English grooms in shabby liveries, worn-out jockeys,
and dilapidated body-servants, seemed there to congregate. To these must
be added the horde of workpeople who returned at sunset; those who let
chairs, or tiny carriages drawn by goats; dog-fanciers, beggars of all
sorts, dwarfs from the hippodrome and their microscopic ponies. Picture
all these to yourself, and you will have some idea of this singular
spot--so near to the Champs Elysees that the tops of the green trees
were to be seen, and the roar of carriages was but faintly subdued.

It was in this place that the Moronval Academy was situated. Two or
three times during the day a tall, thin mulatto made his appearance in
the street. He wore on his head a broad-brimmed Quaker hat placed so far
back that it resembled a halo; long hair swept over his shoulders, and
he crossed the street with a timid, terrified air, followed by a troop
of boys of every shade of complexion varying from a coffee tint to
bright copper, and thence to profound black. These lads wore the coarse
uniform of the school, and had an unfed and uncared-for aspect.

The principal of the Moronval Academy himself took his pupils--his
children of the sun, as he called them--out for their daily walks; and
the comings and goings of this singular party gave the finishing touch
of oddity to the appearance of the _Passage des Douze Maisons_.

Most assuredly, had Madame de Barancy herself brought her child to the
Academy, the sight of the place would have terrified her, and she would
never have consented to leave her darling there. But her visit to the
Jesuits had been so unfortunate, her reception so different from that
which she had anticipated, that the poor creature, timid at heart and
easily disconcerted, feared some new humiliation, and delegated to
Madame Constant, her maid, the task of placing Jack at the school chosen
for him by her servants.

It was one cold, gray morning that Ida's carriage drew up in front of
the gilt sign of the Moronval Academy. The lane was deserted, but the
walls and the signs all had a damp and greenish look, as if a recent
inundation had there left its traces. Constant stepped forward bravely,
leading the child by one hand, and carrying an umbrella in the other. At
the twelfth house she halted. It was at the end of the lane just where
it closes, save for a narrow passage into La Rue Marbouf, between
two high walls on which grated the dry branches of old shrubbery and
anc