Villette

By

CharlotteBrontë

CHAPTERI.

BRETTON.

MygodmotherlivedinahandsomehouseinthecleanandancienttownofBretton.Her husband's family had been residents there for generations, andbore, indeed, the name of their birthplace—Bretton of Bretton: whether bycoincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been a personage ofsufficientimportancetoleavehisnametohisneighbourhood,Iknownot.

WhenIwasagirlIwenttoBrettonabouttwiceayear,andwellIlikedthevisit.Thehouseanditsinmatesspeciallysuitedme.Thelargepeacefulrooms,the well-arranged furniture, the clear wide windows, the balcony outside,looking down on a fine antique street,where Sundays and holidays seemedalways to abide—soquietwas its atmosphere, so clean its pavement—thesethingspleasedmewell.

Onechildinahouseholdofgrownpeopleisusuallymadeverymuchof,andinaquietwayIwasagooddealtakennoticeofbyMrs.Bretton,whohadbeenleftawidow,withoneson,beforeIknewher;herhusband,aphysician,havingdiedwhileshewasyetayoungandhandsomewoman.

Shewasnot young, as I remember her, but shewas still handsome, tall,well-made, and though dark for an Englishwoman, yet wearing always theclearness of health in her brunette cheek, and its vivacity in a pair of fine,cheerful black eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity that she had notconferredhercomplexiononherson,whoseeyeswereblue—though,eveninboyhood,verypiercing—andthecolourofhislonghairsuchasfriendsdidnotventuretospecify,exceptasthesunshoneonit,whentheycalleditgolden.Heinherited the linesofhismother's features,however;alsohergoodteeth,herstature(orthepromiseofherstature,forhewasnotyetfull-grown),and,what was better, her health without flaw, and her spirits of that tone andequalitywhicharebetterthanafortunetothepossessor.

In the autumnof the year——Iwas staying atBretton;mygodmotherhavingcomeinpersontoclaimmeofthekinsfolkwithwhomwasatthattimefixedmypermanentresidence.Ibelieveshethenplainlysaweventscoming,whoseveryshadowIscarceguessed;yetofwhichthefaintsuspicionsufficedtoimpartunsettledsadness,andmademegladtochangesceneandsociety.

Time always flowed smoothly for me at my godmother's side; not withtumultuous swiftness, but blandly, like the gliding of a full river through aplain.MyvisitstoherresembledthesojournofChristianandHopefulbesideacertain pleasant stream, with "green trees on each bank, and meadows

beautifiedwithliliesalltheyearround."Thecharmofvarietytherewasnot,northeexcitementofincident;butIlikedpeacesowell,andsoughtstimulusso little, thatwhen the latter came I almost felt it adisturbance, andwishedratherithadstillheldaloof.

OnedayaletterwasreceivedofwhichthecontentsevidentlycausedMrs.Bretton surprise and someconcern. I thought at first itwas fromhome,andtrembled, expecting I know not what disastrous communication: to me,however,noreferencewasmade,andthecloudseemedtopass.

The next day, onmy return from a longwalk, I found, as I enteredmybedroom, an unexpected change. In, addition to my own French bed in itsshady recess, appeared in a corner a small crib, draped with white; and inaddition tomymahogany chest of drawers, I saw a tiny rosewood chest. Istoodstill,gazed,andconsidered.

"Ofwhatarethesethingsthesignsandtokens?"Iasked.Theanswerwasobvious."Asecondguestiscoming:Mrs.Brettonexpectsothervisitors."

On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A little girl, I was told,wouldshortlybemycompanion:thedaughterofafriendanddistantrelationof the lateDr. Bretton's. This little girl, it was added, had recently lost hermother; though,indeed,Mrs.Brettonerelongsubjoined, thelosswasnotsogreatasmightatfirstappear.Mrs.Home(Homeitseemswasthename)hadbeenaverypretty,butagiddy,carelesswoman,whohadneglectedherchild,anddisappointedanddisheartenedherhusband.Sofarfromcongenialhadtheunion proved, that separation at last ensued—separation bymutual consent,notafteranylegalprocess.Soonafterthisevent,theladyhavingover-exertedherselfataball,caughtcold,tookafever,anddiedafteraverybriefillness.Her husband, naturally a man of very sensitive feelings, and shockedinexpressibly by too sudden communication of the news, could hardly, itseems, now be persuaded but that some over-severity on his part—somedeficiencyinpatienceandindulgence—hadcontributedtohastenherend.Hehadbroodedoverthisideatillhisspiritswereseriouslyaffected;themedicalmen insisted on travelling being tried as a remedy, and meanwhile Mrs.Brettonhadoffered to takechargeofhis littlegirl. "And Ihope,"addedmygodmotherinconclusion,"thechildwillnotbelikehermamma;assillyandfrivolousa little flirt as ever sensiblemanwasweakenough tomarry.For,"saidshe,"Mr.Homeisasensiblemaninhisway,thoughnotverypractical:heisfondofscience,andliveshalfhislifeinalaboratorytryingexperiments—athing his butterfly wife could neither comprehend nor endure; and indeed"confessedmygodmother,"Ishouldnothavelikeditmyself."

In answer to a question of mine, she further informed me that her latehusband used to say, Mr. Home had derived this scientific turn from a

maternaluncle,aFrenchsavant;forhecame,itseems;ofmixedFrenchandScottishorigin,andhadconnectionsnowlivinginFrance,ofwhommorethanonewrotedebeforehisname,andcalledhimselfnoble.

That sameeveningatnineo'clock,a servantwasdespatched tomeet thecoachbywhichourlittlevisitorwasexpected.Mrs.BrettonandIsataloneinthedrawing-roomwaitinghercoming;JohnGrahamBrettonbeingabsentonavisittooneofhisschoolfellowswholivedinthecountry.Mygodmotherreadthe evening paper while she waited; I sewed. It was a wet night; the rainlashedthepanes,andthewindsoundedangryandrestless.

"Poorchild!"saidMrs.Brettonfromtimetotime."Whatweatherforherjourney!Iwishsheweresafehere."

Alittlebeforetenthedoor-bellannouncedWarren'sreturn.Nosoonerwasthe door opened than I ran down into the hall; there lay a trunk and someband-boxes,besidethemstoodapersonlikeanurse-girl,andatthefootofthestaircasewasWarrenwithashawledbundleinhisarms.

"Isthatthechild?"Iasked.

"Yes,miss."

Iwouldhaveopenedtheshawl,andtriedtogetapeepat theface,but itwashastilyturnedfrommetoWarren'sshoulder.

"Put me down, please," said a small voice when Warren opened thedrawing-room door, "and take off this shawl," continued the speaker,extracting with its minute hand the pin, and with a sort of fastidious hastedoffing theclumsywrapping.Thecreaturewhichnowappearedmadeadeftattempttofoldtheshawl;butthedraperywasmuchtooheavyandlargetobesustainedorwieldedbythosehandsandarms."GiveittoHarriet,please,"wasthenthedirection,"andshecanputitaway."Thissaid,itturnedandfixeditseyesonMrs.Bretton.

"Comehere, littledear," said that lady. "Comeand letme see if youarecoldanddamp:comeandletmewarmyouatthefire."

The child advanced promptly. Relieved of her wrapping, she appearedexceedingly tiny; but was a neat, completely-fashioned little figure, light,slight,andstraight.Seatedonmygodmother'sample lap,she lookedameredoll;herneck,delicateaswax,herheadof silkycurls, increased, I thought,theresemblance.

Mrs.Bretton talked in little fondphrasesasshechafed thechild'shands,arms,andfeet;firstshewasconsideredwithawistfulgaze,butsoonasmileansweredher.Mrs.Brettonwasnotgenerallyacaressingwoman:evenwithher deeply-cherished son, her manner was rarely sentimental, often the

reverse;butwhenthesmallstrangersmiledather,shekissedit,asking,"Whatismylittleone'sname?"

"Missy."

"ButbesidesMissy?"

"Polly,papacallsher."

"WillPollybecontenttolivewithme?"

"Notalways;buttillpapacomeshome.Papaisgoneaway."Sheshookherheadexpressively.

"HewillreturntoPolly,orsendforher."

"Willhe,ma'am?Doyouknowhewill?"

"Ithinkso."

"ButHarrietthinksnot:atleastnotforalongwhile.Heisill."

Her eyes filled. She drew her hand from Mrs. Bretton's and made amovement to leave her lap; it was at first resisted, but she said—"Please, Iwishtogo:Icansitonastool."

Shewasallowed to slipdown from theknee,and takinga footstool, shecarriedittoacornerwheretheshadewasdeep,andthereseatedherself.Mrs.Bretton, though a commanding, and in grave matters even a peremptorywoman,wasoftenpassiveintrifles:sheallowedthechildherway.Shesaidtome,"Takenonoticeatpresent."ButIdidtakenotice:IwatchedPollyresthersmallelbowonhersmallknee,herheadonherhand;Iobservedherdrawasquare inchor twoof pocket-handkerchief from the doll-pocket of her doll-skirt, and then I heard her weep. Other children in grief or pain cry aloud,without shame or restraint; but this being wept: the tiniest occasional snifftestifiedtoheremotion.Mrs.Brettondidnothearit:whichwasquiteaswell.Erelong,avoice,issuingfromthecorner,demanded—"MaythebellberungforHarriet!"

Irang;thenursewassummonedandcame.

"Harriet, I must be put to bed," said her little mistress. "You must askwheremybedis."

Harrietsignifiedthatshehadalreadymadethatinquiry.

"Askifyousleepwithme,Harriet."

"No,Missy," said the nurse: "you are to share this young lady's room,"designatingme.

Missy did not leave her seat, but I saw her eyes seek me. After some

minutes'silentscrutiny,sheemergedfromhercorner.

"Iwishyou,ma'am,goodnight,"saidshetoMrs.Bretton;butshepassedmemute.

"Good-night,Polly,"Isaid.

"Noneedtosaygood-night,sincewesleepinthesamechamber,"wasthereply, with which she vanished from the drawing-room. We heard Harrietproposetocarryherup-stairs."Noneed,"wasagainheranswer—"noneed,noneed:"andhersmallsteptoiledwearilyupthestaircase.

Ongoingtobedanhourafterwards,Ifoundherstillwideawake.Shehadarrangedherpillowssoastosupportherlittlepersoninasittingposture:herhands, placedonewithin the other, rested quietly on the sheet,with anold-fashioned calmmost unchildlike. I abstained from speaking toher for sometime,butjustbeforeextinguishingthelight,Irecommendedhertoliedown.

"Byandby,"wastheanswer.

"Butyouwilltakecold,Missy."

She tooksometinyarticleofraimentfromthechairathercribside,andwith it coveredher shoulders. I sufferedher to do as she pleased.Listeningawhileinthedarkness,Iwasawarethatshestillwept,—weptunderrestraint,quietlyandcautiously.

On awaking with daylight, a trickling of water caught my ear. Behold!thereshewasrisenandmountedonastoolnearthewashstand,withpainsanddifficulty inclining the ewer (which she could not lift) so as to pour itscontentsintothebasin.Itwascurioustowatchherasshewashedanddressed,sosmall,busy,andnoiseless.Evidentlyshewaslittleaccustomedtoperformher own toilet; and the buttons, strings, hooks and eyes, offered difficultieswhich she encounteredwith aperseverancegood towitness.She foldedhernight-dress,shesmoothedthedraperyofhercouchquiteneatly;withdrawingintoacorner,wherethesweepofthewhitecurtainconcealedher,shebecamestill.Ihalfrose,andadvancedmy,headtoseehowshewasoccupied.Onherknees,withherforeheadbentonherhands,Iperceivedthatshewaspraying.

Hernursetappedatthedoor.Shestartedup.

"Iamdressed,Harriet,"saidshe;"Ihavedressedmyself,butIdonotfeelneat.Makemeneat!"

"Whydidyoudressyourself,Missy?"

"Hush!speaklow,Harriet,forfearofwakingthegirl"(meaningme,whonowlaywithmyeyesshut)."Idressedmyself tolearn,against thetimeyouleaveme."

"Doyouwantmetogo?"

"Whenyouarecross,Ihavemanyatimewantedyoutogo,butnotnow.

Tiemysashstraight;makemyhairsmooth,please."

"Yoursashisstraightenough.Whataparticularlittlebodyyouare!"

"Itmustbetiedagain.Pleasetotieit."

"There,then.WhenIamgoneyoumustgetthatyoungladytodressyou."

"Onnoaccount."

"Why?Sheisaveryniceyounglady.Ihopeyoumeantobehaveprettilytoher,Missy,andnotshowyourairs."

"Sheshalldressmeonnoaccount."

"Comicallittlething!"

"Youarenotpassing thecombstraight throughmyhair,Harriet; the linewillbecrooked."

"Ay,youareilltoplease.Doesthatsuit?"

"Prettywell.WhereshouldIgonowthatIamdressed?"

"Iwilltakeyouintothebreakfast-room."

"Come,then."

Theyproceededtothedoor.Shestopped.

"Oh!Harriet,Iwishthiswaspapa'shouse!Idon'tknowthesepeople."

"Beagoodchild,Missy."

"Iamgood,butIachehere;"puttingherhandtoherheart,andmoaningwhileshereiterated,"Papa!papa!"

Irousedmyselfandstartedup,tocheckthisscenewhileitwasyetwithinbounds.

"Saygood-morningtotheyounglady,"dictatedHarriet.Shesaid,"Good-morning,"andthenfollowedhernursefromtheroom.Harriettemporarilyleftthatsameday,togotoherownfriends,wholivedintheneighbourhood.

Ondescending,IfoundPaulina(thechildcalledherselfPolly,butherfullnamewasPaulinaMary)seatedatthebreakfast-table,byMrs.Bretton'sside;amugofmilkstoodbeforeher,amorselofbreadfilledherhand,whichlaypassiveonthetable-cloth:shewasnoteating.

"Howweshallconciliate this littlecreature," saidMrs.Bretton tome, "Idon'tknow:shetastesnothing,andbyherlooks,shehasnotslept."

Iexpressedmyconfidenceintheeffectsoftimeandkindness.

"Ifsheweretotakeafancytoanybodyinthehouse,shewouldsoonsettle;butnottillthen,"repliedMrs.Bretton.

CHAPTERII.

PAULINA.

Somedayselapsed,and itappearedshewasnot likely to takemuchofafancytoanybodyinthehouse.Shewasnotexactlynaughtyorwilful:shewasfarfromdisobedient;butanobjectlessconducivetocomfort—totranquillityeven—thanshepresented,itwasscarcelypossibletohavebeforeone'seyes.Shemoped:nogrownpersoncouldhaveperformedthatuncheeringbusinessbetter; no furrowed face of adult exile, longing for Europe at Europe'santipodes, ever bore more legibly the signs of home sickness than did herinfant visage.She seemedgrowingold andunearthly. I,LucySnowe, pleadguiltless of that curse, an overheated and discursive imagination; butwhenever,openingaroom-door,Ifoundherseatedinacorneralone,herheadinherpigmyhand,thatroomseemedtomenotinhabited,buthaunted.

And again, when of moonlight nights, on waking, I beheld her figure,whiteandconspicuousinitsnight-dress,kneelinguprightinbed,andprayinglike some Catholic or Methodist enthusiast—some precocious fanatic oruntimely saint—I scarcely know what thoughts I had; but they ran risk ofbeinghardlymorerationalandhealthythanthatchild'smindmusthavebeen.

I seldom caught a word of her prayers, for they were whispered low:sometimes,indeed,theywerenotwhisperedatall,butputupunuttered;suchraresentencesasreachedmyearstillboretheburden,"Papa;mydearpapa!"This, I perceived, was a one-idea'd nature; betraying that monomaniactendencyIhaveeverthoughtthemostunfortunatewithwhichmanorwomancanbecursed.

Whatmighthavebeentheendofthisfretting,haditcontinuedunchecked,canonlybeconjectured:itreceived,however,asuddenturn.

One afternoon, Mrs. Bretton, coaxing her from her usual station in acorner, had lifted her into the window-seat, and, by way of occupying herattention,toldhertowatchthepassengersandcounthowmanyladiesshouldgodownthestreetinagiventime.Shehadsatlistlessly,hardlylooking,andnotcounting,when—myeyebeingfixedonhers—Iwitnessedinits irisandpupil a startling transfiguration.These sudden, dangerous natures—sensitiveas they are called—offermany a curious spectacle to thosewhom a cooler

temperament has secured from participation in their angular vagaries. Thefixed and heavy gaze swum, trembled, then glittered in fire; the small,overcast brow cleared; the trivial and dejected features lit up; the sadcountenance vanished, and in its place appeared a sudden eagerness, anintenseexpectancy."Itis!"wereherwords.

Like a bird or a shaft, or any other swift thing, she was gone from theroom.How she got the house-door open I cannot tell; probably itmight beajar;perhapsWarrenwasinthewayandobeyedherbehest,whichwouldbeimpetuous enough. I—watching calmly from the window—saw her, in herblack frock and tiny braided apron (to pinafores she had an antipathy), darthalfthelengthofthestreet;and,asIwasonthepointofturning,andquietlyannouncingtoMrs.Brettonthatthechildwasrunoutmad,andoughtinstantlytobepursued,Isawhercaughtup,andraptatoncefrommycoolobservation,and from thewondering stare of thepassengers.Agentlemanhaddone thisgoodturn,andnow,coveringherwithhiscloak,advancedtorestorehertothehousewhencehehadseenherissue.

Iconcludedhewouldleaveherinaservant'schargeandwithdraw;butheentered:havingtarriedalittlewhilebelow,hecameup-stairs.

His reception immediatelyexplained thathewasknown toMrs.Bretton.She recognised him; she greeted him, and yet she was fluttered, surprised,takenunawares.Herlookandmannerwereevenexpostulatory;andinreplytothese,ratherthanherwords,hesaid,—"Icouldnothelpit,madam:Ifounditimpossible to leave the countrywithout seeingwithmy own eyes how shesettled."

"Butyouwillunsettleher."

"Ihopenot.Andhowispapa'slittlePolly?"

This question he addressed to Paulina, as he sat down and placed hergentlyonthegroundbeforehim.

"HowisPolly'spapa?"wasthereply,assheleanedonhisknee,andgazedupintohisface.

Itwasnotanoisy,notawordyscene:forthatIwasthankful;butitwasasceneoffeelingtoobrimful,andwhich,becausethecupdidnotfoamuphighor furiously overflow, only oppressed one the more. On all occasions ofvehement,unrestrainedexpansion,asenseofdisdainorridiculecomestothewearyspectator'srelief;whereasIhaveeverfeltmostburdensomethatsortofsensibilitywhichbendsofitsownwill,agiantslaveundertheswayofgoodsense.

Mr. Home was a stern-featured—perhaps I should rather say, a hard-

featuredman:hisforeheadwasknotty,andhischeekbonesweremarkedandprominent.ThecharacterofhisfacewasquiteScotch;buttherewasfeelinginhiseye,andemotioninhisnowagitatedcountenance.Hisnorthernaccentinspeaking harmonised with his physiognomy. He was at once proud-lookingand homely-looking.He laid his hand on the child's uplifted head. She said—"KissPolly."

Hekissedher.Iwishedshewoulduttersomehystericalcry,sothatImightget relief and be at ease. Shemadewonderfully little noise: she seemed tohavegotwhatshewanted—allshewanted,and tobe ina tranceofcontent.Neitherinmiennorinfeatureswasthiscreaturelikehersire,andyetshewasofhisstrain:hermindhadbeenfilledfromhis,asthecupfromtheflagon.

Indisputably, Mr. Home owned manly self-control, however he mightsecretlyfeelonsomematters."Polly,"hesaid,lookingdownonhislittlegirl,"gointothehall;youwillseepapa'sgreat-coatlyingonachair;putyourhandintothepockets,youwillfindapocket-handkerchiefthere;bringittome."

Sheobeyed;wentandreturneddeftlyandnimbly.HewastalkingtoMrs.Bretton when she came back, and she waited with the handkerchief in herhand. Itwasapicture, in itsway, to seeher,withher tinystature,and trim,neatshape,standingathisknee.Seeingthathecontinuedto talk,apparentlyunconsciousofher return, she tookhishand,opened theunresisting fingers,insinuatedintothemthehandkerchief,andclosedthemuponitonebyone.Hestillseemednottoseeortofeelher;butby-and-by,heliftedhertohisknee;shenestledagainsthim,and thoughneither lookedatnorspoke to theotherforanhourfollowing,Isupposebothweresatisfied.

During tea, theminute thing'smovements and behaviour gave, as usual,fulloccupationtotheeye.FirstshedirectedWarren,asheplacedthechairs.

"Putpapa'schairhere,andminenearit,betweenpapaandMrs.

Bretton:Imusthandhistea."

Shetookherownseat,andbeckonedwithherhandtoherfather.

"Benearme,asifwewereathome,papa."

Andagain,assheinterceptedhiscupinpassing,andwouldstirthesugar,andputinthecreamherself,"Ialwaysdiditforyouathome;papa:nobodycoulddoitaswell,notevenyourownself."

Throughoutthemealshecontinuedherattentions:ratherabsurdtheywere.Thesugar-tongsweretoowideforoneofherhands,andshehadtousebothinwielding them; the weight of the silver cream-ewer, the bread-and-butterplates,theverycupandsaucer,taskedherinsufficientstrengthanddexterity;butshewouldliftthis,handthat,andluckilycontrivedthroughitalltobreak

nothing.Candidly speaking, I thought her a little busy-body; but her father,blindlikeotherparents,seemedperfectlycontenttoletherwaitonhim,andevenwonderfullysoothedbyheroffices.

"Sheismycomfort!"hecouldnothelpsayingtoMrs.Bretton.Thatladyhad her own "comfort" and nonpareil on a much larger scale, and, for themoment,absent;soshesympathisedwithhisfoible.

This second "comfort" cameon the stage in the courseof the evening. Iknewthisdayhadbeenfixedforhisreturn,andwasawarethatMrs.Brettonhadbeenexpectinghimthroughall itshours.Wewereseatedroundthefire,aftertea,whenGrahamjoinedourcircle:Ishouldrathersay,brokeitup—for,of course, his arrival made a bustle; and then, asMr. Grahamwas fasting,there was refreshment to be provided. He and Mr. Home met as oldacquaintance;ofthelittlegirlhetooknonoticeforatime.

His meal over, and numerous questions from his mother answered, heturnedfromthetabletothehearth.Oppositewherehehadplacedhimselfwasseated Mr. Home, and at his elbow, the child. When I say child I use aninappropriate and undescriptive term—a term suggesting any picture ratherthanthatofthedemurelittlepersoninamourningfrockandwhitechemisette,thatmight just have fitted a good-sized doll—perched now on a high chairbesideastand,whereonwashertoywork-boxofwhitevarnishedwood,andholding inherhandsashredofahandkerchief,whichshewasprofessing tohem,andatwhichsheboredperseveringlywithaneedle, that inher fingersseemedalmostaskewer,prickingherselfeverandanon,markingthecambricwith a track of minute red dots; occasionally starting when the perverseweapon—swerving fromher control—inflictedadeeper stab thanusual;butstillsilent,diligent,absorbed,womanly.

Grahamwasatthattimeahandsome,faithless-lookingyouthofsixteen.Isay faithless-looking, not because he was really of a very perfidiousdisposition,butbecause theepithet strikesmeasproper todescribe the fair,Celtic(notSaxon)characterofhisgoodlooks;hiswavedlightauburnhair,hissupplesymmetry,hissmilefrequent,anddestituteneitheroffascinationnorofsubtlety(innobadsense).Aspoiled,whimsicalboyhewasinthosedays.

"Mother," he said, after eyeing the little figure before him in silence forsome time, and when the temporary absence of Mr. Home from the roomrelieved him from the half-laughing bashfulness,whichwas all he knew oftimidity—-"Mother,IseeayoungladyinthepresentsocietytowhomIhavenotbeenintroduced."

"Mr.Home'slittlegirl,Isupposeyoumean,"saidhismother.

"Indeed,ma'am,"repliedherson,"Iconsideryourexpressionoftheleast

ceremonious:MissHomeIshouldcertainlyhavesaid,inventuringtospeakofthegentlewomantowhomIallude."

"Now,Graham,Iwillnothavethatchildteased.Don'tflatteryourselfthatIshallsufferyoutomakeheryourbutt."

"MissHome,"pursuedGraham,undeterredbyhismother'sremonstrance,"mightIhavethehonourtointroducemyself,sincenooneelseseemswillingtorenderyouandmethatservice?Yourslave,JohnGrahamBretton."

Shelookedathim;heroseandbowedquitegravely.Shedeliberatelyputdownthimble,scissors,work;descendedwithprecautionfromherperch,andcurtsyingwithunspeakableseriousness,said,"Howdoyoudo?"

"Ihavethehonourtobeinfairhealth,onlyinsomemeasurefatiguedwithahurriedjourney.Ihope,ma'am,Iseeyouwell?"

"Tor-rer-ablywell,"was the ambitious reply of the littlewoman and shenowessayedtoregainherformerelevation,butfindingthiscouldnotbedonewithout some climbing and straining—a sacrifice of decorum not to bethought of—and being utterly disdainful of aid in the presence of a strangeyounggentleman,sherelinquishedthehighchairforalowstool:towardsthatlowstoolGrahamdrewinhischair.

"Ihope,ma'am,thepresentresidence,mymother'shouse,appearstoyouaconvenientplaceofabode?"

"Notpar-tic-er-er-ly;Iwanttogohome."

"Anaturalandlaudabledesire,ma'am;butonewhich,notwithstanding,

Ishalldomybesttooppose.Ireckononbeingabletogetoutofyou

alittleofthatpreciouscommoditycalledamusement,whichmammaand

MistressSnowetherefailtoyieldme."

"Ishallhavetogowithpapasoon:Ishallnotstaylongatyourmother's."

"Yes,yes;youwillstaywithme,Iamsure.Ihaveaponyonwhichyoushallride,andnoendofbookswithpicturestoshowyou."

"Areyougoingtoliveherenow?"

"Iam.Doesthatpleaseyou?Doyoulikeme?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Ithinkyouqueer."

"Myface,ma'am?"

"Yourfaceandallaboutyou:Youhavelongredhair."

"Auburnhair,ifyouplease:mamma,callsitauburn,orgolden,andsodoallherfriends.Butevenwithmy'longredhair'"(andhewavedhismanewithasortoftriumph—tawnyhehimselfwellknewthatitwas,andhewasproudoftheleoninehue),"Icannotpossiblybequeererthanisyourladyship."

"Youcallmequeer?"

"Certainly."

(Afterapause),"IthinkIshallgotobed."

"A little thing likeyouought tohavebeen inbedmanyhours since;butyouprobablysatupintheexpectationofseeingme?"

"No,indeed."

"Youcertainlywishedtoenjoythepleasureofmysociety.YouknewIwascominghome,andwouldwaittohavealookatme."

"Isatupforpapa,andnotforyou."

"Very good,Miss Home. I am going to be a favourite: preferred beforepapasoon,Idaresay."

She wished Mrs. Bretton and myself good-night; she seemed hesitatingwhetherGraham'sdesertsentitledhimtothesameattention,whenhecaughtherupwithonehand,andwiththatonehandheldherpoisedaloftabovehishead.She sawherself thus lifteduponhigh, in theglassover the fireplace.Thesuddenness,thefreedom,thedisrespectoftheactionweretoomuch.

"For shame,Mr.Graham!"was her indignant cry, "putmedown!"—andwhenagainonher feet, "Iwonderwhatyouwould thinkofme if Iwere totreatyouinthatway,liftingyouwithmyhand"(raisingthatmightymember)"asWarrenliftsthelittlecat."

Sosaying,shedeparted.

CHAPTERIII.

THEPLAYMATES.

Mr.Homestayedtwodays.Duringhisvisithecouldnotbeprevailedontogo out: he sat all day long by the fireside, sometimes silent, sometimesreceivingandansweringMrs.Bretton'schat,whichwasjustofthepropersortforamaninhismorbidmood—notover-sympathetic,yetnottoouncongenial,

sensible; and even with a touch of the motherly—she was sufficiently hisseniortobepermittedthistouch.

AstoPaulina,thechildwasatoncehappyandmute,busyandwatchful.

Herfatherfrequentlyliftedhertohisknee;shewouldsittheretillshefeltorfanciedhegrewrestless;thenitwas—"Papa,putmedown;Ishalltireyouwithmyweight."

Andthemightyburdenslidtotherug,andestablishingitselfoncarpetorstool just at "papa's" feet, the white work-box and the scarlet-speckledhandkerchief came intoplay.Thishandkerchief, it seems,was intendedasakeepsakefor"papa,"andmustbefinishedbeforehisdeparture;consequentlythedemandon the sempstress's industry (sheaccomplishedabout a scoreofstitchesinhalf-an-hour)wasstringent.

The evening, by restoring Graham to the maternal roof (his days werepassed at school), brought us an accession of animation—a quality notdiminishedbythenatureofthescenesprettysuretobeenactedbetweenhimandMissPaulina.

Adistantandhaughtydemeanourhadbeentheresultoftheindignityputuponherthefirsteveningofhisarrival:herusualanswer,whenheaddressedher,was—"I can't attend to you; I have other things to think about." Beingimploredtostatewhatthings:

"Business."

Grahamwouldendeavourtoseduceherattentionbyopeninghisdeskanddisplaying its multifarious contents: seals, bright sticks of wax, pen-knives,withamiscellanyofengravings—someofthemgailycoloured—whichhehadamassed from time to time. Nor was this powerful temptation whollyunavailing:hereyes,furtivelyraisedfromherwork,castmanyapeeptowardsthewriting-table,richinscatteredpictures.AnetchingofachildplayingwithaBlenheimspanielhappenedtofluttertothefloor.

"Prettylittledog!"saidshe,delighted.

Grahamprudently tooknonotice.Ere long,stealingfromhercorner,sheapproached to examine the treasuremore closely. The dog's great eyes andlongears,andthechild'shatandfeathers,wereirresistible.

"Nicepicture!"washerfavourablecriticism.

"Well—youmayhaveit,"saidGraham.

She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess was strong, but to acceptwouldbeacompromiseofdignity.No.Sheputitdownandturnedaway.

"Youwon'thaveit,then,Polly?"

"Iwouldrathernot,thankyou."

"ShallItellyouwhatIwilldowiththepictureifyourefuseit?"

Shehalfturnedtolisten.

"Cutitintostripsforlightingthetaper."

"No!"

"ButIshall."

"Please—don't."

Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading tone; he took thescissorsfromhismother'swork-basket.

"Heregoes!" saidhe,makingamenacing flourish. "Right throughFido'shead,andsplittinglittleHarry'snose."

"No!No!NO!"

"Thencometome.Comequickly,oritisdone."

Shehesitated,lingered,butcomplied.

"Now,willyouhaveit?"heasked,asshestoodbeforehim.

"Please."

"ButIshallwantpayment."

"Howmuch?"

"Akiss."

"Givethepicturefirstintomyhand."

Polly,asshesaidthis,lookedratherfaithlessinherturn.Grahamgaveit.She absconded a debtor, darted to her father, and took refuge on his knee.Grahamroseinmimicwrathandfollowed.SheburiedherfaceinMr.Home'swaistcoat.

"Papa—papa—sendhimaway!"

"I'llnotbesentaway,"saidGraham.

Withfacestillaverted,sheheldoutherhandtokeephimoff

"Then, I shall kiss the hand," said he; but that moment it became aminiaturefist,anddealthimpaymentinasmallcointhatwasnotkisses.

Graham—not failing in his way to be as wily as his little playmate—retreatedapparentlyquitediscomfited;heflunghimselfonasofa,andrestinghis head against the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him silent,

presentlypeepedathim.Hiseyesandfacewerecoveredwithhishands.Sheturnedonherfather'sknee,andgazedatherfoeanxiouslyandlong.Grahamgroaned.

"Papa,whatisthematter?"shewhispered.

"Youhadbetteraskhim,Polly."

"Ishehurt?"(groansecond.)

"Hemakesanoiseasifhewere,"saidMr.Home.

"Mother,"suggestedGraham, feebly,"I thinkyouhadbetter send for thedoctor.Ohmyeye!"(renewedsilence,brokenonlybysighsfromGraham.)

"IfIweretobecomeblind——?"suggestedthislast.

Hischastisercouldnotbearthesuggestion.Shewasbesidehimdirectly.

"Letmeseeyoureye:Ididnotmeantotouchit,onlyyourmouth;and

IdidnotthinkIhitsoveryhard."

Silenceansweredher.Herfeaturesworked,—"Iamsorry;Iamsorry!"

Thensucceededemotion,faltering;weeping.

"Havedonetryingthatchild,Graham,"saidMrs.Bretton.

"Itisallnonsense,mypet,"criedMr.Home.

AndGrahamoncemore snatchedher aloft, and sheagainpunishedhim;andwhile she pulled his lion's locks, termed him—"The naughtiest, rudest,worst,untruestpersonthateverwas."

**

On themorningofMr.Home'sdeparture, he andhisdaughterhad someconversationinawindow-recessbythemselves;Iheardpartofit.

"Couldn'tIpackmyboxandgowithyou,papa?"shewhisperedearnestly.

Heshookhishead.

"ShouldIbeatroubletoyou?"

"Yes,Polly."

"BecauseIamlittle?"

"Because you are little and tender. It is only great, strong people thatshouldtravel.Butdon'tlooksad,mylittlegirl;itbreaksmyheart.Papa,willsooncomebacktohisPolly."

"Indeed,indeed,Iamnotsad,scarcelyatall."

"Pollywouldbesorrytogivepapapain;wouldshenot?"

"Sorrierthansorry."

"ThenPollymustbecheerful:notcryatparting;notfretafterwards.

Shemustlookforwardtomeetingagain,andtrytobehappymeanwhile.

Canshedothis?"

"Shewilltry."

"Iseeshewill.Farewell,then.Itistimetogo."

"Now?—justnow?

"Justnow."

Sheheldupquiveringlips.Herfathersobbed,butshe,Iremarked,didnot.Havingputherdown,heshookhandswiththerestpresent,anddeparted.

Whenthestreet-doorclosed,shedroppedonherkneesatachairwithacry—"Papa!"

Itwas lowand long; a sort of "Whyhast thou forsakenme?"During anensuing space of some minutes, I perceived she endured agony. She wentthrough,inthatbriefintervalofherinfantlife,emotionssuchassomeneverfeel; itwas inher constitution: shewouldhavemoreof such instants if shelived. Nobody spoke. Mrs. Bretton, being a mother, shed a tear or two.Graham,whowaswriting,lifteduphiseyesandgazedather.I,LucySnowe,wascalm.

The little creature, thus left unharassed, did for herself what none othercould do—contended with an intolerable feeling; and, ere long, in somedegree,repressedit.Thatdayshewouldacceptsolacefromnone;northenextday:shegrewmorepassiveafterwards.

On the third evening, as she sat on the floor, worn and quiet, Graham,coming in, tookherupgently,withoutaword.Shedidnot resist: sherathernestledinhisarms,asifweary.Whenhesatdown,shelaidherheadagainsthim; in a few minutes she slept; he carried her upstairs to bed. I was notsurprisedthat,thenextmorning,thefirstthingshedemandedwas,"WhereisMr.Graham?"

It happened that Grahamwas not coming to the breakfast-table; he hadsomeexercisestowriteforthatmorning'sclass,andhadrequestedhismothertosendacupofteaintothestudy.Pollyvolunteeredtocarryit:shemustbebusyaboutsomething,lookaftersomebody.Thecupwasentrustedtoher;for,ifrestless,shewasalsocareful.Asthestudywasoppositethebreakfast-room,thedoorsfacingacrossthepassage,myeyefollowedher.

"Whatareyoudoing?"sheasked,pausingonthethreshold.

"Writing,"saidGraham.

"Whydon'tyoucometotakebreakfastwithyourmamma?"

"Toobusy."

"Doyouwantanybreakfast?"

"Ofcourse."

"There,then."

Andshedeposited thecupon thecarpet, likea jailorputtingaprisoner'spitcherofwaterthroughhiscell-door,andretreated.Presentlyshereturned.

"Whatwillyouhavebesidestea—whattoeat?"

"Anythinggood.Bringmesomethingparticularlynice; that'sakindlittlewoman."

ShecamebacktoMrs.Bretton.

"Please,ma'am,sendyourboysomethinggood."

"Youshallchooseforhim,Polly;whatshallmyboyhave?"

She selected a portion ofwhateverwas best on the table; and, ere long,came back with a whispered request for some marmalade, which was notthere. Having got it, however, (for Mrs. Bretton refused the pair nothing),Grahamwasshortlyafterheardlaudinghertotheskies;promisingthat,whenhehadahouseofhisown,sheshouldbehishousekeeper,andperhaps—ifsheshowedanyculinarygenius—hiscook;and,asshedidnotreturn,andIwentto look after her, I found Graham and her breakfasting tête-à-tête—shestandingathis elbow, and sharinghis fare: excepting themarmalade,whichshedelicatelyrefused to touch, lest, I suppose, it shouldappear thatshehadprocureditasmuchonherownaccountashis.Sheconstantlyevincedtheseniceperceptionsanddelicateinstincts.

The leagueof acquaintanceship thus struckupwasnothastilydissolved;on the contrary, it appeared that time and circumstances served rather tocement than loosen it. Ill-assimilated as the twowere in age, sex, pursuits,&c., they somehowfoundagreatdeal to say toeachother.As toPaulina, Iobservedthatherlittlecharacterneverproperlycameout,exceptwithyoungBretton.Asshegotsettled,andaccustomedtothehouse,sheprovedtractableenoughwithMrs.Bretton;butshewouldsitonastoolat that lady's feetalldaylong, learningher task,orsewing,ordrawingfigureswithapencilonaslate,andneverkindlingoncetooriginality,orshowingasinglegleamofthepeculiaritiesofhernature.Iceasedtowatchherundersuchcircumstances:she

wasnotinteresting.ButthemomentGraham'sknocksoundedofanevening,achange occurred; shewas instantly at the head of the staircase.Usually herwelcomewasareprimandorathreat.

"You have not wiped your shoes properly on the mat. I shall tell yourmamma."

"Littlebusybody!Areyouthere?"

"Yes—andyoucan'treachme:Iamhigherupthanyou"(peepingbetweentherailsofthebanister;shecouldnotlookoverthem).

"Polly!"

"Mydearboy!"(suchwasoneofhertermsforhim,adoptedinimitationofhismother.)

"I am fit to faint with fatigue," declared Graham, leaning against thepassage-wallinseemingexhaustion."Dr.Digby"(theheadmaster)"hasquiteknockedmeupwithoverwork.Justcomedownandhelpmetocarryupmybooks."

"Ah!you'recunning!"

"Notatall,Polly—itispositivefact.I'masweakasarush.Comedown."

"Youreyesarequietlikethecat's,butyou'llspring."

"Spring?Nothingofthekind:itisn'tinme.Comedown."

"PerhapsImay—ifyou'llpromisenottotouch—nottosnatchmeup,andnottowhirlmeround."

"I?Icouldn'tdoit!"(sinkingintoachair.)

"Thenputthebooksdownonthefirststep,andgothreeyardsoff"

Thisbeingdone, shedescendedwarily,andnot takinghereyes from thefeeble Graham.Of course her approach always galvanized him to new andspasmodic life: the game of romps was sure to be exacted. Sometimes shewouldbeangry;sometimesthematterwasallowedtopasssmoothly,andwecouldhearhersayassheledhimup-stairs:"Now,mydearboy,comeandtakeyourtea—Iamsureyoumustwantsomething."

ItwassufficientlycomicaltoobserveherasshesatbesideGraham,whilehetookthatmeal.Inhisabsenceshewasastillpersonage,butwithhimthemost officious, fidgety little body possible. I often wished she wouldmindherselfandbetranquil;butno—herselfwasforgotteninhim:hecouldnotbesufficientlywellwaited on, nor carefully enough looked after; hewasmorethan the Grand Turk in her estimation. She would gradually assemble thevariousplatesbeforehim,and,whenonewouldsupposeallhecouldpossibly

desirewaswithinhisreach,shewouldfindoutsomethingelse:"Ma'am,"shewouldwhispertoMrs.Bretton,—"perhapsyoursonwouldlikealittlecake—sweet cake, you know—there is some in there" (pointing to the sideboardcupboard).Mrs.Bretton,asarule,disapprovedofsweetcakeattea,butstillthe request was urged,—"One little piece—only for him—as he goes toschool:girls—suchasmeandMissSnowe—don'tneed treats,buthewouldlikeit."

Grahamdidlikeitverywell,andalmostalwaysgotit.Todohimjustice,hewould have shared his prizewith her towhomhe owed it; but thatwasnever allowed: to insist, was to ruffle her for the evening. To stand by hisknee,andmonopolizehistalkandnotice,wastherewardshewanted—notashareofthecake.

Withcurious readinessdidsheadaptherself tosuch themesas interestedhim.Onewouldhave thought thechildhadnomindor lifeofherown,butmustnecessarilylive,move,andhaveherbeinginanother:nowthatherfatherwastakenfromher,shenestledtoGraham,andseemedtofeelbyhisfeelings:toexist inhisexistence.She learned thenamesofallhis schoolfellows inatrice: she got by heart their characters as given from his lips: a singledescriptionofanindividualseemedtosuffice.Sheneverforgot,orconfusedidentities: shewould talkwithhim thewhole evening about people shehadnever seen, and appear completely to realise their aspect, manners, anddispositions. Some she learned to mimic: an under-master, who was anaversion of young Bretton's, had, it seems, some peculiarities, which shecaught up in amoment fromGraham's representation, and rehearsed for hisamusement;this,however,Mrs.Brettondisapprovedandforbade.

The pair seldom quarrelled; yet once a rupture occurred, in which herfeelingsreceivedasevereshock.

OnedayGraham,ontheoccasionofhisbirthday,hadsomefriends—ladsofhisownage—todinewithhim.Paulinatookmuchinterestinthecomingofthese friends; shehad frequentlyheardof them; theywereamongst thoseofwhomGrahamoftenestspoke.Afterdinner,theyounggentlemenwereleftbythemselvesinthedining-room,wheretheysoonbecameverymerryandmadeagooddealofnoise.Chancingtopassthroughthehall,IfoundPaulinasittingaloneontheloweststepofthestaircase,hereyesfixedontheglossypanelsofthedining-roomdoor,where the reflectionof thehall-lampwasshining;herlittlebrowknitinanxious,meditation.

"Whatareyouthinkingabout,Polly?"

"Nothingparticular;onlyIwishthatdoorwasclearglass—thatImightseethroughit.Theboysseemverycheerful,andIwanttogotothem:IwanttobewithGraham,andwatchhisfriends."

"Whathindersyoufromgoing?"

"Ifeelafraid:butmayItry,doyouthink?MayIknockatthedoor,andasktobeletin?"

I thought perhaps theymight not object to have her as a playmate, andthereforeencouragedtheattempt.

She knocked—too faintly at first to be heard, but on a second essay thedoor unclosed; Graham's head appeared; he looked in high spirits, butimpatient.

"Whatdoyouwant,youlittlemonkey?"

"Tocometoyou."

"Doyouindeed?AsifIwouldbetroubledwithyou!AwaytomammaandMistressSnowe,andtellthemtoputyoutobed."Theauburnheadandbrightflushedfacevanished,—thedoorshutperemptorily.Shewasstunned.

"Why does he speak so? He never spoke so before," she said inconsternation."WhathaveIdone?"

"Nothing,Polly;butGrahamisbusywithhisschool-friends."

"Andhelikesthembetterthanme!Heturnsmeawaynowtheyarehere!"

I had some thoughts of consolingher, andof improving theoccasionbyinculcating some of those maxims of philosophy whereof I had ever atolerablestockreadyforapplication.Shestoppedme,however,byputtingherfingersinherearsatthefirstwordsIuttered,andthenlyingdownonthematwithher faceagainst the flags;norcouldeitherWarrenor thecookrootherfromthatposition:shewasallowed to lie, therefore, till shechose to riseofherownaccord.

Grahamforgothisimpatiencethesameevening,andwouldhaveaccostedher asusualwhenhis friendsweregone,but shewrenchedherself fromhishand;hereyequiteflashed;shewouldnotbidhimgood-night;shewouldnotlookinhisface.Thenextdayhetreatedherwithindifference,andshegrewlikeabitofmarble.Thedayafter,heteasedhertoknowwhatwasthematter;herlipswouldnotunclose.Ofcoursehecouldnotfeelrealangeronhisside:thematchwastoounequalineveryway;hetriedsoothingandcoaxing."Whywas she so angry?What had he done?" By-and-by tears answered him; hepettedher, and theywere friends.But shewasoneonwhomsuch incidentswere not lost: I remarked that never after this rebuff did she seek him, orfollowhim,orinanywaysolicithisnotice.ItoldheroncetocarryabookorsomeotherarticletoGrahamwhenhewasshutupinhisstudy.

"Ishallwait tillhecomesout,"saidshe,proudly;"Idon'tchoosetogive

himthetroubleofrisingtoopenthedoor."

YoungBrettonhadafavouriteponyonwhichheoftenrodeout;fromthewindowshealwayswatchedhisdepartureandreturn.Itwasherambitiontobepermittedtohavearideroundthecourtyardonthispony;butfarbeitfromher to ask such a favour.One day she descended to the yard towatch himdismount;assheleanedagainstthegate,thelongingwishfortheindulgenceofarideglitteredinhereye.

"Come,Polly,willyouhaveacanter?"askedGraham,halfcarelessly.

Isupposeshethoughthewastoocareless.

"No,thankyou,"saidshe,turningawaywiththeutmostcoolness.

"You'dbetter,"pursuedhe."Youwilllikeit,Iamsure."

"Don'tthinkIshouldcareafigaboutit,"wastheresponse.

"Thatisnottrue.YoutoldLucySnoweyoulongedtohavearide."

