stand the houses of workmen, whence issue the noise of
hammers and grating of saws. One part of the Faubourg seems also to be
relinquished to gardens after the style of Mabille.

At the time of which I speak, and possibly now? from the avenue ran two
or three narrow lanes whose sordid aspect offered a strange contrast to
the superb buildings near them. One of these lanes opened at the number
23, and announced on a gilded sign swinging in the passage, that the
Moronval Academy was there situated. This sign, however, once passed, it
seemed to you that you were taken back forty years, and to the other
end of Paris. The black mud, the stream in the centre of the lane, the
reverberations from the high walls, the drinking-shops built from old
planks, all seemed to belong to the past. From every nook and cranny,
from stairs and balconies, whence fluttered linen hung to dry, streamed
forth a crowd of children escorted by an army of lean and hungry cats.
It was amazing to see that so small a spot could accommodate such a
number of persons.