Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Is that gentleman a relative of yours, Miss Chandos?" interrupted Miss Johnstone from the end of the omnibus.

Miss Chandos did not like the tone or the question: the one savoured of acrimony, the other she resented as impertinent. She fixed her haughty blue eyes on Miss Johnstone before she answered: they said very plainly, "By what right do you presume to inquire of me?" and Miss Johnstone bit her lips at the look.

"They are not related to us. Madame de Mellissie is an intimate friend of my mother, Lady Chandos." And that was all she condescended to say, for she turned her back and began laughing and chattering in French with Mademoiselle Caroline.

The Miss Barlieus received us graciously, giving us all the same friendly greeting that the old teacher had given only to Miss Chandos. Two pleasant, kind-hearted maiden ladies were they, not very young. Miss Annette confessed to having passed thirty-five. We were their visitors that evening, and were regaled with nice things in their own parlour.

I said I would relate the mode of treatment in that school. It was a superior establishment, the terms high for France; but they were not much more than half the amount of Miss Fenton's. Here they included the month's holiday at autumn. At Miss Fenton's the holidays were three months in the year; and if you stayed (as I did), extra money had to be paid.

The dormitories were spacious and airy, a small, separate, thoroughly clean bed being given to each pupil. No French school can be overcrowded, for they are under the close inspection of the Government; and the number of pupils to be taken is registered. A large airy room is set apart as an infirmary, should any fall sick.

Clang! clang! clang! went the great bell in the morning, waking us out of our sleep at six. Dressing, practising, lessons, and prayers, occupied the time until eight. Miss Johnstone read prayers to the English pupils, all Protestants; Mademoiselle Caroline read them to the French, who were Roman Catholics. For breakfast there was as much bread-and-butter as we liked to eat, and a small basin each of good rich milk. Some of the English girls chose tea in preference, which they were at liberty to do. On Sunday morning's the breakfast was a treat: coffee and petits pains, a sort of roll. We had them hot, two each, and a small pat of butter. Such coffee as that we never get in England: one-third coffee, two-thirds hot milk, and strong then. Breakfast over (to go back to the week days), we played till nine, and then came studies until twelve.

The professed dinner hour was half-past twelve, but the cook rarely sent in before a quarter to one. We all dined together with Miss Barlieu and Miss Annette, at two long tables. I remember the dinner, that first day, as well as though I had eaten it yesterday. A plateful of soup first, very poor, as all French soup is; after that the bouilli, the meat that the soup is made of. The English at first never like this bouilli, but in time they learn to know how good it is, eaten with the French piquante mustard. Sometimes carrots were served with the bouilli, sometimes small pickled cucumbers: this day we had cucumbers. Remembering Miss Fenton's, I wondered if that comprised the dinner—and, talking of Miss Fenton's, I have never mentioned that in her house we were not allowed bread at dinner; here, if we could have eaten a whole loaf, we might have had it.

It did not comprise the dinner; there came on some delicious roast veal and potatoes; and afterwards fried pancakes, with sugar. On Sundays we sometimes had poultry, always a second dish of vegetables, and a fruit or cream tart. The drink was the same as at Miss Fenton's—beer or water, as might be preferred. Four or five of the girls had wine; but it was either supplied by the parents, or paid for as an extra. It was commonly reported that in some other schools, in the colleges especially, the soup, the bouilli, bread and potatoes, comprised the dinner every day, with a roast joint in addition on Sundays.

At two o'clock came school again until four, when we were released for half an hour, and had each a slice of bread-and-butter, called collation. Then school again until six, and supper at seven. The suppers varied; meat was never served, but vegetables were often: sometimes bread and cheese and salad; or bread and butter, with an egg, or with shrimps, or fried potatoes; and tea to drink. I think this was a more sensible mode of living than Miss Fenton's: altogether I can truly say that we experienced liberality and kindness at Miss Barlieu's; it was a far better home than the other.