"LucySnowe is a tatter-box," I heard her say (her imperfect articulationwas the leastprecocious thingshehadabouther);andwith this;shewalkedintothehouse.

Graham, coming in soon after, observed to his mother,—"Mamma, Ibelievethatcreatureisachangeling:sheisaperfectcabinetofoddities;butIshouldbedullwithouther:sheamusesmeagreatdealmorethanyouorLucySnowe."

**

"Miss Snowe," said Paulina to me (she had now got into the habit ofoccasionallychattingwithmewhenwewerealoneinourroomatnight),"doyouknowonwhatdayintheweekIlikeGrahambest?"

"HowcanIpossiblyknowanythingsostrange?Isthereonedayoutofthesevenwhenheisotherwisethanontheothersix?"

"Tobesure!Can'tyousee?Don'tyouknow?Ifindhimthemostexcellenton a Sunday; thenwe have him thewhole day, and he is quiet, and, in theevening,sokind."

Thisobservationwasnotaltogethergroundless:goingtochurch,&c.,keptGraham quiet on the Sunday, and the evening he generally dedicated to aserene, though rather indolent sort of enjoyment by the parlour fireside.Hewouldtakepossessionofthecouch,andthenhewouldcallPolly.

Grahamwasaboynotquiteasotherboysare;allhisdelightdidnotlieinaction: hewas capable of some intervals of contemplation; he could take apleasuretooinreading,norwashisselectionofbookswhollyindiscriminate:

therewere glimmerings of characteristic preference, and even of instinctivetasteinthechoice.Herarely,itistrue,remarkedonwhatheread,butIhaveseenhimsitandthinkofit.

Polly, being near him, kneeling on a little cushion or the carpet, aconversationwouldbegininmurmurs,notinaudible,thoughsubdued.Icaughtasnatchoftheirtenornowandthen;and,intruth,someinfluencebetterandfiner than thatofeveryday,seemed tosootheGrahamatsuch times intonoungentlemood.

"Haveyoulearnedanyhymnsthisweek,Polly?"

"Ihavelearnedaveryprettyone,fourverseslong.ShallIsayit?"

"Speaknicely,then:don'tbeinahurry."

Thehymnbeingrehearsed,orratherhalf-chanted,inalittlesingingvoice,Grahamwouldtakeexceptionsatthemanner,andproceedtogivealessoninrecitation. She was quick in learning, apt in imitating; and, besides, herpleasure was to please Graham: she proved a ready scholar. To the hymnwouldsucceedsomereading—perhapsachapterintheBible;correctionwasseldom required here, for the child could read any simple narrative chapterverywell;and,whenthesubjectwassuchasshecouldunderstandandtakeaninterest in,her expressionandemphasiswere something remarkable. Josephcastintothepit; thecallingofSamuel;Danielinthelions'den;—thesewerefavourite passages: of the first especially she seemed perfectly to feel thepathos.

"Poor Jacob!" she would sometimes say, with quivering lips. "How heloved his son Joseph!Asmuch," she once added—"asmuch,Graham, as Iloveyou: ifyouwere todie"(andshere-openedthebook,sought theverse,andread),"Ishouldrefusetobecomforted,andgodownintothegravetoyoumourning."

WiththesewordsshegatheredGrahaminherlittlearms,drawinghislong-tressedheadtowardsher.Theaction,Iremember,struckmeasstrangelyrash;exciting the feelingonemightexperienceonseeingananimaldangerousbynature, and but half-tamed by art, too heedlessly fondled. Not that I fearedGrahamwouldhurt,orveryroughlycheckher;butI thoughtsheranriskofincurringsuchacareless,impatientrepulse,aswouldbeworsealmosttoherthan a blow. On the whole, however, these demonstrations were bornepassively: sometimes even a sort of complacent wonder at her earnestpartialitywouldsmilenotunkindlyinhiseyes.Oncehesaid:—"Youlikemealmostaswellasifyouweremylittlesister,Polly."

"Oh!Idolikeyou,"saidshe;"Idolikeyouverymuch."

Iwasnotlongallowedtheamusementofthisstudyofcharacter.Shehadscarcely been at Bretton two months, when a letter came fromMr. Home,signifying that he was now settled amongst his maternal kinsfolk on theContinent;that,asEnglandwasbecomewhollydistastefultohim,hehadnothoughtsof returninghither, perhaps, foryears; and that hewishedhis littlegirltojoinhimimmediately.

"Iwonderhowshewilltakethisnews?"saidMrs.Bretton,whenshehadreadtheletter.Iwondered,too,andItookuponmyselftocommunicateit.

Repairing to the drawing-room—inwhich calm and decorated apartmentshewasfondofbeingalone,andwhereshecouldbeimplicitlytrusted,forshefingered nothing, or rather soiled nothing she fingered—I found her seated,likealittleOdalisque,onacouch,halfshadedbythedroopingdraperiesofthewindownear.Sheseemedhappy;allherappliancesforoccupationwereabouther; the white wood workbox, a shred or two of muslin, an end or two ofribbon collected for conversion into doll-millinery. The doll, duly night-cappedandnight-gowned,layinitscradle;shewasrockingittosleep,withanair of the most perfect faith in its possession of sentient and somnolentfaculties;hereyes,atthesametime,beingengagedwithapicture-book,whichlayopenonherlap.

"MissSnowe,"saidsheinawhisper,"thisisawonderfulbook.Candace"(thedoll,christenedbyGraham;for,indeed,itsbegrimedcomplexiongaveitmuch of anEthiopian aspect)—"Candace is asleep now, and Imay tell youaboutit;onlywemustbothspeaklow,lestsheshouldwaken.ThisbookwasgivenmebyGraham; it tells aboutdistant countries, a long, longway fromEngland,whichnotravellercanreachwithoutsailingthousandsofmilesoverthe sea. Wild men live in these countries, Miss Snowe, who wear clothesdifferent fromours: indeed,someof themwearscarcelyanyclothes, for thesakeofbeingcool,youknow;fortheyhaveveryhotweather.Hereisapictureofthousandsgatheredinadesolateplace—aplain,spreadwithsand—roundamaninblack,—agood,goodEnglishman—amissionary,whoispreachingtothemunderapalm-tree."(Sheshowedalittlecolouredcuttothateffect.)"Andherearepictures" (shewenton)"morestranger" (grammarwasoccasionallyforgotten) "than that. There is thewonderfulGreatWall ofChina; here is aChinese lady,witha foot littler thanmine.There is awildhorseofTartary;andhere,moststrangeofall—isalandoficeandsnow,withoutgreenfields,woods,orgardens.Inthisland,theyfoundsomemammothbones:therearenomammoths now. You don't know what it was; but I can tell you, becauseGrahamtoldme.Amighty,goblincreature,ashighasthisroom,andaslongasthehall;butnotafierce,flesh-eatingthing,Grahamthinks.Hebelieves,ifImetoneinaforest,itwouldnotkillme,unlessIcamequiteinitsway;whenit would trample me down amongst the bushes, as I might tread on a

grasshopperinahayfieldwithoutknowingit."

Thussherambledon.

"Polly,"Iinterrupted,"shouldyouliketotravel?"

"Notjustyet,"wastheprudentanswer;"butperhapsintwentyyears,whenIamgrownawoman,astallasMrs.Bretton,ImaytravelwithGraham.Weintendgoing toSwitzerland, andclimbingMountBlanck; and somedayweshallsailovertoSouthAmerica,andwalktothetopofKim-kim-borazo."

"Buthowwouldyouliketotravelnow,ifyourpapawaswithyou?"

Herreply—notgiventillafterapause—evincedoneof thoseunexpectedturnsoftemperpeculiartoher.

"Where is thegoodof talking in that sillyway?" said she. "Whydoyoumentionpapa?Whatispapatoyou?Iwasjustbeginningtobehappy,andnotthinkabouthimsomuch;andthereitwillbealltodooveragain!"

Her lip trembled. I hastened to disclose the fact of a letter having beenreceived, and to mention the directions given that she and Harriet shouldimmediatelyrejointhisdearpapa."Now,Polly,areyounotglad?"Iadded.

Shemadenoanswer.Shedroppedherbookandceased to rockherdoll;shegazedatmewithgravityandearnestness.

"Shallnotyouliketogotopapa?"

"Ofcourse,"shesaidatlastinthattrenchantmannersheusuallyemployedinspeakingtome;andwhichwasquitedifferentfromthatsheusedwithMrs.Bretton, and different again from the one dedicated toGraham. Iwished toascertain more of what she thought but no: she would converse no more.HasteningtoMrs.Bretton,shequestionedher,andreceivedtheconfirmationofmy news. Theweight and importance of these tidings kept her perfectlyseriousthewholeday.Intheevening,at themomentGraham'sentrancewasheard below, I found her at my side. She began to arrange a locket-ribbonaboutmyneck, shedisplacedand replaced the comb inmyhair;while thusbusied,Grahamentered.

"Tellhimby-and-by,"shewhispered;"tellhimIamgoing."

In the course of tea-time Imade the desired communication.Graham, itchanced, was at that time greatly preoccupied about some school-prize, forwhichhewascompeting.Thenewshadtobetoldtwicebeforeittookproperholdofhisattention,andeventhenhedweltonitbutmomently.

"Pollygoing?Whatapity!DearlittleMousie,Ishallbesorrytoloseher:shemustcometousagain,mamma."

And hastily swallowing his tea, he took a candle and a small table tohimselfandhisbooks,andwassoonburiedinstudy.

"LittleMousie"crepttohisside,andlaydownonthecarpetathisfeet,herfacetothefloor;muteandmotionlessshekeptthatpostandpositiontillbed-time.Once I sawGraham—wholly unconscious of her proximity—pushherwith his restless foot. She receded an inch or two.Aminute after one littlehandstoleoutfrombeneathherface,towhichithadbeenpressed,andsoftlycaressed the heedless foot. When summoned by her nurse she rose anddepartedveryobediently,havingbidusallasubduedgood-night.

IwillnotsaythatIdreadedgoingtobed,anhourlater;yetIcertainlywentwithanunquietanticipationthatIshouldfindthatchildinnopeacefulsleep.The forewarningofmy instinctwasbut fulfilled,when I discoveredher, allcold and vigilant, perched like a white bird on the outside of the bed. Iscarcely knew how to accost her; she was not to be managed like anotherchild.She,however,accostedme.AsIclosedthedoor,andputthelightonthedressing-table,sheturnedtomewiththesewords:—"Icannot—cannotsleep;andinthiswayIcannot—cannotlive!"

Iaskedwhatailedher.

"Dedfulmiz-er-y!"saidshe,withherpiteouslisp.

"ShallIcallMrs.Bretton?"

"Thatisdownrightsilly,"washerimpatientreply;and,indeed,Iwellknewthat if she had heardMrs. Bretton's foot approach, she would have nestledquiet as a mouse under the bedclothes. Whilst lavishing her eccentricitiesregardlessly beforeme—forwhom she professed scarcely the semblance ofaffection—shenevershowedmygodmotheroneglimpseofherinnerself:forher,shewasnothingbutadocile,somewhatquaintlittlemaiden.Iexaminedher;hercheekwascrimson;herdilatedeyewasboth troubledandglowing,and painfully restless: in this state it was obvious she must not be left tillmorning.Iguessedhowthecasestood.

"Would you like to bid Graham good-night again?" I asked. "He is notgonetohisroomyet."

Sheatoncestretchedoutherlittlearmstobelifted.Foldingashawlroundher,Icarriedherbacktothedrawing-room.Grahamwasjustcomingout.

"Shecannotsleepwithoutseeingandspeakingtoyouoncemore,"Isaid."Shedoesnotlikethethoughtofleavingyou."

"I've spoilt her," said he, taking her from me with good humour, andkissingherlittlehotfaceandburninglips."Polly,youcareformemorethanforpapa,now—"

"Idocareforyou,butyoucarenothingforme,"washerwhisper.

Shewasassuredtothecontrary,againkissed,restoredtome,andIcarriedheraway;but,alas!notsoothed.

When I thought shecould listen tome, I said—"Paulina,you shouldnotgrievethatGrahamdoesnotcareforyousomuchasyoucareforhim.Itmustbeso."

Herliftedandquestioningeyesaskedwhy.

"Becauseheisaboyandyouareagirl;heissixteenandyouareonlysix;hisnatureisstrongandgay,andyoursisotherwise."

"ButIlovehimsomuch;heshouldlovemealittle."

"Hedoes.Heisfondofyou.Youarehisfavourite."

"AmIGraham'sfavourite?"

"Yes,morethananylittlechildIknow."

Theassurancesoothedher;shesmiledinheranguish.

"But,"Icontinued,"don'tfret,anddon'texpecttoomuchofhim,orelsehewillfeelyoutobetroublesome,andthenitisallover."

"Allover!"sheechoedsoftly;"thenI'llbegood.I'lltrytobegood,

LucySnowe."

Iputhertobed.

"Will he forgiveme this one time?" she asked, as I undressedmyself. Iassuredherthathewould;thatasyethewasbynomeansalienated;thatshehadonlytobecarefulforthefuture.

"There isno future," said she: "I amgoing.Shall I ever—ever—seehimagain,afterIleaveEngland?"

Ireturnedanencouragingresponse.Thecandlebeingextinguished,astillhalf-hourelapsed.Ithoughtherasleep,whenthelittlewhiteshapeoncemorelifteditselfinthecrib,andthesmallvoiceasked—"DoyoulikeGraham,MissSnowe?"

"Likehim!Yes,alittle."

"Onlyalittle!DoyoulikehimasIdo?"

"Ithinknot.No:notasyoudo."

"Doyoulikehimmuch?"

"ItoldyouIlikedhimalittle.Whereistheuseofcaringforhimsovery

much:heisfulloffaults."

"Ishe?"

"Allboysare."

"Morethangirls?"

"Verylikely.Wisepeoplesayitisfollytothinkanybodyperfect;andastolikesanddislikes,weshouldbefriendlytoall,andworshipnone."

"Areyouawiseperson?"

"Imeantotrytobeso.Gotosleep."

"Icannotgotosleep.Haveyounopainjusthere"(layingherelfishhandon her elfish breast,) "when you think you shall have to leaveGraham; foryourhomeisnothere?"

"Surely, Polly," said I, "you should not feel somuch painwhen you arevery soon going to rejoin your father.Have you forgotten him?Do you nolongerwishtobehislittlecompanion?"

Deadsilencesucceededthisquestion.

"Child,liedownandsleep,"Iurged.

"Mybediscold,"saidshe."Ican'twarmit."

I saw the little thing shiver. "Come tome," I said,wishing, yet scarcelyhoping, thatshewouldcomply: forshewasamoststrange,capricious, littlecreature,andespeciallywhimsicalwithme.Shecame,however,instantly,likeasmallghostglidingover thecarpet. I tookher in.Shewaschill: Iwarmedherinmyarms.Shetremblednervously;Isoothedher.Thustranquillizedandcherishedsheatlastslumbered.

"Averyuniquechild,"thoughtI,asIviewedhersleepingcountenancebythefitfulmoonlight,andcautiouslyandsoftlywipedherglitteringeyelidsandherwetcheekswithmyhandkerchief."Howwillshegetthroughthisworld,or battle with this life? How will she bear the shocks and repulses, thehumiliations and desolations,which books, andmy own reason, tellme arepreparedforallflesh?"

Shedepartedthenextday;tremblinglikealeafwhenshetookleave,butexercisingself-command.

CHAPTERIV.

MISSMARCHMONT.

OnquittingBretton,which Idida fewweeksafterPaulina'sdeparture—little thinkingthenIwasneveragain tovisit it;nevermoreto treaditscalmoldstreets—Ibetookmyselfhome,havingbeenabsentsixmonths.Itwillbeconjectured that Iwasof courseglad to return to thebosomofmykindred.Well! theamiableconjecturedoesnoharm,andmay thereforebesafely leftuncontradicted.Farfromsayingnay,indeed,Iwillpermitthereadertopictureme,forthenexteightyears,asabarkslumberingthroughhalcyonweather,inaharbourstillasglass—thesteersmanstretchedonthelittledeck,hisfaceuptoheaven,hiseyesclosed:buried,ifyouwill,inalongprayer.Agreatmanywomen and girls are supposed to pass their lives something in that fashion;whynotIwiththerest?

Picturemethenidle,basking,plump,andhappy,stretchedonacushioneddeck, warmed with constant sunshine, rocked by breezes indolently soft.However,itcannotbeconcealedthat,inthatcase,Imustsomehowhavefallenoverboard,orthattheremusthavebeenwreckatlast.Itoowellrememberatime—a long time—of cold, of danger, of contention. To this hour, when Ihave the nightmare, it repeats the rush and saltness of briny waves in mythroat,andtheiricypressureonmylungs.Ievenknowtherewasastorm,andthatnotofonehournoroneday.Formanydaysandnightsneither sunnorstars appeared; we cast with our own hands the tackling out of the ship; aheavytempestlayonus;allhopethatweshouldbesavedwastakenaway.Infine,theshipwaslost,thecrewperished.

AsfarasIrecollect,Icomplainedtonooneaboutthesetroubles.Indeed,to whom could I complain? Of Mrs. Bretton I had long lost sight.Impediments, raised by others, had, years ago, come in the way of ourintercourse,andcutitoff.Besides,timehadbroughtchangesforher,too:thehandsomepropertyofwhichshewasleftguardianforherson,andwhichhadbeenchieflyinvestedinsomejoint-stockundertaking,hadmelted,itwassaid,to a fraction of its original amount. Graham, I learned from incidentalrumours, had adopted a profession; bothhe andhismotherweregone fromBretton,andwereunderstoodtobenowinLondon.Thus,thereremainednopossibilityofdependenceonothers;tomyselfalonecouldIlook.IknownotthatIwasofaself-reliantoractivenature;butself-relianceandexertionwereforced uponme by circumstances, as they are upon thousands besides; andwhenMissMarchmont, amaiden ladyofourneighbourhood, sent forme, Iobeyed her behest, in the hope that shemight assignme some task I couldundertake.

Miss Marchmont was a woman of fortune, and lived in a handsomeresidence;butshewasarheumaticcripple,impotent,footandhand,andhadbeensofortwentyyears.Shealwayssatupstairs:herdrawing-roomadjoined

herbed-room.IhadoftenheardofMissMarchmont,andofherpeculiarities(shehadthecharacterofbeingveryeccentric),buttillnowhadneverseenher.I found her a furrowed, grey-hairedwoman, gravewith solitude, sternwithlongaffliction, irritablealso,andperhapsexacting.Itseemedthatamaid,orrather companion, who hadwaited on her for some years, was about to bemarried;andshe,hearingofmybereavedlot,hadsentforme,with theideathatImightsupplythisperson'splace.Shemadetheproposaltomeaftertea,assheandIsatalonebyherfireside.

"Itwillnotbeaneasylife;"saidshecandidly,"forIrequireagooddealofattention, and youwill bemuch confined; yet, perhaps, contrastedwith theexistenceyouhavelatelyled,itmayappeartolerable."

I reflected.Ofcourse itought toappear tolerable, Iargued inwardly;butsomehow, by some strange fatality, it would not. To live here, in this closeroom, the watcher of suffering—sometimes, perhaps, the butt of temper—throughallthatwastocomeofmyyouth;whileallthatwasgonehadpassed,tosaytheleast,notblissfully!Myheartsunkonemoment,thenitrevived;forthough I forcedmyself to realise evils, I think Iwas tooprosaic to idealise,andconsequentlytoexaggeratethem.

"My doubt is whether I should have strength for the undertaking," Iobserved.

"Thatismyownscruple,"saidshe;"foryoulookaworn-outcreature."

SoIdid.Isawmyselfintheglass,inmymourning-dress,afaded,hollow-eyedvision.Yet I thought littleof thewanspectacle.Theblight, Ibelieved,waschieflyexternal:Istillfeltlifeatlife'ssources.

"Whatelsehaveyouinview—anything?"

"Nothingclearasyet:butImayfindsomething."

"Soyouimagine:perhapsyouareright.Tryyourownmethod,then;andifitdoesnotsucceed,testmine.ThechanceIhaveofferedshallbeleftopentoyouforthreemonths."

This was kind. I told her so, and expressed my gratitude. While I wasspeaking,aparoxysmofpaincameon.Iministeredtoher;madethenecessaryapplications,accordingtoherdirections,and,bythetimeshewasrelieved,asortof intimacywasalready formedbetweenus. I, formypart,had learnedfrom themanner inwhich she bore this attack, that shewas a firm, patientwoman (patient under physical pain, though sometimes perhaps excitableunder long mental canker); and she, from the good-will with which Isuccoured her, discovered that she could influencemy sympathies (such astheywere).Shesentformethenextday;forfiveorsixsuccessivedaysshe

claimedmycompany.Closeracquaintance,whileitdevelopedbothfaultsandeccentricities,opened,atthesametime,aviewofacharacterIcouldrespect.Stern and even morose as she sometimes was, I could wait on her and sitbesideherwiththatcalmwhichalwaysblessesuswhenwearesensiblethatourmanners,presence,contact,pleaseandsoothethepersonsweserve.Evenwhen she scoldedme—which she did, now and then, very tartly—itwas insuch a way as did not humiliate, and left no sting; it was rather like anirascible mother rating her daughter, than a harsh mistress lecturing adependant: lecture, indeed, she could not, though she could occasionallystorm. Moreover, a vein of reason ever ran through her passion: she waslogical evenwhen fierce. Ere long a growing sense of attachment began topresentthethoughtofstayingwithherascompanioninquiteanewlight;inanotherweekIhadagreedtoremain.

Twohot,closeroomsthusbecamemyworld;andacrippledoldwoman,my mistress, my friend, my all. Her service was my duty—her pain, mysuffering—her relief,my hope—her anger,my punishment—her regard,myreward. I forgot that therewere fields,woods, rivers, seas,anever-changingsky outside the steam-dimmed lattice of this sick chamber; I was almostcontenttoforgetit.Allwithinmebecamenarrowedtomylot.Tameandstillby habit, disciplined by destiny, I demanded no walks in the fresh air; myappetite needed no more than the tiny messes served for the invalid. Inaddition,shegavemetheoriginalityofhercharactertostudy:thesteadinessofhervirtues,Iwilladd,thepowerofherpassions,toadmire;thetruthofherfeelingstotrust.Allthesethingsshehad,andforthesethingsIclungtoher.

ForthesethingsIwouldhavecrawledonwithherfortwentyyears,iffortwenty years longer her life of endurance had been protracted. But anotherdecree was written. It seemed I must be stimulated into action. I must begoaded,driven,stung,forcedtoenergy.Mylittlemorselofhumanaffection,which I prized as if itwere a solid pearl,mustmelt inmy fingers and slipthence like a dissolvinghailstone.My small adopteddutymust be snatchedfrommyeasilycontentedconscience.IhadwantedtocompromisewithFate:toescapeoccasionalgreatagoniesbysubmitting toawhole lifeofprivationandsmallpains.Fatewouldnotsobepacified;norwouldProvidencesanctionthisshrinkingslothandcowardlyindolence.

OneFebruary night—I remember itwell—there came a voice nearMissMarchmont's house, heard by every inmate, but translated, perhaps, only byone.Afteracalmwinter,stormswereushering in thespring. IhadputMissMarchmont tobed; Isatat the firesidesewing.Thewindwaswailingat thewindows;ithadwailedallday;but,asnightdeepened,ittookanewtone—anaccent keen, piercing, almost articulate to the ear; a plaint, piteous anddisconsolatetothenerves,trilledineverygust.

"Oh, hush! hush!" I said inmy disturbedmind, droppingmywork, andmakingavaineffort tostopmyearsagainst thatsubtle,searchingcry. Ihadheardthatveryvoiceerethis,andcompulsoryobservationhadforcedonmeatheoryas towhat itboded.Three times in thecourseofmy life, eventshadtaughtmethatthesestrangeaccentsinthestorm—thisrestless,hopelesscry—denote a coming state of the atmosphere unpropitious to life. Epidemicdiseases, I believed, were often heralded by a gasping, sobbing, tormented,long-lamentingeastwind.Hence,Iinferred,arosethelegendoftheBanshee.Ifancied,too,Ihadnoticed—butwasnotphilosopherenoughtoknowwhetherthere was any connection between the circumstances—that we often at thesame timehearofdisturbedvolcanicaction indistantpartsof theworld;ofriverssuddenly rushingabove theirbanks;andofstrangehigh tides flowingfuriously inon low sea-coasts. "Ourglobe," I had said tomyself, "seems atsuch periods torn and disordered; the feeble amongst us wither in herdistemperedbreath,rushinghotfromsteamingvolcanoes."

Ilistenedandtrembled;MissMarchmontslept.

Aboutmidnight, thestorminonehalf-hour fell toadeadcalm.Thefire,which had been burning dead, glowed up vividly. I felt the air change, andbecomekeen.Raisingblindandcurtain,Ilookedout,andsawinthestarsthekeensparkleofasharpfrost.

Turningaway, theobject thatmetmyeyeswasMissMarchmontawake,liftingherheadfromthepillow,andregardingmewithunusualearnestness.

"Isitafinenight?"sheasked.

Irepliedintheaffirmative.

"I thought so," she said; "for I feel so strong, so well. Raiseme. I feelyoungto-night,"shecontinued:"young,light-hearted,andhappy.Whatifmycomplaint be about to take a turn, and I amyet destined to enjoyhealth? Itwouldbeamiracle!"

"And these are not the days of miracles," I thought to myself, andwondered tohearher talk so.Shewent ondirectingher conversation to thepast,andseemingtorecallitsincidents,scenes,andpersonages,withsingularvividness.

"IloveMemoryto-night,"shesaid:"Iprizeherasmybestfriend.Sheisjustnowgivingmeadeepdelight:sheisbringingbacktomyheart,inwarmand beautiful life, realities—not mere empty ideas, but what were oncerealities,andthatIlonghavethoughtdecayed,dissolved,mixedinwithgrave-mould. I possess justnow thehours, the thoughts, thehopesofmyyouth. Irenewtheloveofmylife—itsonlylove—almostitsonlyaffection;forIamnotaparticularlygoodwoman:Iamnotamiable.YetIhavehadmyfeelings,

strong and concentrated; and these feelings had their object; which, in itssingleself,wasdeartome,astothemajorityofmenandwomen,arealltheunnumberedpoints onwhich theydissipate their regard.While I loved, andwhile Iwas loved,what an existence I enjoyed!What a gloriousyear I canrecall—howbrightitcomesbacktome!Whatalivingspring—whatawarm,glad summer—what soft moonlight, silvering the autumn evenings—whatstrengthofhopeundertheice-boundwatersandfrost-hoarfieldsofthatyear'swinter!ThroughthatyearmyheartlivedwithFrank'sheart.OmynobleFrank—my faithful Frank—my good Frank! so much better than myself—hisstandard in all things so much higher! This I can now see and say: if fewwomenhavesufferedasIdidinhisloss,fewhaveenjoyedwhatIdidinhislove.Itwasafarbetterkindoflovethancommon;Ihadnodoubtsaboutitorhim: itwassucha loveashonoured,protected,andelevated,no less than itgladdened her towhom itwas given.Letme now ask, just at thismoment,whenmymind is so strangely clear,—letme reflectwhy itwas taken fromme? For what crime was I condemned, after twelve months of bliss, toundergothirtyyearsofsorrow?

"I do not know," she continued after a pause: "I cannot—cannot see thereason; yet at this hour I can say with sincerity, what I never tried to saybefore,InscrutableGod,Thywillbedone!AndatthismomentIcanbelievethatdeathwillrestoremetoFrank.Ineverbelievedittillnow."

"Heisdead,then?"Iinquiredinalowvoice.

"My dear girl," she said, "one happy Christmas Eve I dressed anddecoratedmyself, expectingmy lover, very soon to bemy husband, wouldcomethatnighttovisitme.Isatdowntowait.OncemoreIseethatmoment—Iseethesnowtwilightstealingthroughthewindowoverwhichthecurtainwasnotdropped,forIdesignedtowatchhimrideupthewhitewalk;Iseeandfeel the soft firelight warming me, playing on my silk dress, and fitfullyshowingmemyownyoungfigureinaglass.Iseethemoonofacalmwinternight, float full, clear, and cold, over the inky mass of shrubbery, and thesilveredturfofmygrounds.Iwait,withsomeimpatienceinmypulse,butnodoubtinmybreast.Theflameshaddiedinthefire,butitwasabrightmassyet;themoonwasmountinghigh,butshewasstillvisiblefromthelattice;theclocknearedten;herarelytarriedlaterthanthis,butonceortwicehehadbeendelayedsolong.

"Would he for once fail me? No—not even for once; and now he wascoming—andcomingfast—toatoneforlosttime.'Frank!youfuriousrider,'Isaid inwardly, listeninggladly,yetanxiously, tohisapproachinggallop, 'youshallberebukedforthis:Iwilltellyouitismyneckyouareputtinginperil;forwhateverisyoursis,inadearerandtenderersense,mine.'Therehewas:Isawhim;butIthinktearswereinmyeyes,mysightwassoconfused.Isaw

thehorse;Ihearditstamp—Isawatleastamass;Iheardaclamour.Wasitahorse? or what heavy, dragging thing was it, crossing, strangely dark, thelawn.HowcouldInamethatthinginthemoonlightbeforeme?orhowcouldIutterthefeelingwhichroseinmysoul?

"I couldonly runout.Agreat animal—truly,Frank'sblackhorse—stoodtrembling,panting,snortingbeforethedoor;amanheldit,Frank,asIthought.

"'Whatisthematter?'Idemanded.Thomas,myownservant,answeredbysaying sharply, 'Go into the house, madam.' And then calling to anotherservant, who came hurrying from the kitchen as if summoned by someinstinct,'Ruth,takemissisintothehousedirectly.'ButIwaskneelingdowninthesnow,besidesomethingthatlaythere—somethingthatIhadseendraggedalong the ground—something that sighed, that groaned on my breast, as Iliftedanddrewittome.Hewasnotdead;hewasnotquiteunconscious.Ihadhimcarriedin;Irefusedtobeorderedaboutandthrustfromhim.Iwasquitecollectedenough,notonlytobemyownmistressbut themistressofothers.They had begun by trying to treat me like a child, as they always do withpeoplestruckbyGod'shand;butIgaveplacetononeexceptthesurgeon;andwhenhehaddonewhathecould, I tookmydyingFrank tomyself.Hehadstrengthtofoldmeinhisarms;hehadpowertospeakmyname;heheardmeasIprayedoverhimverysoftly;hefeltmeasItenderlyandfondlycomfortedhim.

"'Maria,' he said, 'I am dying in Paradise.' He spent his last breath infaithfulwordsforme.WhenthedawnofChristmasmorningbroke,myFrankwaswithGod.

"Andthat,"shewenton,"happenedthirtyyearsago.Ihavesufferedsince.IdoubtifIhavemadethebestuseofallmycalamities.Soft,amiablenaturestheywouldhaverefinedtosaintliness;ofstrong,evilspiritstheywouldhavemadedemons;asforme,Ihaveonlybeenawoe-struckandselfishwoman."

"You have done much good," I said; for she was noted for her liberalalmsgiving.

"Ihavenotwithheldmoney,youmean,whereitcouldassuageaffliction.Whatofthat?Itcostmenoeffortorpangtogive.ButIthinkfromthisdayIamabouttoenterabetterframeofmind,topreparemyselfforreunionwithFrank. You see I still think of Frank more than of God; and unless it becountedthatinthuslovingthecreaturesomuch,solong,andsoexclusively,Ihave not at least blasphemed the Creator, small is my chance of salvation.Whatdoyouthink,Lucy,ofthesethings?Bemychaplain,andtellme."

This question I could not answer: I had no words. It seemed as if shethoughtIhadansweredit.

"Very right, my child. We should acknowledge God merciful, but notalwaysforuscomprehensible.Weshouldacceptourownlot,whateveritbe,andtrytorenderhappythatofothers.Shouldwenot?Well,to-morrowIwillbeginbytryingtomakeyouhappy.Iwillendeavourtodosomethingforyou,Lucy: something thatwillbenefityouwhen Iamdead.Myheadachesnowwithtalkingtoomuch;stillIamhappy.Gotobed.Theclockstrikestwo.Howlateyousitup;or ratherhow late I, inmyselfishness,keepyouup.Butgonow;havenomoreanxietyforme;IfeelIshallrestwell."

Shecomposedherselfasiftoslumber.I,too,retiredtomycribinaclosetwithinherroom.Thenightpassedinquietness;quietlyherdoommustatlasthavecome:peacefullyandpainlessly:inthemorningshewasfoundwithoutlife, nearly cold, but all calm and undisturbed. Her previous excitement ofspiritsandchangeofmoodhadbeenthepreludeofafit;onestrokesufficedtoseverthethreadofanexistencesolongfrettedbyaffliction.

CHAPTERV.

TURNINGANEWLEAF.

Mymistressbeingdead,andIoncemorealone,Ihadtolookoutforanewplace.About this time Imightbe a little—avery little—shaken innerves. IgrantIwasnotlookingwell,but,onthecontrary,thin,haggard,andhollow-eyed; like a sitter-up at night, like an overwrought servant, or a placelessperson indebt. Indebt,however, Iwasnot;norquitepoor; for thoughMissMarchmonthadnothadtimetobenefitme,as,onthatlastnight,shesaidsheintended, yet, after the funeral, my wages were duly paid by her secondcousin, the heir, an avaricious-looking man, with pinched nose and narrowtemples,who,indeed,Iheardlongafterwards,turnedoutathoroughmiser:adirectcontrasttohisgenerouskinswoman,andafoiltohermemory,blessedto thisdayby thepoorandneedy.Thepossessor, then,of fifteenpounds;ofhealth, thoughworn,notbroken,andofaspirit insimilarcondition;Imightstill; incomparisonwithmanypeople,beregardedasoccupyinganenviableposition.Anembarrassingoneitwas,however,atthesametime;asIfeltwithsomeacutenessonacertainday,ofwhichthecorrespondingonein thenextweekwas to seemydeparture frommypresent abode,whilewithanother Iwasnotprovided.

In thisdilemmaIwent,asa lastandsoleresource, toseeandconsultanoldservantofourfamily;oncemynurse,nowhousekeeperatagrandmansionnotfarfromMissMarchmont's.Ispentsomehourswithher;shecomforted,but knew not how to advise me. Still all inward darkness, I left her about

twilight; awalk of twomiles lay beforeme; itwas a clear, frosty night. Inspiteofmysolitude,mypoverty,andmyperplexity,myheart,nourishedandnerved with the vigour of a youth that had not yet counted twenty-threesummers, beat light and not feebly.Not feebly, I am sure, or I should havetrembledinthatlonelywalk,whichlaythroughstillfields,andpassedneithervillage nor farmhouse, nor cottage: I should have quailed in the absence ofmoonlight, for it was by the leading of stars only I traced the dim path; Ishouldhavequailedstillmoreintheunwontedpresenceofthatwhichto-nightshoneinthenorth,amovingmystery—theAuroraBorealis.But thissolemnstranger influencedmeotherwisethanthroughmyfears.Somenewpoweritseemedtobring.Idrewinenergywiththekeen,lowbreezethatblewonitspath. A bold thought was sent to my mind; my mind was made strong toreceiveit.

"Leavethiswilderness,"itwassaidtome,"andgoouthence."

"Where?"wasthequery.

Ihadnotveryfartolook;gazingfromthiscountryparishinthatflat,richmiddleofEngland—ImentallysawwithinreachwhatIhadneveryetbeheldwithmybodilyeyes:IsawLondon.

The next day I returned to the hall, and asking once more to see thehousekeeper,Icommunicatedtohermyplan.

Mrs.Barrettwasagrave,judiciouswoman,thoughsheknewlittlemoreoftheworldthanmyself;butgraveandjudiciousasshewas,shedidnotchargemewithbeingoutofmysenses;and,indeed,Ihadastaidmannerofmyownwhich ere now had been as good tome as cloak and hood of hodden grey,sinceunderitsfavourIhadbeenenabledtoachievewithimpunity,andevenapprobation,deedsthat,ifattemptedwithanexcitedandunsettledair,wouldinsomemindshavestampedmeasadreamerandzealot.

The housekeeper was slowly propounding some difficulties, while sheprepared orange-rind formarmalade,when a child ran past thewindow andcameboundingintotheroom.Itwasaprettychild,andasitdanced,laughing,up tome—forwewerenot strangers (nor, indeed,was itsmother—ayoungmarrieddaughterofthehouse—astranger)—Itookitonmyknee.

Different aswereour social positionsnow, this child'smother and I hadbeenschoolfellows,whenIwasagirloftenandsheayoungladyofsixteen;andIrememberedher,good-looking,butdull,inalowerclassthanmine.

I was admiring the boy's handsome dark eyes, when the mother, youngMrs.Leigh,entered.Whatabeautifulandkind-lookingwomanwasthegood-naturedandcomely,butunintellectual,girlbecome!Wifehoodandmaternityhad changed her thus, as I have since seen them change others even less

promising than she.Me shehad forgotten. Iwas changed too, thoughnot, Ifear, for the better. Imade no attempt to recallmyself to hermemory;whyshouldI?Shecameforherson toaccompanyher inawalk,andbehindherfollowedanurse,carryingan infant. Ionlymention the incidentbecause, inaddressingthenurse,Mrs.LeighspokeFrench(verybadFrench,bytheway,and with an incorrigibly bad accent, again forcibly reminding me of ourschool-days):andIfoundthewomanwasaforeigner.Thelittleboychatteredvolubly in French too.When thewhole partywerewithdrawn,Mrs.Barrettremarked that heryoung ladyhadbrought that foreignnursehomewithhertwoyearsago,onherreturnfromaContinentalexcursion;thatshewastreatedalmost aswell as a governess, andhadnothing todobutwalkoutwith thebabyandchatterFrenchwithMasterCharles;"and,"addedMrs.Barrett,"shesaystherearemanyEnglishwomeninforeignfamiliesaswellplacedasshe."

I stored up this piece of casual information, as careful housewives storeseemingly worthless shreds and fragments for which their prescient mindsanticipateapossibleusesomeday.Before I leftmyoldfriend,shegavemetheaddressofarespectableold-fashionedinnintheCity,which,shesaid,myunclesusedtofrequentinformerdays.

In going to London, I ran less risk and evinced less enterprise than thereadermaythink.Infact,thedistancewasonlyfiftymiles.Mymeanswouldsuffice both to takeme there, to keepme a fewdays, and also to bringmeback if I found no inducement to stay. I regarded it as a brief holiday,permittedforoncetowork-wearyfaculties,ratherthanasanadventureoflifeanddeath.There isnothing like takingallyoudoat amoderateestimate: itkeepsmindandbodytranquil;whereasgrandiloquentnotionsareapttohurrybothintofever.

Fiftymileswere thenaday's journey(for Ispeakofa timegoneby:myhair, which, till a late period, withstood the frosts of time, lies now, at lastwhite,under awhite cap, like snowbeneath snow).Aboutnineo'clockof awetFebruarynightIreachedLondon.

My reader, I know, is one who would not thank me for an elaboratereproduction of poetic first impressions; and it is well, inasmuch as I hadneither timenormoodtocherishsuch;arrivingasIdid late,onadark, raw,andrainyevening,inaBabylonandawilderness,ofwhichthevastnessandthestrangenesstriedtotheutmostanypowersofclearthoughtandsteadyself-possessionwithwhich,intheabsenceofmorebrilliantfaculties,Naturemighthavegiftedme.

WhenIleftthecoach,thestrangespeechofthecabmenandotherswaitinground, seemed tome odd as a foreign tongue. I had never before heard theEnglishlanguagechoppedupinthatway.However,Imanagedtounderstand

andtobeunderstood,sofarastogetmyselfandtrunksafelyconveyedtotheold inn whereof I had the address. How difficult, how oppressive, howpuzzlingseemedmyflight!InLondonforthefirsttime;ataninnforthefirsttime; tired with travelling; confused with darkness; palsied with cold;unfurnishedwitheitherexperienceoradvicetotellmehowtoact,andyet—toactobliged.

Into the hands of common sense I confided the matter. Common sense,however,wasaschilledandbewilderedasallmyother faculties,and itwasonlyunderthespurofaninexorablenecessitythatshespasmodicallyexecutedher trust. Thus urged, she paid the porter: considering the crisis, I did notblameher toomuch that shewashugelycheated; sheasked thewaiter foraroom;shetimorouslycalledforthechambermaid;whatisfarmore,shebore,without being wholly overcome, a highly supercilious style of demeanourfromthatyounglady,whensheappeared.

I recollect this same chambermaid was a pattern of town prettiness andsmartness.Sotrimherwaist,hercap,herdress—Iwonderedhowtheyhadallbeenmanufactured.Her speechhadanaccentwhich in itsmincingglibnessseemedtorebukemineasbyauthority;herspruceattireflauntedaneasyscorntomyplaincountrygarb.

"Well, it can't behelped," I thought, "and then the scene isnew, and thecircumstances;Ishallgaingood."

Maintaining a very quiet manner towards this arrogant little maid, andsubsequentlyobservingthesametowardstheparsonic-looking,black-coated,white-neckclothedwaiter, Igotcivility from themere long. Ibelieveat firsttheythoughtIwasaservant;butinalittlewhiletheychangedtheirminds,andhoveredinadoubtfulstatebetweenpatronageandpoliteness.

IkeptupwelltillIhadpartakenofsomerefreshment,warmedmyselfbyafire,andwasfairlyshutintomyownroom;but,asIsatdownbythebedandrestedmyheadandarmsonthepillow,aterribleoppressionovercameme.Allat once my position rose on me like a ghost. Anomalous, desolate, almostblankofhope it stood.WhatwasIdoingherealone ingreatLondon?WhatshouldIdoonthemorrow?WhatprospectshadIinlife?WhatfriendshadIon,earth?WhencedidIcome?WhithershouldIgo?WhatshouldIdo?

Iwetthepillow,myarms,andmyhair,withrushingtears.Adarkintervalofmostbitterthoughtfollowedthisburst;butIdidnotregretthesteptaken,nor wish to retract it. A strong, vague persuasion that it was better to goforward than backward, and that I could go forward—that a way, howevernarrowanddifficult,would in timeopen—predominatedoverotherfeelings:itsinfluencehushedthemsofar,thatatlastIbecamesufficientlytranquiltobeabletosaymyprayersandseekmycouch.Ihadjustextinguishedmycandle

and lain down,when a deep, low,mighty tone swung through the night.AtfirstIknewitnot;butitwasutteredtwelvetimes,andatthetwelfthcolossalhumandtremblingknell,Isaid:"IlieintheshadowofSt.Paul's."

CHAPTERVI.

LONDON.

ThenextdaywasthefirstofMarch,andwhenIawoke,rose,andopenedmycurtain,Isawtherisensunstrugglingthroughfog.Abovemyhead,abovethehouse-tops,co-elevatealmostwiththeclouds,Isawasolemn,orbedmass,darkblueanddim—THEDOME.WhileI looked,myinnerselfmoved;myspiritshookitsalways-fetteredwingshalfloose;IhadasuddenfeelingasifI,whoneveryettrulylived,wereatlastabouttotastelife.InthatmorningmysoulgrewasfastasJonah'sgourd.

"I didwell to come," I said, proceeding todresswith speed and care. "IlikethespiritofthisgreatLondonwhichIfeelaroundme.Whobutacowardwouldpasshiswholelifeinhamlets;andforeverabandonhisfacultiestotheeatingrustofobscurity?"

Beingdressed, Iwentdown;not travel-wornandexhausted,but tidyandrefreshed.When thewaiter came inwithmybreakfast, Imanaged to accosthimsedately,yet cheerfully;wehad tenminutes'discourse, in thecourseofwhichwebecameusefullyknowntoeachother.

Hewasagrey-haired,elderlyman;and,itseemed,hadlivedinhispresentplacetwentyyears.Havingascertainedthis,Iwassurehemustremembermytwo uncles, Charles and Wilmot, who, fifteen, years ago, were frequentvisitors here. Imentioned their names; he recalled them perfectly, andwithrespect. Having intimated my connection, my position in his eyes washenceforthclear,andonarightfooting.HesaidIwaslikemyuncleCharles:Isupposehespoketruth,becauseMrs.Barrettwasaccustomedtosaythesamething.Areadyandobligingcourtesynowreplacedhisformeruncomfortablydoubtfulmanner;henceforthIneednolongerbeatalossforacivilanswertoasensiblequestion.

The street on which my little sitting-room window looked was narrow,perfectlyquiet,andnotdirty:thefewpassengerswerejustsuchasoneseesinprovincialtowns:herewasnothingformidable;IfeltsureImightventureoutalone.

Havingbreakfasted,outIwent.Elationandpleasurewereinmyheart:towalkaloneinLondonseemedofitselfanadventure.PresentlyIfoundmyself

inPaternosterRow—classicgroundthis.Ienteredabookseller'sshop,keptbyoneJones: Iboughta littlebook—apieceofextravaganceIcould illafford;but I thought Iwould one day give or send it toMrs.Barrett.Mr. Jones, adried-inmanofbusiness,stoodbehindhisdesk:heseemedoneofthegreatest,andIoneofthehappiestofbeings.

Prodigious was the amount of life I lived that morning. FindingmyselfbeforeSt.Paul's,Iwentin;Imountedtothedome:IsawthenceLondon,withitsriver,anditsbridges,anditschurches;IsawantiqueWestminster,andthegreen Temple Gardens, with sun upon them, and a glad, blue sky, of earlyspringabove;andbetweenthemandit,nottoodense,acloudofhaze.

Descending,Iwentwanderingwhitherchancemightlead,inastillecstasyoffreedomandenjoyment;andIgot—Iknownothow—Igotintotheheartofcity life. I saw and felt London at last: I got into the Strand; I went upCornhill; Imixedwith the lifepassingalong;Idared theperilsofcrossings.Todothis,andtodoitutterlyalone,gaveme,perhapsanirrational,butarealpleasure. Since those days, I have seen the West End, the parks, the finesquares;butIlovethecityfarbetter.Thecityseemssomuchmoreinearnest:itsbusiness,itsrush,itsroar,aresuchseriousthings,sights,andsounds.Thecityisgettingitsliving—theWestEndbutenjoyingitspleasure.AttheWestEndyoumaybeamused,butinthecityyouaredeeplyexcited.

