I selected Sylvie as my informant, because from her I knew that I should at least get a sensible answer, unaccompanied by wriggle, titter, or other flourish of folly.
"Ou donc est Mdlle.

Henri ?" I said one day as I returned an exercise-book I had been examining.
"Elle est partie, monsieur." "Partie?
et pour combien de temps?
Quand reviendra-t-elle ?" "Elle est partie pour toujours, monsieur; elle ne reviendra plus." "Ah!" was my involuntary exclamation; then after a pause:-- "En etes-vous bien sure, Sylvie ?" "Oui, oui, monsieur, mademoiselle la directrice nous l'a dit elle-meme il y a deux ou trois jours." And I could pursue my inquiries no further; time, place, and circumstances forbade my adding another word.

I could neither comment on what had been said, nor demand further particulars.

A question as to the reason of the teacher's departure, as to whether it had been voluntary or otherwise, was indeed on my lips, but I suppressed it--there were listeners all round.

An hour after, in passing Sylvie in the corridor as she was putting on her bonnet, I stopped short and asked:-- "Sylvie, do you know Mdlle.