A Woman's Trials [A novel.] By Grace Ramsay

Chapter I. It

was towards the end of September, a httle past noon. The proud old chestnuts in the Tuileries Gardens were gathering rich autumn tints of purple and red, that harmonized softly with the fading green. The jets-d'eau were stiU playing, rippling, and gurgling, and splashing their silver spray up into the sunlight. A travelling carriage that had excited the admiration and curiosity of the strollers in the Champs Elysees, drew up before the gateway of a large square budding on the sunny side of the broad promenade. " Here we are !" exclaimed the footman, and jumping from his seat, he summoned the porter with such a sonorous clang at the bell as only, an English flunkey can give. The carriage step was lowered and a gentleman ahghted, and assisted his com panions to descend. VOL. I. B The first was a lady of apparently forty years of age, fair and dignified, Avith the slow, nonchalant step that generally betokens indolence or dehcate health.

The second was a young girl, whom her father rather lifted than handed from the carriage. The' three walked in through the courtyard to the front door, where the female Cerberus was waiting to receive them. The gentleman handed his card to the woman, who with a variety of dips and smiles showed the travellers into the parloir. " Donnez-vous la peine, Mesdames," she said ; and placing chairs for the ladies, she tripped out of the room. When the door closed, the young girl drew her chair closer to her mother's. " Dear mamma, I feel so frightened," she whispered. "You silly child," returned her mother, who seemed quite as agitated as her daughter; " what is there to be frightened at? Madame St. Simon is no doubt as kind as your good Mademoiselle Rosalie, whom you loved so much, and who took such care of you for the last four years."

" Oh, but then I was at home, mamma." Sir John Stanhope busied himself ex amining the drawings on the Avails of the reception room. They were signed by pupils of the Establishment, and supposed by uninitiated visitors to be the bona-fide productions of the young ladies. "My dear Mabel," observed Sir Johu, " I hope you may, on leaving this dis tinguished institution, be able to shew something as creditable to yourself and your teachers as some of the specimens before us." "I hope so, dear papa," rephed his daughter, with a nervous glance at the opening door. It was the parlour-maid to say that " Madame priait ces dames de passer chez elle." Mabel felt relieved, as if the few seconds delay before the dreaded interview gave her time to summon up her courage. Sir John looked undecided; he felt inclined to express his private opinion on the coolness of the French school dame, summoning his wife to an audience, someb a avoman's trials. what after the fashion in which he admitted one of his tenants to the same honour.

Lady Stanhope guessed what was pass ing in her husband's mind, and to prevent any awkwardness at the commencement of their acquaintance with Madame St. Simon, she rose and followed the servant across the vestibule. It never occurred to Sir John that his intercourse with any French man or woman could be otherwise than a suc cession of hostilities, more or less dan gerous, as circumstances should ordain. This forced march looked like a com promise of his dignity at the starting point ; but before he had arrived at any satisfactory decision, as to the manner of protesting against it, the door was thrown open, and the three traveUers were in presence of the maUresse de pension. If they expected (as one of the party decidedly did) to see in that lady a gay, over-dressed, be-ribboned personage, they were thoroughly disappointed.

Ma dame St. Simon was tall and sUght ; her hair, of a brilliant black, was drawn classically back in plain bands, its large rolls fastened by a plain shell comb. Her pale face would have been sickly but for the flashing of the keen grey eye that Ughted up her features, and pierced the eye it rested on. I don't think any one would say she was handsome, but she was what the French call une belle femme. Her face, in repose, looked hard and cold, but she had a bright smile that lighted the sallow features, though it never warmed them ; one of those smUes that come and go, leaving no trace behind them, fading away suddenly; it was pleasant while it lasted, and you were sorry to see it die out so quickly, like day hght sinking at once into darkness without the intervening shadows of twilight. Ma dame St. Simon had a long w*hite hand, that gave her an air of high breeding, and a small, narrow foot, that fell noise lessly on the polished floors and stone passages of Belle-Vue.

Her dress of rich black silk was of irre proachable taste, and perfectly simple ; a handsome cameo fastening a small linen collar was the only ornament she wore. Lady Stanhope was pleased, and Sir John surprised out of his pre-arranged attack. The lady, who was seated half reclining on a low green velvet couch, rose with a winning smile, and present ing her hand to Lady Stanhope, drew her gracefully to her side upon the couch, and motioned Sir John and Mabel to be seated. " Chere Milady," she began, addressing Lady Stanhope, " I was deeply touched by your letter, and the confidence you place in me ; I will care your dear child as the apple of my eye. Nothing claims my gratitude so much as the trust of English parents who confide their children to me at such a distance. And, beheve me, it is not misplaced.