Faint, at last, and hungry (it was years since I had felt such healthyhunger),Ireturned,abouttwoo'clock,tomydark,old,andquietinn.Idinedontwodishes—aplainjointandvegetables;bothseemedexcellent:howmuchbetterthanthesmall,daintymessesMissMarchmont'scookusedtosenduptomykind,deadmistressandme,andtothediscussionofwhichwecouldnotbring half an appetite between us! Delightfully tired, I lay down, on threechairs for an hour (the roomdid not boast a sofa). I slept, then Iwoke andthoughtfortwohours.

My state of mind, and all accompanying circumstances, were just nowsuchasmost to favour theadoptionofanew, resolute,anddaring—perhapsdesperate—line of action. I had nothing to lose. Unutterable loathing of adesolateexistencepast, forbade return. If I failed inwhat Inowdesigned toundertake,who,savemyself,wouldsuffer?IfIdiedfarawayfrom—home,Iwasgoingtosay,butIhadnohome—fromEngland,then,whowouldweep?

Imight suffer; Iwas inured to suffering: death itself had not, I thought,thoseterrorsformewhichithasforthesoftlyreared.Ihad,erethis,lookedonthethoughtofdeathwithaquieteye.Prepared,then,foranyconsequences,Iformedaproject.

That same evening I obtained from my friend, the waiter, informationrespecting, thesailingofvesselsforacertaincontinentalport,Boue-Marine.

Notime,Ifound,wastobelost:thatverynightImusttakemyberth.Imight,indeed,havewaitedtillthemorningbeforegoingonboard,butwouldnotruntheriskofbeingtoolate.

"Better take your berth at once,ma'am," counselled thewaiter. I agreedwith him, and having discharged my bill, and acknowledged my friend'sservicesataratewhichInowknowwasprincely,andwhichinhiseyesmusthaveseemedabsurd—andindeed,whilepocketingthecash,hesmiledafaintsmilewhichintimatedhisopinionofthedonor'ssavoir-faire—heproceededtocallacoach.Tothedriverhealsorecommendedme,givingatthesametimeaninjunctionabouttakingme,Ithink,tothewharf,andnotleavingmetothewatermen;which thatfunctionarypromisedtoobserve,butfailed inkeepinghispromise:onthecontrary,heofferedmeupasanoblation,servedmeasadrippingroast,makingmealightinthemidstofathrongofwatermen.

This was an uncomfortable crisis. It was a dark night. The coachmaninstantlydroveoffassoonashehadgothisfare:thewatermencommencedastruggleformeandmytrunk.TheiroathsIhearat thismoment: theyshookmyphilosophymorethandidthenight,ortheisolation,orthestrangenessofthe scene.One laid handsonmy trunk. I lookedon andwaitedquietly; butwhen another laid handsonme, I spokeup, shookoff his touch, stepped atonceintoaboat,desiredausterelythat thetrunkshouldbeplacedbesideme—"Just there,"—whichwas instantly done; for the owner of the boat I hadchosenbecamenowanally:Iwasrowedoff.

Blackwastheriverasatorrentofink;lightsglancedonitfromthepilesofbuilding round, ships rocked on its bosom. They rowed me up to severalvessels;Ireadbylantern-lighttheirnamespaintedingreatwhitelettersonadark ground. "The Ocean," "The Phoenix," "The Consort," "The Dolphin,"were passed in turns; but "TheVivid" wasmy ship, and it seemed she layfurtherdown.

Down the sable flood we glided, I thought of the Styx, and of Charonrowing some solitary soul to theLandofShades.Amidst the strange scene,with a chilly wind blowing in my face and midnight clouds dropping rainabovemyhead;withtworuderowersforcompanions,whoseinsaneoathsstilltorturedmyear, I askedmyself if Iwaswretchedor terrified. Iwasneither.Often in my life have I been far more so under comparatively safecircumstances. "How is this?" said I. "Methinks I am animated and alert,insteadofbeingdepressedandapprehensive?"Icouldnottellhowitwas.

"THEVIVID"startedout,whiteandglaring,fromtheblacknightatlast.—"Hereyouare!"saidthewaterman,andinstantlydemandedsixshillings.

"You ask toomuch," I said. He drew off from the vessel and swore hewould not embark me till I paid it. A young man, the steward as I found

afterwards,waslookingovertheship'sside;hegrinnedasmileinanticipationof thecomingcontest; todisappointhim,Ipaid themoney.Three times thatafternoon I had given crowns where I should have given shillings; but Iconsoledmyselfwiththereflection,"Itisthepriceofexperience."

"They'vecheatedyou!"saidthestewardexultinglywhenIgotonboard.

Iansweredphlegmaticallythat"Iknewit,"andwentbelow.

Astout,handsome,andshowywomanwasintheladies'cabin.Iaskedtobeshownmyberth;shelookedhardatme,mutteredsomethingaboutitsbeingunusualforpassengerstocomeonboardatthathour,andseemeddisposedtobe less than civil. What a face she had—so comely—so insolent and soselfish!

"NowthatIamonboard,Ishallcertainlystayhere,"wasmyanswer.

"Iwilltroubleyoutoshowmemyberth."

Shecomplied,butsullenly.Itookoffmybonnet,arrangedmythings,andlay down. Some difficulties had been passed through; a sort of victorywaswon:myhomeless,anchorless,unsupportedmindhadagainleisureforabriefrepose.Tillthe"Vivid"arrivedinharbour,nofurtheractionwouldberequiredofme;butthen….Oh!Icouldnotlookforward.Harassed,exhausted,Ilayinahalf-trance.

The stewardess talked all night; not tomebut to theyoung steward, hersonandherverypicture.Hepassedinandoutofthecabincontinually:theydisputed,theyquarrelled,theymadeitupagaintwentytimesinthecourseofthenight.Sheprofessed tobewriting a letterhome—she said toher father;shereadpassagesofitaloud,heedingmenomorethanastock—perhapsshebelievedme asleep. Several of these passages appeared to comprise familysecrets, andbore special reference toone "Charlotte," a younger sisterwho,from the bearing of the epistle, seemed to be on the brink of perpetrating aromanticandimprudentmatch;loudwastheprotestofthiselderladyagainstthedistastefulunion.Thedutifulsonlaughedhismother'scorrespondencetoscorn.Shedefendedit,andravedathim.Theywereastrangepair.Shemightbethirty-nineorforty,andwasbuxomandbloomingasagirloftwenty.Hard,loud, vain and vulgar, her mind and body alike seemed brazen andimperishable. I should think, from her childhood, she must have lived inpublicstations;andinheryouthmightverylikelyhavebeenabarmaid.

Towards morning her discourse ran on a new theme: "the Watsons," acertainexpectedfamily-partyofpassengers,knowntoher,itappeared,andbyhermuchesteemedonaccountof thehandsomeprofit realized in their fees.She said, "It was as good as a little fortune to her whenever this familycrossed."

At dawn all were astir, and by sunrise the passengers came on board.Boisterouswas thewelcome given by the stewardess to the "Watsons," andgreat was the bustle made in their honour. They were four in number, twomalesand twofemales.Besides them, therewasbutoneotherpassenger—ayounglady,whomagentlemanly, thoughlanguid-lookingmanescorted.Thetwo groups offered a marked contrast. The Watsons were doubtless richpeople, for theyhad theconfidenceofconsciouswealth in theirbearing; thewomen—youthful both of them, and one perfectly handsome, as far asphysical beauty went—were dressed richly, gaily, and absurdly out ofcharacterforthecircumstances.Theirbonnetswithbrightflowers,theirvelvetcloaksandsilkdresses,seemedbettersuitedforparkorpromenadethanforadamp packet deck. Themenwere of low stature, plain, fat, and vulgar; theoldest, plainest, greasiest, broadest, I soon found was the husband—thebridegroom I suppose, for shewas very young—of the beautiful girl. Deepwasmyamazementat thisdiscovery;anddeeperstillwhenIperceived that,insteadof beingdesperatelywretched in such a union, shewas gay even togiddiness. "Her laughter," I reflected, "must be themere frenzy of despair."Andevenwhile this thoughtwascrossingmymind,asIstoodleaningquietand solitary against the ship's side, she came tripping up to me, an utterstranger, with a camp-stool in her hand, and smiling a smile of which thelevitypuzzledandstartledme,thoughitshowedaperfectsetofperfectteeth,sheofferedmetheaccommodationof thispieceoffurniture. Ideclined itofcourse, with all the courtesy I could put into my manner; she danced offheedlessandlightsome.Shemusthavebeengood-natured;butwhathadmadehermarry that individual, whowas at least as much like an oil-barrel as aman?

Theotherladypassenger,withthegentleman-companion,wasquiteagirl,pretty and fair: her simple print dress, untrimmed straw-bonnet and largeshawl, gracefully worn, formed a costume plain to quakerism: yet, for her,becomingenough.Beforethegentlemanquittedher,Iobservedhimthrowingaglanceofscrutinyoverallthepassengers,asiftoascertaininwhatcompanyhischargewouldbeleft.Withamostdissatisfiedairdidhiseyeturnfromtheladies with the gay flowers; he looked at me, and then he spoke to hisdaughter, niece, orwhatever shewas: she alsoglanced inmydirection, andslightly curled her short, pretty lip. It might be myself, or it might be myhomelymourninghabit,thatelicitedthismarkofcontempt;morelikely,both.Abell rang;her father (I afterwardsknew that itwasher father)kissedher,andreturnedtoland.Thepacketsailed.

ForeignerssaythatitisonlyEnglishgirlswhocanthusbetrustedtotravelalone,anddeepistheirwonderatthedaringconfidenceofEnglishparentsandguardians.Asforthe"jeunesMeess,"bysometheirintrepidityispronouncedmasculineand"inconvenant,"othersregardthemasthepassivevictimsofan

educational and theological system which wantonly dispenses with proper"surveillance."Whetherthisparticularyoungladywasofthesortthatcanthemostsafelybeleftunwatched,Idonotknow:or,ratherdidnotthenknow;butitsoonappearedthatthedignityofsolitudewasnottohertaste.Shepacedthedeckonceortwicebackwardsandforwards;shelookedwithalittlesourairofdisdainattheflauntingsilksandvelvets,andthebearswhichthereondancedattendance,andeventuallysheapproachedmeandspoke.

"Areyoufondofasea-voyage?"washerquestion.

Iexplainedthatmyfondnessforasea-voyagehadyettoundergothetestofexperience;Ihadnevermadeone.

"Oh, how charming!" cried she. "I quite envy you the novelty: firstimpressions, you know, are so pleasant.Now I havemade somany, I quiteforgetthefirst:Iamquiteblaséeabouttheseaandallthat."

Icouldnothelpsmiling.

"Why do you laugh at me?" she inquired, with a frank testiness thatpleasedmebetterthanherothertalk.

"Becauseyouaresoyoungtobeblaséeaboutanything."

"Iamseventeen"(alittlepiqued).

"Youhardlylooksixteen.Doyouliketravellingalone?"

"Bah!Icarenothingaboutit.IhavecrossedtheChanneltentimes,alone;butthenItakecarenevertobelongalone:Ialwaysmakefriends."

"Youwillscarcelymakemanyfriendsthisvoyage,Ithink"(glancingattheWatson-group,whowerenow laughingandmakingagreatdealofnoiseondeck).

"Notof thoseodiousmenandwomen,"saidshe:"suchpeopleshouldbesteeragepassengers.Areyougoingtoschool?"

"No."

"Whereareyougoing?"

"Ihavenottheleastidea—beyond,atleast,theportofBoue-Marine."

Shestared,thencarelesslyranon:

"Iamgoingtoschool.Oh,thenumberofforeignschoolsIhavebeenatinmy life!And yet I am quite an ignoramus. I knownothing—nothing in theworld—I assure you; except that I play and dance beautifully,—and FrenchandGermanof course I know, to speak;but I can't readorwrite themverywell.Do you know theywantedme to translate a page of an easyGerman

bookintoEnglishtheotherday,andIcouldn'tdoit.Papawassomortified:hesaysitlooksasifM.deBassompierre—mygodpapa,whopaysallmyschool-bills—hadthrownawayallhismoney.Andthen,inmattersofinformation—in history, geography, arithmetic, and so on, I am quite a baby; and IwriteEnglishsobadly—suchspellingandgrammar,theytellme.IntothebargainIhave quite forgotten my religion; they call me a Protestant, you know, butreallyIamnotsurewhetherIamoneornot:Idon'twellknowthedifferencebetweenRomanismandProtestantism.However, Idon't in the leastcare forthat. IwasaLutheranonceatBonn—dearBonn!—charmingBonn!—wherethereweresomanyhandsomestudents.Everynicegirl inourschoolhadanadmirer;theyknewourhoursforwalkingout,andalmostalwayspassedusonthe promenade: 'Schönes Mädchen,' we used to hear them say. I wasexcessivelyhappyatBonn!"

"Andwhereareyounow?"Iinquired.

"Oh!at—chose,"saidshe.

Now,MissGinevraFanshawe (suchwas thisyoungperson'sname)onlysubstitutedthisword"chose"intemporaryoblivionoftherealname.Itwasahabit she had: "chose" came in at every turn in her conversation—theconvenientsubstituteforanymissingwordinanylanguageshemightchanceatthetimetobespeaking.Frenchgirlsoftendothelike;fromthemshehadcaught the custom. "Chose," however, I found in this instance, stood forVillette—thegreatcapitalofthegreatkingdomofLabassecour.

"DoyoulikeVillette?"Iasked.

"Prettywell.Thenatives, youknow, are intensely stupid andvulgar; buttherearesomeniceEnglishfamilies."

"Areyouinaschool?"

"Yes."

"Agoodone?"

"Oh, no! horrid: but I go out every Sunday, and care nothing about themaîtressesor theprofesseurs, or the élèves, and send lessons audiable (onedaren'tsaythatinEnglish,youknow,butitsoundsquiterightinFrench);andthusIgetoncharmingly….Youarelaughingatmeagain?"

"No—Iamonlysmilingatmyownthoughts."

"What are they?" (Without waiting for an answer)—"Now, do tell mewhereyouaregoing."

"WhereFatemayleadme.MybusinessistoearnalivingwhereIcanfindit."

"Toearn!"(inconsternation)"areyoupoor,then?"

"AspoorasJob."

(Afterapause)—"Bah!howunpleasant!ButIknowwhatitistobepoor:they are poor enough at home—papa andmamma, and all of them. Papa iscalledCaptainFanshawe;heisanofficeronhalf-pay,butwell-descended,andsome of our connections are great enough; but my uncle and godpapa DeBassompierre,wholivesinFrance,istheonlyonethathelpsus:heeducatesusgirls. Ihave fivesistersand threebrothers.By-and-byweare tomarry—ratherelderlygentlemen,Isuppose,withcash:papaandmammamanagethat.My sisterAugusta ismarried now to amanmuch older-looking than papa.Augusta is very beautiful—not in my style—but dark; her husband, Mr.Davies,hadtheyellowfeverinIndia,andheisstillthecolourofaguinea;butthen he is rich, andAugusta has her carriage and establishment, andwe allthinkshehasdoneperfectlywell.Now,thisisbetterthan'earningaliving,'asyousay.Bytheway,areyouclever?"

"No—notatall."

"Youcanplay,sing,speakthreeorfourlanguages?"

"Bynomeans."

"StillIthinkyouareclever"(apauseandayawn).

"Shallyoubesea-sick?"

"Shallyou?"

"Oh,immensely!assoonaseverwegetinsightofthesea:Ibegin,indeed,to feel it already. I shall go below; andwon't I order about that fat odiousstewardess!Heureusementjesaisfaireallermonmonde."

Downshewent.

Itwasnot longbefore theother passengers followedher: throughout theafternoon I remained on deck alone. When I recall the tranquil, and evenhappymoodinwhichIpassedthosehours,andremember,atthesametime,thepositioninwhichIwasplaced; itshazardous—somewouldhavesaiditshopeless—character;Ifeelthat,as—

Stonewallsdonotaprisonmake,

Norironbars—acage,

soperil,loneliness,anuncertainfuture,arenotoppressiveevils,solongasthe frame is healthy and the faculties are employed; so long, especially, asLibertylendsusherwings,andHopeguidesusbyherstar.

IwasnotsicktilllongafterwepassedMargate,anddeepwasthepleasure

I drank in with the sea-breeze; divine the delight I drew from the heavingChannel waves, from the sea-birds on their ridges, from the white sails ontheirdarkdistance,fromthequietyetbecloudedsky,overhangingall.Inmyreverie,methoughtIsawthecontinentofEurope,likeawidedream-land,faraway.Sunshinelayonit,makingthelongcoastonelineofgold;tiniesttraceryofclusteredtownandsnow-gleamingtower,ofwoodsdeepmassed,ofheightsserrated, of smooth pasturage and veiny stream, embossed the metal-brightprospect. For background, spread a sky, solemn and dark blue, and—grandwith imperial promise, softwith tints of enchantment—strode fromnorth tosouthaGod-bentbow,anarchofhope.

Cancelthewholeofthat,ifyouplease,reader—orratherletitstand,anddrawthenceamoral—analliterative,text-handcopy—

Day-dreamsaredelusionsofthedemon.

Becomingexcessivelysick,Ifaltereddownintothecabin.

MissFanshawe'sberthchancedtobenextmine;and,Iamsorrytosay,shetormented me with an unsparing selfishness during the whole time of ourmutual distress. Nothing could exceed her impatience and fretfulness. TheWatsons,whowereverysicktoo,andonwhomthestewardessattendedwithshamelesspartiality,werestoicscomparedwithher.ManyatimesincehaveInoticed, in persons of Ginevra Fanshawe's light, careless temperament, andfair,fragilestyleofbeauty,anentireincapacitytoendure:theyseemtosourinadversity,likesmallbeerinthunder.Themanwhotakessuchawomanforhiswife, ought to be prepared to guarantee her an existence all sunshine.Indignantatlastwithherteasingpeevishness,Icurtlyrequestedher"toholdhertongue."Therebuffdidhergood,anditwasobservablethatshelikedmenoworseforit.

As dark night drew on, the sea roughened: larger waves swayed strongagainstthevessel'sside.Itwasstrangetoreflectthatblacknessandwaterwereroundus,andtofeeltheshipploughingstraightonherpathlessway,despitenoise,billow,andrisinggale.Articlesoffurniturebegantofallabout,anditbecameneedful to lashthemtotheirplaces; thepassengersgrewsicker thanever;MissFanshawedeclared,withgroans,thatshemustdie.

"Not just yet, honey," said the stewardess. "We're just in port."Accordingly,inanotherquarterofanhour,acalmfelluponusall;andaboutmidnightthevoyageended.

Iwassorry:yes,Iwassorry.Myresting-timewaspast;mydifficulties—my stringent difficulties—recommenced.When Iwent on deck, the cold airand black scowl of the night seemed to rebuke me for my presumption inbeingwhereIwas:thelightsoftheforeignsea-porttown,glimmeringround

theforeignharbour,metmelikeunnumberedthreateningeyes.FriendscameonboardtowelcometheWatsons;awholefamilyoffriendssurroundedandbore awayMiss Fanshawe; I—but I dared not for one moment dwell on acomparisonofpositions.

YetwhereshouldIgo?Imustgosomewhere.Necessitydarenotbenice.As I gave the stewardess her fee—and she seemed surprised at receiving acoin of more value than, from such a quarter, her coarse calculations hadprobably reckonedon—I said, "Bekind enough to directme to somequiet,respectableinn,whereIcangoforthenight."

Shenotonlygavemetherequireddirection,butcalledacommissionaire,andbidhimtakechargeofme,and—notmytrunk,for thatwasgoneto thecustom-house.

Ifollowedthismanalongarudely-pavedstreet,litnowbyafitfulgleamofmoonlight;hebroughtmetotheinn.Iofferedhimsixpence,whichherefusedto take; supposing itnotenough, I changed it fora shilling;but thisalsohedeclined, speaking rather sharply, in a language to me unknown. A waiter,coming forward into the lamp-lit inn-passage, reminded me, in brokenEnglish, thatmymoneywas foreignmoney, not current here. I gave him asovereigntochange.Thislittlemattersettled,Iaskedforabedroom;supperIcouldnottake:Iwasstillsea-sickandunnerved,andtremblingallover.HowdeeplygladIwaswhenthedoorofaverysmallchamberatlengthclosedonmeandmyexhaustion.AgainImightrest: thoughthecloudofdoubtwouldbeasthickto-morrowasever;thenecessityforexertionmoreurgent,theperil(ofdestitution)nearer,theconflict(forexistence)moresevere.

CHAPTERVII.

VILLETTE.

Iawokenextmorningwithcouragerevivedandspiritsrefreshed:physicaldebilitynolongerenervatedmyjudgment;mymindfeltpromptandclear.

Just as I finished dressing, a tap came to the door: I said, "Come in,"expectingthechambermaid,whereasaroughmanwalkedinandsaid,—

"Gifmeyourkeys,Meess."

"Why?"Iasked.

"Gif!"saidheimpatiently;andashehalf-snatchedthemfrommyhand,headded,"Allright!hafyourtroncsoon."

Fortunatelyitdidturnoutallright:hewasfromthecustom-house.Whereto go to get some breakfast I could not tell; but I proceeded, not withouthesitation,todescend.

Inowobserved,whatIhadnotnoticedinmyextremewearinesslastnight,viz. that this inn was, in fact, a large hotel; and as I slowly descended thebroadstaircase,haltingoneachstep (for Iwas inwonderfully littlehaste togetdown),Igazedatthehighceilingaboveme,atthepaintedwallsaround,atthewidewindowswhichfilledthehousewithlight,attheveinedmarbleItrod(forthestepswereallofmarble,thoughuncarpetedandnotveryclean),andcontrasting all this with the dimensions of the closet assigned to me as achamber, with the extreme modesty of its appointments, I fell into aphilosophizingmood.

MuchImarvelledatthesagacityevincedbywaitersandchamber-maidsinproportioning the accommodation to the guest. How could inn-servants andship-stewardesses everywhere tell at a glance that I, for instance, was anindividual of no social significance, and little burdened by cash? They didknow it evidently: I saw quitewell that they all, in amoment's calculation,estimated me at about the same fractional value. The fact seemed to mecuriousandpregnant:Iwouldnotdisguisefrommyselfwhatitindicated,yetmanagedtokeepupmyspiritsprettywellunderitspressure.

Havingatlastlandedinagreathall,fullofskylightglare,Imademywaysomehow towhatproved tobe thecoffee-room. It cannotbedenied thatonentering this room I trembled somewhat; felt uncertain, solitary, wretched;wishedtoHeavenIknewwhetherIwasdoingrightorwrong;feltconvincedthatitwasthelast,butcouldnothelpmyself.Actinginthespiritandwiththecalm of a fatalist, I sat down at a small table, to which a waiter presentlybroughtmesomebreakfast;andIpartookofthatmealinaframeofmindnotgreatly calculated to favour digestion. There were many other peoplebreakfastingatothertablesintheroom;IshouldhavefeltrathermorehappyifamongstthemallIcouldhaveseenanywomen;however,therewasnotone—all present were men. But nobody seemed to think I was doing anythingstrange; one or two gentlemen glanced at me occasionally, but none staredobtrusively: I suppose if there was anything eccentric in the business, theyaccountedforitbythisword"Anglaise!"

Breakfast over, Imust againmove—inwhat direction? "Go toVillette,"said an inward voice; prompted doubtless by the recollection of this slightsentenceutteredcarelesslyandat randombyMissFanshawe,as shebidmegood-by:"IwishyouwouldcometoMadameBeck's;shehassomemarmotswhom you might look after; she wants an English gouvernante, or waswantingonetwomonthsago."

WhoMadameBeckwas,whereshelived,Iknewnot;Ihadasked,butthequestionpassedunheard:MissFanshawe,hurriedawaybyherfriends,leftitunanswered. IpresumedVillette tobeher residence—toVillette Iwouldgo.Thedistancewasfortymiles.IknewIwascatchingatstraws;butinthewideandweltering deepwhere I foundmyself, Iwould have caught at cobwebs.HavinginquiredaboutthemeansoftravellingtoVillette,andsecuredaseatinthe diligence, I departed on the strength of this outline—this shadow of aproject.Beforeyoupronounceontherashnessoftheproceeding,reader,lookback to the pointwhence I started; consider the desert I had left, note howlittleIperilled:minewasthegamewheretheplayercannotloseandmaywin.

Ofanartistictemperament,IdenythatIam;yetImustpossesssomethingof the artist's faculty ofmaking themost of present pleasure: that is to say,when it is of the kind tomy taste. I enjoyed that day, thoughwe travelledslowly,thoughitwascold,thoughitrained.Somewhatbare,flat,andtreelesswastheroutealongwhichourjourneylay;andslimycanalscrept, likehalf-torpidgreensnakes,beside theroad;andformalpollardwillowsedgedlevelfields, tilled likekitchen-gardenbeds.Thesky, too,wasmonotonouslygray;the atmosphere was stagnant and humid; yet amidst all these deadeninginfluences,my fancy budded fresh andmy heart basked in sunshine. Thesefeelings, however, were well kept in check by the secret but ceaselessconsciousnessofanxietylyinginwaitonenjoyment,likeatigercrouchedinajungle.Thebreathingof that beast of preywas inmyear always; his fierceheart panted close againstmine; he never stirred in his lair but I felt him: Iknewhewaitedonlyforsun-downtoboundravenousfromhisambush.

IhadhopedwemightreachVilletteerenightsetin,andthatthusImightescapethedeeperembarrassmentwhichobscurityseemstothrowroundafirstarrival at an unknown bourne; but, what with our slow progress and longstoppages—whatwithathickfogandsmall,denserain—darkness,thatmightalmostbefelt,hadsettledonthecitybythetimewegaineditssuburbs.

Iknowwepassedthroughagatewheresoldierswerestationed—somuchIcould see by lamplight; then, having left behind us the miry Chaussée, werattledoverapavementofstrangelyroughandflintysurface.Atabureau,thediligence stopped, and the passengers alighted.My first businesswas to getmytrunk;asmallmatterenough,but important tome.Understanding that itwasbestnot tobe importunateorover-eagerabout luggage,but towaitandwatchquietlythedeliveryofotherboxestillIsawmyown,andthenpromptlyclaimandsecureit,Istoodapart;myeyefixedonthatpartofthevehicleinwhichIhadseenmylittleportmanteausafelystowed,anduponwhichpilesofadditional bags and boxes were now heaped. One by one, I saw theseremoved,lowered,andseizedon.

Iwassuremineoughttobebythistimevisible:itwasnot.Ihadtiedon

the direction-card with a piece of green ribbon, that I might know it at aglance:notafringeorfragmentofgreenwasperceptible.Everypackagewasremoved;everytin-caseandbrown-paperparcel;theoilclothcoverwaslifted;Isawwithdistinctvisionthatnotanumbrella,cloak,cane,hat-boxorband-boxremained.

And my portmanteau, with my few clothes and little pocket-bookenclaspingtheremnantofmyfifteenpounds,wherewerethey?

I ask this question now, but I could not ask it then. I could say nothingwhatever;notpossessingaphraseofspeakingFrench:anditwasFrench,andFrenchonly,thewholeworldseemednowgabblingaroundme.WhatshouldIdo?Approachingtheconductor, I just laidmyhandonhisarm,pointedtoatrunk, thence to the diligence-roof, and tried to express a questionwithmyeyes.Hemisunderstoodme,seizedthetrunkindicated,andwasabouttohoistitonthevehicle.

"Let that alone—will you?" said a voice in good English; then, incorrection,"Qu'est-cequevousfaîtesdonc?Cettemalleestàmoi."

But Ihadheard theFatherlandaccents; they rejoicedmyheart; I turned:"Sir,"saidI,appealingtothestranger,without, inmydistress,noticingwhathewaslike,"IcannotspeakFrench.MayIentreatyoutoaskthismanwhathehasdonewithmytrunk?"

Withoutdiscriminating,forthemoment,whatsortoffaceitwastowhichmyeyeswereraisedandonwhichtheywerefixed,Ifeltinitsexpressionhalf-surpriseatmyappealandhalf-doubtofthewisdomofinterference.

"Doaskhim;Iwoulddoasmuchforyou,"saidI.

Idon'tknowwhetherhesmiled,buthesaidinagentlemanlytone—thatistosay,atonenothardnorterrifying,—"Whatsortoftrunkwasyours?"

Idescribedit,includinginmydescriptionthegreenribbon.Andforthwithhetooktheconductorunderhand,andIfelt,throughallthestormofFrenchwhichfollowed,thatherakedhimforeandaft.Presentlyhereturnedtome.

"Thefellowavershewasoverloaded,andconfessesthatheremovedyourtrunkafteryousawitputon,andhasleftitbehindatBoue-Marinewithotherparcels; he has promised, however, to forward it to-morrow; the day after,therefore,youwillfinditsafeatthisbureau."

"Thankyou,"saidI:butmyheartsank.

Meantime what should I do? Perhaps this English gentleman saw thefailureofcourageinmyface;heinquiredkindly,"Haveyouanyfriendsinthiscity?"

"No,andIdon'tknowwheretogo."

Therewasalittlepause,inthecourseofwhich,asheturnedmorefullytothelightofalampabovehim,Isawthathewasayoung,distinguished,andhandsomeman;hemightbealord,foranythingIknew:naturehadmadehimgood enough for a prince, I thought.His facewas very pleasant; he lookedhighbutnotarrogant,manlybutnotoverbearing. Iwas turningaway, in thedeepconsciousnessofallabsenceofclaimtolookforfurtherhelpfromsuchaoneashe.

"Wasallyourmoneyinyourtrunk?"heasked,stoppingme.

HowthankfulwasItobeabletoanswerwithtruth—"No.Ihaveenoughinmypurse"(forIhadneartwentyfrancs)"tokeepmeataquietinntillthedayafter to-morrow; but I am quite a stranger in Villette, and don't know thestreetsandtheinns."

"Icangiveyoutheaddressofsuchaninnasyouwant,"saidhe;"anditisnotfaroff:withmydirectionyouwilleasilyfindit."

Hetorealeaffromhispocket-book,wroteafewwordsandgaveittome.Ididthinkhimkind;andastodistrustinghim,orhisadvice,orhisaddress,Ishould almost as soon have thought of distrusting the Bible. There wasgoodnessinhiscountenance,andhonourinhisbrighteyes.

"YourshortestwaywillbetofollowtheBoulevardandcrossthepark,"hecontinued;"butitistoolateandtoodarkforawomantogothroughtheparkalone;Iwillstepwithyouthusfar."

He moved on, and I followed him, through the darkness and the smallsoakingrain.TheBoulevardwasalldeserted,itspathmiry,thewaterdrippingfrom its trees; theparkwasblackasmidnight. In thedoublegloomof treesandfog,Icouldnotseemyguide;Icouldonlyfollowhistread.NottheleastfearhadI:IbelieveIwouldhavefollowedthatfranktread,throughcontinualnight,totheworld'send.

"Now,"saidhe,whentheparkwastraversed,"youwillgoalongthisbroadstreet tillyoucometosteps; twolampswillshowyouwhere theyare: thesesteps you will descend: a narrower street lies below; following that, at thebottomyouwillfindyourinn.TheyspeakEnglishthere,soyourdifficultiesarenowprettywellover.Good-night."

"Good-night,sir,"saidI:"acceptmysincerestthanks."Andweparted.

The remembrance of his countenance,which I am surewore a light notunbenignanttothefriendless—thesoundinmyearofhisvoice,whichspokeanaturechivalrictotheneedyandfeeble,aswellastheyouthfulandfair—wereasortofcordialtomelongafter.HewasatrueyoungEnglishgentleman.

OnIwent,hurryingfastthroughamagnificentstreetandsquare,withthegrandest houses round, and amidst them the huge outline ofmore than oneoverbearingpile;whichmightbepalaceorchurch—Icouldnottell.JustasIpassedaportico,twomustachioedmencamesuddenlyfrombehindthepillars;they were smoking cigars: their dress implied pretensions to the rank ofgentlemen,but,poorthings!theywereveryplebeianinsoul.Theyspokewithinsolence,and,fastasIwalked,theykeptpacewithmealongway.AtlastImetasortofpatrol,andmydreadedhunterswereturnedfromthepursuit;buttheyhaddrivenmebeyondmyreckoning:whenIcouldcollectmyfaculties,Ino longer knew where I was; the staircase I must long since have passed.Puzzled,outofbreath,allmypulsesthrobbingininevitableagitation,Iknewnotwheretoturn.Itwasterribletothinkofagainencounteringthosebearded,sneeringsimpletons;yetthegroundmustberetraced,andthestepssoughtout.

Icameatlasttoanoldandwornflight,and,takingitforgrantedthatthismustbe theone indicated, Idescended them.Thestreet intowhich they ledwasindeednarrow,butitcontainednoinn.OnIwandered.Inaveryquietandcomparativelycleanandwell-pavedstreet,Isawalightburningoverthedoorofaratherlargehouse,loftierbyastorythanthoseroundit.Thismightbetheinn at last. I hastened on:my knees now trembled underme: Iwas gettingquiteexhausted.

Noinnwasthis.Abrass-plateembellishedthegreatporte-cochère:

"PensionnatdeDemoiselles"wastheinscription;andbeneath,aname,

"MadameBeck."

I started. About a hundred thoughts volleyed through my mind in amoment. Yet I planned nothing, and considered nothing: I had not time.Providencesaid,"Stophere;thisisyourinn."Fatetookmeinherstronghand;masteredmywill;directedmyactions:Irangthedoor-bell.

While Iwaited, Iwouldnot reflect. I fixedly looked at the street-stones,wherethedoor-lampshone,andcountedthemandnotedtheirshapes,andtheglitterofwetontheirangles.Irangagain.Theyopenedatlast.Abonneinasmartcapstoodbeforeme.

"MayIseeMadameBeck?"Iinquired.

IbelieveifIhadspokenFrenchshewouldnothaveadmittedme;but,asIspoke English, she concluded I was a foreign teacher come on businessconnected with the pensionnat, and, even at that late hour, she let me in,withoutawordofreluctance,oramomentofhesitation.

The next moment I sat in a cold, glittering salon, with porcelain stove,unlit,andgildedornaments,andpolishedfloor.Apenduleonthemantel-piece

strucknineo'clock.

Aquarterofanhourpassed.Howfastbeateverypulseinmyframe!HowIturnedcoldandhotby turns! I satwithmyeyes fixedon thedoor—agreatwhite folding-door, with gilt mouldings: I watched to see a leaf move andopen.Allhadbeenquiet:notamousehadstirred;thewhitedoorswereclosedandmotionless.

"You ayre Engliss?" said a voice at my elbow. I almost bounded, sounexpectedwasthesound;socertainhadIbeenofsolitude.

No ghost stood beside me, nor anything of spectral aspect; merely amotherly, dumpy little woman, in a large shawl, a wrapping-gown, and aclean,trimnightcap.

IsaidIwasEnglish,andimmediately,withoutfurtherprelude,wefelltoamostremarkableconversation.MadameBeck(forMadameBeckitwas—shehad entered by a little door behind me, and, being shod with the shoes ofsilence, I had heard neither her entrance nor approach)—MadameBeck hadexhaustedhercommandofinsularspeechwhenshesaid,"YouayreEngliss,"andshenowproceededtoworkawayvolublyinherowntongue.Iansweredinmine. She partly understoodme, but as I did not at all understand her—thoughwemade together an awful clamour (anything likeMadame's gift ofutteranceIhadnothithertoheardor imagined)—weachievedlittleprogress.Sherang,erelong,foraid;whicharrivedintheshapeofa"maîtresse,"whohadbeenpartlyeducatedinanIrishconvent,andwasesteemedaperfectadeptin the English language. A bluff little personage this maîtresse was—Labassecourienne from top to toe: and how she did slaughter the speech ofAlbion!However,Itoldheraplaintale,whichshetranslated.ItoldherhowIhadleftmyowncountry,intentonextendingmyknowledge,andgainingmybread;howIwasreadytoturnmyhandtoanyusefulthing,provideditwasnotwrongordegrading;howIwouldbeachild's-nurse,oralady's-maid,andwouldnotrefuseevenhouseworkadaptedtomystrength.Madameheardthis;and,questioninghercountenance,Ialmostthoughtthetalewonherear:

"Iln'yaque lesAnglaisespources sortesd'entreprises," said she: "sont-ellesdoncintrépidescesfemmeslà!"

Sheaskedmyname,myage;shesatandlookedatme—notpityingly,notwith interest:neveragleamofsympathy,orashadeofcompassion,crossedhercountenanceduringtheinterview.Ifeltshewasnotonetobeledaninchbyherfeelings:graveandconsiderate,shegazed,consultingherjudgmentandstudyingmynarrative.Abellrang.

"Voilàpourlaprièredusoir!"saidshe,androse.Throughherinterpreter,shedesiredmetodepartnow,andcomebackonthemorrow;butthisdidnot

suitme:Icouldnotbeartoreturntotheperilsofdarknessandthestreet.Withenergy,yetwithacollectedandcontrolledmanner,Isaid,addressingherselfpersonally, and not the maîtresse: "Be assured, madame, that by instantlysecuringmyservices,your interestswillbeservedandnot injured:youwillfindme onewhowill wish to give, in her labour, a full equivalent for herwages;andifyouhireme,itwillbebetterthatIshouldstayherethisnight:having no acquaintance in Villette, and not possessing the language of thecountry,howcanIsecurealodging?"

"Itistrue,"saidshe;"butatleastyoucangiveareference?"

"None."

Sheinquiredaftermyluggage:Itoldherwhenitwouldarrive.Shemused.Atthatmomentaman'sstepwasheardinthevestibule,hastilyproceedingtotheouterdoor.(IshallgoonwiththispartofmytaleasifIhadunderstoodallthat passed; for though it was then scarce intelligible to me, I heard ittranslatedafterwards).

"Whogoesoutnow?"demandedMadameBeck,listeningtothetread.

"M.Paul,"repliedtheteacher."Hecamethiseveningtogiveareadingtothefirstclass."

"TheverymanIshouldatthismomentmostwishtosee.Callhim."

Theteacherrantothesalondoor.M.Paulwassummoned.Heentered:asmall,darkandspareman,inspectacles.

"Moncousin,"beganMadame,"Iwantyouropinion.Weknowyourskillinphysiognomy;useitnow.Readthatcountenance."

The littleman fixedonmehis spectacles:A resolutecompressionof thelips,andgatheringofthebrow,seemedtosaythathemeanttoseethroughme,andthataveilwouldbenoveilforhim.

"Ireadit,"hepronounced.

"Etqu'enditesvous?"

"Mais—biendeschoses,"wastheoracularanswer.

"Badorgood?"

"Ofeachkind,withoutdoubt,"pursuedthediviner.

"Mayonetrustherword?"

"Areyounegotiatingamatterofimportance?"

"Shewishesmetoengageherasbonneorgouvernante;tellsatalefullofintegrity,butgivesnoreference."

"Sheisastranger?"

"AnEnglishwoman,asonemaysee."

"ShespeaksFrench?"

"Notaword."

"Sheunderstandsit?"

"No."

"Onemaythenspeakplainlyinherpresence?"

"Doubtless."

Hegazedsteadily."Doyouneedherservices?"

"Icoulddowiththem.YouknowIamdisgustedwithMadameSvini."

Stillhescrutinized.Thejudgment,whenitatlastcame,wasasindefiniteaswhathadgonebeforeit.

"Engageher.Ifgoodpredominatesinthatnature,theactionwillbringitsownreward;ifevil—ehbien!macousine,ceseratoujoursunebonneoeuvre."Andwithabowanda"bonsoir,"thisvaguearbiterofmydestinyvanished.

And Madame did engage me that very night—by God's blessing I wasspared thenecessityofpassing forthagain into the lonesome,dreary,hostilestreet.

CHAPTERVIII.

MADAMEBECK.

Beingdeliveredintothechargeofthemaîtresse,Iwasledthroughalongnarrowpassageintoaforeignkitchen,verycleanbutverystrange.Itseemedto contain no means of cooking—neither fireplace nor oven; I did notunderstand that the great black furnace which filled one corner, was anefficient substitute for these. Surely pride was not already beginning itswhispersinmyheart;yetIfeltasenseofreliefwhen,insteadofbeingleftinthe kitchen, as I half anticipated, I was led forward to a small inner roomtermeda "cabinet."Acook ina jacket, a shortpetticoat and sabots,broughtmysupper: towit—somemeat,natureunknown, served inanoddandacid,but pleasant sauce; some chopped potatoes,made savourywith, I knownotwhat:vinegarandsugar,I think:atartine,orsliceofbreadandbutter,andabakedpear.Beinghungry,Iateandwasgrateful.

After the "prière du soir,"Madameherself came to have another look atme.Shedesiredme to followherup-stairs.Throughaseriesof thequeerestlittle dormitories—which, I heard afterwards, had once been nuns' cells: forthepremiseswere inpartof ancientdate—and through theoratory—a long,low, gloomy room, where a crucifix hung, pale, against the wall, and twotapers kept dim vigils—she conducted me to an apartment where threechildrenwere asleep in three tiny beds.A heated stovemade the air of thisroomoppressive; and, tomendmatters, itwas scentedwith an odour ratherstrongthandelicate:aperfume,indeed,altogethersurprisingandunexpectedunder the circumstances, being like the combination of smoke with somespirituousessence—asmell,inshort,ofwhisky.

Besideatable,onwhichflaredtheremnantofacandlegutteringtowasteinthesocket,acoarsewoman,heterogeneouslycladinabroadstripedshowysilkdress,andastuffapron,satinachairfastasleep.Tocompletethepicture,andleavenodoubtastothestateofmatters,abottleandanemptyglassstoodatthesleepingbeauty'selbow.

Madamecontemplatedthisremarkabletableauwithgreatcalm;sheneithersmiled nor scowled; no impress of anger, disgust, or surprise, ruffled theequality of her grave aspect; she did not even wake the woman! Serenelypointing to a fourth bed, she intimated that itwas to bemine; then, havingextinguishedthecandleandsubstitutedforitanight-lamp,sheglidedthroughaninnerdoor,whichsheleftajar—theentrancetoherownchamber,alarge,well-furnishedapartment;aswasdiscerniblethroughtheaperture.

My devotions that nightwere all thanksgiving. Strangely had I been ledsince morning—unexpectedly had I been provided for. Scarcely could Ibelieve that not forty-eight hours had elapsed since I leftLondon, under noother guardianship than that which protects the passenger-bird—with noprospectbutthedubiouscloud-traceryofhope.

I was a light sleeper; in the dead of night I suddenly awoke. All washushed, but a white figure stood in the room—Madame in her night-dress.Movingwithoutperceptiblesound,shevisited the threechildren in the threebeds; sheapproachedme: I feignedsleep,andshestudiedme long.Asmallpantomimeensued,curiousenough.Idaresayshesataquarterofanhourontheedgeofmybed,gazingatmyface.Shethendrewnearer,bentcloseoverme; slightly raisedmy cap, and turned back the border so as to exposemyhair;shelookedatmyhandlyingonthebedclothes.Thisdone,sheturnedtothechairwheremyclotheslay:itwasatthefootofthebed.Hearinghertouchandliftthem,Iopenedmyeyeswithprecaution,forIownIfeltcurioustoseehow far her taste for researchwould lead her. It led her a goodway: everyarticledidsheinspect.Idivinedhermotiveforthisproceeding,viz.thewishto form from the garments a judgment respecting the wearer, her station,

means,neatness,&c.Theendwasnotbad,butthemeanswerehardlyfairorjustifiable. In my dress was a pocket; she fairly turned it inside out: shecountedthemoneyinmypurse;sheopenedalittlememorandum-book,coollyperuseditscontents,andtookfrombetweentheleavesasmallplaitedlockofMissMarchmont's grey hair. To a bunch of three keys, being those of mytrunk,desk,andwork-box,sheaccordedspecialattention:withthese,indeed,shewithdrewamomenttoherownroom.Isoftlyroseinmybedandfollowedherwithmyeye:thesekeys,reader,werenotbroughtbacktilltheyhadleftonthetoiletof theadjoiningroomtheimpressof theirwards inwax.Allbeingthus done decently and in order,my propertywas returned to its place,myclotheswerecarefullyrefolded.Ofwhatnatureweretheconclusionsdeducedfrom this scrutiny? Were they favourable or otherwise? Vain question.Madame'sfaceofstone(forofstoneinitspresentnightaspectitlooked:ithadbeen human, and, as I said before, motherly, in the salon) betrayed noresponse.

Herdutydone—Ifeltthatinhereyesthisbusinesswasaduty—sherose,noiselessasashadow:shemovedtowardsherownchamber;atthedoor,sheturned,fixinghereyeontheheroineof thebottle,whostillsleptandloudlysnored. Mrs. Svini (I presume this was Mrs. Svini, Anglicé or Hibernicé,Sweeny)—Mrs. Sweeny's doomwas inMadameBeck's eye—an immutablepurposethateyespoke:Madame'svisitationsforshortcomingsmightbeslow,buttheyweresure.Allthiswasveryun-English:trulyIwasinaforeignland.

