ensuing week the brother came, and he proved to be the very pawnbroker to whom Manon formerly offered the stolen box:  he knew her immediately; it was in vain that she attempted to puzzle him, and to persuade him that she was not the same person.  The man was clear and firm.  Sister Frances could scarcely believe what she heard.  Struck with horror, the children shrank back from Manon, and stood in silence.  Madame de Fleury immediately wrote to the lady who had recommended this girl, and inquired into the truth of the pawnbroker’s assertions.  The lady, who had given Manon a false character, could not deny the facts, and could apologise for herself only by saying that “she believed the girl to be partly reformed, and that she hoped, under Madame de Fleury’s judicious care, she would become an amiable and respectable woman.”

Madame de Fleury, however, wisely judged that the hazard of corrupting all her pupils should not be incurred for the slight chance of correcting one, whose bad habits wore of such long standing.  Manon was expelled from this happy little community—­even Sister Frances, the most mild of human beings, could never think of the danger to which they had been exposed without expressing indignation against the lady who recommended such a girl as a fit companion for her blameless and beloved pupils.

CHAPTER VII

   “Alas! regardless of their doom,
   The little victims play: 
   No sense have they of ills to come,
   No care beyond to-day.”—­GRAY.

Good legislators always attend to the habits, and what is called the genius, of the people they have to govern.  From youth to age, the taste for whatever is called une fete pervades the whole French nation.  Madame de Fleury availed herself judiciously of this powerful motive, and connected it with the feelings of affection more than with the passion for show.  For instance, when any of her little people had done anything particularly worthy of reward, she gave them leave to invite their parents to a fete prepared for them by their children, assisted by the kindness of Sister Frances.

One day—­it was a holiday obtained by Victoire’s good conduct—­all the children prepared in their garden a little feast for their parents.  Sister Frances spread the table with a bountiful hand, the happy fathers and mothers were waited upon by their children, and each in their turn heard with delight from the benevolent nun some instance of their daughter’s improvement.  Full of hope for the future and of gratitude for the past, these honest people ate and talked, whilst in imagination they saw their children all prosperously and usefully settled in the world.  They blessed Madame de Fleury in her absence, and they wished ardently for her presence.

“The sun is setting, and Madame de Fleury is not yet come,” cried Victoire; “she said she would be here this evening—­What can be the matter?”