I cover them with my eyes — with my heart," protested the French woman, with an earnestness that brought the tears to Lady Stanhope's eyes, while Madame St. Simon seemed with difficulty to repress her own. Sir John thought the sentimental effu sion rather premature; besides, he had a national horror of a scene, and if this continued such a catastrophe was in evitable. He cut it short by asking to see a prospectus of the school. " I wish my daughter to have a separate room, and every comfort and advantage that your establishment can afford, madame," observed the ba ronet. " Certainly, MUord," replied Madame St. Simon. " Mademoiselle must have one of our pretty rooms looking on the Promenade. She shall go out for a walk every day with the English go verness. Milady is a Protestant ?" turning to Lady Stanhope.

" Yes ; and in placing my child under your care," her Ladyship replied, " I must have the assurance that her reli gion wiU not only be untampered with, but that she shall have every facility for religious instruction. You have, I pre sume, an Enghsh clergyman attached to the Establishment ?" " Oh, bien entendu, Milady ! Ces cheres enfants are provided with every moral and religious advantage ; the regular attend ance of one of their own pastors is a ne cessary guarantee to their parents, while it lightens my responsibility on the most most important of all points." "We should like to visit the 'Institu tion,' if it be not giving you too much trouble, observed Lady Stanhope, after some further inquiries concerning the rules of the house. " With much pleasure, and forgive me," added Madame St. Simon modestly, "if I say with much pride.

This chere maison has been to me all that husband and children are to other women. I have spent the best years of my life in bringing it to the point at which you now see it. I may have acted unwisely for my own happi ness, in sacrificing the joys of domestic life to the realisation of my Utopian dreams about education, but the dream Avas a most noble one, and there was a great work to be done." " A most noble work, if properly un derstood," rejoined Sir John, whose prejudice was beginning to thaw under the influence of Madame St. Simon's quiet, earnest manner. The house was admirably adapted to its present purpose, although originally used as a private residence. It formed a quadrangle ; the inner courtyard was laid out as flower-garden; two sides of the building were devoted to the classes and refectory ; on the third were the Salles des Professeurs, the Salles de Gymnase et de Dessin; the south was reserved for Madame St. Simon's private apartments and the reception rooms.

Madame St. Simon entered one of the classes, where her presence was acknowledged by a de ferential rising of the young ladies, who stared more eagerly than politely at the graceful English girl who was about to become their companion. " This is to be your study-room, ma petite," said the lady, turning to Mabel. "Mes enfants," addressing her pupils, "je vous presente une amie de plus." The announcement was foUowed by a murmur and a curtsey. Nothing could be more satisfactory to the most exacting visitor than the perfect order of the whole estabhshment. The cleanhness was perfect, and the appoint ments in the different salles were complete without any attempt at display. The gymnastic hall attracted Sir John's special admiration, which he expressed very graciously to Madame St. Simon. "Yes," she said, " I have taken great pains to fit it up thoroughly, for I beUeve the use of gymnastic exercises one of the best things for developing the health and strength of young people.

Some parents have accused me of paying too much at tention to the physical development of my pupils, and so taking away time from their studies, but my instinct is against them there. The time given to exercise and the cultivation of health, is never time lost. A neglected education may be repaired, a ruined constitution never can." They had finished the tour of the house, including the long dormitory upstairs, with its fifty little iron beds in two prim rows on either side, the length of the room broken only by a large iron stove running its black chimney up into the ceiling. Both Sir John and his wife were charmed with the inspection, and they took leave of Madame St. Simon with the warmest expressions of approval, Sir John saying as he held her soft white hand, " Madame, I Avish I had six daughters to leave you instead of one."

It had required no small amount of en treaty and persuasion to induce Sir John to place his daughter in a French boarding school. To boarding-schools in general he bore a decided ill-AvUl, to French ones in particular. But Mabel could coax her father into anything she set her heart on having or doing. She was an only child and an heiress, but, singular as it may seem, not the least spoUt. The only joy that her young life missed was the companionship of a sister or a brother, and the idea of going to school, where she would hve in pleasant harmony with numbers of girls of her own age, had a wonderful attraction for her. She had hinted it more than once to her father, but the suggestion had been snubbed by a peremptory " Tut, tut, child ; you know nothing about it. They would starve you to death, and what should I do then for my pretty Mab ?"