ThemorrowmademefurtheracquaintedwithMrs.Sweeny.ItseemsshehadintroducedherselftoherpresentemployerasanEnglishladyinreducedcircumstances:anative,indeed,ofMiddlesex,professingtospeaktheEnglishtongue with the purest metropolitan accent. Madame—reliant on her owninfallible expedients for finding out the truth in time—had a singularintrepidityinhiringserviceoff-hand(asindeedseemedabundantlyprovedinmyown case). She receivedMrs.Sweeny as nursery-governess to her threechildren. I need hardly explain to the reader that this lady was in effect anativeofIreland;herstationIdonotpretendtofix:sheboldlydeclaredthatshehad"had thebringing-upof the sonanddaughterof amarquis." I thinkmyself, she might possibly have been a hanger-on, nurse, fosterer, orwasherwoman,insomeIrishfamily:shespokeasmotheredtongue,curiouslyoverlaidwithmincingcockney inflections.Bysomemeansorother shehadacquired, and now held in possession, a wardrobe of rather suspicioussplendour—gowns of stiff and costly silk, fitting her indifferently, andapparentlymadeforotherproportionsthanthosetheynowadorned;capswithreallaceborders,and—thechiefitemintheinventory,thespellbywhichshestruckacertainawethroughthehousehold,quellingtheotherwisescornfullydisposedteachersandservants,and,solongasherbroadshouldersworethefoldsofthatmajesticdrapery,eveninfluencingMadameherself—arealIndian

shawl—"un véritable cachemire," as Madame Beck said, with unmixedreverenceandamaze.Ifeelquitesurethatwithoutthis"cachemire"shewouldnothavekeptherfootinginthepensionnatfortwodays:byvirtueofit,anditonly,shemaintainedthesameamonth.

ButwhenMrs.SweenyknewthatIwascometofillhershoes,thenitwasthatshedeclaredherself—thendidsheriseonMadameBeckinherfullpower—then come down onmewith her concentratedweight.Madame bore thisrevelationandvisitationsowell,sostoically,thatIforveryshamecouldnotsupport it otherwise than with composure. For one little moment MadameBeckabsentedherselffromtheroom;tenminutesafter,anagentofthepolicestood in the midst of us. Mrs. Sweeny and her effects were removed.Madame's brow had not been ruffled during the scene—her lips had notdroppedonesharply-accentedword.

This brisk little affair of the dismissal was all settled before breakfast:order to march given, policeman called, mutineer expelled; "chambred'enfans" fumigatedandcleansed,windows thrownopen,andevery traceofthe accomplished Mrs. Sweeny—even to the fine essence and spiritualfragrancewhichgavetokensosubtleandsofataloftheheadandfrontofheroffending—was annihilated from theRue Fossette: all this, I say,was donebetweenthemomentofMadameBeck'sissuinglikeAurorafromherchamber,andthatinwhichshecoollysatdowntopouroutherfirstcupofcoffee.

Aboutnoon,IwassummonedtodressMadame.(Itappearedmyplacewastobeahybridbetweengouvernanteandlady's-maid.)Tillnoon,shehauntedthehouse inherwrapping-gown, shawl, and soundless slippers.Howwouldthelady-chiefofanEnglishschoolapprovethiscustom?

Thedressingofherhairpuzzledme;shehadplentyofit:auburn,unmixedwithgrey:thoughshewasfortyyearsold.Seeingmyembarrassment,shesaid,"Youhavenotbeenafemme-de-chambreinyourowncountry?"Andtakingthebrushfrommyhand,andsettingmeaside,notungentlyordisrespectfully,she arranged it herself. In performing other offices of the toilet, she half-directed, half-aided me, without the least display of temper or impatience.N.B.—ThatwasthefirstandlasttimeIwasrequiredtodressher.Henceforth,onRosine,theportress,devolvedthatduty.

Whenattired,MadameBeckappearedapersonageofafigurerathershortand stout, yet still graceful in its own peculiar way; that is, with the graceresulting fromproportion of parts.Her complexionwas fresh and sanguine,nottoorubicund;hereye,blueandserene;herdarksilkdressfittedherasaFrenchsempstressalonecanmakeadressfit;shelookedwell,thoughalittlebourgeoise; as bourgeoise, indeed, she was. I know not what of harmonypervadedherwholeperson;andyetherfaceofferedcontrast,too:itsfeatures

werebynomeanssuchasareusuallyseeninconjunctionwithacomplexionofsuchblendedfreshnessandrepose:theiroutlinewasstern:herforeheadwashighbutnarrow;itexpressedcapacityandsomebenevolence,butnoexpanse;nordidherpeacefulyetwatchfuleyeeverknowthefirewhichiskindledintheheartorthesoftnesswhichflowsthence.Hermouthwashard:itcouldbealittle grim; her lips were thin. For sensibility and genius, with all theirtendernessandtemerity,IfeltsomehowthatMadamewouldbetherightsortofMinosinpetticoats.

Inthelongrun,Ifoundshewassomethingelseinpetticoatstoo.HernamewasModesteMariaBeck,néeKint:itoughttohavebeenIgnacia.Shewasacharitablewoman,anddidagreatdealofgood.Thereneverwasamistresswhoserulewasmilder. Iwas told thatsheneveronceremonstratedwith theintolerableMrs.Sweeny,despiteher tipsiness,disorder, andgeneralneglect;yetMrs. Sweenyhad to go themoment her departure became convenient. Iwas told, too, thatneithermastersnor teacherswere foundfaultwith in thatestablishment; yet both masters and teachers were often changed: theyvanishedandothersfilledtheirplaces,nonecouldwellexplainhow.

Theestablishmentwasbothapensionnatandanexternat: theexternesorday-pupilsexceededonehundredinnumber;theboarderswereaboutascore.Madamemusthavepossessedhighadministrativepowers:sheruledallthese,together with four teachers, eight masters, six servants, and three children,managingat the same time toperfection thepupils'parentsand friends; andthatwithoutapparenteffort;withoutbustle,fatigue,fever,oranysymptomofundue, excitement: occupied she always was—busy, rarely. It is true thatMadame had her own system for managing and regulating this mass ofmachinery;andaveryprettysystemitwas:thereaderhasseenaspecimenofit,inthatsmallaffairofturningmypocketinsideout,andreadingmyprivatememoranda."Surveillance,""espionage,"—thesewereherwatchwords.

Still,Madameknewwhathonestywas, and liked it—that is,when itdidnotobtrudeitsclumsyscruplesinthewayofherwillandinterest.Shehadarespectfor"Angleterre;"andasto"lesAnglaises,"shewouldhavethewomenofnoothercountryaboutherownchildren,ifshecouldhelpit.

Often in the evening, after she had been plotting and counter-plotting,spying and receiving the reports of spies all day, shewould comeup tomyroom—a trace of realweariness on her brow—and shewould sit down andlistenwhile thechildrensaid their littleprayers tome inEnglish: theLord'sPrayer, and the hymn beginning "Gentle Jesus," these little Catholics werepermittedtorepeatatmyknee;and,whenIhadput themtobed,shewouldtalk tome (I soongainedenoughFrench tobeable tounderstand,andevenanswerher)aboutEnglandandEnglishwomen,andthereasonsforwhatshewas pleased to term their superior intelligence, and more real and reliable

probity. Very good sense she often showed; very sound opinions she oftenbroached: she seemed to know that keeping girls in distrustful restraint, inblind ignorance, and under a surveillance that left them nomoment and nocornerforretirement,wasnotthebestwaytomakethemgrowuphonestandmodestwomen;butsheaverredthatruinousconsequenceswouldensueifanyothermethodweretriedwithcontinentalchildren:theyweresoaccustomedtorestraint, that relaxation, however guarded, would be misunderstood andfatallypresumedon.Shewassick,shewoulddeclare,ofthemeansshehadtouse, but use them she must; and after discoursing, often with dignity anddelicacy,tome,shewouldmoveawayonher"souliersdesilence,"andglideghost-like through the house, watching and spying everywhere, peeringthrougheverykeyhole,listeningbehindeverydoor.

After all,Madame's systemwasnotbad—letmedoher justice.Nothingcould be better than all her arrangements for the physicalwell-being of herscholars. No minds were overtasked: the lessons were well distributed andmadeincomparablyeasytothelearner;therewasalibertyofamusement,andaprovision forexercisewhichkept thegirlshealthy; the foodwasabundantandgood:neitherpalenorpuny faceswereanywhere tobe seen in theRueFossette.Shenevergrudgedaholiday;sheallowedplentyoftimeforsleeping,dressing,washing, eating; hermethod in all thesematterswas easy, liberal,salutary, and rational: many an austere English school-mistress would dovastly well to imitate her—and I believe many would be glad to do so, ifexactingEnglishparentswouldletthem.

AsMadameBeckruledbyespionage,sheofcoursehadherstaffofspies:sheperfectlyknewthequalityofthetoolssheused,andwhileshewouldnotscrupletohandlethedirtiestforadirtyoccasion—flingingthissortfromherlikerefuserind,after theorangehasbeendulysqueezed—Ihaveknownherfastidiousinseekingpuremetalforcleanuses;andwhenonceabloodlessandrustlessinstrumentwasfound,shewascarefuloftheprize,keepingitinsilkand cotton-wool.Yet,woe be to thatman orwomanwho relied on her oneinchbeyondthepointwhereitwasherinteresttobetrustworthy:interestwasthe master-key of Madame's nature—the mainspring of her motives—thealphaandomegaofherlife.Ihaveseenherfeelingsappealedto,andIhavesmiled in half-pity, half-scorn at the appellants. None ever gained her earthroughthatchannel,orswayedherpurposebythatmeans.Onthecontrary,toattempt to touchherheartwas the surestway to rouseher antipathy, and tomakeofherasecretfoe.Itprovedtoherthatshehadnohearttobetouched:itreminded her where she was impotent and dead. Never was the distinctionbetween charity andmercy better exemplified than in her.While devoid ofsympathy,shehadasufficiencyofrationalbenevolence:shewouldgiveinthereadiestmannertopeopleshehadneverseen—rather,however,toclassesthanto individuals. "Pour les pauvres," she opened her purse freely—against the

poorman,asarule,shekeptitclosed.Inphilanthropicschemesforthebenefitofsocietyatlargeshetookacheerfulpart;noprivatesorrowtouchedher:noforceormassofsufferingconcentratedinonehearthadpowertopiercehers.Not the agony inGethsemane, not the death onCalvary, could havewrungfromhereyesonetear.

I say again,Madamewas a very great and a very capablewoman. Thatschool offered her for her powers too limited a sphere; she ought to haveswayed a nation: she should have been the leader of a turbulent legislativeassembly. Nobody could have browbeaten her, none irritated her nerves,exhausted her patience, or over-reached her astuteness. In her own singleperson, she could have comprised the duties of a first minister and asuperintendent of police. Wise, firm, faithless; secret, crafty, passionless;watchful and inscrutable; acute and insensate—withal perfectly decorous—whatmorecouldbedesired?

ThesensiblereaderwillnotsupposethatIgainedall theknowledgeherecondensedforhisbenefitinonemonth,orinonehalf-year.No!whatIsawatfirst was the thriving outside of a large and flourishing educationalestablishment.Herewas a great house, full of healthy, lively girls, allwell-dressed andmanyof themhandsome, gainingknowledgeby amarvellouslyeasymethod,withoutpainfulexertionoruselesswasteofspirits;not,perhaps,making very rapid progress in anything; taking it easy, but still alwaysemployed, and never oppressed. Here was a corps of teachers andmasters,morestringentlytasked,asalltherealhead-labourwastobedonebythem,inordertosavethepupils,yethavingtheirdutiessoarrangedthattheyrelievedeachotherinquicksuccessionwhenevertheworkwassevere:here,inshort,was a foreign school; of which the life, movement, and variety made it acompleteandmostcharmingcontrasttomanyEnglishinstitutionsofthesamekind.

Behind the housewas a large garden, and, in summer, the pupils almostlivedoutofdoorsamongsttherose-bushesandthefruit-trees.Underthevastandvine-drapedberceau,Madamewouldtakeherseatonsummerafternoons,andsendfortheclasses,inturns,tositroundherandsewandread.Meantime,masters came and went, delivering short and lively lectures, rather thanlessons,andthepupilsmadenotesoftheirinstructions,ordidnotmakethem—justasinclinationprompted;securethat,incaseofneglect,theycouldcopythenotesoftheircompanions.Besidestheregularmonthlyjoursdesortie,theCatholic fête-days brought a succession of holidays all the year round; andsometimesonabrightsummermorning,orsoftsummerevening;theboardersweretakenoutforalongwalkintothecountry,regaledwithgaufresandvinblanc,ornewmilkandpainbis,orpistoletsaubeurre(rolls)andcoffee.Allthis seemed very pleasant, and Madame appeared goodness itself; and the

teachersnotsobadbut theymightbeworse;andthepupils,perhaps,a littlenoisyandrough,buttypesofhealthandglee.

Thusdid theviewappear, seen through theenchantmentofdistance;buttherecameatimewhendistancewastomeltforme—whenIwastobecalleddown frommywatch-towerof thenursery,whence I hadhithertomademyobservations,andwas tobecompelled intocloser intercoursewith this littleworldoftheRueFossette.

Iwasonedaysittingup-stairs,asusual,hearingthechildrentheirEnglishlessons,andatthesametimeturningasilkdressforMadame,whenshecamesaunteringintotheroomwiththatabsorbedairandbrowofhardthoughtshesometimeswore, andwhichmade her look so little genial.Dropping into aseatoppositemine,sheremainedsomeminutessilent.Désirée,theeldestgirl,wasreadingtomesomelittleessayofMrs.Barbauld's,andIwasmakinghertranslate currently from English to French as she proceeded, by way ofascertainingthatshecomprehendedwhatsheread:Madamelistened.

Presently,withoutprefaceorprelude, she said, almost in the toneofonemakinganaccusation,"Meess,inEnglandyouwereagoverness?"

"No,Madame,"saidIsmiling,"youaremistaken."

"Isthisyourfirstessayatteaching—thisattemptwithmychildren?"

Iassuredheritwas.Againshebecamesilent;butlookingup,asItookapinfromthecushion,Ifoundmyselfanobjectofstudy:sheheldmeunderhereye;sheseemedturningmeroundinherthoughts—measuringmyfitnessforapurpose,weighingmyvalueinaplan.Madamehad,erethis,scrutinizedallIhad,andIbelievesheesteemedherselfcognizantofmuchthatIwas;butfromthat day, for the space of about a fortnight, she triedme by new tests. ShelistenedatthenurserydoorwhenIwasshutinwiththechildren;shefollowedmeat acautiousdistancewhen Iwalkedoutwith them, stealingwithinear-shotwhenever the trees of park or boulevard afforded a sufficient screen: astrict preliminary process having thus been observed, she made a moveforward.

Onemorning, coming onme abruptly, andwith the semblance of hurry,shesaidshefoundherselfplacedinalittledilemma.Mr.Wilson,theEnglishmaster,hadfailedtocomeathishour,shefearedhewasill; thepupilswerewaitinginclasse;therewasnoonetogivealesson;shouldI,foronce,objecttogivingashortdictationexercise,justthatthepupilsmightnothaveittosaytheyhadmissedtheirEnglishlesson?

"Inclasse,Madame?"Iasked.

"Yes,inclasse:intheseconddivision."

"Wheretherearesixtypupils,"saidI;forIknewthenumber,andwithmyusualbasehabitofcowardice,Ishrankintomyslothlikeasnailintoitsshell,andallegedincapacityandimpracticabilityasapretexttoescapeaction.Iflefttomyself,Ishouldinfalliblyhaveletthischanceslip.Inadventurous,unstirredby impulses of practical ambition, I was capable of sitting twenty yearsteaching infants the hornbook, turning silk dresses and making children'sfrocks. Not that true contentment dignified this infatuated resignation: myworkhadneithercharmformytaste,norholdonmyinterest;butitseemedtomeagreatthingtobewithoutheavyanxiety,andrelievedfromintimatetrial:the negation of severe suffering was the nearest approach to happiness Iexpected to know.Besides, I seemed to hold two lives—the life of thought,andthatofreality;and,providedtheformerwasnourishedwithasufficiencyof the strange necromantic joys of fancy, the privileges of the latter mightremainlimitedtodailybread,hourlywork,andaroofofshelter.

"Come,"saidMadame,asIstoopedmorebusilythaneveroverthecutting-outofachild'spinafore,"leavethatwork."

"ButFifinewantsit,Madame."

"Fifinemustwantit,then,forIwantyou."

AndasMadameBeckdid reallywant andwas resolved tohaveme—asshehadlongbeendissatisfiedwiththeEnglishmaster,withhisshortcomingsin punctuality, and his carelessmethod of tuition—as, too, she did not lackresolutionandpracticalactivity,whether I lacked themornot—she,withoutmore ado,mademe relinquish thimble andneedle;myhandwas taken intohers, and Iwas conducted down-stairs.Whenwe reached the carré, a largesquare hall between the dwelling-house and the pensionnat, she paused,droppedmy hand, faced, and scrutinizedme. I was flushed, and tremulousfrom head to foot: tell it not in Gath, I believe I was crying. In fact, thedifficulties beforemewere far frombeingwholly imaginary; some of themwererealenough;andnottheleastsubstantiallayinmywantofmasteryoverthemediumthroughwhichIshouldbeobligedtoteach.Ihad,indeed,studiedFrenchcloselysincemyarrivalinVillette;learningitspracticebyday,anditstheory inevery leisuremomentatnight, toas lateanhouras theruleof thehousewouldallowcandle-light;butIwasfarfromyetbeingabletotrustmypowersofcorrectoralexpression.

"Dîtes donc," said Madame sternly, "vous sentez vous réellement tropfaible?"

Imight have said "Yes," and gone back to nursery obscurity, and there,perhaps,moulderedfortherestofmylife;butlookingupatMadame,IsawinhercountenanceasomethingthatmademethinktwiceereIdecided.Atthatinstant she did not wear a woman's aspect, but rather a man's. Power of a

particularkindstronglylimneditselfinallhertraits,andthatpowerwasnotmykindofpower:neither sympathy,norcongeniality,nor submission,weretheemotionsitawakened.Istood—notsoothed,norwon,noroverwhelmed.Itseemedasifachallengeofstrengthbetweenopposinggiftswasgiven,andIsuddenlyfeltallthedishonourofmydiffidence—allthepusillanimityofmyslacknesstoaspire.

"Willyou,"shesaid,"gobackwardorforward?"indicatingwithherhand,first,thesmalldoorofcommunicationwiththedwelling-house,andthenthegreatdoubleportalsoftheclassesorschoolrooms.

"Enavant,"Isaid.

"But," pursued she, cooling as I warmed, and continuing the hard look,fromveryantipathytowhichIdrewstrengthanddetermination,"canyoufacetheclasses,orareyouover-excited?"

She sneered slightly in saying this:nervousexcitabilitywasnotmuch toMadame'staste.

"Iamnomoreexcitedthanthisstone,"Isaid,tappingtheflagwithmytoe:"orthanyou,"Iadded,returningherlook.

"Bon!Butletmetellyouthesearenotquiet,decorous,Englishgirlsyouare going to encounter. Ce sont des Labassecouriennes, rondes, franches,brusques,ettantsoitpeurebelles."

I said: "Iknow;and Iknow, too, that though IhavestudiedFrenchhardsinceIcamehere,yet Istillspeak itwithfar toomuchhesitation—toolittleaccuracytobeabletocommandtheirrespectIshallmakeblundersthatwilllaymeopentothescornofthemostignorant.StillImeantogivethelesson."

"Theyalwaysthrowovertimidteachers,"saidshe.

"I know that too,Madame; I have heard how they rebelled against andpersecutedMissTurner"—apoor friendlessEnglish teacher,whomMadamehademployed, and lightlydiscarded; and towhosepiteoushistory Iwasnostranger.

"C'est vrai," said she, coolly. "Miss Turner had nomore command overthem than a servant from the kitchen would have had. She was weak andwavering; she had neither tact nor intelligence, decision nor dignity. MissTurnerwouldnotdoforthesegirlsatall."

Imadenoreply,butadvancedtotheclosedschoolroomdoor.

"Youwillnotexpectaidfromme,orfromanyone,"saidMadame."Thatwouldatoncesetyoudownasincompetentforyouroffice."

Iopenedthedoor,letherpasswithcourtesy,andfollowedher.Therewere

three schoolrooms, all large. That dedicated to the second division,where Iwastofigure,wasconsiderablythelargest,andaccommodatedanassemblagemore numerous,more turbulent, and infinitelymore unmanageable than theother two. In after days, when I knew the ground better, I used to thinksometimes(ifsuchacomparisonmaybepermitted), that thequiet,polished,tamefirstdivisionwas to the robust, riotous,demonstrativeseconddivision,whattheEnglishHouseofLordsistotheHouseofCommons.

Thefirstglanceinformedmethatmanyofthepupilsweremorethangirls—quite youngwomen; I knew that some of themwere of noble family (asnobilitygoesinLabassecour),andIwaswellconvincedthatnotoneamongstthemwasignorantofmypositioninMadame'shousehold.AsImountedtheestràde (a low platform, raised a step above the flooring), where stood theteacher'schairanddesk,Ibeheldoppositetomearowofeyesandbrowsthatthreatenedstormyweather—eyesfullofaninsolentlight,andbrowshardandunblushingasmarble.Thecontinental"female"isquiteadifferentbeingtotheinsular"female"ofthesameageandclass:IneversawsucheyesandbrowsinEngland.Madame Beck introduced me in one cool phrase, sailed from theroom,andleftmealoneinmyglory.

I shall never forget that first lesson, nor all the under-current of life andcharacter it opened up tome. Then first did I begin rightly to see thewidedifferencethatliesbetweenthenovelist'sandpoet'sideal"jeunefille"andthesaid"jeunefille"asshereallyis.

Itseemsthatthreetitledbellesinthefirstrowhadsatdownpredeterminedthat a bonne d'enfants should not give them lessons in English. They knewthey had succeeded in expelling obnoxious teachers before now; they knewthatMadamewould at any time throw overboard a professeur or maitressewho became unpopular with the school—that she never assisted a weakofficialtoretainhisplace—thatifhehadnotstrengthtofight,ortacttowinhisway,downhewent: lookingat"MissSnowe," theypromised themselvesaneasyvictory.

MesdemoisellesBlanche,Virginie,andAngéliqueopenedthecampaignbya series of titterings andwhisperings; these soon swelled intomurmurs andshort laughs,which the remoterbenchescaughtupandechoedmore loudly.Thisgrowingrevoltofsixtyagainstone,soonbecameoppressiveenough;mycommand of French being so limited, and exercised under such cruelconstraint.

CouldIbuthavespokeninmyowntongue,IfeltasifImighthavegainedahearing;for,inthefirstplace,thoughIknewIlookedapoorcreature,andinmany respects actually was so, yet nature had givenme a voice that couldmake itself heard, if lifted in excitement or deepened by emotion. In the

second place, while I had no flow, only a hesitating trickle of language, inordinarycircumstances,yet—understimulussuchaswasnowrifethroughthemutinous mass—I could, in English, have rolled out readily phrasesstigmatizingtheirproceedingsassuchproceedingsdeservedtobestigmatized;and thenwith somesarcasm, flavouredwithcontemptuousbitterness for theringleaders, and relieved with easy banter for the weaker but less knavishfollowers,itseemedtomethatonemightpossiblygetcommandoverthiswildherd,andbringthemintotraining,atleast.AllIcouldnowdowastowalkupto Blanche—Mademoiselle de Melcy, a young baronne—the eldest, tallest,handsomest, andmost vicious—stand before her desk, take from under herhand her exercise-book, remount the estrade, deliberately read thecomposition,whichIfoundverystupid,and,asdeliberately,andinthefaceofthewholeschool,teartheblottedpageintwo.

Thisactionavailedtodrawattentionandchecknoise.Onegirlalone,quiteinthebackground,perseveredintheriotwithundiminishedenergy.Ilookedather attentively. She had a pale face, hair like night, broad strong eyebrows,decidedfeatures,andadark,mutinous,sinistereye:Inotedthatshesatcloseby a little door, which door, I was well aware, opened into a small closetwherebookswerekept.Shewasstandingupforthepurposeofconductingherclamourwithfreerenergies.Imeasuredherstatureandcalculatedherstrength.Sheseemedboth tallandwiry;but,so theconflictwerebriefand theattackunexpected,IthoughtImightmanageher.

Advancinguptheroom,lookingascoolandcarelessasIpossiblycould,inshort,ayantl'airderien,Islightlypushedthedoorandfounditwasajar.Inaninstant, and with sharpness, I had turned on her. In another instant sheoccupiedthecloset,thedoorwasshut,andthekeyinmypocket.

It sohappened that thisgirl,Doloresbyname,andaCatalonianbyrace,wasthesortofcharacteratoncedreadedandhatedbyallherassociates;theactofsummaryjusticeabovenotedprovedpopular:therewasnotonepresentbut,inherheart,likedtoseeitdone.Theywerestilledforamoment;thenasmile—notalaugh—passedfromdesktodesk:then—whenIhadgravelyandtranquilly returned to the estrade, courteously requested silence, andcommencedadictationas ifnothingatallhadhappened—thepenstravelledpeacefullyoverthepages,andtheremainderofthelessonpassedinorderandindustry.

"C'estbien,"saidMadameBeck,whenIcameoutofclass,hotandalittleexhausted."Caira."

Shehadbeenlisteningandpeepingthroughaspy-holethewholetime.

From that day I ceased to be nursery governess, and became Englishteacher.Madameraisedmysalary;butshegotthricetheworkoutofmeshe

hadextractedfromMr.Wilson,athalftheexpense.

CHAPTERIX.

ISIDORE.

Mytimewasnowwellandprofitablyfilledup.Whatwithteachingothersandstudyingcloselymyself, Ihadhardlyasparemoment.Itwaspleasant. Ifelt I was getting, on; not lying the stagnant prey of mould and rust, butpolishingmy faculties andwhetting them to a keen edgewith constant use.Experienceofacertainkind laybeforeme,onnonarrowscale.Villette isacosmopolitan city, and in this school were girls of almost every Europeannation,andlikewiseofveryvariedrankinlife.EqualityismuchpractisedinLabassecour;thoughnotrepublicaninform,itisnearlysoinsubstance,andatthedesksofMadameBeck'sestablishmenttheyoungcountessandtheyoungbourgeoise sat side by side. Nor could you always by outward indicationsdecidewhichwasnobleandwhichplebeian;exceptthat,indeed,thelatterhadoften franker andmore courteousmanners,while the former bore away thebell for a delicately-balanced combination of insolence and deceit. In theformer therewasoftenquickFrenchbloodmixedwith themarsh-phlegm: Iregrettosaythattheeffectofthisvivaciousfluidchieflyappearedintheoilierglibnesswithwhichflatteryandfictionranfromthetongue,andinamannerlighterandlivelier,butquiteheartlessandinsincere.

Todo all parties justice, the honest aboriginalLabassecouriennes had anhypocrisyoftheirown,too;butitwasofacoarseorder,suchascoulddeceivefew.Wheneveraliewasnecessaryfortheiroccasions,theybroughtitoutwithacarelesseaseandbreadthaltogetheruntroubledbytherebukeofconscience.NotasoulinMadameBeck'shouse,fromthesculliontothedirectressherself,butwas abovebeing ashamedof a lie; they thought nothing of it: to inventmightnotbepreciselyavirtue,butitwasthemostvenialoffaults."J'aimentiplusieurs fois," formed an item of every girl's and woman's monthlyconfession:thepriestheardunshocked,andabsolvedunreluctant.Iftheyhadmissed going tomass, or read a chapter of a novel, thatwas another thing:thesewerecrimeswhereofrebukeandpenanceweretheunfailingweed.

While yet but half-conscious of this state of things, and unlearned in itsresults, I got on in my new sphere very well. After the first few difficultlessons,givenamidstperilandon theedgeofamoralvolcano that rumbledundermyfeetandsentsparksandhotfumesintomyeyes,theeruptivespiritseemedtosubside,asfarasIwasconcerned.Mymindwasagooddealbenton success: I could not bear the thought of being baffled by mere

undisciplineddisaffectionandwantonindocility,inthisfirstattempttogetoninlife.ManyhoursofthenightIusedtolieawake,thinkingwhatplanIhadbestadopttogetareliableholdonthesemutineers,tobringthisstiff-neckedtribeunderpermanentinfluence.In,thefirstplace,IsawplainlythataidinnoshapewastobeexpectedfromMadame:herrighteousplanwastomaintainanunbroken popularity with the pupils, at any and every cost of justice orcomfort to the teachers. For a teacher to seek her alliance in any crisis ofinsubordinationwasequivalenttosecuringherownexpulsion.Inintercoursewithherpupils,Madameonlytooktoherselfwhatwaspleasant,amiable,andrecommendatory; rigidly requiring of her lieutenants sufficiency for everyannoyingcrisis,wheretoactwithadequatepromptitudewastobeunpopular.Thus,Imustlookonlytomyself.

Imprimis—itwasclearas theday that thisswinishmultitudewerenot tobedrivenby force.Theywere tobehumoured,bornewithverypatiently: acourteousthoughsedatemannerimpressedthem;averyrareflashofraillerydid good.Severe or continuousmental application they could not, orwouldnot, bear: heavy demand on the memory, the reason, the attention, theyrejectedpoint-blank.WhereanEnglishgirlofnotmorethanaveragecapacityand docility would quietly take a theme and bind herself to the task ofcomprehension and mastery, a Labassecourienne would laugh in your face,and throwitback toyouwith thephrase,—"Dieu,quec'estdifficile!Jen'enveuxpas.Celam'ennuietrop."

Ateacherwhounderstoodherbusinesswouldtakeitbackatonce,withouthesitation, contest, or expostulation—proceedwith even exaggerated care tosmoothe every difficulty, to reduce it to the level of their understandings,returnittothemthusmodified,andlayonthelashofsarcasmwithunsparinghand.Theywouldfeelthesting,perhapswincealittleunderit;buttheyboreno malice against this sort of attack, provided the sneer was not sour, buthearty,andthatitheldwelluptothem,inaclear,light,andboldtype,sothatshewhoranmightread,theirincapacity,ignorance,andsloth.Theywouldriotfor three additional lines to a lesson; but I never knew them rebel against awoundgiventotheirself-respect:thelittletheyhadofthatqualitywastrainedtobecrushed,anditratherlikedthepressureofafirmheelthanotherwise.

Bydegrees,asIacquiredfluencyandfreedomintheirlanguage,andcouldmake such application of its more nervous idioms as suited their case, theelderandmoreintelligentgirlsbeganrathertolikemeintheirway:Inoticedthatwheneverapupilhadbeenrousedtofeelinhersoulthestirringofworthyemulation,orthequickeningofhonestshame,fromthatdateshewaswon.IfIcould but oncemake their (usually large) ears burn under their thick glossyhair,allwascomparativelywell.By-and-bybouquetsbegantobelaidonmydesk in the morning; by way of acknowledgment for this little foreign

attention,Iusedsometimestowalkwithaselectfewduringrecreation.Inthecourseof conversation it befel onceor twice that Imade anunpremeditatedattempt to rectify some of their singularly distorted notions of principle;especially I expressed my ideas of the evil and baseness of a lie. In anunguarded moment, I chanced to say that, of the two errors; I consideredfalsehoodworsethananoccasionallapseinchurch-attendance.ThepoorgirlsweretutoredtoreportinCatholicearswhatevertheProtestantteachersaid.Anedifying consequence ensued. Something—an unseen, an indefinite, anameless—something stole between myself and these my best pupils: thebouquets continued to be offered, but conversation thenceforth becameimpracticable.AsIpacedthealleysorsatintheberceau,agirlnevercametomy right hand but a teacher, as if by magic, appeared at my left. Also,wonderfultorelate,Madame'sshoesofsilencebroughthercontinuallytomyback,asquick,asnoiselessandunexpected,assomewanderingzephyr.

The opinion of my Catholic acquaintance concerning my spiritualprospects was somewhat naïvely expressed to me on one occasion. Apensionnaire,towhomIhadrenderedsomelittleservice,exclaimedonedayasshesatbesideme:"Mademoiselle,whatapityyouareaProtestant!"

"Why,Isabelle?"

"Parceque, quand vous serez morte—vous brûlerez tout de suite dansl'Enfer."

"Croyez-vous?"

"Certainementquej'ycrois:toutlemondelesait;etd'ailleursleprêtremel'adit."

Isabelle was an odd, blunt little creature. She added, sotto voce: "Pourassurervotresalutlà-haut,onferaitbiendevousbrûlertouteviveici-bas."

Ilaughed,as,indeed,itwasimpossibletodootherwise.

**

HasthereaderforgottenMissGinevraFanshawe?Ifso,Imustbeallowedtore-introducethatyoungladyasathrivingpupilofMadameBeck's;forsuchshewas.OnherarrivalintheRueFossette,twoorthreedaysaftermysuddensettlementthere,sheencounteredmewithverylittlesurprise.Shemusthavehad good blood in her veins, for never was any duchess more perfectly,radically,unaffectedlynonchalantethanshe:aweak, transientamazewasallsheknewofthesensationofwonder.Mostofherotherfacultiesseemedtobeinthesameflimsycondition:herlikinganddisliking,herloveandhate,weremere cobweb and gossamer; but she had one thing about her that seemedstronganddurableenough,andthatwas—herselfishness.

Shewasnotproud;and—bonned'enfantsas Iwas—shewouldforthwithhavemadeofmeasortoffriendandconfidant.Sheteasedmewithathousandvapidcomplaintsaboutschool-quarrelsandhouseholdeconomy:thecookerywasnottohertaste;thepeopleabouther,teachersandpupils,sheheldtobedespicable,becausetheywereforeigners.IborewithherabuseoftheFriday'ssalt fish and hard eggs—with her invective against the soup, the bread, thecoffee—with some patience for a time; but at last, wearied by iteration, Iturnedcrusty,andputher torights:a thingIought tohavedone in theverybeginning,forasalutarysettingdownalwaysagreedwithher.

MuchlongerhadItoendureherdemandsonmeinthewayofwork.Herwardrobe,sofarasconcernedarticlesofexternalwear,waswellandelegantlysupplied;buttherewereotherhabilimentsnotsocarefullyprovided:whatshehad,neededfrequentrepair.Shehatedneedle-drudgeryherself,andshewouldbring her hose, &c. to me in heaps, to be mended. A compliance of someweeks threatening to result in the establishment of an intolerable bore—I atlastdistinctlytoldhershemustmakeuphermindtomendherowngarments.Shecriedonreceivingthis information,andaccusedmeofhavingceasedtobe her friend; but I held bymy decision, and let the hysterics pass as theycould.

Notwithstanding these foibles, and various others needless tomention—butbynomeansofarefinedorelevatingcharacter—howprettyshewas!Howcharmingshelooked,whenshecamedownonasunnySundaymorning,well-dressed and well-humoured, robed in pale lilac silk, and with her fair longcurlsreposingonherwhiteshoulders.Sundaywasaholidaywhichshealwayspassedwithfriendsresident in town;andamongst thesefriendsshespeedilygavemetounderstandwasonewhowouldfainbecomesomethingmore.Byglimpsesandhintsitwasshownme,andbythegeneralbuoyancyofherlookandmanneritwaserelongproved, thatardentadmiration—perhapsgenuinelove—wasathercommand.Shecalledhersuitor"Isidore:"this,however,sheintimatedwasnot his real name, but onebywhich it pleasedher to baptizehim—hisown,shehinted,notbeing"verypretty."Once,whenshehadbeenbraggingaboutthevehemenceof"Isidore's"attachment,Iaskedifshelovedhiminreturn.

"Commecela,"saidshe:"heishandsome,andhelovesmetodistraction,sothatIamwellamused.Casuffit."

Finding that she carried the thing on longer than, from her very fickletastes,Ihadanticipated,Ionedaytookituponmetomakeseriousinquiriesastowhetherthegentlemanwassuchasherparents,andespeciallyheruncle—onwhom, it appeared, shewasdependent—wouldbe likely toapprove.Sheallowedthatthiswasverydoubtful,asshedidnotbelieve"Isidore"hadmuchmoney.

"Doyouencouragehim?"Iasked.

"Furieusementsometimes,"saidshe.

"Withoutbeingcertainthatyouwillbepermittedtomarryhim?"

"Oh,howdowdyishyouare!Idon'twanttobemarried.Iamtooyoung."

"Butifhelovesyouasmuchasyousay,andyetitcomestonothingintheend,hewillbemademiserable."

"Ofcoursehewillbreakhisheart.Ishouldbeshockedand,disappointedifhedidn't."

"IwonderwhetherthisM.Isidoreisafool?"saidI.

"He is, about me; but he is wise in other things, à ce qu'on dit. Mrs.Cholmondeleyconsidershimextremelyclever:shesayshewillpushhiswaybyhistalents;allIknowis,thathedoeslittlemorethansighinmypresence,andthatIcanwindhimroundmylittlefinger."

Wishingtogetamoredefiniteideaofthislove-strickenM.Isidore;whosepositionseemedtomeoftheleastsecure,Irequestedhertofavourmewithapersonaldescription;butshecouldnotdescribe:shehadneitherwordsnorthepower of putting them together so as to make graphic phrases. She evenseemednotproperlytohavenoticedhim:nothingofhislooks,ofthechangesin his countenance, had touched her heart or dwelt in hermemory—that hewas"beau,maisplutôtbelhommequejoligarçon,"wasallshecouldassert.Mypatiencewouldoftenhavefailed,andmyinterestflagged,inlisteningtoher,butforonething.Allthehintsshedropped,allthedetailsshegave,wentunconsciouslytoprove,tomythinking,thatM.Isidore'shomagewasofferedwithgreatdelicacyandrespect.IinformedherveryplainlythatIbelievedhimmuchtoogoodforher,andintimatedwithequalplainnessmyimpressionthatshewasbutavaincoquette.Shelaughed,shookhercurlsfromhereyes,anddancedawayasifIhadpaidheracompliment.

MissGinevra's school-studieswere little better than nominal; therewerebutthreethingsshepractisedinearnest,viz.music,singing,anddancing;alsoembroidering the fine cambric handkerchiefs which she could not afford tobuyreadyworked:suchmeretriflesaslessonsinhistory,geography,grammar,andarithmetic,sheleftundone,orgototherstodoforher.Verymuchofhertimewas spent in visiting.Madame, aware that her stay at schoolwas nowlimited to a certain period,whichwouldnot be extendedwhether shemadeprogress or not, allowed her great licence in this particular. Mrs.Cholmondeley—herchaperon—agay,fashionablelady,invitedherwhenevershehadcompanyatherownhouse,andsometimestookhertoevening-partiesat the houses of her acquaintance.Ginevra perfectly approved thismode of

procedure:ithadbutoneinconvenience;shewasobligedtobewelldressed,andshehadnotmoneytobuyvarietyofdresses.Allher thoughts turnedonthisdifficulty;herwholesoulwasoccupiedwithexpedients foreffecting itssolution. It was wonderful to witness the activity of her otherwise indolentmindon thispoint,and to see themuch-daring intrepidity towhichshewasspurredbyasenseofnecessity,andthewishtoshine.

ShebeggedboldlyofMrs.Cholmondeley—boldly,Isay:notwithanairofreluctantshame,butinthisstrain:—

"MydarlingMrs.C.,Ihavenothingintheworldfittowearforyourpartynextweek;youmustgivemeabook-muslindress, and thena ceinturebleuceleste:do—there'sanangel!willyou?"

The "darling Mrs. C." yielded at first; but finding that applicationsincreased as they were complied with, she was soon obliged, like allMissFanshawe's friends, to oppose resistance to encroachment. After a while Iheard nomore ofMrs. Cholmondeley's presents; but still, visitingwent on,andtheabsolutelynecessarydressescontinuedtobesupplied:alsomanylittleexpensiveetcetera—gloves,bouquets,eventrinkets.Thesethings,contrarytoher custom, and even nature—for she was not secretive—were mostsedulouslykeptoutofsightforatime;butoneevening,whenshewasgoingto a large party for which particular care and elegance of costume weredemanded,shecouldnotresistcomingtomychambertoshowherself inallhersplendour.

Beautifulshelooked:soyoung,sofresh,andwithadelicacyofskinandflexibilityofshapealtogetherEnglish,andnotfoundinthelistofcontinentalfemalecharms.Herdresswasnew,costly,andperfect.Isawataglancethatitlacked none of those finishing details which cost somuch, and give to thegeneraleffectsuchanairoftastefulcompleteness.

Iviewedher fromtop to toe.She turnedairily round that Imightsurveyher on all sides.Conscious of her charms, shewas in her best humour: herrather small blue eyes sparkledgleefully.Shewasgoing tobestowonmeakiss,inherschool-girlfashionofshowingherdelightsbutIsaid,"Steady!LetusbeSteady,andknowwhatweareabout,andfindout themeaningofourmagnificence"—and so put her off at arm's length, to undergo coolerinspection.

"ShallIdo?"washerquestion.

"Do?"saidI."Therearedifferentwaysofdoing;and,bymyword,Idon'tunderstandyours."

"ButhowdoIlook?"

"Youlookwelldressed."

Shethoughtthepraisenotwarmenough,andproceededtodirectattentionto thevariousdecorativepointsofherattire."Lookat thisparure,"saidshe."Thebrooch,theear-rings,thebracelets:nooneintheschoolhassuchaset—notMadameherself."

"Iseethemall."(Pause.)"DidM.deBassompierregiveyouthosejewels?"

"Myuncleknowsnothingaboutthem."

"WeretheypresentsfromMrs.Cholmondeley?"

"Not they, indeed. Mrs. Cholmondeley is a mean, stingy creature; shenevergivesmeanythingnow."

Ididnotchoosetoaskanyfurtherquestions,butturnedabruptlyaway.

"Now, oldCrusty—oldDiogenes" (thesewere her familiar terms formewhenwedisagreed),"whatisthematternow?"

"Takeyourselfaway.Ihavenopleasureinlookingatyouoryourparure."

Foraninstant,sheseemedtakenbysurprise.

"Whatnow,MotherWisdom?Ihavenotgot intodebtfor it—that is,notforthejewels,northegloves,northebouquet.Mydressiscertainlynotpaidfor,butuncledeBassompierrewillpayit inthebill:henevernoticesitems,but just looks at the total; and he is so rich, one need not care about a fewguineasmoreorless."

"Willyougo?Iwanttoshutthedoor….Ginevra,peoplemaytellyouyouareveryhandsomeinthatball-attire;but,inmyeyes,youwillneverlooksoprettyasyoudidintheginghamgownandplainstrawbonnetyouworewhenIfirstsawyou."

"Otherpeoplehavenotyourpuritanicaltastes,"washerangryreply.

"And,besides,Iseenorightyouhavetosermonizeme."

"Certainly! I have little right; and you, perhaps, have still less to comeflourishingandflutteringintomychamber—amerejayinborrowedplumes.Ihavenottheleastrespectforyourfeathers,MissFanshawe;andespeciallythepeacock'seyesyoucallaparure:verypretty things, ifyouhadbought themwithmoneywhichwasyourown,andwhichyoucouldwellspare,butnotatallprettyunderpresentcircumstances."

"OnestlàpourMademoiselleFanshawe!"wasannouncedbytheportress,andawayshetripped.

This semi-mystery of the parure was not solved till two or three days

afterwards,whenshecametomakeavoluntaryconfession.

"Youneednotbesulkywithme,"shebegan,"intheideathatIamrunningsomebody,papaorM.deBassompierre,deeplyintodebt.Iassureyounothingremains unpaid for, but the few dresses I have lately had: all the rest issettled."

"There,"Ithought,"liesthemystery;consideringthattheywerenotgivenyou byMrs. Cholmondeley, and that your ownmeans are limited to a fewshillings,ofwhichIknowyoutobeexcessivelycareful."

"Ecoutez!" she went on, drawing near and speaking in her mostconfidentialandcoaxingtone;formy"sulkiness"wasinconvenienttoher:shelikedmetobeinatalkingandlisteningmood,evenifIonlytalkedtochideand listened to rail. "Ecoutez, chère grogneuse! I will tell you all how andaboutit;andyouwillthensee,notonlyhowrightthewholethingis,buthowcleverlymanaged.Inthefirstplace,Imustgoout.Papahimselfsaidthathewishedme to see something of theworld; he particularly remarked toMrs.Cholmondeley, that, though I was a sweet creature enough, I had rather abread-and-butter-eating,school-girlair;ofwhichitwashisspecialdesirethatIshouldgetrid,byanintroductiontosocietyhere,beforeImakemyregulardébutinEngland.Well,then,ifIgoout,Imustdress.Mrs.Cholmondeleyisturnedshabby,andwillgivenothingmore;itwouldbetooharduponuncletomakehimpayforallthethingsIneed:thatyoucan'tdeny—thatagreeswithyour own preachments. Well, but SOMEBODY who heard me (quite bychance, I assure you) complaining toMrs. Cholmondeley of my distressedcircumstances, and what straits I was put to for an ornament or two—somebody,farfromgrudgingoneapresent,wasquitedelightedattheideaofbeingpermittedtooffersometrifle.Youshouldhaveseenwhatablanc-bechelookedwhenhefirstspokeofit:howhehesitatedandblushed,andpositivelytrembledfromfearofarepulse."

"Thatwilldo,MissFanshawe.IsupposeIamtounderstandthatM.Isidoreisthebenefactor:thatitisfromhimyouhaveacceptedthatcostlyparure;thathesuppliesyourbouquetsandyourgloves?"

"Youexpressyourselfsodisagreeably,"saidshe,"onehardlyknowshowtoanswer;whatImeantosayis,thatIoccasionallyallowIsidorethepleasureandhonourofexpressinghishomagebytheofferofatrifle."

"It comes to the same thing….Now,Ginevra, to speak the plain truth, Idon't very well understand these matters; but I believe you are doing verywrong—seriouslywrong.Perhaps,however,younowfeelcertainthatyouwillbeabletomarryM.Isidore;yourparentsandunclehavegiventheirconsent,and,foryourpart,youlovehimentirely?"

"Maispasdutout!"(shealwayshadrecoursetoFrenchwhenabouttosaysomethingspeciallyheartlessandperverse)."Jesuissareine,maisiln'estpasmonroi."

"Excuseme,Imustbelievethislanguageismerenonsenseandcoquetry.

