tyle, and falling straight to the floor;
the waist of the gown, fastened behind, was in front plaited into a long
rounded point. Broad ruffles of fine lace shielded her throat and hands,
and her cap, garnished with violet velvet, was trimmed with the same
delicate fabric. She was never a handsome woman even in youth, and she
was now seventy-five years of age; yet she was charming.

She rose, kissed the young girl lightly on each cheek, and said a few
words of welcome. Her manner was affectionate, but impersonal. She never
took fancies; but neither did she take dislikes. That her young ladies
were all charming young persons was an axiom never allowed to be brought
into question; that they were simply and gracefully feminine was with
equal firmness established. Other schools of modern and American origin
might make a feature of public examinations, with questions by bearded
professors from boys' colleges; but the establishment of Madame Moreau
knew nothing of such innovations. The Frenchwoman's idea was not a bad
one; good or bad, it was inflexible. She was a woman of marked
character, and may be said to have accomplished much good in a
mannerless generation and land. Thoroughly French, she was respected and
loved by all her American scholars; and it will be long ere her name
and memory fade away.

Miss Vanhorn did not come to see her niece until a week had passed. Anne
had been assigned to the lowest French class among the children, had
taken her first singing lesson from one Italian, fat, rosy, and smiling,
and her first Italian lesson from another, lean, old, and soiled, had
learned to answer questions in the Moreau French, and to talk a little,
as well as to comprehend the fact that her clothes were remarkable, and
that she herself was considered an oddity, when one morning Tante sent
word that she was to come down to the drawing-room to see a visitor.

The visitor was an old woman with black eyes, a black wig, shining false
teeth, a Roman nose, and a high color (which was, however, natural), and
she was talking to Tante, who, with her own soft gray hair, and teeth
which if false did not appear so, looked charmingly real beside her.
Miss Vanhorn was short and stout; she was muffled in an India shawl, and
upon her hands were a pair of cream-colored kid gloves much too large
for her, so that when she fumbled, as she did every few moments, in an
embroidered bag for aromatic seeds coated with sugar, she had much
difficu