“I shouldn’t care!” said Raymonde easily. “I never liked her much. We used to call her ‘the butterfly’, but she’s ‘the mosquito’ now. She’s developing a very unpleasant sting.”
Whatever might be the truth of Morvyth’s surmises as to the reason of Mademoiselle’s new attitude, the fact loomed large. Having determined to demonstrate her powers of discipline, she overdid it. She was one of those persons who cannot keep order and enforce rules without losing their tempers, and she stormed at the girls continually. She developed a mania for what she called “surveillance.” She was continually paying surprise visits to dormitory or schoolroom, and pouncing upon offenders who were talking, or otherwise neglecting their duties. It was even suspected that she listened behind doors. Fauvette, whose babyish characteristics led her into many pitfalls, seemed suddenly to become the scapegoat of Mademoiselle’s freshly acquired vigilance. Fauvette lacked spirit, and went down like a ninepin before the least word of reproof. Her feelings were easily hurt, and her tears always close to the surface. She sat now and 219 sobbed pathetically upon her pillow, without making the least effort to tidy up her belongings. Raymonde shook her head over her.
“You’re the sort of girl who ought to go through life with a nurse or a maid to look after you; you’re not fit to take care of yourself,” she decided. “Look here, how much wants doing to your clothes before the Mosquito comes buzzing round to inspect?”
“Shoals!” sighed Fauvette wearily. “I’m afraid I’ve left my mending. There are stockings, and gloves, and—all kinds of things.”
“Can you get it done in time?”
“Impossible!” and the tears dripped again on to a dainty muslin collar.
“Then there’s nothing for it but to get up a Mending Bee, and help you! We seven are sworn to stick together.”
“There’ll be squalls if you’re caught in the dormitory during recreation. I was told to stay here,” cautioned Fauvette.
“We’ve got to risk something,” returned Raymonde cheerily, scurrying off in search of the remaining five of the Mystics.
“You’ve all got to fetch work-baskets and come this instant,” she commanded. “It’s an urgency call, like last term when we made T bandages for Roumania, and nose-bags for the horses, only it’s even more important and urgent.”