Thereisnothinggreataboutyou,yetyouareaboveprofitingbythe

goodnatureandpurseofamantowhomyoufeelabsoluteindifference.

YouloveM.Isidorefarmorethanyouthink,orwillavow."

"No.Idancedwithayoungofficertheothernight,whomIloveathousandtimesmore than he. I often wonder why I feel so very cold to Isidore, foreverybodysaysheishandsome,andother ladiesadmirehim;but,somehow,heboresme:letmeseenowhowitis…."

Andsheseemedtomakeanefforttoreflect.InthisIencouragedher.

"Yes!" I said, "try togetaclear ideaof the stateofyourmind.Tome itseemsinagreatmess—chaoticasarag-bag."

"It is something in this fashion," she cried out ere long: "theman is tooromantic and devoted, and he expects somethingmore ofme than I find itconvenient tobe.He thinks I amperfect: furnishedwithall sortsof sterlingqualitiesandsolidvirtues,suchasIneverhad,norintendtohave.Now,onecan'thelp,inhispresence,rathertryingtojustifyhisgoodopinion;anditdoessotireonetobegoody,andtotalksense,—forhereallythinksIamsensible.Iamfarmoreatmyeasewithyou,oldlady—you,youdearcrosspatch—whotake me at my lowest, and know me to be coquettish, and ignorant, andflirting,andfickle,andsilly,andselfish,andalltheothersweetthingsyouandIhaveagreedtobeapartofmycharacter."

"This is all verywell," I said,making a strenuous effort to preserve thatgravityandseveritywhichranriskofbeingshakenbythiswhimsicalcandour,"but it does not alter thatwretched business of the presents. Pack them up,Ginevra,likeagood,honestgirl,andsendthemback."

"Indeed,Iwon't,"saidshe,stoutly.

"ThenyouaredeceivingM.Isidore.Itstandstoreasonthatbyacceptinghispresentsyougivehimtounderstandhewillonedayreceiveanequivalent,inyourregard…"

"Buthewon't,"sheinterrupted:"hehashisequivalentnow,inthepleasureofseeingmewearthem—quiteenoughforhim:heisonlybourgeois."

This phrase, in its senseless arrogance, quite curedme of the temporaryweaknesswhichhadmademerelaxmytoneandaspect.Sherattledon:

"My present business is to enjoy youth, and not to think of fetteringmyself, by promise or vow, to thisman or that.When first I saw Isidore, IbelievedhewouldhelpmetoenjoyitIbelievedhewouldbecontentwithmybeingaprettygirl;andthatweshouldmeetandpartandflutteraboutliketwobutterflies, and be happy.Lo, and behold! I find him at times as grave as ajudge, and deep-feeling and thoughtful. Bah! Les penseurs, les hommesprofondsetpassionnésnesontpasàmongoût.LeColonelAlfreddeHamalsuitsmefarbetter.Vapourlesbeauxfatsetlesjolisfripons!Vivelesjoiesetlesplaisirs!Abaslesgrandespassionsetlessévèresvertus!"

Shelookedforananswertothistirade.Igavenone.

"J'aimemonbeauColonel,"shewenton:"jen'aimeraijamaissonrival.

Jeneseraijamaisfemmedebourgeois,moi!"

Inowsignifiedthatitwasimperativelynecessarymyapartmentshouldberelievedofthehonourofherpresence:shewentawaylaughing.

CHAPTERX.

DRJOHN.

Madame Beck was a most consistent character; forbearing with all theworld,andtendertonopartofit.Herownchildrendrewherintonodeviationfrom the even tenor of her stoic calm. Shewas solicitous about her family,vigilant for their interests and physicalwell-being; but she never seemed toknowthewishtotakeherlittlechildrenuponherlap,topresstheirrosylipswithherown,togathertheminagenialembrace,toshoweronthemsoftlythebenignantcaress,thelovingword.

Ihavewatchedhersometimessittinginthegarden,viewingthelittlebeesafar off, as theywalked in a distant alleywith Trinette, their bonne; in hermienspokecareandprudence.Iknowsheoftenponderedanxiouslywhatshecalled "leur avenir;" but if the youngest, a puny and delicate but engagingchild,chancingtospyher,brokefromitsnurse,andtoddlingdownthewalk,camealleagerandlaughingandpantingtoclaspherknee,Madamewouldjustcalmlyputoutonehand, soas toprevent inconvenient concussion from thechild's sudden onset: "Prends garde,mon enfant!" shewould say unmoved,patientlypermitittostandnearherafewmoments,andthen,withoutsmileorkiss,orendearingsyllable,riseandleaditbacktoTrinette.

Herdemeanourtotheeldestgirlwasequallycharacteristicinanotherway.Thiswasaviciouschild."QuellepestequecetteDésirée!Quelpoisonquecet

enfant là!" were the expressions dedicated to her, alike in kitchen and inschoolroom.Amongstherotherendowmentssheboastedanexquisiteskillintheart,ofprovocation,sometimesdrivingherbonneandtheservantsalmostwild.Shewouldsteal totheirattics,opentheirdrawersandboxes,wantonlyteartheirbestcapsandsoiltheirbestshawls;shewouldwatchheropportunitytogetat thebuffetof thesalle-à-manger,whereshewouldsmasharticlesofporcelain or glass—or to the cupboard of the storeroom, where she wouldplunder the preserves, drink the sweet wine, break jars and bottles, and socontriveastothrowtheonusofsuspiciononthecookandthekitchen-maid.AllthiswhenMadamesaw,andofwhichwhenshereceivedreport,hersoleobservation,utteredwithmatchlessserenity,was:

"Désirée a besoin d'une surveillance toute particulière."Accordingly shekeptthispromisingolive-branchagooddealatherside.Neveronce,Ibelieve,did she tell her faithfully of her faults, explain the evil of such habits, andshowtheresultswhichmustthenceensue.Surveillancemustworkthewholecure.Itfailedofcourse.Désiréewaskeptinsomemeasurefromtheservants,but she teased and pillaged her mamma instead. Whatever belonging toMadame'swork-tableor toiletshecouldlayherhandson,shestoleandhid.Madamesawallthis,butshestillpretendednottosee:shehadnotrectitudeofsoultoconfrontthechildwithhervices.Whenanarticledisappearedwhosevalue rendered restitutionnecessary, shewouldprofess to think thatDésiréehadtakenitawayinplay,andbeghertorestoreit.Désiréewasnottobesocheated:shehadlearnedtobringfalsehoodtotheaidoftheft,andwoulddenyhavingtouchedthebrooch,ring,orscissors.Carryingonthehollowsystem,themotherwouldcalmlyassumeanairofbelief,andafterwardsceaselesslywatchanddogthechildtillshetrackedher:toherhiding-places—someholein thegarden-wall—somechinkorcrannyingarretorout-house.Thisdone,MadamewouldsendDésiréeoutforawalkwithherbonne,andprofitbyherabsence to rob the robber. Désirée proved herself the true daughter of herastuteparent, bynever sufferingeitherher countenanceormanner tobetraytheleastsignofmortificationondiscoveringtheloss.

The second child, Fifine, was said to be like its dead father. Certainly,though the mother had given it her healthy frame, her blue eye and ruddycheek,notfromherwasderiveditsmoralbeing.Itwasanhonest,gleefullittlesoul:apassionate,warm-tempered,bustlingcreatureitwastoo,andofthesortlikelytoblunderoftenintoperilsanddifficulties.Onedayitbethoughtitselftofallfromtoptobottomofasteepflightofstonesteps;andwhenMadame,hearing the noise (she always heard every noise), issued from the salle-à-mangerandpickeditup,shesaidquietly,—"Cetenfantaunoscassé."

Atfirstwehopedthiswasnotthecase.Itwas,however,buttootrue:onelittleplumparmhungpowerless.

"LetMeess"(meaningme)"takeher,"saidMadame;"etqu'onailletoutdesuitechercherunfiacre."

Inafiacreshepromptly,butwithadmirablecoolnessandself-possession,departedtofetchasurgeon.

Itappearedshedidnotfindthefamily-surgeonathome;butthatmatterednot:shesoughtuntilshelaidherhandonasubstitutetohermind,andbroughthim back with her. Meantime I had cut the child's sleeve from its arm,undressedandputittobed.

Wenoneofus,Isuppose(byweImeanthebonne,thecook,theportress,andmyself,allwhichpersonageswerenowgatheredinthesmallandheatedchamber),lookedveryscrutinizinglyatthenewdoctorwhenhecameintotheroom.I,atleast,wastakenupwithendeavouringtosootheFifine;whosecries(for she had good lungs) were appalling to hear. These cries redoubled inintensity as the stranger approached her bed; when he took her up, "Letalone!"shecriedpassionately,inherbrokenEnglish(forshespokeEnglishasdidtheotherchildren)."Iwillnotyou:IwillDr.Pillule!"

"And Dr. Pillule is my very good friend," was the answer, in perfectEnglish; "but he is busy at a place three leagues off, and I am come in hisstead.Sonow,whenwegetalittlecalmer,wemustcommencebusiness;andwewillsoonhavethatunluckylittlearmbandagedandinrightorder."

Hereupon he called for a glass of eau sucrée, fed her with someteaspoonfuls of the sweet liquid (Fifine was a frank gourmande; anybodycouldwinherheartthroughherpalate),promisedhermorewhentheoperationshouldbeover,andpromptlywenttowork.Someassistancebeingneeded,hedemandeditofthecook,arobust,strong-armedwoman;butshe,theportress,and thenurse instantly fled. Ididnot like to touch thatsmall, tortured limb,but thinking therewas no alternative,my handwas already extended to dowhat was requisite. I was anticipated; Madame Beck had put out her ownhand:herswassteadywhileminetrembled.

"Cavaudramieux,"saidthedoctor,turningfrommetoher.

Heshowedwisdominhischoice.Minewouldhavebeenfeignedstoicism,forcedfortitude.Herswasneitherforcednorfeigned.

"Merci, Madame; très bien, fort bien!" said the operator when he hadfinished. "Voilà un sang-froid bien opportun, et qui vaut mille élans desensibilitédéplacée."

Hewaspleasedwithherfirmness,shewithhiscompliment.Itwaslikely,too,thathiswholegeneralappearance,hisvoice,mien,andmanner,wroughtimpressionsinhisfavour.Indeed,whenyoulookedwellathim,andwhena

lamp was brought in—for it was evening and now waxing dusk—you sawthat, unlessMadameBeck had been less thanwoman, it could not well beotherwise. This young doctor (he was young) had no common aspect. Hisstaturelookedimposinglytallinthatlittlechamber,andamidstthatgroupofDutch-madewomen; his profile was clear, fine and expressive: perhaps hiseyeglancedfromfacetofacerathertoovividly,tooquickly,andtoooften;butithadamostpleasantcharacter,andsohadhismouth;hischinwasfull,cleft,Grecian,andperfect.Astohissmile,onecouldnotinahurrymakeupone'smind as to the descriptive epithet itmerited; therewas something in it thatpleased, but something too that brought surging up into the mind all one'sfoiblesandweakpoints:allthatcouldlayoneopentoalaugh.YetFifinelikedthisdoubtfulsmile,andthoughttheownergenial:muchashehadhurther,sheheldoutherhand tobidhimafriendlygood-night.Hepatted the littlehandkindly,andthenheandMadamewentdown-stairstogether;shetalkinginherhighest tideofspiritsandvolubility,helisteningwithanairofgood-naturedamenity, dashedwith that unconscious roguish archness I find it difficult todescribe.

I noticed that though he spoke Frenchwell, he spoke English better; hehad,too,anEnglishcomplexion,eyes,andform.Inoticedmore.Ashepassedmeinleavingtheroom,turninghisfaceinmydirectiononemoment—nottoaddressme,buttospeaktoMadame,yetsostanding,thatIalmostnecessarilylooked up at him—a recollectionwhich had been struggling to form inmymemory, since the firstmoment Iheardhisvoice, startedupperfected.ThiswastheverygentlemantowhomIhadspokenatthebureau;whohadhelpedmeinthematterofthetrunk;whohadbeenmyguidethroughthedark,wetpark. Listening, as he passed down the long vestibule out into the street, Irecognisedhisverytread:itwasthesamefirmandequalstrideIhadfollowedunderthedrippingtrees.

**

Itwas,tobeconcludedthatthisyoungsurgeon-physician'sfirstvisittotheRue Fossette would be the last. The respectable Dr. Pillule being expectedhome the next day, there appeared no reason why his temporary substituteshould again represent him; but the Fates had written their decree to thecontrary.

Dr. Pillule had been summoned to see a rich old hypochondriac at theantiqueuniversitytownofBouquin-Moisi,anduponhisprescribingchangeofairandtravelasremedies,hewasretainedtoaccompanythetimidpatientonatourofsomeweeks;itbutremained,therefore,forthenewdoctortocontinuehisattendanceattheRueFossette.

I often saw him when he came; for Madame would not trust the little

invalidtoTrinette,butrequiredmetospendmuchofmytimeinthenursery.Ithink he was skilful. Fifine recovered rapidly under his care, yet even herconvalescence did not hasten his dismissal. Destiny and Madame Beckseemed in league, and both had ruled that he should make deliberateacquaintancewith thevestibule, theprivate staircase andupper chambersoftheRueFossette.

NosoonerdidFifineemergefromhishandsthanDésiréedeclaredherselfill. That possessed child had a genius for simulation, and captivated by theattentionsandindulgencesofasick-room,shecametotheconclusionthatanillnesswouldperfectlyaccommodatehertastes,andtookherbedaccordingly.She acted well, and her mother still better; for while the whole case wastransparent toMadameBeckas theday, she treated itwith an astonishinglywell-assuredairofgravityandgoodfaith.

Whatsurprisedmewas,thatDr.John(sotheyoungEnglishmanhadtaughtFifinetocallhim,andwealltookfromherthehabitofaddressinghimbythisname,tillitbecameanestablishedcustom,andhewasknownbynootherintheRueFossette)—thatDr.JohnconsentedtacitlytoadoptMadame'stactics,and to fall inwith hermanoeuvres.He betrayed, indeed, a period of comicdoubt,castoneortworapidglancesfromthechildtothemother,indulgedinanintervalofself-consultation,butfinallyresignedhimselfwithagoodgracetoplayhispartinthefarce.Désiréeeatlikearaven,gambolleddayandnightin her bed, pitched tents with the sheets and blankets, lounged like a Turkamidst pillows and bolsters, diverted herselfwith throwing her shoes at herbonne and grimacing at her sisters—over-flowed, in short, with unmeritedhealthandevilspirits;only languishingwhenhermammaand thephysicianpaidtheirdiurnalvisit.MadameBeck,Iknew,wasglad,atanyprice,tohaveherdaughterinbedoutofthewayofmischief;butIwonderedthatDr.Johndidnottireofthebusiness.

Everyday,onthismerepretextofamotive,hegavepunctualattendance;Madamealwaysreceivedhimwiththesameempressement,thesamesunshineforhimself,thesameadmirablycounterfeitedairofconcernforherchild.Dr.Johnwroteharmlessprescriptionsforthepatient,andviewedhermotherwithashrewdlysparklingeye.Madamecaughthisrallyinglookswithoutresentingthem—she had too much good sense for that. Supple as the young doctorseemed,onecouldnotdespisehim—thispliantpartwasevidentlynotadoptedinthedesigntocurryfavourwithhisemployer:whilehelikedhisofficeatthepensionnat, and lingered strangely about the Rue Fossette, he wasindependent,almostcareless inhiscarriage there;andyet, too,hewasoftenthoughtfulandpreoccupied.

Itwasnotperhapsmybusiness toobserve themysteryofhisbearing,orsearchoutitsoriginoraim;but,placedasIwas,Icouldhardlyhelpit.Helaid

himself open tomyobservation, according tomy presence in the room justthat degree of notice and consequence a person of my exterior habituallyexpects:thatistosay,aboutwhatisgiventounobtrusivearticlesoffurniture,chairs of ordinary joiner's work, and carpets of no striking pattern. Often,whilewaitingforMadame,hewouldmuse,smile,watch,orlistenlikeamanwho thinks himself alone. I, meantime, was free to puzzle over hiscountenanceandmovements,andwonderwhatcouldbethemeaningof thatpeculiar interest and attachment—all mixed up with doubt and strangeness,and inexplicably ruled by some presiding spell—whichwedded him to thisdemi-convent,secludedin thebuilt-upcoreofacapital.He, Ibelieve,neverrememberedthatIhadeyesinmyhead,muchlessabrainbehindthem.

Norwouldheeverhavefoundthisout,butthatoneday,whilehesatinthesunshine and I was observing the colouring of his hair, whiskers, andcomplexion—thewholebeingofsuchatoneasastronglightbringsoutwithsomewhatperilousforce(indeedIrecollectIwasdriventocomparehisbeamyheadinmythoughtstothatofthe"goldenimage"whichNebuchadnezzarthekinghadsetup),anideanew,sudden,andstartling,rivetedmyattentionwithanover-masteringstrengthandpowerofattraction.IknownottothisdayhowIlookedathim:theforceofsurprise,andalsoofconviction,mademeforgetmyself;andIonlyrecoveredwontedconsciousnesswhenIsawthathisnoticewasarrested,andthatithadcaughtmymovementinaclearlittleovalmirrorfixedinthesideofthewindowrecess—bytheaidofwhichreflectorMadameoften secretly spiedpersonswalking in thegardenbelow.Thoughof sogayand sanguine a temperament, he was not without a certain nervoussensitivenesswhichmade him ill at ease under a direct, inquiring gaze.Onsurprisingmethus,heturnedandsaid,inatonewhich,thoughcourteous,hadjustsomuchdrynessinitastomarkashadeofannoyance,aswellastogivetowhatwassaidthecharacterofrebuke,"Mademoiselledoesnotspareme:Iamnotvainenoughtofancythatitismymeritswhichattractherattention;itmustthenbesomedefect.DareIask—what?"

Iwasconfounded,asthereadermaysuppose,yetnotwithanirrecoverableconfusion; being conscious that it was from no emotion of incautiousadmiration, nor yet in a spirit of unjustifiable inquisitiveness, that I hadincurredthisreproof.Imighthaveclearedmyselfonthespot,butwouldnot.Ididnotspeak.Iwasnotinthehabitofspeakingtohim.Sufferinghim,then,tothinkwhathechoseandaccusemeofwhathewould,IresumedsomeworkIhaddropped,andkeptmyheadbentoveritduringtheremainderofhisstay.Thereisaperversemoodofthemindwhichisrathersoothedthanirritatedbymisconstruction; and in quarters where we can never be rightly known, wetakepleasure, I think, inbeingconsummately ignored.Whathonestman,onbeingcasuallytakenforahousebreaker,doesnotfeelrathertickledthanvexedatthemistake?

CHAPTERXI.

THEPORTRESS'SCABINET.

Itwas summer andveryhot.Georgette, theyoungest ofMadameBeck'schildren,tookafever.Désirée,suddenlycuredofherailments,was,togetherwithFifine,packedofftoBonne-Maman,inthecountry,bywayofprecautionagainstinfection.Medicalaidwasnowreallyneeded,andMadame,choosingtoignorethereturnofDr.Pillule,whohadbeenathomeaweek,conjuredhisEnglish rival to continue his visits. One or two of the pensionnairescomplainedofheadache,andinotherrespectsseemedslightlytoparticipateinGeorgette'sailment."Now,atlast,"Ithought,"Dr.Pillulemustberecalled:theprudentdirectresswillneverventure topermit theattendanceof soyoungamanonthepupils."

The directress was very prudent, but she could also be intrepidlyventurous. She actually introduced Dr. John to the school-division of thepremises, and established him in attendance on the proud and handsomeBlanche deMelcy, and the vain, flirting Angélique, her friend. Dr. John, Ithought, testified a certain gratification at this mark of confidence; and ifdiscretionofbearingcouldhavejustifiedthestep,itwouldbyhimhavebeenamply justified. Here, however, in this land of convents and confessionals,suchapresenceashiswasnottobesufferedwithimpunityina"pensionnatdedemoiselles."Theschoolgossiped,thekitchenwhispered,thetowncaughtthe rumour, parents wrote letters and paid visits of remonstrance.Madame,had she been weak, would now have been lost: a dozen rival educationalhouses were ready to improve this false step—if false step it were—to herruin;butMadamewasnotweak,and little Jesuit thoughshemightbe,yet Iclappedthehandsofmyheart,andwithitsvoicecried"brava!"asIwatchedherablebearing,herskilledmanagement,hertemperandherfirmnessonthisoccasion.

Shemetthealarmedparentswithagood-humoured,easygracefornobodymatchedherin,Iknownotwhethertosaythepossessionortheassumptionofacertain"rondeuretfranchisedebonnefemme;"whichonvariousoccasionsgained the point aimed at with instant and complete success, where severegravityandseriousreasoningwouldprobablyhavefailed.

"CepauvreDocteurJean!"shewouldsay,chucklingandrubbingjoyouslyher fat little white hands; "ce cher jeune homme! le meilleur créature dumonde!"andgoontoexplainhowshehappenedtobeemployinghimforherownchildren,whoweresofondofhimtheywouldscreamthemselvesintofits

atthethoughtofanotherdoctor;how,whereshehadconfidenceforherown,she thought itnatural torepose trust forothers,andaureste, itwasonly themost temporary expedient in the world; Blanche and Angélique had themigraine;Dr.Johnhadwrittenaprescription;voilàtout!

The parents' mouths were closed. Blanche and Angélique saved her allremainingtroublebychantingloudduetsintheirphysician'spraise;theotherpupilsechoedthem,unanimouslydeclaringthatwhentheywereilltheywouldhaveDr.Johnandnobodyelse;andMadamelaughed,andtheparentslaughedtoo.TheLabassecouriensmusthavealargeorganofphiloprogenitiveness:atleast the indulgenceofoffspring iscarriedby themtoexcessive lengths; thelawofmosthouseholdsbeingthechildren'swill.Madamenowgotcreditforhavingactedon thisoccasion inaspiritofmotherlypartiality: shecameoffwithflyingcolours;peoplelikedherasadirectressbetterthanever.

TothisdayIneverfullyunderstoodwhyshethusriskedherinterestforthesakeofDr.John.Whatpeoplesaid,ofcourseIknowwell:thewholehouse—pupils,teachers,servantsincluded—affirmedthatshewasgoingtomarryhim.Sotheyhadsettled it;differenceofageseemedtomakenoobstacle in theireyes:itwastobeso.

Itmust be admitted that appearances did notwholly discountenance thisidea;Madame seemed so bent on retaining his services, so oblivious of herformerprotégé,Pillule.Shemade,too,suchapointofpersonallyreceivinghisvisits,andwassounfailinglycheerful,blithe,andbenignantinhermannertohim. Moreover, she paid, about this time, marked attention to dress: themorningdishabille, thenightcapandshawl,werediscarded;Dr. John'searlyvisits always found her with auburn braids all nicely arranged, silk dresstrimly fittedon,neat lacedbrodequins in lieuofslippers: inshort thewholetoilettecompleteasamodel,andfreshasaflower.Iscarcelythink,however,thatherintentioninthiswentfurtherthanjusttoshowaveryhandsomemanthatshewasnotquiteaplainwoman;andplainshewasnot.Withoutbeautyoffeatureoreleganceofform,shepleased.Withoutyouthanditsgaygraces,she cheered. One never tired of seeing her: she was never monotonous, orinsipid,orcolourless,orflat.Herunfadedhair,hereyewithitstemperatebluelight,hercheekwithitswholesomefruit-likebloom—thesethingspleasedinmoderation,butwithconstancy.

Hadshe,indeed,floatingvisionsofadoptingDr.Johnasahusband,takinghimtoherwell-furnishedhome,endowinghimwithhersavings,whichweresaidtoamounttoamoderatecompetency,andmakinghimcomfortablefortherest of his life? Did Dr. John suspect her of such visions? I have met himcomingoutofherpresencewithamischievoushalf-smileabouthislips,andinhiseyesalookasofmasculinevanityelateandtickled.Withallhisgoodlooksandgood-nature,hewasnotperfect;hemusthavebeenveryimperfect

ifheroguishlyencouragedaimsheneverintendedtobesuccessful.Butdidhenot intend themtobesuccessful?Peoplesaidhehadnomoney, thathewaswholly dependent upon his profession. Madame—though perhaps somefourteenyearshissenior—wasyetthesortofwomannevertogrowold,neverto wither, never to break down. They certainly were on good terms. Heperhapswasnotinlove;buthowmanypeopleeverdolove,oratleastmarryforlove,inthisworld.Wewaitedtheend.

For what he waited, I do not know, nor for what he watched; but thepeculiarityofhismanner,hisexpectant,vigilant,absorbed,eagerlook,neverworeoff:itratherintensified.Hehadneverbeenquitewithinthecompassofmypenetration,andIthinkherangedfartherandfartherbeyondit.

One morning little Georgette had been more feverish and consequentlymore peevish; she was crying, and would not be pacified. I thought aparticulardraughtordered,disagreedwithher,andIdoubtedwhetheritoughtto be continued; I waited impatiently for the doctor's coming in order toconsulthim.

Thedoor-bellrang,hewasadmitted;Ifeltsureofthis,forIheardhisvoiceaddressing the portress. It was his custom tomount straight to the nursery,takingaboutthreedegreesofthestaircaseatonce,andcominguponuslikeacheerfulsurprise.Fiveminuteselapsed—ten—andIsawandheardnothingofhim.What couldhebedoing?Possiblywaiting in thecorridorbelow.LittleGeorgettestillpipedherplaintivewail,appealingtomebyherfamiliarterm,"Minnie, Minnie, me very poorly!" till my heart ached. I descended toascertain why he did not come. The corridor was empty. Whither was hevanished?WashewithMadameinthesalle-à-manger?Impossible:Ihadlefther but a short time since, dressing in her own chamber. I listened. Threepupilswere just thenhardatworkpractising in threeproximate rooms—thedining-roomandthegreaterandlesserdrawing-rooms,betweenwhichandthecorridor therewasbut theportress's cabinet communicatingwith the salons,andintendedoriginallyforaboudoir.Fartheroff,atafourthinstrumentintheoratory, awholeclassof adozenormorewere takinga singing lesson, andjust then joining in a "barcarole" (I think they called it), whereof I yetremember these words "fraîchë," "brisë," and "Venisë." Under thesecircumstances,whatcouldIhear?Agreatdeal,certainly;haditonlybeentothepurpose.

Yes; I heard a giddy treble laugh in the above-mentioned little cabinet,closebythedoorofwhichIstood—thatdoorhalf-unclosed;aman'svoiceinasoft, deep, pleading tone, uttered some, words, whereof I only caught theadjuration, "For God's sake!" Then, after a second's pause, forth issued Dr.John,hiseyefullshining,butnotwitheitherjoyortriumph;hisfairEnglishcheekhigh-coloured;abaffled,tortured,anxious,andyetatendermeaningon

hisbrow.

The open door servedme as a screen; but had I been full in hisway, Ibelievehewouldhavepassedwithout seeingme.Somemortification, somestrongvexationhadholdofhissoul:orrather,towritemyimpressionsnowasIreceivedthematthetimeIshouldsaysomesorrow,somesenseofinjustice.I did not somuch think his pride was hurt, as that his affections had beenwounded—cruellywounded,itseemedtome.Butwhowasthetorturer?Whatbeinginthathousehadhimsomuchinherpower?MadameIbelievedtobein her chamber; the room whence he had stepped was dedicated to theportress'ssoleuse;andshe,RosineMatou,anunprincipledthoughprettylittleFrenchgrisette,airy,fickle,dressy,vain,andmercenary—itwasnot,surely,toherhandheowedtheordealthroughwhichheseemedtohavepassed?

ButwhileIpondered,hervoice,clear,thoughsomewhatsharp,brokeoutin a lightsomeFrench song, trilling through thedoor still ajar: I glanced in,doubtingmy senses. There at the table she sat in a smart dress of "jaconasrose," trimming a tiny blond cap: not a living thing save herselfwas in theroom,exceptindeedsomegoldfishinaglassglobe,someflowersinpots,andabroadJulysunbeam.

Herewasaproblem:butImustgoup-stairstoaskaboutthemedicine.

Dr.Johnsat inachairatGeorgette'sbedside;Madamestoodbeforehim;thelittlepatienthadbeenexaminedandsoothed,andnowlaycomposedinhercrib.MadameBeck,as Ientered,wasdiscussing thephysician'sownhealth,remarking on some real or fancied change in his looks, charging him withover-work, and recommending rest and change of air. He listened good-naturedly, but with laughing indifference, telling her that she was "tropbonne," and that he felt perfectly well.Madame appealed tome—Dr. Johnfollowinghermovementwithaslowglancewhichseemedtoexpresslanguidsurpriseatreferencebeingmadetoaquartersoinsignificant.

"What do you think,Miss Lucie?" askedMadame. "Is he not paler andthinner?"

Itwas very seldom that I utteredmore thanmonosyllables inDr. John'spresence;hewasthekindofpersonwithwhomIwaslikelyevertoremaintheneutral,passivethinghethoughtme.Now,however,Itooklicencetoanswerinaphrase:andaphraseIpurposelymadequitesignificant.

"He looks ill at thismoment;butperhaps it is owing to some temporarycause:Dr.Johnmayhavebeenvexedorharassed."Icannottellhowhetookthisspeech,asIneversoughthisfaceforinformation.Georgetteherebegantoask me in her broken English if she might have a glass of eau sucrée. IansweredherinEnglish.Forthefirsttime,Ifancy,henoticedthatIspokehis

language;hithertohehadalways takenmefora foreigner,addressingmeas"Mademoiselle," and giving in French the requisite directions about thechildren'streatment.Heseemedonthepointofmakingaremark;butthinkingbetterofit,heldhistongue.

Madame recommenced advising him; he shook his head, laughing, roseandbid her good-morning,with courtesy, but stillwith the regardless air ofonewhomtoomuchunsolicitedattentionwassurfeitingandspoiling.

Whenhewasgone,Madamedropped into the chairhehad just left; sherestedherchininherhand;allthatwasanimatedandamiablevanishedfromherface:shelookedstonyandstern,almostmortifiedandmorose.Shesighed;asingle,butadeepsigh.Aloudbellrangformorning-school.Shegotup;asshe passed a dressing-tablewith a glass upon it, she looked at her reflectedimage.Onesinglewhitehairstreakedhernut-browntresses;shepluckeditoutwitha shudder. In the full summerdaylight,her face, though it stillhad thecolour,couldplainlybeseentohavelostthetextureofyouth;andthen,wherewere youth's contours? Ah, Madame! wise as you were, even you knewweakness.NeverhadIpitiedMadamebefore,butmyheartsoftenedtowardsher,when she turneddarkly from the glass.A calamity had comeuponher.That hagDisappointmentwas greeting herwith a grisly "All-hail," and hersoulrejectedtheintimacy.

ButRosine!Mybewildermenttheresurpassesdescription.Iembracedfiveopportunitiesofpassinghercabinetthatday,withaviewtocontemplatinghercharms,and findingout the secretof their influence.Shewaspretty,young,and wore a well-made dress. All very good points, and, I suppose, amplysufficient toaccount, inanyphilosophicmind,foranyamountofagonyanddistractioninayoungman,likeDr.John.Still,Icouldnothelpforminghalfawishthatthesaiddoctorweremybrother;oratleastthathehadasisteroramotherwhowould kindly sermonize him. I say half awish; I broke it, andflung it away before it became a whole one, discovering in good time itsexquisite folly. "Somebody," I argued, "might as well sermonize Madameaboutheryoungphysician:andwhatgoodwouldthatdo?"

IbelieveMadamesermonizedherself.Shedidnotbehaveweakly,ormakeherself in any shape ridiculous. It is true she had neither strong feelings toovercome, nor tender feelings by which to be miserably pained. It is truelikewisethatshehadanimportantavocation,arealbusiness tofillher time,divert her thoughts, and divide her interest. It is especially true that shepossessed a genuine good sensewhich is not given to allwomen nor to allmen; and by dint of these combined advantages she behaved wisely—shebehavedwell.Brava!oncemore,MadameBeck.IsawyoumatchedagainstanApollyonofapredilection;youfoughtagoodfight,andyouovercame!

CHAPTERXII.

THECASKET.

Behind the house at the Rue Fossette there was a garden—large,consideringthatitlayintheheartofacity,andtomyrecollectionatthisdayitseemspleasant:buttime,likedistance,lendstocertainscenesaninfluencesosoftening;andwhereall is stonearound,blankwall andhotpavement,howpreciousseemsoneshrub,howlovelyanenclosedandplantedspotofground!

Therewenta traditionthatMadameBeck'shousehadinolddaysbeenaconvent.That inyearsgoneby—howlonggonebyIcannot tell,but I thinksomecenturies—beforethecityhadover-spreadthisquarter,andwhenitwastilled ground and avenue, and such deep and leafy seclusion as ought toembosomareligioushouse—thatsomethinghadhappenedonthissitewhich,rousing fear and inflicting horror, had left to the place the inheritance of aghost-story.Avaguetalewentofablackandwhitenun,sometimes,onsomenightornightsoftheyear,seeninsomepartofthisvicinage.Theghostmusthavebeenbuiltoutsomeagesago,fortherewerehousesallroundnow;butcertainconvent-relics,intheshapeofoldandhugefruit-trees,yetconsecratedthespot;and,atthefootofone—aMethuselahofapear-tree,dead,allbutafewboughswhichstillfaithfullyrenewedtheirperfumedsnowinspring,andtheirhoney-sweetpendantsinautumn—yousaw,inscrapingawaythemossyearthbetweenthehalf-baredroots,aglimpseofslab,smooth,hard,andblack.Thelegendwent,unconfirmedandunaccredited,butstillpropagated,thatthiswas the portal of a vault, imprisoning deep beneath that ground, on whosesurfacegrassgrewandflowersbloomed,thebonesofagirlwhomamonkishconclaveof thedrearmiddleageshadhereburiedaliveforsomesinagainsther vow. Her shadow it was that tremblers had feared, through longgenerationsafterherpoorframewasdust;herblackrobeandwhiteveilthat,for timid eyes, moonlight and shade hadmocked, as they fluctuated in thenight-windthroughthegarden-thicket.

Independently of romantic rubbish, however, that old garden had itscharms.On summermornings I used to rise early, to enjoy them alone; onsummer evenings, to linger solitary, to keep trystewith the risingmoon, ortasteonekissoftheeveningbreeze,orfancyratherthanfeelthefreshnessofdewdescending.The turfwasverdant, thegravelledwalkswerewhite; sun-brightnasturtiumsclusteredbeautifulabouttherootsofthedodderedorchardgiants.Therewasalargeberceau,abovewhichspreadtheshadeofanacacia;therewasasmaller,moresequesteredbower,nestledinthevineswhichranallalongahighandgreywall,andgatheredtheirtendrilsinaknotofbeauty,and

hungtheirclustersinlovingprofusionaboutthefavouredspotwherejasmineandivymetandmarriedthem.

Doubtless at high noon, in the broad, vulgar middle of the day, whenMadame Beck's large school turned out rampant, and externes andpensionnaireswerespreadabroad,vyingwiththedenizensoftheboys'collegecloseathand,inthebrazenexerciseoftheirlungsandlimbs—doubtlessthenthegardenwasatrite,trodden-downplaceenough.Butatsunsetorthehourofsalut, when the externes were gone home, and the boarders quiet at theirstudies; pleasantwas it then to stray down the peaceful alleys, andhear thebellsofSt.JeanBaptistepealoutwiththeirsweet,soft,exaltedsound.

Iwaswalkingthusoneevening,andhadbeendetainedfartherwithinthevergeoftwilightthanusual,bythestill-deepeningcalm,themellowcoolness,the fragrant breathing with which flowers no sunshine could win nowanswered thepersuasionof thedew. I sawbya light in theoratorywindowthattheCatholichouseholdwerethengatheredtoeveningprayer—arite,fromattendanceonwhich,Inowandthen,asaProtestant,exemptedmyself.

"One moment longer," whispered solitude and the summer moon, "staywithus: all is trulyquietnow; for anotherquarterof anhouryourpresencewill not be missed: the day's heat and bustle have tired you; enjoy thesepreciousminutes."

Thewindowlessbacksofhousesbuiltinthisgarden,andinparticularthewholeofoneside,wasskirtedbytherearofa longlineofpremises—beingtheboarding-housesof theneighbouringcollege.This rear,however,wasallblank stone, with the exception of certain attic loopholes high up, openingfrom thesleeping-roomsof thewomen-servants,andalsoonecasement inalowerstorysaid tomark thechamberorstudyofamaster.But, though thussecure, an alley,which ran parallelwith the very highwall on that side thegarden,wasforbiddentobeenteredbythepupils.Itwascalledindeed"l'alléedéfendue,"andanygirlsettingfoottherewouldhaverenderedherselfliabletoas severe a penalty as the mild rules of Madame Beck's establishmentpermitted.Teachersmightindeedgotherewithimpunity;butasthewalkwasnarrow, and the neglected shrubswere grown very thick and close on eachside, weaving overhead a roof of branch and leaf which the sun's rayspenetratedbutinrarechequers,thisalleywasseldomenteredevenduringday,andafterduskwascarefullyshunned.

From the first I was tempted to make an exception to this rule ofavoidance:theseclusion,theverygloomofthewalkattractedme.Foralongtimethefearofseemingsingularscaredmeaway;butbydegrees,aspeoplebecameaccustomedtomeandmyhabits,andtosuchshadesofpeculiarityaswereengrainedinmynature—shades,certainlynotstrikingenoughtointerest,

andperhapsnotprominentenoughtooffend,butborninandwithme,andnomore to be parted with than my identity—by slow degrees I became afrequenter of this strait and narrow path. I made myself gardener of sometintless flowers that grew between its closely-ranked shrubs; I cleared awaytherelicsofpastautumns,chokinguparusticseatatthefarend.BorrowingofGoton,thecuisinière,apailofwaterandascrubbing-brush,Imadethisseatclean.Madamesawmeatworkandsmiledapprobation:whethersincerelyornotIdon'tknow;butsheseemedsincere.

"Voyez-vous,"criedshe,"commeelleestpropre,cettedemoiselleLucie?Vousaimezdonecetteallée,Meess?""Yes,"Isaid,"itisquietandshady."

"C'estjuste,"criedshewithanairofbonté;andshekindlyrecommendedmetoconfinemyselftoitasmuchasIchose,saying,thatasIwasnotchargedwiththesurveillance,Ineednottroublemyselftowalkwiththepupils:onlyImightpermitherchildrentocomethere,totalkEnglishwithme.

Onthenight inquestion, Iwassittingon thehiddenseat reclaimedfromfungiandmould, listeningtowhatseemedthefar-offsoundsofthecity.Faroff,intruth,theywerenot:thisschoolwasinthecity'scentre;hence,itwasbutfiveminutes'walktothepark,scarcetentobuildingsofpalatialsplendour.Quite near werewide streets brightly lit, teeming at thismoment with life:carriageswere rolling through them toballs or to theopera.The samehourwhich tolled curfew for our convent, which extinguished each lamp, anddropped the curtain round each couch, rang for the gay city about us thesummons to festal enjoyment. Of this contrast I thought not, however: gayinstinctsmynaturehadfew;balloroperaIhadneverseen;andthoughoftenIhadheardthemdescribed,andevenwishedtoseethem,itwasnotthewishofonewho hopes to partake a pleasure if she could only reach it—who feelsfittedtoshineinsomebrightdistantsphere,couldshebutthitherwinherway;itwasnoyearningtoattain,nohungertotaste;onlythecalmdesiretolookonanewthing.

Amoonwas in thesky,notafullmoon,butayoungcrescent. Isawherthroughaspaceintheboughsoverhead.Sheandthestars,visiblebesideher,werenostrangerswhereallelsewasstrange:mychildhoodknewthem.Ihadseenthatgoldensignwiththedarkglobeinitscurveleaningbackonazure,besideanoldthornatthetopofanoldfield,inOldEngland,inlongpastdays,justasitnowleanedbackbesideastatelyspireinthiscontinentalcapital.

Oh,mychildhood!Ihadfeelings:passiveasIlived,littleasIspoke,coldasIlooked,whenIthoughtofpastdays,Icouldfeel.Aboutthepresent,itwasbettertobestoical;aboutthefuture—suchafutureasmine—tobedead.Andincatalepsyandadeadtrance,Istudiouslyheldthequickofmynature.

Atthattime,Iwellrememberwhatevercouldexcite—certainaccidentsof

theweather,forinstance,werealmostdreadedbyme,becausetheywokethebeingIwasalwayslulling,andstirredupacravingcryIcouldnotsatisfy.Onenight a thunder-storm broke; a sort of hurricane shook us in our beds: theCatholicsroseinpanicandprayedtotheirsaints.Asforme,thetempesttookholdofmewith tyranny: Iwas roughly rousedandobliged to live. Igotupanddressedmyself,andcreepingoutsidethecasementclosebymybed,satonitsledge,withmyfeetontheroofofaloweradjoiningbuilding.Itwaswet,itwas wild, it was pitch-dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round thenight-lampinconsternation,prayingloud.Icouldnotgoin:tooresistlesswasthedelightofstayingwiththewildhour,blackandfullofthunder,pealingoutsuch an ode as language never delivered toman—too terribly glorious, thespectacleofclouds,splitandpiercedbywhiteandblindingbolts.

I did long, achingly, then and for four and twenty hours afterwards, forsomethingtofetchmeoutofmypresentexistence,andleadmeupwardsandonwards.Thislonging,andallofasimilarkind,itwasnecessarytoknockonthehead;whichIdid,figuratively,afterthemannerofJaeltoSisera,drivinganail through their temples. Unlike Sisera, they did not die: they were buttransiently stunned, andat intervalswould turnon thenailwitha rebelliouswrench:thendidthetemplesbleed,andthebrainthrilltoitscore.

To-night,Iwasnotsomutinous,norsomiserable.MySiseralayquietinthe tent, slumbering; and if his pain ached through his slumbers, somethinglikeanangel—the ideal—kneltnear,droppingbalmon the soothed temples,holding before the sealed eyes a magic glass, of which the sweet, solemnvisionswere repeated in dreams, and shedding a reflex from hermoonlightwingsandrobeoverthetransfixedsleeper,overthetentthreshold,overallthelandscapelyingwithout.Jael,thesternwoman;satapart,relentingsomewhatoverhercaptive;butmorepronetodwellonthefaithfulexpectationofHebercominghome.BywhichwordsImeanthatthecoolpeaceanddewysweetnessofthenightfilledmewithamoodofhope:nothopeonanydefinitepoint,butageneralsenseofencouragementandheart-ease.

Shouldnotsuchamood,sosweet,sotranquil,sounwonted,havebeentheharbingerofgood?Alas,nogoodcameofit!IPresentlytherudeRealburstcoarselyin—allevilgrovellingandrepellentasshetoooftenis.

Amid the intense stillnessof thatpileof stoneoverlooking thewalk, thetrees, the highwall, I heard a sound; a casement [all thewindows here arecasements,openingonhinges]creaked.Ere Ihad time to lookupandmarkwhere, in which story, or by whom unclosed, a tree overhead shook, as ifstruckbyamissile;someobjectdroppedproneatmyfeet.

NinewasstrikingbySt.JeanBaptiste'sclock;daywasfading,butitwasnotdark: thecrescentmoonaided little,but thedeepgildingof thatpoint in

heaven where the sun beamed last, and the crystalline clearness of a widespaceabove,sustainedthesummertwilight;eveninmydarkwalkIcould,byapproachinganopening,havemanagedtoreadprintofasmalltype.Easywasit to see then that themissilewasabox, a smallboxofwhite andcolouredivory;itslooselidopenedinmyhand;violetslaywithin,violetssmotheringaclosely foldedbitofpinkpaper,anote, superscribed, "Pour la robegrise." IworeindeedadressofFrenchgrey.

Good.Wasthisabillet-doux?AthingIhadheardof,buthithertohadnothad the honour of seeing or handling.Was it this sort of commodity I heldbetweenmyfingerandthumbatthismoment?

Scarcely: I did not dream it for a moment. Suitor or admirer my verythoughtshadnotconceived.All the teachershaddreamsof some lover;one(butshewasnaturallyofacredulous turn)believed ina futurehusband.Allthepupilsabovefourteenknewofsomeprospectivebridegroom;twoorthreewerealreadyaffiancedbytheirparents,andhadbeensofromchildhood:butinto the realm of feelings and hopes which such prospects open, myspeculations,farlessmypresumptions,hadneveroncehadwarranttointrude.Iftheotherteacherswentintotown,ortookawalkontheboulevards,oronlyattended mass, they were very certain (according to the accounts broughtback)tomeetwithsomeindividualofthe"oppositesex,"whoserapt,earnestgazeassured themof theirpower tostrikeand toattract. Ican't say thatmyexperience tallied with theirs, in this respect. I went to church and I tookwalks,andamverywellconvincedthatnobodymindedme.TherewasnotagirlorwomanintheRueFossettewhocouldnot,anddidnottestifytohavingreceivedanadmiringbeamfromouryoungdoctor'sblueeyesatonetimeorother.Iamobliged,howeverhumblingitmaysound,toexceptmyself:asfaras Iwas concerned, those blue eyeswere guiltless, and calm as the sky, towhosetinttheirsseemedakin.SoitcametopassthatIheardtheotherstalk,wondered often at their gaiety, security, and self-satisfaction, but did nottroublemyself to lookupandgazealongthepath theyseemedsocertainoftreading.Thisthenwasnobillet-doux;anditwasinsettledconvictiontothecontrarythatIquietlyopenedit.Thusitran—Itranslate:—

"Angelofmydreams!Athousand,thousandthanksforthepromisekept:scarcelydidIventuretohopeitsfulfilment.Ibelievedyou,indeed,tobehalfinjest;andthenyouseemedtothinktheenterprisebesetwithsuchdanger—thehoursountimely, thealleysostrictlysecluded—often,yousaid,hauntedbythatdragon,theEnglishteacher—unevéritablebégueuleBritanniqueàcequevousdites—espècedemonstre,brusqueetrudecommeunvieuxcaporaldegrenadiers, et revêche commeune religieuse" (the readerwill excusemymodesty in allowing this flattering sketch of my amiable self to retain theslight veil of the original tongue). "You are aware," went on this precious

effusion,"thatlittleGustave,onaccountofhisillness,hasbeenremovedtoamaster's chamber—that favoured chamber, whose lattice overlooks yourprison-ground.There,I,thebestuncleintheworld,amadmittedtovisithim.How tremblingly I approached thewindowandglanced intoyourEden—anEdenforme,thoughadesertforyou!—howIfearedtobeholdvacancy,orthedragon aforesaid! How my heart palpitated with delight when, throughapertures in theenviousboughs,Iatoncecaught thegleamofyourgracefulstraw-hat, and thewavingof yourgreydress—dress that I should recogniseamongstathousand.Butwhy,myangel,willyounotlookup?Cruel,todenymeonerayofthoseadorableeyes!—howasingleglancewouldhaverevivedme!Iwritethisinfieryhaste;whilethephysicianexaminesGustave,Isnatchan opportunity to enclose it in a small casket, together with a bouquet offlowers, the sweetest that blow—yet less sweet than thee,myPeri—myall-charming!everthine-thouwellknowestwhom!"

