this, Madame d'Avrigny begged her to come and dine with her, when there
would be only themselves, on Mondays, and then practise with Dolly, who
had not another moment in which she could take a lesson. She should be
sent home scrupulously before ten o'clock, that being the hour at the
convent when every one must be in. Jacqueline accepted all these
kindnesses gratefully. By Giselle's advice she hid her slight figure
under a loose cloak and put on her head a bonnet fit for a grandmother,
a closed hat with long strings, which, when she first put it on her head,
made her burst out laughing. She imagined herself to be going forth in
disguise. To walk the streets thus masked she thought would be amusing,
so amusing that the moment she set foot on the street pavement she felt
that the joy of living was yet strong in her. With a roll of music in
her hand, she walked on rather hesitatingly, a little afraid, like a bird
just escaped from the cage where it was born; her heart beat, but it was
with pleasure; she fancied every one was looking at her, and in fact one
old gentleman, not deceived by the cloak, did follow her till she got
into an omnibus for the first time in her life--a new experience and a
new pleasure. Once seated, and a little out of breath, she remembered
Madame Saville's letter, which she had slipped into her pocket. It was
sealed and had a stamp on it; it was too highly scented to be in good
taste, and it was addressed to a lieutenant of chasseurs with an
aristocratic name, in a garrison at Fontainebleau.

Then Jacqueline began vaguely to comprehend that Madame Saville's husband
might have had serious reasons for commending his wife to the
surveillance of the nuns, and that there might have been some excuse for
their endeavoring to hinder all intimacy between herself and the little
blonde.

This office of messenger, thrust upon her without asking permission, was