to sleep in the shadow of the church, under a black cross, in a bed with a coverlet of grass, for Fanny’s bed had been her grandfather’s when he was a little baby, and the little girl slept now in the same place as her ancestor. She slept. A cotton curtain with a pattern of roses protected her slumbers. She slept and dreamed. She saw the blue bird flying toward the castle of his love. He looked as beautiful as a star, but she did not expect for a moment to see him perch on her shoulder. She knew she was not a princess, and couldn’t expect visits from a prince changed into a bird the color of deep sky. However, she told herself that all birds are not princes, that the birds in the village are villagers and among them may well enough have been some country boy changed into a sparrow by a wicked fairy, and having a love for Fanny in his heart beneath his gray feathers. Such an one, if she should find him, she would give not only bread, but cakes and kisses too. She would like to see him. And now she does see him! He comes and perches on her shoulder. He’s just a little cock sparrow, not fine or rare, but very alert and lively. To tell the truth his appearance is a little tousled: one tail feather is missing, lost in a fight, that is unless he has encountered some bad fairy in the village. Fanny suspects him of having a bad head; but she is a girl, and it does not worry her that her cock sparrow has a bad head if his heart is good. She pets him and calls him pretty names. All of a sudden he grows bigger and longer: his wings change into two arms. He turns into a boy, and Fanny recognizes Antony the gardener’s little boy, who says to her: “Let’s come and play together.”

SHE JUMPS OUT OF BED IN HER NIGHTGOWN, OPENS THE WINDOW, AND THERE IN THE GARDEN, AMONG THE ROSES AND GERANIUMS AND MORNING GLORIES, ARE THE LITTLE BIRD BEGGARS, THE LITTLE MUSICIANS OF LAST NIGHT, SITTING IN A ROW ON THE GARDEN FENCE AND GIVING HER A MORNING SONG TO PAY FOR THEIR CRUMBS OF BREAD.

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She claps her hands with joy and starts to go—then suddenly wakes up. She rubs her eyes. No sparrow, no Antony! She is alone in the little room. The dawn, shining through the little flowered curtain, spreads its innocent light on the bed. She hears the birds singing in the garden. She jumps out of bed in her nightgown, opens the window, and there in the garden, among the roses and geraniums and morning glories, are the little bird beggars, the little musicians of last night, sitting in a row on the fence rail and giving her a morning song to pay for their crumbs of bread.

THE FANCY DRESS PARTY

Here are little boys like knights of old, and little girls who are heroines. Here are shepherdesses with dresses looped up in paniers and garlands of roses, and shepherds in satin suits with knots of ribbons on their shepherd’s crooks. Dear me, what pretty white sheep such shepherds must have in their flocks! And here are Alexander and Zarius, Pyerhus and Merope, Mahomet, Harlequin, Scapin, Blaise and Babette. They have come from everywhere, from Greece and Rome and blue distant countries, to dance with one another. It’s a fine thing, a fancy dress ball, and very agreeable for an hour or two to be a great king or an illustrious princess. It has no inconveniences. You have not to sustain your costumes by actions or even by your words.

It would not be very amusing to wear a hero’s dress if you had to show his courage too. The hearts of heroes are torn in all sorts of ways. For the most part they are famous through their misfortunes. If any of them lived happily they are not remembered now. Merope never cared about dancing. Pyerhus was wickedly killed by Orestes just as he was going to be married, and the innocent Zarius perished at the hands of the Turk his friend, a philosophical trick indeed. As to Blaise and Babette the song says that their pangs of love were never-ending.

AND HERE ARE ALEXANDER AND ZAIRA, PYRRHUS AND MEROPE, MAHOMET, HARLEQUIN, SCAPIN, AND THE PASTORAL BLAISE AND BABETTE. THEY HAVE COME FROM EVERYWHERE, FROM GREECE AND ROME AND THE BLUE COUNTRIES, TO DANCE WITH ONE ANOTHER.

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In the same way, if it comes to Pierrot and Scapin, you know as well as I that they were perfect rascals, and that people more than once tweaked their ears for them. No, glory comes very high, even the glory of an Harlequin. On the other hand it’s very nice to be a little boy or girl and masquerade as these old characters. That’s why there’s no fun like a fancy ball where the costumes are fine enough. You feel grand just by wearing them. See how well all the pretty company wears its plumes and cloaks. What a fine and gallant air they have, how well they look and how much old time grace they can display.

On the balcony, in the part that you don’t see in the picture, the musicians tune their violins with a sweet and plaintive sound. The music of a quadrille in the grand style is open on the leader’s desk. They are going to strike up this piece. At the first notes of it our heroes and masks will step forth and dance.

THE SCHOOL

I declare I believe Miss Genseigne’s school is the best school for girls anywhere in the world. I maintain that those who believe and say the contrary are false and misleading. All Miss Genseigne’s scholars are well-behaved and diligent. There is nothing so pleasant as to see them, with their little stiff bodies and their heads so erect. You would say they were so many little bottles into which Miss Genseigne was pouring knowledge.

Miss Genseigne sits up perfectly straight on her platform; very grave and sweet. Her braided head band and her black cape inspire respect and sympathy.

Miss Genseigne, who is very well educated, is giving a lesson in arithmetic to her little pupils. She says to Rose Benoit: “Rose Benoit, if I take four from a dozen how many have I left?”

“Four!” replies Rose Benoit. Miss Genseigne is not quite satisfied with this answer.

“And you, Emmeline Capel, if I take four from a dozen how many have I left?”

“Eight,” replies Emmeline Capel.