"I wish I did know whom," was my comment; and the wish bore evencloserreferenceto thepersonaddressedin thischoicedocument, thanto thewriter thereof.Perhaps itwas from the fiancéof oneof the engagedpupils;and, in that case, there was no great harm done or intended—only a smallirregularity.Severalofthegirls,themajority,indeed,hadbrothersorcousinsat the neighbouring college. But "la robe grise, le chapeau de paille," heresurely was a clue—a very confusing one. The straw-hat was an ordinarygardenhead-screen,commontoascorebesidesmyself.Thegreydresshardlygavemore definite indication.MadameBeck herself ordinarilywore a greydress justnow;another teacher,andthreeof thepensionnaires,hadhadgreydressespurchasedofthesameshadeandfabricasmine:itwasasortofevery-daywearwhichhappenedatthattimetobeinvogue.

Meanwhile, as I pondered, I knew I must go in. Lights, moving in thedormitory, announced that prayers were over, and the pupils going to bed.Anotherhalf-hourandalldoorswouldbelocked—alllightsextinguished.Thefrontdooryetstoodopen, toadmit intotheheatedhousethecoolnessof thesummernight;fromtheportress'scabinetclosebyshonealamp,showingthelongvestibulewiththetwo-leaveddrawing-roomdoorsononeside,thegreatstreet-doorclosingthevista.

Allatonce,quickrangthebell—quick,butnotloud—acautioustinkle—asortofwarningmetalwhisper.Rosinedartedfromhercabinetandrantoopen.Thepersonsheadmittedstoodwithhertwominutesinparley:thereseemedademur,adelay.Rosinecameto thegardendoor, lampinhand;shestoodonthesteps,liftingherlamp,lookingroundvaguely.

"Quelconte!"shecried,withacoquettishlaugh."Personnen'yaété."

"Letme pass," pleaded a voice I knew: "I ask but fiveminutes;" and a

familiarshape,tallandgrand(asweoftheRueFossetteallthoughtit),issuedfromthehouse,andstrodedownamongstthebedsandwalks.Itwassacrilege—the intrusion of a man into that spot, at that hour; but he knew himselfprivileged,andperhapshetrustedtothefriendlynight.Hewandereddownthealleys,lookingonthissideandonthat—hewaslostintheshrubs,tramplingflowers and breaking branches in his search—he penetrated at last the"forbiddenwalk."ThereImethim,likesomeghost,Isuppose.

"Dr.John!itisfound."

Hedidnotaskbywhom,forwithhisquickeyeheperceivedthatIhelditinmyhand.

"Donotbetrayher,"hesaid,lookingatmeasifIwereindeedadragon.

"WereIeversodisposedtotreachery,IcannotbetraywhatIdonotknow,"wasmyanswer."Readthenote,andyouwillseehowlittleitreveals."

"Perhapsyouhavereadit,"Ithoughttomyself;andyetIcouldnotbelievehewroteit:thatcouldhardlybehisstyle:besides,Iwasfoolenoughtothinktherewouldbeadegreeofhardship inhis callingme suchnames.Hisownlookvindicatedhim;hegrewhot,andcolouredasheread.

"Thisisindeedtoomuch:thisiscruel,thisishumiliating,"werethewordsthatfellfromhim.

I thought itwascruel,whenI sawhiscountenancesomoved.Nomatterwhetherhewastoblameornot;somebody,itseemedtome,mustbemoretoblame.

"Whatshallyoudoaboutit?"heinquiredofme."ShallyoutellMadame

Beckwhatyouhavefound,andcauseastir—anesclandre?"

I thought I ought to tell, and said so; adding that I did not believe therewouldbeeither stiroresclandre:Madamewasmuch tooprudent tomakeanoiseaboutanaffairofthatsortconnectedwithherestablishment.

He stood looking down andmeditating.Hewas both too proud and toohonourabletoentreatmysecresyonapointwhichdutyevidentlycommandedmetocommunicate.Iwishedtodoright,yetloathedtogrieveorinjurehim.Just then Rosine glanced out through the open door; she could not see us,thoughbetweenthetreesIcouldplainlyseeher:herdresswasgrey,likemine.This circumstance, taken in connectionwith prior transactions, suggested tomethatperhapsthecase,howeverdeplorable,wasoneinwhichIwasundernoobligationwhatever toconcernmyself.Accordingly, I said,—"IfyoucanassuremethatnoneofMadameBeck'spupilsareimplicatedinthisbusiness,Ishallbeveryhappytostandalooffromall interference.Take thecasket, thebouquet,andthebillet;formypart,Igladlyforgetthewholeaffair."

"Lookthere!"hewhisperedsuddenly,ashishandclosedonwhatIoffered,andatthesametimehepointedthroughtheboughs.

I looked.BeholdMadame, inshawl,wrapping-gown,andslippers, softlydescendingthesteps,andstealinglikeacatroundthegarden:intwominutesshewouldhavebeenuponDr.John.Ifshewerelikeacat,however,he,quiteasmuch,resembledaleopard:nothingcouldbelighterthanhistreadwhenhechose. He watched, and as she turned a corner, he took the garden at twonoiseless bounds. She reappeared, and he was gone. Rosine helped him,instantlyinterposingthedoorbetweenhimandhishuntress.I,too,mighthavegot,away,butIpreferredtomeetMadameopenly.

Thoughitwasmyfrequentandwell-knowncustomtospendtwilightinthegarden, yet, never till now, had I remained so late. Full sure was I thatMadamehadmissed—wascomeinsearchofme,anddesignednowtopounceon the defaulter unawares. I expected a reprimand. No. Madame was allgoodness. She tendered not even a remonstrance; she testified no shade ofsurprise.Withthatconsummatetactofhers,inwhichIbelieveshewasneversurpassedby living thing, sheevenprofessedmerely tohave issued forth totaste"labrisedusoir."

"Quellebellenuit!"criedshe,lookingupatthestars—themoonwasnowgonedownbehindthebroadtowerofJeanBaptiste."Qu'ilfaitbon?quel'airestfrais!"

And,insteadofsendingmein,shedetainedmetotakeafewturnswithherdowntheprincipalalley.Whenatlastwebothre-entered,sheleanedaffablyonmyshoulderbywayofsupportinmountingthefront-doorsteps;atparting,hercheekwaspresented tomy lips,and"Bonsoir,mybonneamie;dormezbien!"washerkindlyadieuforthenight.

I caught myself smiling as I lay awake and thoughtful on my couch—smilingatMadame.Theunction,thesuavityofherbehaviouroffered,foronewhoknewher,asuretokenthatsuspicionofsomekindwasbusyinherbrain.Fromsomeapertureorsummitofobservation,throughpartedboughoropenwindow, she had doubtless caught a glimpse, remote or near, deceptive orinstructive,ofthatnight'stransactions.Finelyaccomplishedasshewasintheartofsurveillance,itwasnexttoimpossiblethatacasketcouldbethrownintohergarden,oraninterlopercouldcrossherwalkstoseekit,withoutthatshe,in shaken branch, passing shade, unwonted footfall, or stilly murmur (andthoughDr.Johnhadspokenverylowinthefewwordshedroppedme,yetthehumofhisman'svoicepervaded,Ithought,thewholeconventualground)—without,Isay,thatsheshouldhavecaughtintimationofthingsextraordinarytranspiringonherpremises.Whatthings,shemightbynomeanssee,oratthattimebeabletodiscover;butadeliciouslittleravelledplotlaytemptingherto

disentanglement; and in themidst, folded round and round in cobwebs, hadshenotsecured"MeessLucie"clumsilyinvolved,likethefoolishflyshewas?

CHAPTERXIII.

ASNEEZEOUTOFSEASON.

Ihadoccasiontosmile—nay,tolaugh,atMadameagain,withinthespaceoffourandtwentyhoursafterthelittlescenetreatedofinthelastchapter.

Villette owns a climate as variable, though not so humid, as that of anyEnglishtown.Anightofhighwindfolloweduponthatsoftsunset,andallthenext day was one of dry storm—dark, beclouded, yet rainless,—the streetswere dimwith sand anddust,whirled from the boulevards. I knownot thateven lovely weather would have tempted me to spend the evening-time ofstudyandrecreationwhereIhadspentityesterday.Myalley,and,indeed,allthewalks and shrubs in the garden, had acquired a new, but not a pleasantinterest; their seclusion was now become precarious; their calm—insecure.That casement which rained billets, had vulgarized the once dear nook itoverlooked;andelsewhere,theeyesoftheflowershadgainedvision,andtheknots in the tree-boles listened like secret ears. Some plants there were,indeed, trodden downbyDr. John in his search, and his hasty and heedlessprogress,whichIwishedtopropup,water,andrevive;somefootmarks,too,he had left on the beds: but these, in spite of the strong wind, I found amoment's leisure to effacevery early in themorning, ere commoneyeshaddiscoveredthem.Withapensivesortofcontent,IsatdowntomydeskandmyGerman, while the pupils settled to their evening lessons; and the otherteacherstookuptheirneedlework.

Thesceneofthe"etudedusoir"wasalwaystherefectory,amuchsmallerapartmentthananyofthethreeclassesorschoolrooms;forherenone,savetheboarders,were ever admitted, and these numbered only a score. Two lampshung from the ceiling over the two tables; thesewere lit at dusk, and theirkindlingwas thesignal forschool-booksbeingsetaside,agravedemeanourassumed,general silence enforced, and then commenced "la lecturepieuse."Thissaid"lecturepieuse"was,Isoonfound,mainlydesignedasawholesomemortificationof the Intellect, ausefulhumiliationof theReason;andsuchadoseforCommonSenseasshemightdigestatherleisure,andthriveonasshebestcould.

The book brought out (it was never changed, but when finished,recommenced)wasavenerablevolume,oldasthehills—greyastheHôtelde

Ville.

Iwouldhavegiventwofrancsforthechanceofgettingthatbookonceintomy hands, turning over the sacred yellow leaves, ascertaining the title, andperusing with my own eyes the enormous figments which, as an unworthyheretic, itwasonlypermittedme todrink inwithmybewildered ears.Thisbook contained legends of the saints. Good God! (I speak the wordsreverently) what legends they were. What gasconading rascals those saintsmusthavebeen,iftheyfirstboastedtheseexploitsorinventedthesemiracles.These legends, however, were no more than monkish extravagances, overwhich one laughed inwardly; there were, besides, priestly matters, and thepriestcraft of the bookwas farworse than itsmonkery. The ears burned oneach side of my head as I listened, perforce, to tales of moral martyrdominflictedbyRome; thedreadboastsofconfessors,whohadwickedlyabusedtheir office, trampling to deep degradation high-born ladies, making ofcountesses and princesses themost tormented slaves under the sun. StorieslikethatofConradandElizabethofHungary,recurredagainandagain,withall its dreadful viciousness, sickening tyranny and black impiety: tales thatwerenightmaresofoppression,privation,andagony.

I sat out this "lecture pieuse" for some nights aswell as I could, and asquietlytoo;onlyoncebreakingoffthepointsofmyscissorsbyinvoluntarilystickingthemsomewhatdeepintheworm-eatenboardofthetablebeforeme.But,atlast,itmademesoburninghot,andmytemples,andmyheart,andmywrist throbbed so fast, and my sleep afterwards was so broken withexcitement,thatIcouldsitnolonger.Prudencerecommendedhenceforwardaswiftclearanceofmypersonfromtheplace,themomentthatguiltyoldbookwasbroughtout.NoMauseHeadriggeverfeltastrongercall to takeuphertestimonyagainstSergeantBothwell,thanI—tospeakmymindinthismatterof thepopish"lecturepieuse."However,Ididmanagesomehowtocurbandreinin;andthoughalways,assoonasRosinecametolightthelamps,Ishotfromtheroomquickly,yetalsoIdiditquietly;seizingthatvantagemomentgiven by the little bustle before the dead silence, and vanishing whilst theboardersputtheirbooksaway.

When I vanished—itwas into darkness; candleswere not allowed to becarried about, and the teacherwho forsook the refectory, had only the unlithall,schoolroom,orbedroom,asarefuge.InwinterIsoughtthelongclasses,andpacedthemfasttokeepmyselfwarm—fortunateifthemoonshone,andiftherewereonlystars,soonreconciledtotheirdimgleam,oreventothetotaleclipseof theirabsence. Insummer itwasneverquitedark,and thenIwentup-stairstomyownquarterofthelongdormitory,openedmyowncasement(thatchamberwaslitbyfivecasementslargeasgreatdoors),andleaningout,lookedforthuponthecitybeyondthegarden,andlistenedtoband-musicfrom

theparkorthepalace-square,thinkingmeantimemyownthoughts,livingmyownlife,inmyownstill,shadow-world.

Thisevening,fugitiveasusualbeforethePopeandhisworks,Imountedthe staircase, approached the dormitory, and quietly opened the door,whichwasalwayskeptcarefullyshut,andwhich,likeeveryotherdoorinthishouse,revolvednoiselesslyonwell-oiledhinges.BeforeIsaw,Ifeltthatlifewasinthegreatroom,usuallyvoid:notthattherewaseitherstirorbreath,orrustleofsound,butVacuumlacked,Solitudewasnotathome.Allthewhitebeds—the"litsd'ange,"as theywerepoetically termed—layvisibleat aglance; allwereempty:nosleeperreposedtherein.Thesoundofadrawercautiouslyslidout struckmyear; steppinga little tooneside,myvision tooka free range,unimpededby fallingcurtains. Inowcommandedmyownbedandmyowntoilet,withalockedwork-boxuponit,andlockeddrawersunderneath.

Verygood.Adumpy,motherlylittlebody,indecentshawlandthecleanestofpossiblenightcaps,stoodbefore this toilet,hardatworkapparentlydoingmethekindnessof"tidyingout"the"meuble."Openstoodthelidofthework-box, open the topdrawer; duly and impartiallywas each succeedingdraweropenedinturn:notanarticleoftheircontentsbutwasliftedandunfolded,notapaperbutwasglancedover,notalittleboxbutwasunlidded;andbeautifulwas the adroitness, exemplary the care with which the search wasaccomplished. Madame wrought at it like a true star, "unhasting yetunresting."IwillnotdenythatitwaswithasecretgleeIwatchedher.HadIbeenagentlemanIbelieveMadamewouldhavefoundfavourinmyeyes,shewassohandy,neat,thoroughinallshedid:somepeople'smovementsprovokethe soul by their loose awkwardness, hers—satisfied by their trimcompactness. I stood, in short, fascinated; but it was necessary tomake aneffort to break this spell a retreatmust be beaten. The searchermight haveturnedandcaughtme;therewouldhavebeennothingforitthenbutascene,andsheandIwouldhavehadtocomeallatonce,withasuddenclash, toathoroughknowledgeofeachother:downwouldhavegoneconventionalities,away swept disguises, and I should have looked into her eyes, and she intomine—we should have known that we could work together no more, andpartedinthislifeforever.

Wherewas theuseof temptingsuchacatastrophe? Iwasnotangry,andhad nowish in theworld to leave her. I could hardly get another employerwhose yoke would be so light and so, easy of carriage; and truly I likedMadameforhercapitalsense,whateverImightthinkofherprinciples:astoher system, it did me no harm; she might work me with it to her heart'scontent: nothingwould comeof the operation.Loverless and inexpectant oflove,Iwasassafefromspiesinmyheart-poverty,asthebeggarfromthievesinhisdestitutionofpurse.Iturned,then,andfled;descendingthestairswith

progressasswiftandsoundlessasthatofthespider,whichatthesameinstantrandownthebannister.

How I laughed when I reached the schoolroom. I knew now she hadcertainly seenDr. John in the garden; I knewwhat her thoughtswere. Thespectacleofasuspiciousnaturesofarmisledbyitsowninventions,tickledmemuch.Yet as the laugh died, a kind ofwrath smoteme, and then bitternessfollowed:itwastherockstruck,andMeribah'swatersgushingout.Ineverhadfelt so strange and contradictory an inward tumult as I felt for an hour thatevening: sorenessand laughter, and fire,andgrief, sharedmyheartbetweenthem. I cried hot tears: not becauseMadamemistrustedme—I did not caretwopence for her mistrust—but for other reasons. Complicated, disquietingthoughts broke up the whole repose of my nature. However, that turmoilsubsided:nextdayIwasagainLucySnowe.

On revisitingmy drawers, I found them all securely locked; the closestsubsequentexaminationcouldnotdiscoverchangeorapparentdisturbanceinthepositionofoneobject.Myfewdresseswerefoldedas Ihad left them;acertainlittlebunchofwhitevioletsthathadoncebeensilentlypresentedtomebyastranger(astrangertome,forwehadneverexchangedwords),andwhichIhaddriedandkeptforitssweetperfumebetweenthefoldsofmybestdress,laythereunstirred;myblacksilkscarf,mylacechemisetteandcollars,wereunrumpled.Hadshecreasedonesolitaryarticle,IownIshouldhavefeltmuchgreaterdifficulty in forgivingher;but findingallstraightandorderly, Isaid,"Letbygonesbebygones.Iamunharmed:whyshouldIbearmalice?"

**

Athingtherewaswhichpuzzledmyself,andIsoughtinmybrainakeytothat riddle almost as sedulously as Madame had sought a guide to usefulknowledgeinmytoiletdrawers.HowwasitthatDr.John,ifhehadnotbeenaccessory to thedroppingof thatcasket into thegarden,shouldhaveknownthatitwasdropped,andappearedsopromptlyonthespottoseekit?Sostrongwas the wish to clear up this point that I began to entertain this daringsuggestion:"WhymayInot, incase I shouldeverhave theopportunity,askDr.Johnhimselftoexplainthiscoincidence?"

AndsolongasDr.Johnwasabsent,IreallybelievedIhadcouragetotesthimwithsuchaquestion.

Little Georgette was now convalescent; and her physician accordinglymadehisvisitsveryrare:indeed,hewouldhaveceasedthemaltogether,hadnotMadameinsistedonhisgivinganoccasionalcall till thechildshouldbequitewell.

She came into the nursery one evening just after I had listened to

Georgette'slispedandbrokenprayer,andhadputhertobed.Takingthelittleone'shand,shesaid,"Cetteenfantatoujoursunpeudefièvre."Andpresentlyafterwards,lookingatmewithaquickerglancethanwashabitualtoherquieteye,"LeDocteurJohnl'a-t-ilvuedernièrement?Non,n'est-cepas?"

Ofcoursesheknewthisbetterthananyotherpersoninthehouse."Well,"shecontinued,"Iamgoingout,pourfairequelquescoursesenfiacre.IshallcallonDr.John,andsendhimtothechild.Iwillthatheseesherthisevening;hercheeksareflushed,herpulseisquick;youwillreceivehim—formypart,Ishallbefromhome."

Nowthechildwaswellenough,onlywarmwiththewarmthofJuly;itwasscarcelylessneedfultosendforapriesttoadministerextremeunctionthanforadoctortoprescribeadose;alsoMadamerarelymade"courses,"asshecalledthem, in the evening: moreover, this was the first time she had chosen toabsentherselfontheoccasionofavisitfromDr.John.Thewholearrangementindicated some plan; this I saw, but without the least anxiety. "Ha! ha!Madame,"laughedLight-hearttheBeggar,"yourcraftywitsareonthewrongtack."

She departed, attired very smartly, in a shawl of price, and a certainchapeauvert tendre—hazardous, as to its tint, for anycomplexion less freshthan her own, but, to her, not unbecoming. I wondered what she intended:whether she reallywould sendDr. Johnornot;orwhether indeedhewouldcome:hemightbeengaged.

MadamehadchargedmenottoletGeorgettesleeptillthedoctorcame;Ihadthereforesufficientoccupationintellinghernurserytalesandpalaveringthelittlelanguageforherbenefit.IaffectedGeorgette;shewasasensitiveanda lovingchild: toholdher inmy lap,or carryher inmyarms,was tomeatreat.To-nightshewouldhavemelaymyheadonthepillowofhercrib;sheevenputherlittlearmsroundmyneck.Herclasp,andthenestlingactionwithwhichshepressedhercheektomine,mademealmostcrywithatenderpain.Feelingofnokindabounded in thathouse; thispure littledrop fromapurelittlesourcewastoosweet:itpenetrateddeep,andsubduedtheheart,andsentagushtotheeyes.Halfanhouroranhourpassed;Georgettemurmuredinhersoft lisp that she was growing sleepy. "And you shall sleep," thought I,"malgrémamanandmédecin,iftheyarenothereintenminutes."

Hark!Therewasthering,andtherethetread,astonishingthestaircasebythefleetnesswithwhichit left thestepsbehind.RosineintroducedDr.John,and, with a freedom of manner not altogether peculiar to herself, butcharacteristicofthedomesticsofVillettegenerally,shestayedtohearwhathehadtosay.Madame'spresencewouldhaveawedherbacktoherownrealmofthevestibuleandthecabinet—formine,orthatofanyotherteacherorpupil,

shecarednotajot.Smart,trimandpert,shestood,ahandineachpocketofhergaygrisetteapron,eyeingDr.Johnwithnomorefearorshynessthanifhehadbeenapictureinsteadofalivinggentleman.

"Lemarmot n'a rien, nest-ce pas?" said she, indicatingGeorgettewith ajerkofherchin.

"Pas beaucoup,"was the answer, as the doctor hastily scribbledwith hispencilsomeharmlessprescription.

"Ehbien!" pursuedRosine, approachinghimquite near,while he put uphispencil."Andthebox—didyouget it?Monsieurwentoff likeacoup-de-venttheothernight;Ihadnottimetoaskhim."

"Ifoundit:yes."

"Andwhothrewit,then?"continuedRosine,speakingquitefreelytheverywordsIshouldsomuchhavewishedtosay,buthadnoaddressorcouragetobringitout:howshortsomepeoplemaketheroadtoapointwhich,forothers,seemsunattainable!

"Thatmay bemy secret," rejoinedDr. John briefly, but with no sort ofhauteur:heseemedquitetounderstandtheRosineorgrisettecharacter.

"Mais enfin," continued she, nothing abashed, "monsieur knew it wasthrown,sincehecametoseekit—howdidheknow?"

"Iwas attending a little patient in the collegenear," saidhe, "and saw itdroppedoutofhischamberwindow,andsocametopickitup."

Howsimplethewholeexplanation!Thenotehadalludedtoaphysicianasthenexamining"Gustave."

"Ah ça!" pursuedRosine; "il n'y a donc rien là-dessous: pas demystère,pasd'amourette,parexemple?"

"Pasplusquesurmamain,"respondedthedoctor,showinghispalm.

"Quel dommage!" responded the grisette: "et moi—à qui tout celacommençaitàdonnerdesidées."

"Vraiment!vousenêtespourvosfrais,"wasthedoctor'scoolrejoinder.

Shepouted.Thedoctorcouldnothelplaughingatthesortof"moue"shemade:whenhelaughed,hehadsomethingpeculiarlygood-naturedandgenialinhislook.Isawhishandinclinetohispocket.

"How many times have you opened the door for me within this lastmonth?"heasked.

"Monsieuroughttohavekeptcountofthat,"saidRosine,quitereadily.

"AsifIhadnotsomethingbetter todo!"rejoinedhe;butIsawhimgiveher a piece of gold,which she took unscrupulously, and then danced off toanswer the door-bell, ringing just now every five minutes, as the variousservantscametofetchthehalf-boarders.

ThereadermustnotthinktoohardlyofRosine;onthewhole,shewasnotabadsortofperson,andhadnoideatherecouldbeanydisgraceingraspingatwhatever shecouldget,or anyeffrontery inchattering likeapie to thebestgentlemaninChristendom.

Ihad learnt something from theabovescenebesideswhatconcerned theivorybox:viz., thatnoton the robede jaconas,pinkorgrey,noryeton thefrilledandpocketedapron, lay theblameofbreakingDr. John'sheart: theseitems of array were obviously guiltless as Georgette's little blue tunic. Somuch thebetter.Butwho thenwas theculprit?Whatwas theground—whattheorigin—whattheperfectexplanationofthewholebusiness?Somepointshadbeencleared,buthowmanyyetremainedobscureasnight!

"However,"Isaidtomyself,"itisnoaffairofyours;"andturningfromthefaceonwhich Ihadbeenunconsciouslydwellingwithaquestioninggaze, Ilooked through thewindowwhich commanded the garden below.Dr. John,meantime, standing by the bed-side,was slowly drawing on his gloves andwatching his little patient, as her eyes closed and her rosy lips parted incoming sleep. Iwaited till he shoulddepart as usual,with a quickbowandscarcearticulate"good-night.".Justashetookhishat,myeyes,fixedonthetallhousesboundingthegarden,sawtheonelattice,alreadycommemorated,cautiously open; forth from the aperture projected a hand and a whitehandkerchief;bothwaved.Iknownotwhetherthesignalwasansweredfromsome viewless quarter of our own dwelling; but immediately after thereflutteredfrom, the latticeafallingobject,whiteandlight—billet thesecond,ofcourse.

"There!"Iejaculatedinvoluntarily.

"Where?",askedDr.Johnwithenergy,makingdirectforthewindow.

"What,isit?"

"Theyhavegoneanddoneitagain,"wasmyreply."Ahandkerchiefwavedand something fell:" and I pointed to the lattice, now closed and lookinghypocriticallyblank.

"Go, at once; pick it up and bring it here," was his prompt direction;adding,"Nobodywilltakenoticeofyou:Ishouldbeseen."

StraightIwent.Aftersomelittlesearch,Ifoundafoldedpaper,lodgedonthe lowerbranchofa shrub; I seizedandbrought itdirect toDr. John.This

time,IbelievenotevenRosinesawme.

Heinstantlytorethebilletintosmallpieces,withoutreadingit."Itisnotintheleastherfault,youmustremember,"hesaid,lookingatme.

"Whosefault?"Iasked."Whoisit?"

"Youdon'tyetknow,then?"

"Notintheleast."

"Haveyounoguess?"

"None."

"IfIknewyoubetter,Imightbetemptedtorisksomeconfidence,andthussecure you as guardian over a most innocent and excellent, but somewhatinexperiencedbeing."

"Asaduenna?"Iasked.

"Yes," said he abstractedly. "What snares are round her!" he added,musingly:andnow,certainlyforthefirsttime,heexaminedmyface,anxious,doubtless, to see if any kindly expression there, would warrant him inrecommending to my care and indulgence some ethereal creature, againstwhom powers of darkness were plotting. I felt no particular vocation toundertakethesurveillanceofetherealcreatures;butrecallingthesceneatthebureau,itseemedtomethatIowedhimagoodturn:ifIcouldhelphimthenIwould,anditlaynotwithmetodecidehow.Withaslittlereluctanceasmightbe, I intimated that"Iwaswilling todowhatIcould towards takingcareofanypersoninwhomhemightbeinterested.".

"I amno farther interested than as a spectator," saidhe,with amodesty,admirable,asIthought,towitness."Ihappentobeacquaintedwiththeratherworthless character of the person, who, from the house opposite, has nowtwiceinvadedthesanctityofthisplace;Ihavealsometinsocietytheobjectatwhom these vulgar attempts are aimed.Her exquisite superiority and innaterefinementought,onewouldthink,toscareimpertinencefromherveryidea.Itisnotso,however;andinnocent,unsuspiciousassheis,IwouldguardherfromevilifIcould.Inperson,however,IcandonothingIcannotcomenearher"—hepaused.

"Well,Iamwillingtohelpyou,"saidI,"onlytellmehow."Andbusily,inmy ownmind, I ran over the list of our inmates, seeking this paragon, thispearlofgreatprice,thisgemwithoutflaw."ItmustbeMadame,"Iconcluded."Sheonly,amongstusall,has thearteven toseemsuperior:butas tobeingunsuspicious, inexperienced, &c., Dr. John need not distract himself aboutthat.However,thisisjusthiswhim,andIwillnotcontradicthim;heshallbehumoured:hisangelshallbeanangel.

"Just notify the quarter towhichmy care is to be directed," I continuedgravely: chuckling, however, to myself over the thought of being set tochaperonMadameBeckoranyofherpupils.NowDr.Johnhadafinesetofnerves,andheatoncefeltbyinstinct,whatnomorecoarselyconstitutedmindwould have detected; namely, that Iwas a little amused at him. The colourrosetohischeek;withhalfasmileheturnedandtookhishat—hewasgoing.Myheartsmoteme.

"Iwill—Iwillhelpyou,"said Ieagerly."Iwilldowhatyouwish. Iwillwatchoveryourangel;Iwilltakecareofher,onlytellmewhosheis."

"But you must know," said he then with earnestness, yet speaking verylow. "So spotless, so good, so unspeakably beautiful! impossible that onehouseshouldcontaintwolikeher.Iallude,ofcourse—"

HerethelatchofMadameBeck'schamber-door(openingintothenursery)gave a sudden click, as if the hand holding it had been slightly convulsed;there was the suppressed explosion of an irrepressible sneeze. These littleaccidentswillhappentothebestofus.Madame—excellentwoman!wasthenonduty.Shehadcomehomequietly,stolenup-stairsontip-toe;shewasinherchamber.Ifshehadnotsneezed,shewouldhaveheardall,andsoshouldI;butthat unlucky sternutation routedDr. John.While he stood aghast, she cameforwardalert,composed,inthebestyetmosttranquilspirits:nonovicetoherhabitsbutwouldhave thoughtshehad justcomein,andscouted the ideaofherearhavingbeengluedtothekey-holeforatleasttenminutes.Sheaffectedtosneezeagain,declaredshewas"enrhumée,"andthenproceededvolublytorecounther "coursesen fiacre."Theprayer-bell rang,and I leftherwith thedoctor.

CHAPTERXIV.

THEFÊTE.

AssoonasGeorgettewaswell,Madamesentherawayintothecountry.Iwassorry;I lovedthechild,andher lossmademepoorer thanbefore.ButImust not complain. I lived in a house full of robust life; I might have hadcompanions, and I chose solitude. Each of the teachers in turn made meovertures of special intimacy; I tried them all.One I found to be an honestwoman,butanarrowthinker,acoarsefeeler,andanegotist.ThesecondwasaParisienne, externally refined—at heart, corrupt—without a creed,without aprinciple, without an affection: having penetrated the outward crust ofdecorumin thischaracter,youfoundasloughbeneath.Shehadawonderful

passionforpresents;and,inthispoint,thethirdteacher—apersonotherwisecharacterless and insignificant—closely resembled her. This last-named hadalsooneotherdistinctiveproperty—thatofavarice.Inherreignedtheloveofmoneyforitsownsake.Thesightofapieceofgoldwouldbringintohereyesagreenglisten,singulartowitness.Sheonce,asamarkofhighfavour,tookme up-stairs, and, opening a secret door, showed me a hoard—a mass ofcoarse,largecoin—aboutfifteenguineas,infive-francpieces.Shelovedthishoardasabird loves itseggs.Thesewerehersavings.Shewouldcomeandtalk tomeabout themwith an infatuated andperseveringdotage, strange tobeholdinapersonnotyettwenty-five.

The Parisienne, on the other hand, was prodigal and profligate (indisposition,thatis:astoaction,Idonotknow).Thatlatterqualityshoweditssnake-head tome but once, peeping out very cautiously. A curious kind ofreptile it seemed, judging from the glimpse I got; its novelty whetted mycuriosity: if itwould have comeout boldly, perhaps Imight philosophicallyhavestoodmyground,andcoollysurveyedthelongthingfromforkedtongueto scaly tail-tip; but itmerely rustled in the leaves of a bad novel; and, onencountering a hasty and ill-advised demonstration of wrath, recoiled andvanished,hissing.Shehatedmefromthatday.

ThisParisiennewasalwaysindebt;hersalarybeinganticipated,notonlyindress, but inperfumes, cosmetics, confectionery, andcondiments.What acold, callous epicure shewas in all things! I see her now.Thin in face andfigure,sallowincomplexion,regularinfeatures,withperfectteeth,lipslikeathread,alarge,prominentchin,awell-opened,butfrozeneye,oflightatoncecraving and ingrate. She mortally hated work, and loved what she calledpleasure;beinganinsipid,heartless,brainlessdissipationoftime.

Madame Beck knew this woman's character perfectly well. She oncetalked tome about her,with an oddmixture of discrimination, indifference,and antipathy. I askedwhy she kept her in the establishment. She answeredplainly,"becauseitsuitedher interest todoso;"andpointedoutafactIhadalreadynoticed,namely,thatMademoiselleSt.Pierrepossessed,inanalmostuniquedegree,thepowerofkeepingorderamongstherundisciplinedranksofscholars. A certain petrifying influence accompanied and surrounded her:without passion, noise, or violence, she held them in check as a breezelessfrost-air might still a brawling stream. She was of little use as far ascommunication of knowledge went, but for strict surveillance andmaintenance of rules she was invaluable. "Je sais bien qu'elle n'a pas deprincipes,ni,peut-être,demoeurs,"admittedMadamefrankly;butaddedwithphilosophy, "sonmaintienenclasseest toujoursconvenableet remplimêmed'unecertainedignité: c'est tout cequ'il faut.Ni les élèves ni les parents neregardentplusloin;ni,parconséquent,moinonplus."

**

Astrange,frolicsome,noisylittleworldwasthisschool:greatpainsweretaken to hide chains with flowers: a subtle essence of Romanism pervadedevery arrangement: large sensual indulgence (so to speak)was permitted bywayofcounterpoisetojealousspiritualrestraint.Eachmindwasbeingrearedinslavery;but,topreventreflectionfromdwellingonthisfact,everypretextforphysicalrecreationwasseizedandmadethemostof.There,aselsewhere,theCHURCHstrove tobringupherchildren robust inbody, feeble in soul,fat,ruddy,hale, joyous, ignorant,unthinking,unquestioning."Eat,drink,andlive!"shesays."Lookafteryourbodies; leaveyoursouls tome.Iholdtheircure—guide their course: I guarantee their final fate." A bargain, in whicheverytrueCatholicdeemshimselfagainer.Luciferjustoffersthesameterms:"AllthispowerwillIgivethee,andthegloryofit;forthatisdelivereduntome,andtowhomsoeverIwillIgiveit.Ifthou,therefore,wiltworshipme,allshallbethine!"

About this time—in the ripest glow of summer—Madame Beck's housebecame asmerry a place as a school couldwell be.All day long the broadfolding-doorsandthetwo-leavedcasementsstoodwideopen:settledsunshineseemed naturalized in the atmosphere; clouds were far off, sailing awaybeyondsea,resting,nodoubt,roundislandssuchasEngland—thatdearlandofmists—butwithdrawnwhollyfromthedriercontinent.Welivedfarmoreinthegardenthanunderaroof:classeswereheld,andmealspartakenof,inthe"grand berceau."Moreover, there was a note of holiday preparation, whichalmostturnedfreedomintolicence.Theautumnallongvacationwasbuttwomonths distant; but before that, a great day—an important ceremony—noneotherthanthefêteofMadame—awaitedcelebration.

The conduct of this fête devolved chiefly on Mademoiselle St. Pierre:Madameherselfbeingsupposedtostandaloof,disinterestedlyunconsciousofwhatmightbegoingforwardinherhonour.Especially,sheneverknew,neverin the least suspected, that a subscriptionwas annually levied on thewholeschool for thepurchaseof ahandsomepresent.Thepolite tactof the readerwillpleasetoleaveoutoftheaccountabrief,secretconsultationonthispointinMadame'sownchamber.

"Whatwillyouhavethisyear?"wasaskedbyherParisianlieutenant.

"Oh,nomatter!Letitalone.Letthepoorchildrenkeeptheirfrancs,"

AndMadamelookedbenignandmodest.

TheSt.Pierrewouldhereprotrudeherchin;sheknewMadamebyheart;she always called her airs of "bonté"—"des grimaces." She never evenprofessedtorespectthemoneinstant.

"Vite!" shewould say coldly. "Name the article. Shall it be jewellery orporcelain,haberdasheryorsilver?"

"Ehbien!Deuxoutroiscuillers,etautantdefourchettesenargent."

Andtheresultwasahandsomecase,containing300francsworthofplate.

The programmeof the fête-day's proceedings comprised: Presentation ofplate,collationinthegarden,dramaticperformance(withpupilsandteachersforactors),adanceandsupper.Verygorgeousseemedtheeffectofthewholeto me, as I well remember. Zélie St. Pierre understood these things andmanagedthemably.

The play was the main point; a month's previous drilling being thererequired. The choice, too, of the actors required knowledge and care; thencame lessons in elocution, in attitude, and then the fatigue of countlessrehearsals. For all this, asmaywell be supposed, St. Pierre did not suffice:othermanagement,otheraccomplishmentsthanherswererequisitehere.Theywere supplied in the person of a master—M. Paul Emanuel, professor ofliterature.ItwasnevermylottobepresentatthehistrioniclessonsofM.Paul,but I often saw him as he crossed the carré (a square hall between thedwelling-house and school-house). I heard him, too, in the warm evenings,lecturingwithopendoors,andhisname,withanecdotesofhim,resoundedinones ears from all sides. Especially our former acquaintance,Miss GinevraFanshawe,—who had been selected to take a prominent part in the play—used,inbestowinguponmealargeportionofherleisure,tolardherdiscoursewithfrequentallusionstohissayingsanddoings.Sheesteemedhimhideouslyplain,andusedtoprofessherselffrightenedalmostintohystericsatthesoundofhissteporvoice.Adarklittlemanhecertainlywas;pungentandaustere.Eventomeheseemedaharshapparition,withhisclose-shorn,blackhead,hisbroad, sallow brow, his thin cheek, his wide and quivering nostril, histhoroughglance, andhurriedbearing. Irritablehewas;oneheard that, asheapostrophized with vehemence the awkward squad under his orders.Sometimeshewouldbreakoutontheserawamateuractresseswithapassionofimpatienceattheirfalsenessofconception,theircoldnessofemotion,theirfeebleness of delivery. "Ecoutez!" he would cry; and then his voice rangthroughthepremiseslikeatrumpet;andwhen,mimickingit,camethesmallpipe of aGinevra, aMathilde, or a Blanche, one understoodwhy a hollowgroanofscorn,orafiercehissofrage,rewardedthetameecho.

"Vousn'êtesdoncquedespoupées,"Iheardhimthunder."Vousn'avezpasdepassions—vousautres.Vousnesentezdoncrien?Votrechairestdeneige,votresangdeglace!Moi,jeveuxquetoutcelas'allume,qu'ilaitunevie,uneâme!"

Vainresolve!Andwhenheatlastfounditwasvain,hesuddenlybrokethe

wholebusinessdown.Hithertohehadbeenteachingthemagrandtragedy;hetore the tragedy inmorsels, and came next daywith a compact little comictrifle. To this they took more kindly; he presently knocked it all into theirsmoothroundpates.

Mademoiselle St. Pierre always presided atM. Emanuel's lessons, and Iwas told that the polish of her manner, her seeming attention, her tact andgrace, impressed thatgentlemanvery favourably.Shehad, indeed, theartofpleasing,foragiventime,whomshewould;butthefeelingwouldnotlast:inanhouritwasdriedlikedew,vanishedlikegossamer.

ThedayprecedingMadame'sfêtewasasmuchaholidayasthefêteitself.Itwas devoted to clearing out, cleaning, arranging and decorating the threeschoolrooms. All within-doors was the gayest bustle; neither up-stairs nordown could a quiet, isolated person find rest for the sole of her foot;accordingly, formy part, I took refuge in the garden. Thewhole day did Iwanderorsittherealone,findingwarmthinthesun,shelteramongthetrees,and a sort of companionship in my own thoughts. I well remember that Iexchanged but two sentences that daywith any living being: not that I feltsolitary;Iwasgladtobequiet.Foralooker-on,itsufficedtopassthroughtheroomsonceortwice,observewhatchangeswerebeingwrought,howagreen-room and a dressing-roomwere being contrived, a little stagewith sceneryerected,howM.PaulEmanuel, inconjunctionwithMademoiselleSt.Pierre,was directing all, and how an eager band of pupils, amongst themGinevraFanshawe,wereworkinggailyunderhiscontrol.

The great day arrived. The sun rose hot and unclouded, and hot anduncloudeditburnedontillevening.Allthedoorsandallthewindowsweresetopen,whichgaveapleasantsenseofsummerfreedom—andfreedomthemostcompleteseemedindeedtheorderoftheday.Teachersandpupilsdescendedtobreakfastindressing-gownsandcurl-papers:anticipating"avecdélices"thetoilette of the evening, they seemed to take a pleasure in indulging thatforenooninaluxuryofslovenliness;likealdermenfastinginpreparationforafeast. About nine o'clock A.M., an important functionary, the "coiffeur,"arrived. Sacrilegious to state, he fixed his head-quarters in the oratory, andthere,inpresenceofbénitier,candle,andcrucifix,solemnisedthemysteriesofhisart.Eachgirlwassummonedinturntopassthroughhishands;emergingfromthemwithheadassmoothasashell,intersectedbyfaultlesswhitelines,andwreathedaboutwithGrecianplaitsthatshoneasif lacquered.I tookmyturnwiththerest,andcouldhardlybelievewhattheglasssaidwhenIappliedto it for informationafterwards; the lavishedgarlandryofwovenbrownhairamazedme—Ifeareditwasnotallmyown,anditrequiredseveralconvincingpullstogiveassurancetothecontrary.Ithenacknowledgedinthecoiffeurafirst-rateartist—onewhocertainlymadethemostofindifferentmaterials.

Theoratoryclosed,thedormitorybecamethesceneofablutions,arrayingsand bedizenings curiously elaborate. To me it was, and ever must be anenigma, how they contrived to spend so much time in doing so little. Theoperationseemedclose, intricate,prolonged: theresultsimple.Aclearwhitemuslindress,abluesash(theVirgin'scolours),apairofwhite,orstraw-colourkid gloves—such was the gala uniform, to the assumption whereof thathousefulofteachersandpupilsdevotedthreemortalhours.Butthoughsimple,itmustbeallowedthearraywasperfect—perfectinfashion,fit,andfreshness;every head being also dressed with exquisite nicety, and a certain compacttaste—suiting the full, firm comeliness of Labassecourien contours, thoughtoostiffforanymoreflowingandflexiblestyleofbeauty—thegeneraleffectwas,onthewhole,commendable.

In beholding this diaphanous and snowymass, I well remember feelingmyselftobeamereshadowyspotonafieldoflight;thecouragewasnotinme to put on a transparent white dress: something thin I must wear—theweather and rooms being too hot to give substantial fabrics sufferance, so IhadsoughtthroughadozenshopstillIlituponacrape-likematerialofpurple-gray—thecolour,inshort,ofdunmist,lyingonamoorinbloom.Mytailleusehadkindlymadeitaswellasshecould:because,asshejudiciouslyobserved,itwas"sitriste—sipenvoyant,"careinthefashionwasthemoreimperative:itwaswellshetookthisviewofthematter,forI,hadnoflower,nojeweltorelieveit:and,whatwasmore,Ihadnonaturalroseofcomplexion.

Webecomeobliviousofthesedeficienciesintheuniformroutineofdailydrudgery,but theywill forceuponus theirunwelcomeblankon thosebrightoccasionswhenbeautyshouldshine.

However, in this same gown of shadow, I felt at home and at ease; anadvantage I should not have enjoyed in anythingmore brilliant or striking.MadameBeck,too,keptmeincountenance;herdresswasalmostasquietasmine,exceptthatsheworeabracelet,andalargebroochbrightwithgoldandfine stones.We chanced tomeet on the stairs, and she gaveme a nod andsmile of approbation. Not that she thought I was looking well—a pointunlikely to engage her interest—but she considered me dressed"convenablement,""décemment,"and laConvenanceet laDécencewere thetwocalmdeitiesofMadame'sworship.Sheevenpaused,laidonmyshoulderher gloved hand, holding an embroidered and perfumed handkerchief, andconfidedtomyearasarcasmontheotherteachers(whomshehadjustbeencomplimenting to their faces). "Nothing so absurd," she said, "as for desfemmesmûres'todressthemselveslikegirlsoffifteen'—quantàla.St.Pierre,elleal'aird'unevieillecoquettequifaitl'ingénue."

Being dressed at least a couple of hours before anybody else, I felt apleasure in betaking myself—not to the garden, where servants were busy

proppingup long tables, placing seats, and spreading cloths in readiness forthecollationbuttotheschoolrooms,nowempty,quiet,cool,andclean;theirwallsfreshstained,theirplankedfloorsfreshscouredandscarcedry;flowersfresh gathered adorning the recesses in pots, and draperies, fresh hung,beautifyingthegreatwindows.

