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Updated: June 22, 2025
To be sent from home because she did not know the rule of the irregular verbs! To be sent from home, family, friends! for that was the way Pupasse put it. She had been in that school it may only be whispered fifteen years. Madame Joubert knew it; so did madame, although they accounted for only four or five years in each class.
Pupasse was radiant; she was more than delighted, and the more she read the better pleased she was. Such a handsome long list, and so many sins she had never thought of never dreamed of! She set herself with zeal to commit them to memory. But a hand on the door Madame Joubert!
The old lady came but once a week, to fetch Pupasse fresh clothes, and a great brown paper bag of nice things to eat. There was no boarder in the school who received handsomer bags of cake and fruit than Pupasse. And although, not two hours before, a girl might have been foremost in the shrill cry, "It is Pupasse who made the noise!
When their bonnes came for them at three o'clock, washing their tear-stained faces at the cistern before daring to take them through the streets, how passionately they would cry out, the tears breaking afresh into the wet handkerchiefs: "It's that Pupasse! It's that vilaine Pupasse!"
From grammar, through sacred history, arithmetic, geography, mythology, down to dictation, Pupasse could pile up an accumulation of penitences that would have tasked the limits of the current day had not recreation been wisely set as a term which disbarred, by proscription, previous offenses.
Pupasse had not only the genius, but that which sometimes fails genius, the means for grimacing: little eyes, long nose, foolish mouth, and pointed tongue. And she was so amusing, when Madame Joubert's head was turned, that the little girls, being young and innocent, would forget themselves and all burst out laughing.
Pupasse her name was Marie Pupasse but no one thought of calling her anything but Pupasse, with emphasis on the first syllable and sibilance on the last had no parents only a grandmother, to describe whom, all that is necessary to say is that she was as short as Pupasse was tall, and that her face resembled nothing so much as a little yellow apple shriveling from decay.
I shall come every evening myself and hear it; and as soon as you know it, I shall fetch you back myself. You know I always keep my word." Keep her word! That she did. Could the inanimate past testify, what a fluttering of fools' caps in that parlor "Daily Bees," and "Weekly Couriers," by the year-full! What could Pupasse say or do?
It sounded like a flight of singing birds through the hot, close, stupid little room; but not so to Madame Joubert. "Young ladies! But what does this mean?" And, terror-stricken, the innocents would call out with one voice, "It's Pupasse, madame! It's Pupasse who made us laugh!"
But it was a new accident to Pupasse. And such a long list! The commotion inside that retreat! Pupasse's nasal whine, carrying her lament without any mystery to the outside garden. Such searching of pockets, rummaging of corners, microscopic examination of the floor! Such crimination and recrimination, protestation, asseveration, assurances, backed by divine and saintly invocations!
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