Circumstances came to Mabel's assistance, though not in the way she should have best liked. Lady Stanhope's health had suffered .so severely from the foregoing winter in Eng land, that her husband was advised by the physicians to take her for a whole year to Madeira. Now, Madeira, they said, was not at all a desirable residence for her daughter, either in its climate or otherwise. There were few, if any, educational resources to be had there. True, they could take a governess with them, but Mabel required something more now ; she had arrived at a point when the teaching of superior masters was necessary to complete the governess's work. So after much hesitation and discussion, and minute inquiries as to the best schools in London and Paris, it was decided that Mabel should remain during her parents' sojourn abroad at Belle-Vue, under the maternal tutelage of Madame St. Simon.

Not till she found herself alone next day in Belle-Vue, her cheeks still wet with her mother's tears, did Mabel reahze at what a price she had bought the grant of her long urged request. It had all been plea sure and sunshine in the distance, but now that she held it in possession, the bitterness of parting with her beloved parents gave it a sadly different as pect. It was the first time she had ever been separated from her mother even for a day, and the long succession of days and months that must intervene before they were re-united, stretched out before her in interminable length. She upbraided herself remorselessly for having allowed her longing for the joyous companionship of school life to have tempted her to such a sacrifice. Though Mabel was nearly sixteen, she was much more of a child than most young ladies of that mature age believe compatible with sense and dignity.

That our heroine was deficient in neither, we hope to prove in due time. For the present we are forced to confess that Miss Stanhope was guilty of the un dignified proceeding of sobbing herself to sleep on the little white-curtained bed, where she is to sleep and dream for the next eighteen months. About an hour elapsed, when she was aroused by the ringing of a bell, and the touch of a hand laid, not roughly, but sharply, on her shoulder. "What's that?" cried Mabel, starting up. " Who are you ?" " The dressing bell, and Milly Jackson." The answer was more concise than clear. " The bell is to notify that it is time to dress for dinner," explained the intruder, " and my name is Milly Jackson." " Oh, thank you," said Mabel, rising hur riedly. " Am I to put on a low dress ?" " Bless you, no; that would be larks !" replied Milly Jackson.

" Let's see what sort of a dress you have on." She bustled about for a match, found one on the chimney-piece, struck it against the wall, ht the bougie, and then held it close to Mabel's dress ; it was a dark green silk, quite new, and very prettily made. " WiU it do for dinner ?" asked the new comer, hesitatingly. " I should think so !" exclaimed her companion, with three notes of admiration in her tone; "why it's a love of a dress was it made in Paris ?" " I believe it was," said Mabel. The answer seemed to puzzle Milly ; she turned her scrutiny from the dress to the wearer's face. It was still flushed from crying, but looked very beautiful. The deep hazel eyes, under the long black lashes, had a world of fire and tenderness in their depths, and the fair hair that had fallen from the comb, all wavy and shining, looked like a veil of gold thrown round the small, well-set head.

MiUy noticed the red lids and the choked sob, that shewed the tears were ready to start up again at a moment's notice ; she poured out some water into the diminutive cuvette, that represented a basin on the washing-table. " Come and bathe your eyes, like a dear, and try and don't fret. You won't when you get used to it. Were you never at school before ?" she asked good-naturedly. " No, never," said Mabel, " do you like being here ?" " Oh yes, very much, it's a jolly kind of school, at least for the parlour-boarders." " Am I a parlour-boarder ?" asked Mabel. "Yes, if you have a room to yourself, and dine with Madame St. Simon." " I know I have a room to myself," said Mabel, " but I don't remember if papa said anything about where I was to dine." " Then if he didn't, you have to dine in the refectory, and the Fates have mercy on you !"

" What is there so dreadful in the refectory ?" inquired Mabel, startled at Milly's lugubrious invocation. " Why you will be starved, that's aU, but unless your father's a fool he is sure to have thought about that. It's the first thing my father thought of when he put me here." " My father is not a fool," spoke Mabel indignantly, " and he never forgets any thing that can make me happy." " Oh, dear ! don't be huffed," said Milly, laughing ; " you'U never get on here, if you are the least thin-skinned. I only meant to tell you, you were very lucky if you escape the refectory cramming, and if your father didn't understand the differ ence, why you can write and tell about it, and he'll make it all square w*ith Juno." " Who is Juno ?" inquired Mabel, more and more bewildered at her new friend's peculiar manner of expressing herself.

" We call Madame St. Simon Juno, she's so high and mighty ; but you will learn all that soon enough," continued Miss Jack son, while Mabel drew the brush throuo-h her long silken hair. " My eye ! what a joUy lot of hair you have ! such a sweet colour too ! I wish mine were like it. What's your name ? you didn't tell me yet ?" " Because you did not ask me. My name is Mabel Stanhope." " Mabel ! what a funny name ! Don't they call you something else at home for shortness ?" " Papa calls me Queen Mab," replied Mabel smiling. " Mab ! that wiU do ; we'll leave out the Queen. Oh, there's the dinner-bell, and I forgot to change my sleeves." "You won't leave me to go down by myself," pleaded Mabel timidly, " I don't know the way, and I shall be so awkward going in without any one ; that is, if I am to dine with you."