Withdrawingtothefirstclasse,asmallerandneaterroomthantheothers,andtakingfromtheglazedbookcase,ofwhichIkeptthekey,avolumewhosetitle promised some interest, I sat down to read. The glass-door of this"classe," or schoolroom, opened into the large berceau; acacia-boughscaressed itspanes,as theystretchedacross tomeeta rose-bushbloomingbythe opposite lintel: in this rose-bush bees murmured busy and happy. Icommencedreading.Justasthestillyhum,theemboweringshade,thewarm,lonely calm of my retreat were beginning to steal meaning from the page,vision frommy eyes, and to lureme along the track of reverie, down intosomedeepdell of dreamland—just then, the sharpest ringof the street-doorbelltowhichthatmuch-triedinstrumenthadeverthrilled,snatchedmebacktoconsciousness.

Nowthebellhadbeenringingallthemorning,asworkmen,orservants,orcoiffeurs, or tailleuses, went and came on their several errands. Moreover,therewasgood reason to expect itwould ring all the afternoon, since aboutonehundredexterneswereyettoarriveincarriagesorfiacres:norcoulditbeexpected to rest during the evening,when parents and friendswould gatherthrongingtotheplay.Underthesecircumstances,aring—evenasharpring—wasamatterofcourse:yetthisparticularpealhadanaccentofitsown,whichchasedmydream,andstartledmybookfrommyknee.

I was stooping to pick up this last, when—firm, fast, straight—right onthroughvestibule—alongcorridor,acrosscarré,throughfirstdivision,seconddivision,grandsalle—strodeastep,quick,regular,intent.Thecloseddoorofthe first classe—my sanctuary—offered no obstacle; it burst open, and apaletôt and a bonnet grec filled the void; also two eyes first vaguely struckupon,andthenhungrilydivedintome.

"C'estcela!"saidavoice."Je laconnais:c'est l'Anglaise.Tantpis.TouteAnglaise,et,parconséquent,toutebégueulequ'ellesoit—elleferamonaffaire,oujesauraipourquoi."

Then,withacertainsternpoliteness(IsupposehethoughtIhadnotcaughtthedriftofhispreviousuncivilmutterings),andinajargonthemostexecrablethateverwasheard,"Meess——,playyoumust:Iamplantedthere."

"WhatcanIdoforyou,M.PaulEmanuel?"Iinquired:forM.Paul

Emanuelitwas,andinastateofnolittleexcitement.

"Playyoumust.Iwillnothaveyoushrink,orfrown,ormaketheprude.Ireadyour skull that night you came; I seeyourmoyens: playyoucan; playyoumust."

"Buthow,M.Paul?Whatdoyoumean?"

"Thereisnotimetobelost,"hewenton,nowspeakinginFrench;"andletusthrusttothewallallreluctance,allexcuses,allminauderies.Youmusttakeapart."

"Inthevaudeville?"

"Inthevaudeville.Youhavesaidit."

Igasped,horror-struck.Whatdidthelittlemanmean?

"Listen!"hesaid."Thecaseshallbestated,andyoushallthenanswermeYes,orNo;andaccordingtoyouranswershallIeverafterestimateyou."

The scarce-suppressed impetus of a most irritable nature glowed in hischeek, fed with sharp shafts his glances, a nature—the injudicious, themawkish, the hesitating, the sullen, the affected, above all, the unyielding,might quickly render violent and implacable. Silence and attention was thebestbalmtoapply:Ilistened.

"Thewholematter isgoing to fail,"hebegan."LouiseVanderkelkovhasfallenill—atleastsoherridiculousmotherasserts;formypart,Ifeelsureshemightplayifshewould:itisonlygood-willthatlacks.Shewaschargedwitharôle,asyouknow,ordonotknow—itisequal:withoutthatrôletheplayisstopped.Therearenowbutafewhoursinwhichtolearnit:notagirlinthisschool would hear reason, and accept the task. Forsooth, it is not aninteresting,notanamiable,part;theirvileamour-propre—thatbasequalityofwhichwomenhavesomuch—wouldrevoltfromit.Englishwomenareeitherthebestortheworstoftheirsex.Dieusaitquejelesdétestecommelapeste,ordinairement"(thisbetweenhisrecreantteeth)."IapplytoanEnglishwomantorescueme.Whatisheranswer—Yes,orNo?"

A thousand objections rushed into my mind. The foreign language, thelimited time, thepublicdisplay…Inclination recoiled,Ability faltered,Self-respect (that "vile quality") trembled. "Non, non, non!" said all these; butlookingupatM.Paul,andseeinginhisvexed,fiery,andsearchingeye,asortof appeal behind all its menace, my lips dropped the word "oui". For amomenthisrigidcountenancerelaxedwithaquiverofcontent:quicklybentupagain,however,hewenton,—

"Viteàl'ouvrage!Hereisthebook;hereisyourrôle:read."AndIread.Hedidnotcommend;atsomepassageshescowledandstamped.Hegavemealesson:Idiligently imitated. Itwasadisagreeablepart—aman's—anempty-

headedfop's.Onecouldputintoitneitherheartnorsoul:Ihatedit.Theplay—ameretrifle—ranchieflyontheeffortsofabraceofrivalstogainthehandof a fair coquette.One loverwas called the "Ours," a good and gallant butunpolishedman,a sortofdiamond in the rough; theotherwasabutterfly,atalker,andatraitor:andIwastobethebutterfly,talker,andtraitor.

I didmybest—whichwas bad, I know: it provokedM.Paul; he fumed.Putting both hands to thework, I endeavoured to do better thanmy best; Ipresume he gaveme credit for good intentions; he professed to be partiallycontent."Caira!"hecried;andasvoicesbegansoundingfromthegarden,andwhitedressesflutteringamongthetrees,headded:"Youmustwithdraw:youmustbealonetolearnthis.Comewithme."

Withoutbeingallowedtimeorpowertodeliberate,I foundmyself in thesamebreath convoyed along as in a species ofwhirlwind, up-stairs, up twopair of stairs, nay, actually up three (for this fiery little man seemed as byinstinct to know his way everywhere); to the solitary and lofty attic was Iborne,put inand locked in, thekeybeing, in thedoor,and thatkeyhe tookwithhimandvanished.

Theatticwasnopleasantplace:Ibelievehedidnotknowhowunpleasantitwas,orheneverwouldhave lockedme inwithso littleceremony. In thissummer weather, it was hot as Africa; as in winter, it was always cold asGreenland.Boxesandlumberfilledit;olddressesdrapeditsunstainedwall—cobwebs its unswept ceiling.Well was it known to be tenanted by rats, byblackbeetles,andbycockroaches—nay,rumouraffirmedthattheghostlyNunofthegardenhadoncebeenseenhere.Apartialdarknessobscuredoneend,acrosswhich,asfordeepermystery,anoldrussetcurtainwasdrawn,bywayofscreentoasombrebandofwintercloaks,pendenteachfromitspin,likeamalefactor from his gibbet. From amongst these cloaks, and behind thatcurtain,theNunwassaidtoissue.Ididnotbelievethis,norwasItroubledbyapprehension thereof; but I saw a very dark and large rat, with a long tail,come gliding out from that squalid alcove; and, moreover, my eye fell onmanyablack-beetle,dotting the floor.Theseobjectsdiscomposedmemore,perhaps,thanitwouldbewisetosay,asalsodidthedust,lumber,andstiflingheatoftheplace.Thelastinconveniencewouldsoonhavebecomeintolerable,hadInotfoundmeanstoopenandpropuptheskylight,thusadmittingsomefreshness.UnderneaththisapertureIpushedalargeemptychest,andhavingmounteduponitasmallerbox,andwipedfromboththedust,Igatheredmydress(mybest,thereadermustremember,andthereforealegitimateobjectofcare)fastidiouslyaroundme,ascendedthisspeciesofextemporethrone,andbeing seated, commenced the acquisition of my task; while I learned, notforgetting tokeepa sharp look-outon theblack-beetles andcockroaches,ofwhich,moreeven,Ibelieve,thanoftherats,Isatinmortaldread.

My impression at first was that I had undertaken what it really wasimpossibletoperform,andIsimplyresolvedtodomybestandberesignedtofail.Isoonfound,however,thatonepartinsoshortapiecewasnotmorethanmemorycouldmasteratafewhours'notice.Ilearnedandlearnedon,firstinawhisper, and then aloud. Perfectly secure fromhuman audience, I actedmypart before the garret-vermin. Entering into its emptiness, frivolity, andfalsehood,withaspirit inspiredbyscornandimpatience, I tookmyrevengeonthis"fat,"bymakinghimasfatuitousasIpossiblycould.

Inthisexercisetheafternoonpassed:daybegantoglideintoevening;andI, who had eaten nothing since breakfast, grew excessively hungry. Now Ithoughtofthecollation,whichdoubtlesstheywerejustthendevouringinthegardenfarbelow. (Ihadseen in thevestibuleabasketfulofsmallpâtésà lacrême, than which nothing in the whole range of cookery seemed to mebetter).Apâté,orasquareofcake,itseemedtomewouldcomeveryàpropos;and asmy relish for those dainties increased, it began to appear somewhathardthatIshouldpassmyholiday,fastingandinprison.Remoteaswastheatticfromthestreet-doorandvestibule,yet theever-tinklingbellwasfaintlyaudiblehere;andalsotheceaselessrollofwheels,onthetormentedpavement.Iknewthatthehouseandgardenwerethronged,andthatallwasgayandgladbelow;here itbegan togrowdusk: thebeetleswere fading frommysight; Itrembledlesttheyshouldstealonmeamarch,mountmythroneunseen,and,unsuspected, invademy skirts. Impatient and apprehensive, I recommencedtherehearsalofmypartmerelytokilltime.JustasIwasconcluding,thelong-delayedrattleof thekey in the lockcame tomyear—nounwelcomesound.M.Paul(IcouldjustseethroughtheduskthatitwasM.Paul,forlightenoughstill lingered to show the velvet blackness of his close-shorn head, and thesallowivoryofhisbrow)lookedin.

"Brava!"criedhe,holding thedooropenand remainingat the threshold."J'aitoutentendu.C'estassezbien.Encore!"

AmomentIhesitated.

"Encore!"saidhesternly."Etpointdegrimaces!Abaslatimidité!"

AgainIwentthroughthepart,butnothalfsowellasIhadspokenitalone.

"Enfin,ellesait,"saidhe,halfdissatisfied,"andonecannotbefastidiousorexactingunderthecircumstances."Thenheadded,"Youmayyethavetwentyminutesforpreparation:aurevoir!"Andhewasgoing.

"Monsieur,"Icalledout,takingcourage.

"Ehbien!Qu'est-cequec'est,Mademoiselle?"

"J'aibienfaim."

"Comment,vousavezfaim!Etlacollation?"

"Iknownothingaboutit.Ihavenotseenit,shutuphere."

"Ah!C'estvrai,"criedhe.

In a moment my throne was abdicated, the attic evacuated; an inverserepetitionoftheimpetuswhichhadbroughtmeupintotheattic,instantlytookmedown—down—downtotheverykitchen.IthoughtIshouldhavegonetothe cellar. The cook was imperatively ordered to produce food, and I, asimperatively,wascommandedtoeat.Tomygreatjoythisfoodwaslimitedtocoffeeandcake:Ihadfearedwineandsweets,whichIdidnotlike.HowheguessedthatIshouldlikeapetitpâtéàlacrêmeIcannottell;buthewentoutandprocuredmeonefromsomequarter.WithconsiderablewillingnessIateand drank, keeping the petit pâté till the last, as a bonne bouche. M. Paulsuperintended my repast, and almost forced upon me more than I couldswallow.

"Alabonneheure,"hecried,whenIsignified that I reallycould takenomore, and,with uplifted hands, implored to be spared the additional roll onwhichhehadjustspreadbutter."YouwillsetmedownasaspeciesoftyrantandBluebeard, starvingwomen in agarret;whereas, after all, I amno suchthing.Now,Mademoiselle,doyoufeelcourageandstrengthtoappear?"

Isaid,IthoughtIdid;though,intruth,Iwasperfectlyconfused,andcouldhardlytellhowIfelt:butthislittlemanwasoftheorderofbeingswhomustnotbeopposed,unlessyoupossessedanall-dominantforcesufficienttocrushhimatonce.

"Comethen,"saidhe,offeringhishand.

Igavehimmine,andhesetoffwitharapidwalk,whichobligedmetorunathissideinordertokeeppace.Inthecarréhestoppedamoment:itwaslitwith large lamps; thewide doors of the classeswere open, and sowere theequally wide garden-doors; orange-trees in tubs, and tall flowers in pots,ornamented these portals on each side; groups of ladies and gentlemen inevening-dressstoodandwalkedamongsttheflowers.Within,thelongvistaofthe school-rooms presented a thronging, undulating, murmuring, waving,streamingmultitude,allrose,andblue,andhalftranslucentwhite.Therewerelustresburningoverhead;farofftherewasastage,asolemngreencurtain,arowoffootlights.

"Nest-cepasquec'estbeau?"demandedmycompanion.

I should have said it was, butmy heart got up intomy throat.M. Pauldiscoveredthis,andgavemeaside-scowlandalittleshakeformypains.

"Iwilldomybest,butIwishitwasover,"saidI;thenIasked:"Areweto

walkthroughthatcrowd?"

"By no means: I manage matters better: we pass through the garden—here."

In an instant we were out of doors: the cool, calm night revived mesomewhat.Itwasmoonless,butthereflexfromthemanyglowingwindowslitthe court brightly, and even the alleys—dimly. Heaven was cloudless, andgrand with the quiver of its living fires. How soft are the nights of theContinent!Howbland,balmy,safe!Nosea-fog;nochillingdamp:mistlessasnoon,andfreshasmorning.

Having crossed court and garden,we reached the glass door of the firstclasse.Itstoodopen,likeallotherdoorsthatnight;wepassed,andthenIwasusheredintoasmallcabinet,dividingthefirstclassefromthegrandsalle.Thiscabinetdazzledme, itwasso fullof light: itdeafenedme, itwasclamorouswithvoices:itstifledme,itwassohot,choking,thronged.

"Del'ordre!Dusilence!"criedM.Paul."Isthischaos?",hedemanded;andtherewasahush.With adozenwords, andasmanygestures,he turnedouthalfthepersonspresent,andobligedtheremnanttofallintorank.Thoseleftwereall incostume: theywere theperformers,andthiswas thegreen-room.M.Paul introducedme.All stared and some tittered. Itwas a surprise: theyhad not expected the Englishwoman would play in a vaudeville. GinevraFanshawe, beautifully dressed for her part, and looking fascinatingly pretty,turned on me a pair of eyes as round as beads. In the highest spirit,unperturbedbyfearorbashfulness,delightedindeedatthethoughtofshiningoffbeforehundreds—myentranceseemedtotransfixherwithamazementinthemidstofherjoy.Shewouldhaveexclaimed,butM.Paulheldherandalltherestincheck.

Havingsurveyedandcriticizedthewholetroop,heturnedtome.

"You,too,mustbedressedforyourpart."

"Dressed—dressed like a man!" exclaimed Zélie St. Pierre, dartingforwards;addingwithofficiousness,"Iwilldresshermyself."

To be dressed like a man did not please, and would not suit me. I hadconsentedtotakeaman'snameandpart;astohisdress—haltelà!No.Iwouldkeepmy own dress, comewhatmight.M. Paulmight storm,might rage: Iwouldkeepmyowndress. I said so,withavoiceas resolute in intent, as itwaslow,andperhapsunsteadyinutterance.

Hedidnotimmediatelystormorrage,asIfullythoughthewouldhestoodsilent.ButZélieagaininterposed.

"She will make a capital petit-mâitre. Here are the garments, all—all

complete:somewhattoolarge,but—Iwillarrangeallthat.Come,chèreamie—belleAnglaise!"

And she sneered, for I was not "belle." She seized my hand, she wasdrawingmeaway.M.Paulstoodimpassable—neutral.

"Youmustnotresist,"pursuedSt.Pierre—forresistIdid."Youwillspoilall, destroy themirth of the piece, the enjoyment of the company, sacrificeeverythingtoyouramour-propre.Thiswouldbetoobad—monsieurwillneverpermitthis?"

Shesoughthiseye.Iwatched,likewise,foraglance.Hegaveherone,andthen he gave me one. "Stop!" he said slowly, arresting St. Pierre, whocontinuedhereffortstodragmeafterher.Everybodyawaitedthedecision.Hewasnotangry,notirritated;Iperceivedthat,andtookheart.

"You do not like these clothes?" he asked, pointing to the masculinevestments.

"Idon'tobjecttosomeofthem,butIwon'thavethemall."

"How must it be, then? How accept a man's part, and go on the stagedressed as a woman? This is an amateur affair, it is true—a vaudeville depensionnat; certainmodifications I might sanction, yet something youmusthavetoannounceyouasofthenoblersex."

"And Iwill,Monsieur; but itmust be arranged inmyownway: nobodymust meddle; the things must not be forced upon me. Just let me dressmyself."

Monsieur,withoutanotherword,tookthecostumefromSt.Pierre,gaveittome,andpermittedme topass into thedressing-room.Oncealone, Igrewcalm,andcollectedlywent towork.Retainingmywoman'sgarbwithout theslightestretrenchment,Imerelyassumed,inaddition,alittlevest,acollar,andcravat, andapaletôtof smalldimensions; thewholebeing thecostumeof abrotherofoneofthepupils.Havingloosenedmyhairoutofitsbraids,madeupthelongback-hairclose,andbrushedthefronthairtooneside,Itookmyhatandglovesinmyhandandcameout.M.Paulwaswaiting,andsoweretheothers. He looked at me. "That may pass in a pensionnat," he pronounced.Thenadded,notunkindly,"Courage,monami!Unpeudesangfroid—unpeud'aplomb,M.Lucien,ettoutirabien."

St.Pierresneeredagain,inhercoldsnakymanner.

Iwasirritable,becauseexcited,andIcouldnothelpturninguponherandsaying,thatifshewerenotaladyandIagentleman,Ishouldfeeldisposedtocallherout.

"Aftertheplay,aftertheplay,"saidM.Paul."Iwillthendividemypairof

pistolsbetweenyou,andwewillsettle thedisputeaccordingtoform:itwillonlybetheoldquarrelofFranceandEngland."

But now themoment approached for the performance to commence.M.Paul, setting us before him, harangued us briefly, like a general addressingsoldiers about to charge. I don't know what he said, except that herecommended each to penetrate herself with a sense of her personalinsignificance.GodknowsIthoughtthisadvicesuperfluousforsomeofus.Abell tinkled. I and twomorewere ushered on to the stage. The bell tinkledagain.Ihadtospeaktheveryfirstwords.

"Donotlookatthecrowd,northinkofit,"whisperedM.Paulinmyear."Imagineyourselfinthegarret,actingtotherats."

He vanished. The curtain drew up—shrivelled to the ceiling: the brightlights, the long room, thegay throng,burstuponus. I thoughtof theblack-beetles,theoldboxes,theworm-eatenbureau.Isaidmysaybadly;butIsaidit.Thatfirstspeechwasthedifficulty; itrevealedtomethisfact, that itwasnotthecrowdIfearedsomuchasmyownvoice.Foreignersandstrangers,thecrowdwerenothingtome.NordidIthinkofthem.Whenmytongueoncegotfree,andmyvoicetookitstruepitch,andfounditsnaturaltone,IthoughtofnothingbutthepersonageIrepresented—andofM.Paul,whowaslistening,watching,promptingintheside-scenes.

By-and-by,feelingtherightpowercome—thespringdemandedgushandrise inwardly—I became sufficiently composed to notice my fellow-actors.Some of them played very well; especially Ginevra Fanshawe, who had tocoquettebetweentwosuitors,andmanagedadmirably:infactshewasinherelement. I observed that sheonceor twice threwa certainmarked fondnessand pointed partiality into her manner towards me—the fop. With suchemphasisandanimationdidshefavourme,suchglancesdidshedartoutintothelisteningandapplaudingcrowd, that tome—whoknewher—itpresentlybecameevidentshewasactingatsomeone;andIfollowedhereye,hersmile,her gesture, and ere long discovered that she had at least singled out ahandsomeanddistinguishedaimforhershafts;fullinthepathofthosearrows—tallerthanotherspectators,andthereforemoresuretoreceivethem—stood,inattitudequietbutintent,awell-knownform—thatofDr.John.

The spectacle seemed somehow suggestive. There was language in Dr.John'slook,thoughIcannottellwhathesaid;itanimatedme:Idrewoutofitahistory;IputmyideaintothepartIperformed;IthrewitintomywooingofGinevra. In the "Ours," or sincere lover, I sawDr. John.Did I pity him, aserst?No,Ihardenedmyheart,rivalledandout-rivalledhim.Iknewmyselfbuta fop, but where he was outcast I could please. Now I know I acted as ifwishfulandresolutetowinandconquer.Ginevrasecondedme;betweenuswe

half-changedthenatureoftherôle,gildingitfromtoptotoe.BetweentheactsM.Paul,toldusheknewnotwhatpossessedus,andhalfexpostulated."C'estpeut-être plus beau que votre modèle," said he, "mais ce n'est pas juste." Iknownotwhatpossessedmeeither;butsomehow,mylongingwastoeclipsethe"Ours,"i.e.,Dr.John.Ginevrawastender;howcouldIbeotherwisethanchivalric? Retaining the letter, I recklessly altered the spirit of the rôle.Withoutheart,withoutinterest,Icouldnotplayitatall.Itmustbeplayed—inwenttheyearned-forseasoning—thusfavoured,Iplayeditwithrelish.

WhatIfelt thatnight,andwhatIdid,Inomoreexpectedtofeelanddo,than to be lifted in a trance to the seventh heaven. Cold, reluctant,apprehensive, I had accepted a part to please another: ere long, warming,becominginterested,takingcourage,Iactedtopleasemyself.Yetthenextday,whenIthoughtitover,Iquitedisapprovedoftheseamateurperformances;andthoughgladthatIhadobligedM.Paul,andtriedmyownstrengthforonce,Itookafirmresolution,nevertobedrawnintoasimilaraffair.Akeenrelishfordramatic expression had revealed itself as part ofmy nature; to cherish andexercise thisnew-foundfacultymightgiftmewithaworldofdelight,but itwouldnotdoforamerelooker-onatlife:thestrengthandlongingmustbeputby;andIputthemby,andfastenedtheminwiththelockofaresolutionwhichneitherTimenorTemptationhassincepicked.

Nosoonerwastheplayover,andwellover,thanthecholericandarbitraryM. Paul underwent ametamorphosis. His hour ofmanagerial responsibilitypast, he at once laid aside his magisterial austerity; in a moment he stoodamongst us, vivacious, kind, and social, shook hands with us all round,thankedusseparately,andannouncedhisdeterminationthateachofusshouldinturnbehispartnerinthecomingball.Onhisclaimingmypromise,Itoldhim I did not dance. "For once I must," was the answer; and if I had notslipped aside and kept out of hisway, hewould have compelledme to thissecondperformance.But I had acted enough for one evening; itwas time Iretired into myself and my ordinary life. My dun-coloured dress did wellenoughunderapaletôtonthestage,butwouldnotsuitawaltzoraquadrille.Withdrawing toaquietnook,whenceunobserved Icouldobserve—theball,itssplendoursanditspleasures,passedbeforemeasaspectacle.

AgainGinevraFanshawewasthebelle,thefairestandthegayestpresent;shewasselectedtoopentheball:verylovelyshelooked,verygracefullyshedanced, very joyously she smiled.Such sceneswereher triumphs—shewasthe child of pleasure. Work or suffering found her listless and dejected,powerlessandrepining;butgaietyexpandedherbutterfly'swings,lituptheirgold-dustandbrightspots,madeherflashlikeagem,andflushlikeaflower.Atallordinarydietandplainbeverageshewouldpout;butshefedoncreamsand ices like a humming-bird on honey-paste: sweetwinewas her element,

and sweet cake her daily bread. Ginevra lived her full life in a ball-room;elsewhereshedroopeddispirited.

Thinknot,reader,thatshethusbloomedandsparkledforthemeresakeofM. Paul, her partner, or that she lavished her best graces that night for theedification of her companions only, or for that of the parents and grand-parents,whofilledthecarré,andlinedtheball-room;undercircumstancessoinsipid and limited,withmotives so chilly andvapid,Ginevrawould scarcehavedeignedtowalkonequadrille,andwearinessandfretfulnesswouldhavereplaced animation and good-humour, but she knew of a leaven in theotherwiseheavyfestalmasswhichlightedthewhole;shetastedacondimentwhichgaveitzest;sheperceivedreasonsjustifyingthedisplayofherchoicestattractions.

In theball-room, indeed,notasinglemalespectatorwas tobeseenwhowasnotmarriedandafather—M.Paulexcepted—thatgentleman,too,beingthesolecreatureofhissexpermittedtoleadoutapupiltothedance;andthisexceptionalpartwasallowedhim,partlyasamatterofold-establishedcustom(forhewasakinsmanofMadameBeck's,andhighinherconfidence),partlybecausehewouldalwayshavehisownwayanddoashepleased,andpartlybecause—wilful, passionate, partial, as he might be—he was the soul ofhonour, and might be trusted with a regiment of the fairest and purest; inperfectsecuritythatunderhisleadershiptheywouldcometonoharm.Manyof the girls—it may be noted in parenthesis—were not pure-minded at all,verymuchotherwise;buttheynomoredarebetraytheirnaturalcoarsenessinM.Paul'spresence, than theydare treadpurposelyonhiscorns, laughinhisfaceduringastormyapostrophe,orspeakabovetheirbreathwhilesomecrisisof irritabilitywascoveringhishumanvisagewith themaskofan intelligenttiger.M. Paul, then,might dancewithwhomhewould—andwoe be to theinterferencewhichputhimoutofstep.

Others there were admitted as spectators—with (seeming) reluctance,through prayers, by influence, under restriction, by special and difficultexercise of Madame Beck's gracious good-nature, and whom she all theevening—withherownpersonalsurveillance—keptfaraloofattheremotest,drearest, coldest, darkest side of the carré—a small, forlorn bandof "jeunesgens;"thesebeingallofthebestfamilies,grown-upsonsofmotherspresent,andwhosesisterswerepupilsintheschool.ThatwholeeveningwasMadameondutybeside these"jeunesgens"—attentive to themasamother,butstrictwith them as a dragon. There was a sort of cordon stretched before them,whichtheyweariedherwithprayerstobepermittedtopass,andjusttorevivethemselves by one dance with that "belle blonde," or that "jolie brune," or"cettejeunefillemagnifiqueauxcheveuxnoirscommelejais."

"Taisez-vous!"Madamewouldreply,heroicallyand inexorably."Vousne

passerez pas à moins que ce ne soit sur mon cadavre, et vous ne danserezqu'avec lanonnettedu jardin" (alluding to the legend).Andshemajesticallywalked to and fro along their disconsolate and impatient line, like a littleBonaparteinamouse-colouredsilkgown.

Madame knew something of the world;Madame knewmuch of humannature. I don't think that another directress in Villette would have dared toadmita"jeunehomme"withinherwalls;butMadameknewthatbygrantingsuchadmission,onanoccasionlikethepresent,aboldstrokemightbestruck,andagreatpointgained.

Inthefirstplace,theparentsweremadeaccomplicestothedeed,foritwasonlythroughtheirmediationitwasbroughtabout.Secondly:theadmissionofthese rattlesnakes, so fascinating and so dangerous, served to draw outMadamepreciselyinherstrongestcharacter—thatofafirst-ratesurveillante.Thirdly: their presence furnished a most piquant ingredient to theentertainment: the pupils knew it, and saw it, and the view of such goldenapples shining afar off, animated them with a spirit no other circumstancecould have kindled. The children's pleasure spread to the parents; life andmirth circulated quickly round the ball-room; the "jeunes gens" themselves,thoughrestrained,wereamused:forMadameneverpermittedthemtofeeldull—and thusMadameBeck's fête annually ensured a success unknown to thefêteofanyotherdirectressintheland.

IobservedthatDr.Johnwasatfirstpermittedtowalkatlargethroughtheclasses: there was about him a manly, responsible look, that redeemed hisyouth,andhalf-expiatedhisbeauty;butassoonastheballbegan,Madameranuptohim.

"Come,Wolf; come," said she, laughing: "youwear sheep'sclothing,butyou must quit the fold notwithstanding. Come; I have a fine menagerie oftwentyhereinthecarré:letmeplaceyouamongstmycollection."

"Butfirstsuffermetohaveonedancewithonepupilofmychoice."

"Haveyouthefacetoasksuchathing?Itismadness:itisimpiety.

Sortez,sortez,auplusvite."

Shedrovehimbeforeher,andsoonhadhimenclosedwithinthecordon.

Ginevrabeing,Isuppose,tiredwithdancing,soughtmeoutinmyretreat.Shethrewherselfonthebenchbesideme,and(ademonstrationIcouldverywellhavedispensedwith)castherarmsroundmyneck.

"LucySnowe!LucySnowe!"shecriedinasomewhatsobbingvoice,halfhysterical.

"Whatintheworldisthematter?"Idrilysaid.

"HowdoIlook—howdoIlookto-night?"shedemanded.

"Asusual,"saidI;"preposterouslyvain."

"Causticcreature!Youneverhaveakindwordforme;butinspiteofyou,andallotherenviousdetractors,IknowIambeautiful;Ifeelit,Iseeit—forthereisagreatlooking-glassinthedressing-room,whereIcanviewmyshapefromheadtofoot.Willyougowithmenow,andletustwostandbeforeit?"

"Iwill,Miss Fanshawe: you shall be humoured even to the top of yourbent."

The dressing-room was very near, and we stepped in. Putting her armthroughmine,shedrewmetothemirror.Withoutresistanceremonstrance,orremark,Istoodandletherself-lovehaveitsfeastandtriumph:curioustoseehowmuchitcouldswallow—whetheritwaspossibleitcouldfeedtosatiety—whetheranywhisperofconsiderationforotherscouldpenetrateherheart,andmoderateitsvaingloriousexultation.

Not at all. She turnedme and herself round; she viewed us both on allsides;shesmiled,shewavedhercurls,sheretouchedhersash,shespreadherdress, and finally, lettinggomyarm, andcurtseyingwithmock respect, shesaid:"Iwouldnotbeyouforakingdom."

Theremarkwastoonaïvetorouseanger;Imerelysaid:"Verygood."

"AndwhatwouldyougivetobeME?"sheinquired.

"Notabadsixpence—strangeas itmaysound,"I replied."Youarebutapoorcreature."

"Youdon'tthinksoinyourheart."

"No; for in my heart you have not the outline of a place: I onlyoccasionallyturnyouoverinmybrain."

"Well,but,"saidshe,inanexpostulatorytone,"justlistentothedifferenceofourpositions,andthenseehowhappyamI,andhowmiserableareyou."

"Goon;Ilisten."

"Inthefirstplace:Iamthedaughterofagentlemanoffamily,andthoughmy father is not rich, I have expectations from an uncle. Then, I am justeighteen, the finest age possible. I have had a continental education, andthoughIcan'tspell,Ihaveabundantaccomplishments.Iampretty;youcan'tdeny that; Imayhaveasmanyadmirersas Ichoose.Thisverynight Ihavebeenbreakingtheheartsoftwogentlemen,anditisthedyinglookIhadfromoneofthemjustnow,whichputsmeinsuchspirits.Idosoliketowatchthemturn red and pale, and scowl and dart fiery glances at each other, andlanguishingonesatme.Thereisme—happyME;nowforyou,poorsoul!

"Isupposeyouarenobody'sdaughter,sinceyoutookcareoflittlechildrenwhenyoufirstcametoVillette:youhavenorelations;youcan'tcallyourselfyoung at twenty-three; you have no attractive accomplishments—no beauty.As to admirers, you hardly knowwhat they are; you can't even talk on thesubject:yousitdumbwhentheotherteachersquotetheirconquests.Ibelieveyouneverwereinlove,andneverwillbe:youdon'tknowthefeeling,andsomuchthebetter,forthoughyoumighthaveyourownheartbroken,nolivingheartwillyoueverbreak.Isn'titalltrue?"

"Agood deal of it is true as gospel, and shrewd besides. Theremust begoodinyou,Ginevra,tospeaksohonestly;thatsnake,ZélieSt.Pierre,couldnot utter what you have uttered. Still, Miss Fanshawe, hapless as I am,accordingtoyourshowing,sixpenceIwouldnotgivetopurchaseyou,bodyandsoul."

"JustbecauseIamnotclever,andthat isallyouthinkof.Nobodyintheworldbutyoucaresforcleverness."

"On the contrary, I consider you are clever, in your way—very smartindeed. But you were talking of breaking hearts—that edifying amusementinto themeritsofwhich Idon'tquiteenter;prayonwhomdoesyourvanityleadyoutothinkyouhavedoneexecutionto-night?"

Sheapproachedherlipstomyear—"IsidoreandAlfreddeHamalarebothhere,"shewhispered.

"Oh!theyare?Ishouldliketoseethem."

"There'sadearcreature!yourcuriosityisrousedatlast.Followme,

Iwillpointthemout."

She proudly led the way—"But you cannot see them well from theclasses,"saidshe,turning,"Madamekeepsthemtoofaroff.Letuscrossthegarden, enter by the corridor, and get close to them behind: we shall bescoldedifweareseen,butnevermind."

Foronce,Ididnotmind.Throughthegardenwewent—penetratedintothecorridorbyaquietprivateentrance,andapproachingthecarré,yetkeepinginthecorridorshade,commandedanearviewofthebandof"jeunesgens."

I believe I could have picked out the conquering de Hamal evenundirected.Hewas a straight-nosed, very correct-featured little dandy. I saylittledandy,thoughhewasnotbeneaththemiddlestandardinstature;buthislineamentsweresmall,andsowerehishandsandfeet;andhewasprettyandsmooth,andas trimasadoll: sonicelydressed, sonicelycurled, sobootedandglovedandcravated—hewascharming indeed. I saidso. "What,adearpersonage!" cried I, and commendedGinevra's tastewarmly; and asked her

whatshe thoughtdeHamalmighthavedonewith theprecious fragmentsofthat heart she had broken—whether he kept them in a scent-vial, andconserved them in otto of roses? I observed, too, with deep rapture ofapprobation,thatthecolonel'shandswerescarcelargerthanMissFanshawe'sown, and suggested that this circumstancemight be convenient, as he couldwearherglovesatapinch.Onhisdearcurls,ItoldherIdoated:andastohislow, Grecian brow, and exquisite classic headpiece, I confessed I had nolanguagetodosuchperfectionsjustice.

"Andifhewereyourlover?"suggestedthecruellyexultantGinevra.

"Oh!heavens,whatbliss!"saidI;"butdonotbeinhuman,MissFanshawe:to put such thoughts intomy head is like showing poor outcast Cain a far,glimpseofParadise."

"Youlikehim,then?"

"AsIlikesweets,andjams,andcomfits,andconservatoryflowers."

Ginevra admired my taste, for all these things were her adoration; shecouldthenreadilycreditthattheywereminetoo.

"NowforIsidore,"Iwenton.IownIfeltstillmorecurioustoseehimthanhisrival;butGinevrawasabsorbedinthelatter.

"Alfredwasadmittedhereto-night,"saidshe,"throughtheinfluenceofhisaunt,MadamelaBaronnedeDorlodot;andnow,havingseenhim,canyounotunderstandwhyIhavebeeninsuchspiritsalltheevening,andactedsowell,anddancedwithsuchlife,andwhyIamnowhappyasaqueen?Dieu!Dieu!Itwassuchgoodfuntoglancefirstathimandthenattheother,andmaddenthemboth."

"Butthatother—whereishe?ShowmeIsidore."

"Idon'tlike."

"Whynot?"

"Iamashamedofhim."

"Forwhatreason?"

"Because—because" (in awhisper) "hehas such—suchwhiskers, orange—red—therenow!"

"Themurder isout," Isubjoined."Nevermind,showhimall thesame; Iengagenottofaint."

Shelookedround.JustthenanEnglishvoicespokebehindherandme.

"Youarebothstandinginadraught;youmustleavethiscorridor."

"Thereisnodraught,Dr.John,"saidI,turning.

"She takes cold so easily," he pursued, looking atGinevrawith extremekindness."Sheisdelicate;shemustbecaredfor:fetchherashawl."

"Permit me to judge for myself," said Miss Fanshawe, with hauteur. "Iwantnoshawl."

"Yourdressisthin,youhavebeendancing,youareheated."

"Alwayspreaching,"retortedshe;"alwayscoddlingandadmonishing."

The answerDr. Johnwouldhavegivendidnot come; that his heartwashurtbecameevidentinhiseye;darkened,andsaddened,andpained,heturnedalittleaside,butwaspatient.Iknewwheretherewereplentyofshawlsnearathand;Iranandfetchedone.

"Sheshallwearthis,ifIhavestrengthtomakeher,"saidI,foldingitwellround her muslin dress, covering carefully her neck and her arms. "Is thatIsidore?"Iasked,inasomewhatfiercewhisper.

Shepushedupherlip,smiled,andnodded.

"Is thatIsidore?"Irepeated,givingherashake:Icouldhavegivenheradozen.

"C'estlui-même,"saidshe."Howcoarseheis,comparedwiththe

Colonel-Count!Andthen—ohciel!—thewhiskers!"

Dr.Johnnowpassedon.

"TheColonel-Count!"Iechoed."Thedoll—thepuppet—themanikin—thepoorinferiorcreature!AmerelackeyforDr.Johnhisvalet,hisfoot-boy!Isitpossiblethatfinegenerousgentleman—handsomeasavision—offersyouhishonourablehandandgallantheart,andpromisestoprotectyourflimsypersonand feckless mind through the storms and struggles of life—and you hangback—youscorn,yousting,youtorturehim!Haveyoupowertodothis?Whogaveyou thatpower?Where is it?Does it lieall inyourbeauty—yourpinkandwhitecomplexion,andyouryellowhair?Doesthisbindhissoulatyourfeet, and bend his neck under your yoke? Does this purchase for you hisaffection,histenderness,histhoughts,hishopes,hisinterest,hisnoble,cordiallove—andwillyounothave it?Doyouscorn it?Youareonlydissembling:youarenotinearnest:youlovehim;youlongforhim;butyoutriflewithhishearttomakehimmoresurelyyours?"

"Bah!Howyourunon!Idon'tunderstandhalfyouhavesaid."

Ihadgotheroutintothegardenerethis.Inowsetherdownonaseatandtoldhersheshouldnotstirtillshehadavowedwhichshemeantintheendto

accept—themanorthemonkey.

"Himyoucalltheman,"saidshe,"isbourgeois,sandy-haired,andanswersto the name of John!—cela suffit: je n'en veux pas. Colonel deHamal is agentlemanofexcellentconnections,perfectmanners,sweetappearance,withpaleinterestingface,andhairandeyeslikeanItalian.Thentooheisthemostdelightfulcompanypossible—amanquiteinmyway;notsensibleandseriouslike theother;butonewithwhomIcan talkonequal terms—whodoesnotplague andbore, and harassmewith depths, and heights, and passions, andtalentsforwhichIhavenotaste.Therenow.Don'tholdmesofast."

Islackenedmygrasp,andshedartedoff.Ididnotcaretopursueher.

Somehow I could not avoid returning oncemore in the direction of thecorridortogetanotherglimpseofDr.John;butImethimonthegarden-steps,standing where the light from a window fell broad. His well-proportionedfigurewasnot tobemistaken, for Idoubtwhether therewasanother in thatassemblagehisequal.Hecarriedhishatinhishand;hisuncoveredhead,hisface and fine browweremost handsome andmanly. His features were notdelicate,notslightlikethoseofawoman,norweretheycold,frivolous,andfeeble;thoughwellcut,theywerenotsochiselled,sofritteredaway,astoloseinexpressionorsignificancewhattheygainedinunmeaningsymmetry.Muchfeeling spoke in themat times, andmore sat silent in his eye.Such at leastweremythoughtsofhim:tomeheseemedallthis.Aninexpressiblesenseofwonderoccupiedme,asIlookedatthisman,andreflectedthathecouldnotbeslighted.

It was, not my intention to approach or address him in the garden, ourtermsof acquaintancenotwarranting sucha step; I hadonlymeant toviewhimin thecrowd—myselfunseen:cominguponhimthusalone, Iwithdrew.But he was looking out for me, or rather for her who had been with me:thereforehedescendedthesteps,andfollowedmedownthealley.

"YouknowMissFanshawe?Ihaveoftenwishedtoaskwhetheryouknewher,"saidhe.

"Yes:Iknowher."

"Intimately?"

"QuiteasintimatelyasIwish."

"Whathaveyoudonewithhernow?"

"AmIherkeeper?" I felt inclined toask;but Isimplyanswered,"Ihaveshakenherwell,andwouldhaveshakenherbetter,butsheescapedoutofmyhandsandranaway."

"Wouldyoufavourme,"heasked,"bywatchingoverherthisoneevening,

and observing that she does nothing imprudent—does not, for instance, runoutintothenight-airimmediatelyafterdancing?"

"Imay,perhaps,lookafterheralittle;sinceyouwishit;butshelikesherownwaytoowelltosubmitreadilytocontrol."

"Sheissoyoung,sothoroughlyartless,"saidhe.

"Tomesheisanenigma,"Iresponded.

"Isshe?"heasked—muchinterested."How?"

"Itwouldbedifficulttosayhow—difficult,atleast,totellyouhow."

"Andwhyme?"

"Iwondersheisnotbetterpleasedthatyouaresomuchherfriend."

"But she has not the slightest idea how much I am her friend. That ispreciselythepointIcannotteachher.MayIinquiredidsheeverspeakofmetoyou?"

"Underthenameof'Isidore'shehastalkedaboutyouoften;butImustaddthat it is only within the last ten minutes I have discovered that you and'Isidore'areidentical.Itisonly,Dr.John,withinthatbriefspaceoftimeIhavelearned thatGinevra Fanshawe is the person, under this roof, inwhom youhave long been interested—that she is themagnetwhich attracts you to theRue Fossette, that for her sake you venture into this garden, and seek outcasketsdroppedbyrivals."

"Youknowall?"

"Iknowsomuch."

"FormorethanayearIhavebeenaccustomedtomeetherinsociety.Mrs.Cholmondeley, her friend, is an acquaintance ofmine; thus I see her everySunday.Butyouobservedthatunderthenameof'Isidore'sheoftenspokeofme:mayI—withoutinvitingyoutoabreachofconfidence—inquirewhatwasthe tone,what thefeelingofherremarks?I feelsomewhatanxious toknow,beingalittletormentedwithuncertaintyastohowIstandwithher."

"Oh,shevaries:sheshiftsandchangeslikethewind."

"Still,youcangathersomegeneralidea—?"

"Ican,"thoughtI,"butitwouldnotdotocommunicatethatgeneralideatoyou.Besides, if I said she did not love you, I know youwould not believeme."

"Youaresilent,"hepursued."Isupposeyouhavenogoodnewstoimpart.Nomatter.Ifshefeelsformepositivecoldnessandaversion,itisasignIdo

notdeserveher."

"Doyoudoubtyourself?Doyouconsideryourselftheinferiorof

ColoneldeHamal?"

"I loveMissFanshawe farmore than deHamal loves anyhumanbeing,andwouldcareforandguardherbetterthanhe.RespectingdeHamal,Ifearshe is under an illusion; the man's character is known to me, all hisantecedents,allhisscrapes.Heisnotworthyofyourbeautifulyoungfriend."

"My'beautifulyoungfriend'oughttoknowthat,andtoknoworfeelwhoisworthyofher,"saidI."Ifherbeautyorherbrainswillnotservehersofar,shemeritsthesharplessonofexperience."

"Areyounotalittlesevere?"

"I am excessively severe—more severe than I choose to show you.YoushouldhearthestrictureswithwhichIfavourmy'beautifulyoungfriend,'onlythatyouwouldbeunutterablyshockedatmywantof tenderconsideratenessforherdelicatenature."

"She is so lovely, one cannot but be loving towards her. You—everywomanolderthanherself,mustfeelforsuchasimple,innocent,girlishfairyasort of motherly or elder-sisterly fondness. Graceful angel! Does not yourheart yearn towards her when she pours into your ear her pure, childlikeconfidences?Howyouareprivileged!"Andhesighed.

"I cut short these confidences somewhat abruptly now and then," said I."But excuseme,Dr. John,may I change the theme for one instant?What agod-likeperson is that deHamal!What a noseonhis face—perfect!Modeloneinputtyorclay,youcouldnotmakeabetterorstraighter,orneater;andthen,suchclassiclipsandchin—andhisbearing—sublime."

"De Hamal is an unutterable puppy, besides being a very white-liveredhero."

"You,Dr.John,andeverymanofaless-refinedmouldthanhe,mustfeelforhimasortofadmiringaffection,suchasMarsandthecoarserdeitiesmaybesupposedtohavebornetheyoung,gracefulApollo."

"An unprincipled, gambling little jackanapes!" said Dr. John curtly,"whom,withonehand,Icouldliftupbythewaistbandanyday,andlaylowinthekennelifIliked."

"Thesweetseraph!"saidI."Whatacruelidea!Areyounotalittlesevere,Dr.John?"

And now I paused. For the second time that night I was going beyondmyself—venturingoutofwhatIlookedonasmynaturalhabits—speakingin

anunpremeditated,impulsivestrain,whichstartledmestrangelywhenIhaltedtoreflect.Onrisingthatmorning,hadIanticipatedthatbeforenightIshouldhaveacted thepartofagay lover inavaudeville;andanhourafter, franklydiscussedwithDr.Johnthequestionofhishaplesssuit,andralliedhimonhisillusions?IhadnomorepresagedsuchfeatsthanIhadlookedforwardtoanascentinaballoon,oravoyagetoCapeHorn.

