She alone represented the world, the world of Paris, among all those
ladies, some of whom were looking for places as companions, some having
come up from the provinces, and some being old ladies who had seen
better days. Her change of place was observed by the nun who presided
at the table, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face. It was
slight, but it portended trouble. And, indeed, when grace had been said,
Mademoiselle de Nailles was sent for by the Mother Superior, who gave
her to understand that, being so young, it was especially incumbent
on her to be circumspect in her choice of associates. Her place
thenceforward was to be between Madame de X-----, an old, deaf lady, and
Mademoiselle J-----, a former governess, as cold as ice and exceedingly
respectable. As to Madame Saville, she had been received in the convent
for especial reasons, arising out of circumstances which did not make
her a fit companion for inexperienced girls. The Superior hesitated a
moment and then said: "Her husband requested us to take charge of her,"
in a tone by which Jacqueline quite understood that "take charge" was a
synonym for "keep a strict watch upon her." She was spied upon, she was
persecuted--unjustly, no doubt.

All this increased the interest that Jacqueline already felt in the lady
with the light hair. But she made a low curtsey to the Mother
Superior and returned no answer. Her intercourse with her neighbor
was thenceforward; however, sly and secret, which only made it more
interesting and exciting. They would exchange a few words when they met
upon the stairs, in the garden, or in the cloisters, when there was
no curious eye to spy them out; and the first time Jacqueline went out
alone Madame Saville was on the watch, and, without speaking, slipped a
letter into her hand.

This first time Jacqueline went out was an epoch in her life, as small
events are sometimes in the annals of nations; it was the date of her
emancipation, it coincided with what she called her choice of a career.
Thinking herself sure of possessing a talent for teaching, she had
spoken of it to several friends who had come to see her, and who each
and all exclaimed that they would like some lessons, a delicate way of
helping her quite understood by Jacqueline. Pupils like Belle Ray and
Yvonne d'Etaples, who wanted her to come twice a week to play duets with
them or to read over new music, were not nearly so interesting as those
in her little class