There is an instinct that makes us yearn to those who look to us for help. Milly vol. i. c was unused to be appealed to by her school friends in any emergency, unless it happened to be some wild frolic that she was always ready to be foremost in. No one ever thought of going to Milly for advice in anything serious, yet for all that she was looked up to as a leader in the school, and was a general favourite. Kind hearted and careless of blame, always ready to help another out of a scrape by getting into it with them, the great business of her life was to get through the day with as little trouble and as much fun as possible. She never studied at the study hours, but gave herself endless trouble in trying to kill the time by making faces behind her books, and thereby setting her opposite neighbours into " fits," as the school term goes ; yet, somehow when the examination day came round, Milly generally managed to get off with a good place.

She had been two years at Madame St. Simon's, when she introduced herself to Mabel Stan hope, and was to remain there one year longer. Perhaps this rollicking girl was the last person Mabel would have chosen as her chaperon, if she had had a choice, but she had not. The want of refinement and good breeding that eked out in Milly's free and easy manner might have repulsed her at first ; but the bright, sunny face, and good natured cheerfulness with which she com forted the lonely new-comer, atoned for short-comings that grated on the sensitive, refined nature of her protegee. On their way along the corridor, they met some of the parlour-boarders hurrying down in answer to the dinner-beU. " Let me introduce you," patronised Milly. " Miss Wilson, Miss Wood, Miss Stanhope." " A parlour-boarder, I suppose ?" asked Miss Wood.

"I believe so," returned Mabel. " Perhaps I ought not to go with you till I am certain ?" she added, looking to MiUy for counsel. " Oh, come along; if you're not in the right box, Juno wiU soon let you know it, and hand you over to the Philistines." This was not very encouraging to the timid new-comer; however she had no thing for it but to go on, and take chance c for being admitted or turned off to the refectory. The staircase at the end of the above named corridor opened into the cloisters, where a group of young ladies were col lected at the lower end near the first-class school-room. They were not near enough for Mabel to see their faces, but by way of compensation, she had every facility for hearing their voices, not silvery ones at any time, and less so now than ever, being raised in angry altercation.

The shrill, ringing tones fell on the ear unpleasantly. Five or six talked, or rather, shrieked to gether, gesticulating violently ; one in par ticular, who, judging from her animated part in the discussion, seemed the princi pal character in the fray, shook her closed hand in the face of a small wiry person, of whom she might have easily had the ad vantage in single combat ; but that alter native was prevented by one of her com panions holding her back, while another planted herself between the belligerents. " What has happened ?" inquired Mabel, glancing with more amazement than curi osity at the noisy scene. " It's probably some quarrel of no con sequence. The French make such a fuss about nothing ; we have grown used to it, and so will you in time, Miss Stanhope," observed the young lady introduced as Miss Wilson ; she smiled and strolled on towards the dining-room.

Two other parlour-boarders followed her, leaving Mabel stiU looking on with Milly at the sight. " I'd like to see the fun out," exclaimed Miss Jackson coolly. " Is that what you call fun ?" inquired her companion, Avith a look of such genuine astonishment, that Milly could not refrain from laughing. " Well, I daresay it is rather disreput able, but it's great fun to hear those French parties pitching into each other. They go at it with such a zest." " Vous mentez !" shrieked the small combatant at her tall antagonist. " Menteuse vous-meme !" was the brisk retort. «. " Good gracious ; they will do some thing dreadful before they stop," and Mabel with her British appreciation of the insults interchanged by the assailants, really did tremble at what was to follow. " Had you not better interfere ?" she asked.

" By reading the riot act? Yes, and get abused for my pains, the usual reward for such attempts at peace-making," replied Miss Jackson philosophically ; " but pray don't excite yourself. Those little compliments are given and taken in the kindest spirit, and so frequently that their edge is considered blunted by use. A French girl thinks no more of calling or being called a liar, than we should of voting one another a bore." " Who are they ?" inquired Mabel, her astonishment increasing with every at tempt at explanation from her companion, "they cannot surely be ladies !" " Aren't they though ! The first blood (some of them) in the old faubourg. But if we stay watching them much longer, we shall have Juno down on us, for being behind time to receive her highness." It was the first Saturday of the month, and Monsieur l'Abbe*, Chaplain of Belle- Vue, usually dined there, after hearing some of the pupils' confessions, and giving an hour's instruction on the Catechism.

