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Light dawned upon Miss Bunting. Finding that Anne's book French was pretty good she had turned her loose on the immortal works of Dumas père: that is to say, on about ten per cent of his inexhaustible and uneven output. And this was the result of Monte Cristo.

"What would you do if you were really in a dungeon, Miss Bunting?" said Anne, who was evidently examining the whole subject seriously.

"I should use my intelligence," said Miss Bunting, and there is no doubt that she meant this.

"I expect you'd unravel your stockings and make a rope and strangle the jailer and dress up in his clothes," said Anne, gazing with reverent confidence at her governess.

Miss Bunting did not in the least regret having led her young charge into the enchanted world of fiction, but she certainly had not bargained for this very personal application of the life story of Edmond Dantes and found herself--a thing which had very rarely occurred in her life--quite at a loss. So she said Anne had better finish her lunch so that Gradka could get on with her work.