My first business this afternoon consisted in reading the list of places for the month， determined by the relative correctness of the compositions given the preceding day.The list was headed， as usual， by the name of Sylvie， that plain， quiet little girl I have described before as being at once the best and ugliest pupil in the establishment； the second place had fallen to the lot of a certain Léonie Ledru， a diminutive， sharp-featured， and parchment- skinned creature of quick wits， frail conscience， and indurated feelings； a lawyer-like thing， of whom I used to say that， had she been a boy， she would have made a model of an unprincipled， clever attorney.Then came Eulalie， the proud beauty， the Juno of the school， whom six long years of drilling in the simple grammar of the English language had compelled， despite the stiff phlegm of her intellect， to acquire a mechanical acquaintance with most of its rules.No smile， no trace of pleasure or satisfaction appeared in Sylvie’s nun-like and passive face as she heard her name read first.I always felt saddened by the sight of that poor girl’s absolute quiescence on all occasions， and it was my custom to look at her，to address her， as seldom as possible； her extreme docility， her assiduous perseverance， would have recommended her warmly to my good opinion； her modesty， her intelligence， would have induced me to feel most kindly—most affectionately towards her， notwithstanding the almost ghastly plainness of her features， the disproportion of her form， the corpse-like lack of animation in her countenance， had I not been aware that every friendly word， every kindly action， would be reported by her to her confessor， and by him misinterpreted and poisoned.Once I laid my hand on her head， in token of approbation； I thought Sylvie was going to smile， her dim eye almost kindled； but， presently， she shrank from me； I was a man and a heretic； she， poor child！ a destined nun and devoted Catholic： thus a four-fold wall of separation divided her mind from mine.A pert smirk， and a hard glance of triumph， was Léonie’s method of testifying her gratification； Eulalie looked sullen and envious—she had hoped to be first.Hortense and Caroline exchanged a reckless grimace on hearing their names read out somewhere near the bottom of the list； the brand of mental inferiority was considered by them as no disgrace， their hopes for the future being based solely on their personal attractions.