He was an old man, and looked much older than he was; a venerable face was that of the white-haired priest. The forehead was lofty and care-worn, and the mouth in repose looked rigid, till the smUe came Uke a sweet surprise to dispel the first impression, when the cold severity of the outline melted away, and in its place beamed out the very sunshine of bene volence. The deep-set eyes had a power of pene tration that made the children say, Mon sieur l'Abbe could read their thoughts, so it was no use telling him anything but the truth, and' they never did. When dinner was over, Madame St. Simon presented Mabel to the Chaplain, Avhose glance had been frequently directed to the new-comer opposite to him. "Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, " try and comfort this pauvre petite ; you have more talent for such missions than I have.

Mademoiselle is not a Catholic," she added, by way of a prehminary caution. " That need not prevent our being good friends, I hope," remarked the Abbe looking kindly on Mabel. " No, Monsieur," replied the young girl timidly. She felt rather impressionnee, as the French call it, in coming thus, for the first time in her life, in close contact with a Catholic priest ; but the gentle suavity of his manner soon put her at ease. Milly Jacksonloitered near the salon door on the watch to seize upon her pro tegee ; she was rather proud of playing chaperon to the pretty, new girl ; and resolved not to allow any one else to supplant her. Monsieur l'Abbe saw the merry face turned upon himself and Mabel, and beckoned her to approach. " Mademoiselle Meely," he said, " I am going to give this young compatriote into your charge ; see that she dances every quadrille to night, and if I don't find her eyes as bright as your own next time we meet, gare a vous !" and he held up his finger menacingly at Mademoiselle Meely.

She seemed by no means awe-struck, but curtsied and answered pertly, with a twinkle in her grey eye : " I undertake the task, Monsieur l'Abbe. Mademoiselle shall not shed a tear under my patronage." " Amusez-vous bien, mes enfants," said the Aumonier, and wished them good night. o It was the custom at Belle-Vue for the first class to join the parlour-boarders every Saturday in the salon. Madame St. Simon was supposed to prepare her pupils for the highest posi tions in society, and one of the accom plishments, on which she laid particular stress, was what she termed Vart de re cevoir. The Saturday soirees were got up for the purpose of initiating the young ladies into the art of holding a salon, beside which, in Madame St. Simon's opinion, all the graver duties of hfe sank into insig nificance.

The parlour-boarders, twelve in number, being all English, Mabel had as yet seen no specimen of the French pupils. They generally made their appearance some five minutes aster Madame St. Simon had taken her seat in the fauteuil beside the fire, and the English girls had distributed themselves through the room. There was a rushing noise in the hall, and a buzz of voices, then a dead silence, and the door opened. Madame St. Simon rose to meet ces demoiselles, who advanced in pairs ; they mustered about twenty strong. There was a graceful bow from Madame St. Simon, as she presented her hand to each, saying she was charmed to see her. The young ladies answered with some pretty speech held in readiness for the occasion, and curtseying withdrew, leaving the next couple to go through the same ceremony.

Mabel thought it rather thea trical, but very gracefully done, as it certainly was; all French girls have an innate sense of elegance, which makes them feel at home in ceremonies and pre sentations, where an English girl is generally as clumsy as a clown. As soon as the music began there was a general stir, a bustling about, engaging of partners, and interchange of compliments. Milly had assumed a certain importance as appointed chaperon to the " new girl," and resolved to make the most of it. After dancing two quadrilles with her protegee, she said : " Now I'll introduce the best girls to you ; try and don't get in with the others, especiaUy the French ; we English never get on with them, they drag you into no end of scrapes, and leave you to get out of them the best way you can. Olga," beckoning to a pretty girl who was in conversation with a lady near them, who, Milly informed Mabel in a whisper, was Miss Jones the English governess, " come and dance with Miss Stanhope.

Made moiselle CzerUnska, Miss Stanhope." Then added in a whisper to Mabel, " She's a Pole, a duck of a girl, you'll hke her immense ly," and having done what she considered her duty, Milly turned away to mix in the crowd, and answer some of the eager questions that were put to her on every side as to who Mabel was, and whether she had known her at home. Olga was about the same age as Mabel, and until now had been considered the beauty of the school. She had the soft graceful manners of her countrywomen, and those powers of fascination that made Napoleon the First say : " If an angel could come down from Heaven, a Pohsh woman could bring him to her feet." Mabel felt more at home with Olga, after five minutes conversation, than she had done with MiUy in spite of her good natured patronage, and before the qua drille was finished she had promised Olga to sit next her in class, if she had the good fortune to be put in the same division.