From the windows of the dining-room where the cours was held, we could look down the driveway and see all the children of the neighborhood standing on the wall of the moat, craning their necks in the hope of catching a glimpse of what was going on in the chateau.  It was evidently an interesting diversion, for every afternoon they reappeared, in spite of George’s threats to send for the gendarmes.  The little demons seemed to know that the gendarmes were too busy to give them any attention, and I assure you, they profited by their liberty.  Little John Poupard and his five-year-old brother were the leaders of the band, and I trembled lest some day their curiosity lead to a tragic end!

Nor were my fears in vain, for one afternoon we beard a shriek and a splash, followed by cries of terror, and we knew for certain that some one had fallen into the moat.  The embankment is not eight feet high, and at that season of the year there is more mud than water in the river, so I was certain that whoever had fallen in was in no danger of drowning—­but nevertheless I hastened with the others to the spot.

George, who had also heard the noise, reached the scene of action before we did, and on our arrival we found him knee deep in the mud, preparing to hoist a little limp body on to the bank.

Johnny Poupard!

“Good heavens!” thought I.  “Decidedly that family had no intention of letting the village rust for want of dramatic situations!”

“He’s merely fainted; more frightened than hurt,” declared Madame Guix, who had literally pounced upon him.  “Now then, ladies,” she said, turning towards the women who stood gaping at us, “now then, here’s a splendid opportunity to distinguish yourselves.”

And so little John Poupard was carried into the infirmary.  As first patient you may be sure that be received every attention.  Some ammonia was held under his nose.  This soon brought him around and after carefully sounding all his bones, Madame Guix decided that there were no fractures.  And the bandaging began!

It makes me smile when I think of it all now—­for the only wounds Johnny possessed were a few scratches on his bands, knees and head, caused by his sudden contact with a patch of stinging nettles which had sprung up on the river banks.

Under ordinary circumstances, the child would probably have picked himself up and walked home, forgetting his woes an hour later.  But real live models who are actually in pain, are few and far between, especially at “courses” such as ours, and the amount of professional skill that was expended on that little urchin ought to have cured six of his kind.  But it all made the women so happy!

At the end of half an hour, Johnny Poupard looked more like an Egyptian mummy than a human being, so much so that when his grandmother arrived upon the scene of action, she very nearly fainted and all but became patient number two at Auxiliary Hospital No. 7!