stately fashion and sent forth a stately odor of sandalwood.

"I shall have to do whatever she tells me," Anne knew at once. "If she
tells me to walk in the fire, I shall have to go."

That was the impression Mademoiselle Duroc always made on people. She
was a born general, and if she had been a man and had lived a century
earlier, she would have been one of the great Napoleon's marshals and
led a freezing, starving little band to impossible victories;--so Miss
Morris said. Miss Morris, a stout, middle-aged, New England lady, was
Mademoiselle's assistant. She had a kind heart, but the girls thought
her cross because she was always making a worried effort to secure the
order and attention which came of themselves as soon as Mademoiselle
entered the study-hall. When Miss Morris scolded--which was often, as
Anne was to learn--her face grew very red and her voice very rough, and
she flapped her arms in a peculiar way. Anne did not like to be scolded
but she liked to watch Miss Morris when she was angry; it was strange
and interesting to see a person look so much like a turkey-cock.

Anne usually watched people very closely with her bright, soft, hazel
eyes. Now, however, she was too frightened and miserable to raise her
eyes above Mademoiselle's satin slippers, even to look at Miss Morris
who came in to take charge of the new pupil.

"This is my borrowed daughter, for the winter at least," Mrs. Patterson
explained, with her arm around the shy, excited child. "You will find
her studious and you will find her obedient. I shall expect you to give
her back to me next summer a very learned young lady."

Anne clung to Mrs. Patterson's hand like a drowning man to a raft.