It occurred to me one Sunday morning to watch for the moment whenMademoiselle Prefere's pupils were leaving the school in processionto attend Mass at the parish church. I watched them passing two bytwo,--the little ones first with very serious faces. There were three ofthem all dressed exactly alike--dumpy, plump, important-looking littlecreatures, whom I recognized at once as the Mouton girls. Their eldersister is the artist who drew that terrible head of Tatius, King ofthe Sabines. Beside the column, the assistant school-teacher, with herprayer-book in her hand, was gesturing and frowning. Then came the nextoldest class, and finally the big girls, all whispering to each other,as they went by. But I did not see Jeanne.
I went to police-headquarters and inquired whether they chanced tohave, filed away somewhere or other, any information regarding theestablishment in the Rue Demours. I succeeded in inducing them to sendsome female inspectors there. These returned bringing with them the mostfavourable reports about the establishment. In their opinion the PrefereSchool was a model school. It is evident that if I were to force aninvestigation, Mademoiselle Prefere would receive academic honours.