?" he answered, sternly.

In reality there was but room for ten beds; but twenty were placed
there, with a lavatory at the end, a wretched bit of carpet near the
door, and all was in readiness.

Why not? After all, a dormitory is only a place to sleep in, and
children should be able to sleep anywhere, in spite of heat or cold, of
bad air and of creeping things, in spite of the noise of pumps and of
horses. They catch rheumatism, ophthalmia, and bronchitis, to be sure,
but they sleep all the same the calm sweet sleep of children worn out by
out-door exercise and play, and undisturbed by anxieties for the morrow.
This is the popular belief in regard to children, but too many of us
know that the truth is quite different. For example, the first night
little Jack could not close his eyes. He had never slept in a strange
house, and the change was great from his own little room at home, dimly
lighted by a night-lamp, and littered with his favorite playthings, to
the strange and comfortless place where he now found himself.

As soon as the pupils were in bed, a black servant took away the light,
and Jack remained wide awake.

A pale moon, reflected from the snow that covered a portion of the
skylight, filled the room with a bluish light. He looked at the beds,
standing close together foot to foot the length of the room, most of
them unoccupied, their coverings rolled up in a bundle at one end. Seven
or eight were animated by an occasional snore, by a hollow cough, or a
stifled exclamation.

The new-comer had the best place, a little sheltered from the wind of
the door. Nevertheless, he was far from warm, and the cold kept him from
sleep as much as the novelty of his surroundings. He went over and over
again in his memory every trifling detail of the day's events. He
saw Moronval's bulky white cravat, the enormous spectacles of Dr.
Hirsch--his soiled and spotted overcoat; but above all he recalled the
cold and haughty eyes of "his enemy," as he already in his innermost
heart called D'Argenton.

This thought struck such terror to his soul that involuntarily he looked
to his mother for protection and defence.

Where was she at that moment? A dozen different clocks at that instant
struck eleven. She was probably at some ball or theatre. She would soon
come in, all wrapped in furs and laces. When she came, it mattered not
how late, she always opened Jack's door and bent over his bed to kiss
him. Even in his sleep he was gene