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She spoke the English name with an indescribable accent of tenderness, but Mademoiselle La Croix repeated it after her almost sharply.

“John! yes,” she said, “it is no wonder he is always in your thoughts; as for me, Heaven knows what will happen to me! I am sure, had I known—” and the Frenchwoman paused, to wipe a tear from her eye.

“Ah, yes, it was thoughtless, cruel of us!” interrupted Herlinda, penitently, yet scarcely able to repress a smile as her glance fell upon the gayly flowered dressing-gown which formed an incongruous wrapping for the thin, bony figure of the governess; “but, dear Mademoiselle, nothing worse than a dismissal can happen to you, and you know John has promised—”

The governess drew herself up with portentous dignity. “Mademoiselle wanders from the point,” she interrupted; “it is of herself only I was thinking. This state of affairs must be brought to a close,” she added solemnly, after a pause. “At all risks, Herlinda, John must claim you.”

“So he knows, so I tell him,” answered Herlinda, suddenly wide awake, and ceasing the pretty yawns and stretchings with which she had endeavored to banish her drowsiness. “Oh, Mademoiselle,” a shade of apprehension passing over her face, “I have done wrong, very wrong. My mother will never forgive me!”