TheDoctorand I,havingpaceddown thewalk,werenowreturning; thereflex from the window again lit his face: he smiled, but his eye wasmelancholy.HowIwishedthathecouldfeelheart's-ease!HowIgrievedthathe brooded over pain, and pain from such a cause! He, with his greatadvantages, he to love in vain! I did not then know that the pensiveness ofreverse is the best phase for someminds; nor did I reflect that some herbs,"thoughscentlesswhenentire,yieldfragrancewhenthey'rebruised."

"Donotbesorrowful,donotgrieve," Ibrokeout."If there is inGinevraonesparkofworthinessofyouraffection,shewill—shemustfeeldevotioninreturn.Becheerful,behopeful,Dr.John.Whoshouldhope,ifnotyou?"

Inreturnfor thisspeechIgot—what, itmustbesupposed,Ideserved—alookofsurprise:Ithoughtalsoofsomedisapprobation.Weparted,andIwentinto the house very chill. The clocks struck and the bells tolled midnight;peoplewereleavingfast:thefêtewasover;thelampswerefading.Inanotherhourall thedwelling-house,andall thepensionnat,weredarkandhushed. Itoowasinbed,butnotasleep.Tomeitwasnoteasytosleepafteradayofsuchexcitement.

CHAPTERXV.

THELONGVACATION.

Following Madame Beck's fête, with its three preceding weeks ofrelaxation,itsbrieftwelvehours'burstofhilarityanddissipation,anditsonesubsequentdayofutterlanguor,cameaperiodofreaction;twomonthsofrealapplication, of close, hard study. These two months, being the last of the"annéescolaire,"wereindeedtheonlygenuineworkingmonthsintheyear.Tothem was procrastinated—into them concentrated, alike by professors,mistresses, andpupils—themainburdenofpreparation for theexaminationsprecedingthedistributionofprizes.Candidatesforrewardshadthentoworkingoodearnest;mastersandteachershadtosettheirshoulderstothewheel,tourge on the backward, and diligently aid and train the more promising. Ashowydemonstration—a tellingexhibition—mustbegotup forpublicview,

andallmeanswerefairtothisend.

I scarcely noted how the other teachers went to work; I had my ownbusinesstomind;andmytaskwasnottheleastonerous,beingtoimbuesomeninety sets of brains with a due tincture of what they considered a mostcomplicated and difficult science, that of the English language; and to drillninety tongues inwhat, for them,wasanalmost impossiblepronunciation—thelispingandhissingdentalsoftheIsles.

Theexamination-dayarrived.Awfulday!Preparedforwithanxiouscare,dressed for with silent despatch—nothing vaporous or fluttering now—nowhitegauzeorazurestreamers;thegrave,close,compactwastheorderofthetoilette. It seemed to me that I was this day, especially doomed—themainburdenandtrialfallingonmealoneofallthefemaleteachers.Theotherswerenotexpectedtoexamineinthestudiestheytaught;theprofessorofliterature,M.Paul, takinguponhimself thisduty.He, thisschoolautocrat,gatheredalland sundry reins into the hollow of his one hand; he irefully rejected anycolleague; he would not have help. Madame herself, who evidently ratherwished to undertake the examination in geography—her favourite study,which she taught well—was forced to succumb, and be subordinate to herdespotickinsman'sdirection.Thewholestaffofinstructors,maleandfemale,he set aside, and stoodon the examiner's estrade alone. It irkedhim that hewasforcedtomakeoneexceptiontothisrule.HecouldnotmanageEnglish:he was obliged to leave that branch of education in the English teacher'shands;whichhedid,notwithoutaflashofnaïvejealousy.

Aconstantcrusadeagainst the"amour-propre"ofeveryhumanbeingbuthimself,wasthecrotchetofthisable,butfieryandgraspinglittleman.Hehada strong relish for public representation in his own person, but an extremeabhorrenceofthelikedisplayinanyother.Hequelled,hekeptdownwhenhecould;andwhenhecouldnot,hefumedlikeabottledstorm.

On the evening preceding the examination-day, I was walking in thegarden,asweretheotherteachersandalltheboarders.M.Emanueljoinedmein the "allée défendue;" his cigar was at his lips; his paletôt—a mostcharacteristic garment of no particular shape—hung dark andmenacing; thetasselofhisbonnetgrecsternlyshadowedhislefttemple;hisblackwhiskerscurledlikethoseofawrathfulcat;hisblueeyehadacloudinitsglitter.

"Ainsi," he began, abruptly fronting and arrestingme, "vous allez trônercomme une reine; demain—trôner à mes côtés? Sans doute vous savourezd'avancelesdélicesdel'autorité.Jecroisvoirenjenesaisquoiderayonnante,petiteambitieuse!"

Nowthefactwas,hehappened tobeentirelymistaken. Ididnot—couldnot—estimate the admirationor thegoodopinionof tomorrow's audience at

the same ratehedid.Had that audiencenumberedasmanypersonal friendsand acquaintance forme as for him, I know not how itmight have been: Ispeakofthecaseasitstood.Onmeschool-triumphsshedbutacoldlustre.Ihadwondered—andIwonderednow—howitwasthatforhimtheyseemedtoshineaswithhearth-warmthandhearth-glow.Hecaredforthemperhapstoomuch;I,probably,toolittle.However,Ihadmyownfanciesaswellashe.Iliked, for instance, toseeM.Emanuel jealous; it lituphisnature,andwokehisspirit;itthrewallsortsofqueerlightsandshadowsoverhisdunface,andintohisviolet-azureeyes(heusedtosaythathisblackhairandblueeyeswere"unedesesbeautés").Therewasarelishinhisanger;itwasartless,earnest,quiteunreasonable,butneverhypocritical.Iutterednodisclaimerthenofthecomplacency he attributed to me; I merely asked where the Englishexaminationcamein—whetheratthecommencementorcloseoftheday?

"Ihesitate,"saidhe,"whetherattheverybeginning,beforemanypersonsare come, and when your aspiring nature will not be gratified by a largeaudience,orquiteattheclose,wheneverybodyistired,andonlyajadedandworn-outattentionwillbeatyourservice."

"Quevousêtesdur,Monsieur!"Isaid,affectingdejection.

"Oneoughttobe'dur'withyou.Youareoneofthosebeingswhomustbekeptdown.Iknowyou!Iknowyou!Otherpeopleinthishouseseeyoupass,andthinkthatacolourlessshadowhasgoneby.Asforme,Iscrutinizedyourfaceonce,anditsufficed."

"Youaresatisfiedthatyouunderstandme?"

Withoutansweringdirectly,hewenton,"Wereyounotgratifiedwhenyousucceededinthatvaudeville?Iwatchedyouandsawapassionateardourfortriumphinyourphysiognomy.Whatfireshotintotheglance!Notmerelight,butflame:jemetienspouraverti."

"WhatfeelingIhadonthatoccasion,Monsieur—andpardonme,ifIsay,youimmenselyexaggeratebothitsqualityandquantity—wasquiteabstract.Ididnotcareforthevaudeville.Ihatedthepartyouassignedme.Ihadnottheslightestsympathywiththeaudiencebelowthestage.Theyaregoodpeople,doubtless,butdoIknowthem?Aretheyanythingtome?CanIcareforbeingbroughtbeforetheirviewagainto-morrow?Willtheexaminationbeanythingbutatasktome—ataskIwishwellover?"

"ShallItakeitoutofyourhands?"

"Withallmyheart;ifyoudonotfearfailure."

"ButIshouldfail.IonlyknowthreephrasesofEnglish,andafewwords:parexemple,desonn,demone,destares—est-cebiendit?Myopinionisthat

it would be better to give up the thing altogether: to have no Englishexamination,eh?"

"IfMadameconsents,Iconsent."

"Heartily?"

"Veryheartily."

Hesmokedhiscigarinsilence.Heturnedsuddenly.

"Donnez-moilamain,"saidhe,andthespiteandjealousymeltedoutofhisface,andagenerouskindlinessshonethereinstead.

"Come, we will not be rivals, we will be friends," he pursued. "Theexaminationshalltakeplace,andIwillchooseagoodmoment;andinsteadofvexingandhindering,as I felthalf-inclined tenminutesago—for Ihavemymalevolent moods: I always had from childhood—I will aid you sincerely.Afterall,youaresolitaryandastranger,andhaveyourwaytomakeandyourbread to earn; it may be well that you should become known.We will befriends:doyouagree?"

"Outofmyheart,Monsieur.Iamgladofafriend.Ilikethatbetterthanatriumph."

"Pauvrette?"saidhe,andturnedawayandleftthealley.

Theexaminationpassedoverwell;M.Paulwasasgoodashisword,anddid his best to make my part easy. The next day came the distribution ofprizes;thatalsopassed;theschoolbrokeup;thepupilswenthome,andnowbeganthelongvacation.

Thatvacation!ShallIeverforgetit?Ithinknot.MadameBeckwent,thefirst day of the holidays, to join her children at the sea-side; all the threeteachershadparentsorfriendswithwhomtheytookrefuge;everyprofessorquittedthecity;somewenttoParis,sometoBoue-Marine;M.PaulsetforthonapilgrimagetoRome;thehousewasleftquiteempty,butforme,aservant,andapoordeformedandimbecilepupil,asortofcrétin,whomherstepmotherinadistantprovincewouldnotallowtoreturnhome.

My heart almost diedwithinme;miserable longings strained its chords.HowlongweretheSeptemberdays!Howsilent,howlifeless!Howvastandvoid seemed thedesolatepremises!Howgloomy the forsakengarden—greynow with the dust of a town summer departed. Looking forward at thecommencementofthoseeightweeks,IhardlyknewhowIwastolivetotheend. My spirits had long been gradually sinking; now that the prop ofemploymentwaswithdrawn,theywentdownfast.Eventolookforwardwasnot tohope: thedumbfuturespokenocomfort,offerednopromise,gavenoinducement to bear present evil in reliance on future good. A sorrowful

indifference to existence often pressed on me—a despairing resignation toreachbetimes the endof all things earthly.Alas!When I had full leisure tolookonlifeaslifemustbelookedonbysuchasme,Ifounditbutahopelessdesert:tawnysands,withnogreenfields,nopalm-tree,nowellinview.Thehopeswhicharedeartoyouth,whichbearitupandleaditon,Iknewnotanddarednotknow.Iftheyknockedatmyheartsometimes,aninhospitablebartoadmission must be inwardly drawn. When they turned away thus rejected,tears sad enough sometimes flowed: but it could not be helped: I dared notgive such guests lodging. So mortally did I fear the sin and weakness ofpresumption.

Religiousreader,youwillpreachtomealongsermonaboutwhatIhavejust written, and sowill you,moralist: and you, stern sage: you, stoic, willfrown;you,cynic,sneer;you,epicure,laugh.Well,eachandall,takeityourownway. I accept the sermon, frown, sneer, and laugh; perhaps you are allright: and perhaps, circumstanced like me, you would have been, like me,wrong.Thefirstmonthwas,indeed,along,black,heavymonthtome.

Thecrétindidnotseemunhappy.Ididmybesttofeedherwellandkeepherwarm, and sheonly asked food and sunshine, orwhen that lacked, fire.Herweakfacultiesapprovedofinertion:herbrain,hereyes,herears,herheartsleptcontent;theycouldnotwaketowork,solethargywastheirParadise.

Threeweeksofthatvacationwerehot,fair,anddry,butthefourthandfifthweretempestuousandwet.Idonotknowwhythatchangeintheatmospheremadeacruelimpressiononme,whytheragingstormandbeatingraincrushedmewithadeadlierparalysisthanIhadexperiencedwhiletheairhadremainedserene;butsoitwas;andmynervoussystemcouldhardlysupportwhatithadformanydaysandnightstoundergointhathugeemptyhouse.HowIusedtopray to Heaven for consolation and support! With what dread force theconviction would grasp me that Fate was my permanent foe, never to beconciliated.Ididnot,inmyheart,arraignthemercyorjusticeofGodforthis;Iconcludedittobeapartofhisgreatplanthatsomemustdeeplysufferwhiletheylive,andIthrilledinthecertaintythatofthisnumber,Iwasone.

Itwassomereliefwhenanauntofthecrétin,akindoldwoman,cameoneday, and took awaymy strange, deformed companion. The hapless creaturehadbeenattimesaheavycharge;Icouldnottakeheroutbeyondthegarden,andIcouldnotleaveheraminutealone:forherpoormind,likeherbody,waswarped: its propensity was to evil. A vague bent to mischief, an aimlessmalevolence,madeconstantvigilanceindispensable.Assheveryrarelyspoke,and would sit for hours together moping and mowing, and distorting herfeatures with indescribable grimaces, it was more like being prisoned withsome strange tameless animal, than associating with a human being. Thentherewere personal attentions to be renderedwhich required the nerve of a

hospitalnurse;myresolutionwassotried,itsometimesfelldead-sick.Thesedutiesshouldnothavefallenonme;aservant,nowabsent,hadrenderedthemhitherto,andinthehurryofholidaydeparture,nosubstitutetofillthisofficehadbeenprovided.ThistaxandtrialwerebynomeanstheleastIhaveknowninlife.Still,menialanddistastefulastheywere,mymentalpainwasfarmorewastingandwearing.Attendanceonthecrétindeprivedmeoftenofthepowerandinclinationtoswallowameal,andsentmefaint to thefreshair,andthewellorfountaininthecourt;butthisdutyneverwrungmyheart,orbrimmedmyeyes,orscaldedmycheekwithtearshotasmoltenmetal.

Thecrétinbeinggone,Iwasfreetowalkout.AtfirstIlackedcouragetoventureveryfarfromtheRueFossette,butbydegreesIsoughtthecitygates,andpassedthem,andthenwentwanderingawayfaralongchaussées,throughfields, beyond cemeteries, Catholic and Protestant, beyond farmsteads, tolanes and littlewoods, and I knownotwhere.Agoad thrustmeon, a feverforbade me to rest; a want of companionship maintained in my soul thecravingsofamostdeadlyfamine.Ioftenwalkedallday,throughtheburningnoon and the arid afternoon, and the dusk evening, and came back withmoonrise.

While wandering in solitude, I would sometimes picture the presentprobablepositionofothers,myacquaintance.TherewasMadameBeckat acheerfulwatering-placewith her children, hermother, and awhole troop offriendswhohadsought thesamesceneof relaxation.ZélieSt.PierrewasatParis,with her relatives; the other teacherswere at their homes. TherewasGinevraFanshawe,whomcertainofherconnectionshadcarriedonapleasanttoursouthward.Ginevraseemedtomethehappiest.Shewasontherouteofbeautifulscenery;theseSeptembersunsshoneforheronfertileplains,whereharvestandvintagematuredundertheirmellowbeam.Thesegoldandcrystalmoonsroseonhervisionoverbluehorizonswavedinmountedlines.

Butallthiswasnothing;Itoofeltthoseautumnsunsandsawthoseharvestmoons,andIalmostwishedtobecoveredinwithearthandturf,deepoutoftheirinfluence;forIcouldnotliveintheirlight,normakethemcomrades,noryieldthemaffection.ButGinevrahadakindofspiritwithher,empoweredtogiveconstantstrengthandcomfort,togladdendaylightandembalmdarkness;thebestof thegoodgenii thatguardhumanitycurtainedherwithhiswings,and canopied her head with his bending form. By True Love was Ginevrafollowed: never could she be alone.Was she insensible to this presence? Itseemed tome impossible: I couldnot realize suchdeadness. I imaginedhergrateful in secret, loving nowwith reserve; but purposing one day to showhowmuch she loved: I pictured her faithful hero half conscious of her coyfondness,andcomfortedbythatconsciousness:Iconceivedanelectricchordofsympathybetween them,a finechainofmutualunderstanding, sustaining

unionthroughaseparationofahundredleagues—carrying,acrossmoundandhollow, communication by prayer andwish.Ginevra gradually becamewithmeasortofheroine.Oneday,perceivingthisgrowingillusion,Isaid,"Ireallybelievemynervesaregettingoverstretched:mymindhassufferedsomewhattoomuch amalady is growing upon it—what shall I do?How shall I keepwell?"

Indeed therewasnoway tokeepwellunder thecircumstances.At lastadayandnightofpeculiarlyagonizingdepressionweresucceededbyphysicalillness,Itookperforcetomybed.AboutthistimetheIndiansummerclosedandtheequinoctialstormsbegan;andforninedarkandwetdays,ofwhichthehours rushed on all turbulent, deaf, dishevelled—bewildered with soundinghurricane—Ilayinastrangefeverofthenervesandblood.Sleepwentquiteaway.Iusedtoriseinthenight,lookroundforher,beseechherearnestlytoreturn.A rattle of thewindow, a cry of the blast only replied—Sleep nevercame!

I err. She came once, but in anger. Impatient of my importunity shebroughtwithher an avengingdream.By the clockofSt. JeanBaptiste, thatdreamremainedscarcefifteenminutes—abriefspace,butsufficingtowringmywholeframewithunknownanguish;toconferanamelessexperiencethathad thehue, themien, the terror, thevery toneof avisitation frometernity.Betweentwelveandonethatnightacupwasforcedtomylips,black,strong,strange, drawn from no well, but filled up seething from a bottomless andboundless sea. Suffering, brewed in temporal or calculable measure, andmixed for mortal lips, tastes not as this suffering tasted. Having drank andwoke,Ithoughtallwasover:theendcomeandpastby.Tremblingfearfully—asconsciousness returned—ready tocryoutonsomefellow-creature tohelpme, only that I knew no fellow-creaturewas near enough to catch thewildsummons—Gotoninherfardistantatticcouldnothear—Iroseonmykneesinbed.Somefearfulhourswentoverme:indescribablywasItorn,rackedandoppressedinmind.AmidstthehorrorsofthatdreamIthinktheworstlayhere.Methought the well-loved dead, who had loved me well in life, met meelsewhere,alienated:galledwasmyinmostspiritwithanunutterablesenseofdespairaboutthefuture.MotivetherewasnonewhyIshouldtrytorecoverorwishtolive;andyetquiteunendurablewasthepitilessandhaughtyvoiceinwhichDeath challengedme to engagehis unknown terrors.When I tried topray I could only utter thesewords: "Frommyyouth upThy terrors have Isufferedwithatroubledmind."

Mosttruewasit.

OnbringingmemyteanextmorningGotonurgedmetocallinadoctor.

Iwouldnot:Ithoughtnodoctorcouldcureme.

Oneevening—andIwasnotdelirious:Iwasinmysanemind,Igotup—Idressedmyself,weakandshaking.Thesolitudeand thestillnessof the longdormitorycouldnotbeborneanylonger;theghastlywhitebedswereturninginto spectres—the coronal of each became a death's-head, huge and sun-bleached—deaddreamsofanelderworldandmightierracelayfrozenintheirwidegapingeyeholes.That eveningmore firmly thanever fastened intomysoul the conviction that Fate was of stone, and Hope a false idol—blind,bloodless,andofgranitecore.Ifelt,too,thatthetrialGodhadappointedmewasgainingitsclimax,andmustnowbeturnedbymyownhands,hot,feeble,trembling as theywere. It rained still, and blew; butwithmore clemency, Ithought, than it had poured and raged all day. Twilight was falling, and Ideemed its influence pitiful; from the lattice I saw coming night-cloudstrailinglowlikebannersdrooping.ItseemedtomethatatthishourtherewasaffectionandsorrowinHeavenaboveforallpainsufferedonearthbeneath;theweightofmydreadfuldreambecamealleviated—thatinsufferablethoughtofbeingnomoreloved—nomoreowned,half-yieldedtohopeofthecontrary—IwassurethishopewouldshineclearerifIgotoutfromunderthishouse-roof,whichwascrushingastheslabofatomb,andwentoutsidethecitytoacertain quiet hill, a long way distant in the fields. Covered with a cloak (Icould not be delirious, for I had sense and recollection to put on warmclothing),forthIset.Thebellsofachurcharrestedmeinpassing;theyseemedto callme in to the salut, and Iwent in.Any solemn rite, any spectacle ofsincereworship,anyopeningforappealtoGodwasaswelcometomethenasbread to one in extremity of want. I knelt down with others on the stonepavement. Itwas an old solemn church, its pervading gloomnot gilded butpurpledbylightshedthroughstainedglass.

Few worshippers were assembled, and, the salut over, half of themdeparted.Idiscoveredsoonthatthoseleftremainedtoconfess.Ididnotstir.Carefully every door of the churchwas shut; a holy quiet sankupon, and asolemnshadegatheredaboutus.Afteraspace,breathlessandspentinprayer,apenitentapproachedtheconfessional.Iwatched.Shewhisperedheravowal;her shrift was whispered back; she returned consoled. Another went, andanother.Apale lady,kneelingnearme, said ina low,kindvoice:—"Goyounow,Iamnotquiteprepared."

Mechanicallyobedient,Iroseandwent.IknewwhatIwasabout;mymindhadrunovertheintentwithlightning-speed.TotakethisstepcouldnotmakememorewretchedthanIwas;itmightsootheme.

Thepriestwithin theconfessionalnever turnedhiseyes toregardme;heonlyquietlyinclinedhiseartomylips.Hemightbeagoodman,butthisdutyhad become to him a sort of form: he went through it with the phlegm ofcustom. I hesitated; of the formula of confession Iwas ignorant: instead of

commencing, then, with the prelude usual, I said:—"Mon père, je suisProtestante."

He directly turned.Hewas not a native priest: of that class, the cast ofphysiognomyis,almostinvariably,grovelling:IsawbyhisprofileandbrowhewasaFrenchman;thoughgreyandadvancedinyears,hedidnot,Ithink,lackfeelingorintelligence.Heinquired,notunkindly,why,beingaProtestant,Icametohim?

IsaidIwasperishingforawordofadviceoranaccentofcomfort.Ihadbeen living for someweeks quite alone; I had been ill; I had a pressure ofafflictiononmymindofwhichitwouldhardlyanylongerenduretheweight.

"Wasitasin,acrime?"heinquired,somewhatstartled.Ireassuredhimonthis point, and, as well as I could, I showed him the mere outline of myexperience.

He looked thoughtful, surprised, puzzled. "You takeme unawares," saidhe. "I have not had such a case as yours before: ordinarily we know ourroutine,andareprepared;butthismakesagreatbreakinthecommoncourseofconfession.Iamhardlyfurnishedwithcounselfittingthecircumstances."

Of course, I had not expected he would be; but the mere relief ofcommunicationinanearwhichwashumanandsentient,yetconsecrated—themerepouringoutofsomeportionoflongaccumulating,longpent-uppainintoa vessel whence it could not be again diffused—had doneme good. I wasalreadysolaced.

"MustIgo,father?"Iaskedofhimashesatsilent.

"Mydaughter,"hesaidkindly—andIamsurehewasakindman:hehadacompassionateeye—"forthepresentyouhadbettergo:butIassureyouyourwordshavestruckme.Confession,likeotherthings,isapttobecomeformaland trivial with habit. You have come and poured your heart out; a thingseldomdone. Iwould fain think your case over, and take itwithme tomyoratory.WereyouofourfaithIshouldknowwhattosay—amindsotossedcanfindreposebutinthebosomofretreat,andthepunctualpracticeofpiety.Theworld,itiswellknown,hasnosatisfactionforthatclassofnatures.Holymenhavebiddenpenitents likeyou tohasten theirpathupwardbypenance,self-denial,anddifficultgoodworks.Tearsaregiventhemhereformeatanddrink—breadof affliction andwaters of affliction—their recompence comeshereafter.ItismyownconvictionthattheseimpressionsunderwhichyouaresmartingaremessengersfromGodtobringyoubacktothetrueChurch.Youweremade forour faith:dependupon itour faithalonecouldhealandhelpyou—Protestantismisaltogether toodry,cold,prosaicforyou.ThefurtherIlook into thismatter, themoreplainlyIsee it isentirelyoutof thecommon

orderofthings.OnnoaccountwouldIlosesightofyou.Go,mydaughter,forthepresent;butreturntomeagain."

Iroseandthankedhim.Iwaswithdrawingwhenhesignedmetoreturn.

"Youmust not come to this church," saidhe: "I seeyou are ill, and thischurchistoocold;youmustcometomyhouse:Ilive——"(andhegavemehisaddress)."Bethereto-morrowmorningatten."

Inreplytothisappointment,Ionlybowed;andpullingdownmyveil,andgatheringroundmemycloak,Iglidedaway.

Did I, do you suppose, reader, contemplate venturing again within thatworthy priest's reach? As soon should I have thought of walking into aBabylonish furnace.Thatpriesthadarmswhichcould influenceme:hewasnaturallykind,withasentimentalFrenchkindness,towhosesoftnessIknewmyself not wholly impervious. Without respecting some sorts of affection,therewashardlyanysorthavingafibreofrootinreality,whichIcouldrelyonmyforcewhollytowithstand.HadIgonetohim,hewouldhaveshownmeall that was tender, and comforting, and gentle, in the honest Popishsuperstition.Thenhewouldhave tried tokindle,blowandstirup inme thezeal of goodworks. I know not how itwould all have ended.We all thinkourselves strong in some points; we all know ourselvesweak inmany; theprobabilitiesarethathadIvisitedNumero10,RuedesMages,atthehouranddayappointed, Imight just now, insteadofwriting thishereticnarrative, becountingmybeadsinthecellofacertainCarmeliteconventontheBoulevardofCrécy, inVillette.Therewas somethingofFénélonabout thatbenignoldpriest;andwhatevermostofhisbrethrenmaybe,andwhateverImaythinkofhis Church and creed (and I like neither), of himself I must ever retain agrateful recollection.HewaskindwhenIneededkindness;hedidmegood.MayHeavenblesshim!

Twilighthadpassed intonight,and the lampswere lit in thestreetsere Iissuedfromthatsombrechurch.Toturnbackwasnowbecomepossibletome;thewildlongingtobreathethisOctoberwindonthelittlehillfarwithoutthecitywalls had ceased to be an imperative impulse, andwas softened into awish with which Reason could cope: she put it down, and I turned, as Ithought,totheRueFossette.ButIhadbecomeinvolvedinapartofthecitywithwhichIwasnotfamiliar;itwastheoldpart,andfullofnarrowstreetsofpicturesque,ancient,andmoulderinghouses.Iwasmuchtooweaktobeverycollected, and I was still too careless of my own welfare and safety to becautious;Igrewembarrassed;Igotimmeshedinanetworkofturnsunknown.Iwaslostandhadnoresolutiontoaskguidanceofanypassenger.

If the storm had lulled a little at sunset, it made up now for lost time.Strong and horizontal thundered the current of thewind from north-west to

south-east;itbroughtrainlikespray,andsometimesasharphail,likeshot:itwascoldandpiercedmetothevitals.Ibentmyheadtomeetit,butitbeatmeback.Myheartdidnotfailatallinthisconflict;IonlywishedthatIhadwingsandcouldascendthegale,spreadandreposemypinionsonitsstrength,careerinitscourse,sweepwhereitswept.Whilewishingthis,IsuddenlyfeltcolderwherebeforeIwascold,andmorepowerlesswherebeforeIwasweak.Itriedtoreach theporchofagreatbuildingnear,but themassof frontageand thegiantspireturnedblackandvanishedfrommyeyes.InsteadofsinkingonthestepsasIintended,Iseemedtopitchheadlongdownanabyss.Iremembernomore.

CHAPTERXVI.

AULDLANGSYNE.

WheremysoulwentduringthatswoonIcannottell.Whatevershesaw,orwherever she travelled in her trance on that strange night she kept her ownsecret; neverwhispering aword toMemory, andbaffling imaginationby anindissoluble silence. Shemay have gone upward, and come in sight of hereternalhome,hopingforleavetorestnow,anddeemingthatherpainfulunionwithmatterwas at last dissolved.While she sodeemed, an angelmayhavewarned her away from heaven's threshold, and, guiding herweeping down,haveboundher,oncemore,allshudderingandunwilling,tothatpoorframe,coldandwasted,ofwhosecompanionshipshewasgrownmorethanweary.

Iknowshere-enteredherprisonwithpain,withreluctance,withamoanandalongshiver.Thedivorcedmates,SpiritandSubstance,werehardtore-unite: they greeted each other, not in an embrace, but a racking sort ofstruggle. The returning sense of sight came uponme, red, as if it swam inblood; suspended hearing rushed back loud, like thunder; consciousnessrevivedinfear:Isatupappalled,wonderingintowhatregion,amongstwhatstrangebeingsIwaswaking.AtfirstIknewnothingIlookedon:awallwasnotawall—alampnotalamp.Ishouldhaveunderstoodwhatwecallaghost,aswellasIdidthecommonestobject:whichisanotherwayofintimatingthatallmyeyerestedonstruckitasspectral.Butthefacultiessoonsettledeachinhisplace;thelife-machinepresentlyresumeditswontedandregularworking.

Still,IknewnotwhereIwas;onlyintimeIsawIhadbeenremovedfromthespotwhereIfell:Ilayonnoportico-step;nightandtempestwereexcludedbywalls,windows,andceiling.IntosomehouseIhadbeencarried—butwhathouse?

I could only think of the pensionnat in the Rue Fossette. Still half-dreaming,Itriedhardtodiscoverinwhatroomtheyhadputme;whetherthegreatdormitory,oroneofthelittledormitories.Iwaspuzzled,becauseIcouldnotmaketheglimpsesoffurnitureIsawaccordwithmyknowledgeofanyofthese apartments.The emptywhite bedswerewanting, and the long line oflargewindows."Surely,"thoughtI,"itisnottoMadameBeck'sownchambertheyhavecarriedme!"Andheremyeye fell on aneasy-chair coveredwithbluedamask.Otherseats,cushionedtomatch,dawnedonmebydegrees;andatlastItookinthecompletefactofapleasantparlour,withawoodfireonaclear-shining hearth, a carpet where arabesques of bright blue relieved agroundofshadedfawn;palewallsoverwhichaslightbutendlessgarlandofazure forget-me-nots ranmazedandbewilderedamongstmyriadgold leavesand tendrils. A gilded mirror filled up the space between two windows,curtainedamplywithbluedamask.InthismirrorIsawmyselflaid,notinbed,but on a sofa. I looked spectral; my eyes larger andmore hollow, my hairdarker than was natural, by contrast with my thin and ashen face. It wasobvious,notonlyfromthefurniture,butfromthepositionofwindows,doors,andfireplace,thatthiswasanunknownroominanunknownhouse.

Hardlylessplainwasitthatmybrainwasnotyetsettled;for,asIgazedatthebluearm-chair,itappearedtogrowfamiliar;sodidacertainscroll-couch,and not less so the round centre-table, with a blue-covering, bordered withautumn-tintedfoliage;and,aboveall,twolittlefootstoolswithworkedcovers,andasmallebony-framedchair,ofwhichtheseatandbackwerealsoworkedwithgroupsofbrilliantflowersonadarkground.

Struck with these things, I explored further. Strange to say, oldacquaintance were all about me, and "auld lang syne" smiled out of everynook.Thereweretwoovalminiaturesoverthemantel-piece,ofwhichIknewbyheartthepearlsaboutthehighandpowdered"heads;"thevelvetscirclingthewhitethroats;theswellofthefullmuslinkerchiefs:thepatternofthelacesleeve-ruffles.Uponthemantel-shelfthereweretwochinavases,somerelicsofadiminutivetea-service,assmoothasenamelandasthinasegg-shell,andawhitecentreornament,aclassicgroupinalabaster,preservedunderglass.Ofall these things I could have told the peculiarities, numbered the flaws orcracks,likeanyclairvoyante.Aboveall,therewasapairofhandscreens,withelaborate pencil-drawings finished like line engravings; these,my very eyesachedatbeholdingagain, recallinghourswhentheyhadfollowed,strokebystrokeandtouchbytouch,atedious,feeble,finical,school-girlpencilheldinthesefingers,nowsoskeleton-like.

WherewasI?Notonlyinwhatspotoftheworld,butinwhatyearofourLord?For all these objectswere of past days, and of a distant country.TenyearsagoIbadethemgood-by;sincemyfourteenthyeartheyandIhadnever

met.Igaspedaudibly,"WhereamI?"

A shape hitherto unnoticed, stirred, rose, came forward: a shapeinharmonious with the environment, serving only to complicate the riddlefurther. This was no more than a sort of native bonne, in a common-placebonne'scapandprint-dress.ShespokeneitherFrenchnorEnglish,andIcouldgetnointelligencefromher,notunderstandingherphrasesofdialect.Butshebathedmytemplesandforeheadwithsomecoolandperfumedwater,andthensheheightenedthecushiononwhichIreclined,madesignsthatIwasnottospeak,andresumedherpostatthefootofthesofa.

Shewasbusyknitting;hereyesthusdrawnfromme,Icouldgazeonherwithoutinterruption.Ididmightilywonderhowshecamethere,orwhatshecouldhavetodoamongthescenes,orwiththedaysofmygirlhood.StillmoreImarvelledwhatthosescenesanddayscouldnowhavetodowithme.

Tooweaktoscrutinizethoroughlythemystery,Itriedtosettleitbysayingit was a mistake, a dream, a fever-fit; and yet I knew there could be nomistake,andthatIwasnotsleeping,andIbelievedIwassane.Iwishedtheroomhadnotbeensowell lighted, that Imightnotsoclearlyhaveseen thelittlepictures,theornaments,thescreens,theworkedchair.Alltheseobjects,aswellastheblue-damaskfurniture,were,infact,preciselythesame,ineveryminutestdetail,withthoseIsowellremembered,andwithwhichIhadbeenso thoroughly intimate, in the drawing-room of my godmother's house atBretton. Methought the apartment only was changed, being of differentproportionsanddimensions.

IthoughtofBedreddinHassan,transportedinhissleepfromCairotothegatesofDamascus.Had aGenius stoopedhis darkwingdown the storm towhosestress Ihadsuccumbed,andgatheringme from thechurch-steps,and"risinghighintotheair,"as theeasterntalesaid,hadhebornemeoverlandandocean,andlaidmequietlydownbesideahearthofOldEngland?Butno;IknewthefireofthathearthburnedbeforeitsLaresnomore—itwentoutlongago,andthehouseholdgodshadbeencarriedelsewhere.

Thebonneturnedagaintosurveyme,andseeingmyeyeswideopen,and,Isuppose,deemingtheirexpressionperturbedandexcited,sheputdownherknitting.Isawherbusiedforamomentatalittlestand;shepouredoutwater,andmeasured drops from a phial: glass in hand, she approachedme.Whatdark-tinged draughtmight she now be offering?what Genii-elixir orMagi-distillation?

Itwastoolatetoinquire—Ihadswalloweditpassively,andatonce.Atideofquiet thoughtnowcamegentlycaressingmybrain; softer and softer rosethe flow,with tepid undulations smoother than balm.The pain ofweaknessleftmylimbs,mymusclesslept.Ilostpowertomove;but,losingatthesame

timewish, itwasnoprivation.Thatkindbonneplacedascreenbetweenmeandthelamp;Isawherrisetodothis,butdonotrememberseeingherresumeherplace:intheintervalbetweenthetwoacts,I"fellonsleep."

**

Atwaking, lo! allwas again changed.The light of high day surroundedme; not, indeed, a warm, summer light, but the leaden gloom of raw andblusteringautumn. I felt surenow that Iwas in thepensionnat—sureby thebeating rain on the casement; sure by the "wuther" of wind amongst trees,denotingagardenoutside;surebythechill,thewhiteness,thesolitude,amidstwhichIlay.Isaywhiteness—forthedimitycurtains,droppedbeforeaFrenchbed,boundedmyview.

Iliftedthem;Ilookedout.Myeye,preparedtotakeintherangeofalong,large,andwhitewashedchamber,blinkedbaffled,onencounteringthelimitedareaof a small cabinet—acabinetwith seagreenwalls; also, insteadof fivewide and naked windows, there was one high lattice, shaded with muslinfestoons: insteadof twodozen little standsof paintedwood, eachholding abasinandanewer,therewasatoilette-tabledressed,likealadyforaball,inawhiterobeoverapinkskirt;apolishedandlargeglasscrowned,andaprettypin-cushion frilledwith lace, adorned it.This toilette, togetherwith a small,low,greenandwhitechintzarm-chair,awashstandtoppedwithamarbleslab,and suppliedwith utensils of pale greenware, sufficiently furnished the tinychamber.

Reader;Ifeltalarmed!Why?youwillask.Whatwasthereinthissimpleandsomewhatprettysleeping-closet tostartle themost timid?Merely this—Thesearticlesoffurniturecouldnotbereal,solidarm-chairs,looking-glasses,and washstands—they must be the ghosts of such articles; or, if this weredeniedastoowildanhypothesis—and,confoundedasIwas,Ididdenyit—thereremainedbuttoconcludethatIhadmyselfpassedintoanabnormalstateofmind;inshort,thatIwasveryillanddelirious:andeventhen,minewasthestrangestfigmentwithwhichdeliriumhadeverharassedavictim.

Iknew—Iwasobliged toknow—thegreenchintzof that littlechair; thelittlesnugchair itself, thecarved,shining-black,foliatedframeof thatglass;thesmooth,milky-greenofthechinavesselsonthestand;theverystandtoo,with its top of grey marble, splintered at one corner;—all these I wascompelled to recognise and to hail, as last night I had, perforce, recognisedandhailedtherosewood,thedrapery,theporcelain,ofthedrawing-room.

Bretton!Bretton!andtenyearsagoshonereflectedinthatmirror.AndwhydidBrettonandmyfourteenthyearhauntmethus?Why,iftheycameatall,didtheynotreturncomplete?Whyhoveredbeforemydistemperedvisionthemere furniture, while the rooms and the locality were gone? As to that

pincushion made of crimson satin, ornamented with gold beads and frilledwiththread-lace,Ihadthesamerighttoknowitastoknowthescreens—Ihadmadeitmyself.Risingwithastartfromthebed,Itookthecushioninmyhandand examined it. Therewas the cipher "L.L.B." formed in gold beds, andsurrounded with an oval wreath embroidered in white silk. These were theinitialsofmygodmother'sname—LonisaLucyBretton.

"AmIinEngland?AmIatBretton?"Imuttered;andhastilypullinguptheblindwithwhich the latticewas shrouded, I looked out to try and discoverwhere I was; half-prepared to meet the calm, old, handsome buildings andcleangreypavementofSt.Ann'sStreet,andtoseeattheendthetowersoftheminster:or,ifotherwise,fullyexpectantofatownviewsomewhere,arueinVillette,ifnotastreetinapleasantandancientEnglishcity.

Ilooked,onthecontrary,throughaframeofleafage,clusteringroundthehighlattice,andforththencetoagrassymead-likelevel,alawn-terracewithtrees rising from the lower ground beyond—high forest-trees, such as I hadnotseenformanyaday.TheywerenowgroaningunderthegaleofOctober,andbetweentheir trunksI tracedthe lineofanavenue,whereyellowleaveslayinheapsanddrifts,orwerewhirledsinglybeforethesweepingwestwind.Whatever landscape might lie further must have been flat, and these tallbeechesshutitout.Theplaceseemedsecluded,andwastomequitestrange:Ididnotknowitatall.

OncemoreIlaydown.Mybedstoodinalittlealcove;onturningmyfacetothewall,theroomwithitsbewilderingaccompanimentsbecameexcluded.Excluded? No! For as I arranged my position in this hope, behold, on thegreenspacebetweenthedividedandlooped-upcurtains,hungabroad,gildedpicture-frame enclosing a portrait. It was drawn—well drawn, though but asketch—inwater-colours;ahead,aboy'shead,fresh,life-like,speaking,andanimated. It seemed a youth of sixteen, fair-complexioned, with sanguinehealth inhischeek;hair long,notdark,andwithasunnysheen;penetratingeyes,anarchmouth,andagaysmile.On thewholeamostpleasant face tolook at, especially for, those claiming a right to that youth's affections—parents, for instance, or sisters.Any romantic little school-girlmight almosthaveloveditinitsframe.Thoseeyeslookedasifwhensomewhatoldertheywould flash a lightning-response to love: I cannot tellwhether they kept instore the steady-beaming shine of faith. Forwhatever sentimentmet him inform too facile, his lips menaced, beautifully but surely, caprice and lightesteem.

Striving to takeeachnewdiscoveryasquietlyas Icould, Iwhispered tomyself—

"Ah! that portrait used to hang in the breakfast-room, over the mantel-

piece:somewhattoohigh,asIthought.IwellrememberhowIusedtomounta music-stool for the purpose of unhooking it, holding it in my hand, andsearching into those bonny wells of eyes, whose glance under their hazellashesseemedlikeapencilledlaugh;andwellIlikedtonotethecolouringofthe cheek, and the expression of themouth." I hardly believed fancy couldimproveonthecurveofthatmouth,orofthechin;evenmyignoranceknewthatbothwerebeautiful,andponderedperplexedoverthisdoubt:"Howitwasthatwhatcharmedsomuch,couldatthesametimesokeenlypain?"Once,bywayoftest,ItooklittleMissyHome,and,liftingherinmyarms,toldhertolookatthepicture.

"Doyoulikeit,Polly?"Iasked.Sheneveranswered,butgazedlong,andat lastadarknesswenttremblingthroughhersensitiveeye,asshesaid,"Putmedown."SoIputherdown,sayingtomyself:"Thechildfeelsittoo."

AllthesethingsdoInowthinkover,adding,"Hehadhisfaults,yetscarceeverwasafinernature;liberal,suave,impressible."Myreflectionsclosedinanaudiblypronouncedword,"Graham!"

"Graham!"echoedasuddenvoiceatthebedside."DoyouwantGraham?"

I looked. The plotwas but thickening; thewonder but culminating. If itwas strange to see that well-remembered pictured form on the wall, stillstrangerwas it to turn and behold the equallywell-remembered living formopposite—a woman, a lady, most real and substantial, tall, well-attired,wearingwidow'ssilk,andsuchacapasbestbecamehermatronandmotherlybraids of hair. Hers, too, was a good face; too marked, perhaps, now forbeauty, but not for sense or character. She was little changed; somethingsterner,somethingmorerobust—butshewasmygodmother:stillthedistinctvisionofMrs.Bretton.

Ikeptquiet,yetinternallyIwasmuchagitated:mypulsefluttered,andthebloodleftmycheek,whichturnedcold.

"Madam,whereamI?"Iinquired.

"In a very safe asylum;well protected for the present;make yourmindquiteeasytillyougetalittlebetter;youlookillthismorning."

"Iamsoentirelybewildered,IdonotknowwhetherIcantrustmysensesat all, orwhether they aremisleadingme in everyparticular: but you speakEnglish,doyounot,madam?"

"I should think youmight hear that: it would puzzleme to hold a longdiscourseinFrench."

"YoudonotcomefromEngland?"

"Iamlatelyarrivedthence.Haveyoubeenlonginthiscountry?Youseem

toknowmyson?"

"Do,I,madam?PerhapsIdo.Yourson—thepicturethere?"

"That is his portrait as a youth.While looking at it, you pronounced hisname."

"GrahamBretton?"

Shenodded.

"IspeaktoMrs.Bretton,formerlyofBretton,——shire?"

"Quiteright;andyou,Iamtold,areanEnglishteacherinaforeignschoolhere:mysonrecognisedyouassuch."

"HowwasIfound,madam,andbywhom?"

"Mysonshalltellyouthatby-and-by,"saidshe;"butatpresentyouaretooconfused and weak for conversation: try to eat some breakfast, and thensleep."

NotwithstandingallIhadundergone—thebodilyfatigue,theperturbationofspirits,theexposuretoweather—itseemedthatIwasbetter:thefever,therealmaladywhichhadoppressedmyframe,wasabating;for,whereasduringthelastninedaysIhadtakennosolidfood,andsufferedfromcontinualthirst,this morning, on breakfast being offered, I experienced a craving fornourishment:aninwardfaintnesswhichcausedmeeagerlytotastetheteathisladyoffered,andtoeatthemorselofdrytoastsheallowedinaccompaniment.Itwasonlyamorsel,butitsufficed;keepingupmystrengthtillsometwoorthreehoursafterwards,whenthebonnebroughtmealittlecupofbrothandabiscuit.

As evening began to darken, and the ceaseless blast still blewwild andcold,andtherainstreamedon,deluge-like,Igrewweary—verywearyofmybed. The room, though pretty, was small: I felt it confining: I longed for achange.Theincreasingchillandgatheringgloom,too,depressedme;Iwantedtosee—tofeelfirelight.Besides,Ikeptthinkingofthesonofthattallmatron:whenshouldIseehim?CertainlynottillIleftmyroom.

Atlastthebonnecametomakemybedforthenight.Shepreparedtowrapme in a blanket and placeme in the little chintz chair; but, declining theseattentions,Iproceededtodressmyself:

The business was just achieved, and I was sitting down to take breath,whenMrs.Brettononcemoreappeared.

"Dressed!" she exclaimed, smiling with that smile I so well knew—apleasantsmile,thoughnotsoft."Youarequitebetterthen?Quitestrong—eh?"

ShespoketomesomuchasofoldsheusedtospeakthatIalmostfanciedshewasbeginningtoknowme.Therewasthesamesortofpatronageinhervoice and manner that, as a girl, I had always experienced from her—apatronage I yielded to and even liked; it was not founded on conventionalgrounds of superiorwealth or station (in the last particular there had neverbeenanyinequality;herdegreewasmine);butonnaturalreasonsofphysicaladvantage: itwas the shelter the treegives theherb. I put a requestwithoutfurtherceremony.

"Doletmegodown-stairs,madam;Iamsocoldanddullhere."

"Idesirenothingbetter,ifyouarestrongenoughtobearthechange,"washerreply."Comethen;hereisanarm."Andsheofferedmehers:Itookit,andwe descended one flight of carpeted steps to a landing where a tall door,standing open, gave admission into the blue-damask room.How pleasant itwasinitsairofperfectdomesticcomfort!Howwarminitsamberlamp-lightandvermilionfire-flush!Torenderthepictureperfect,teastoodreadyonthetable—an English tea, whereof the whole shining service glanced at mefamiliarly;fromthesolidsilverurn,ofantiquepattern,andthemassivepotofthe samemetal, to the thin porcelain cups, dark with purple and gilding. Iknewtheveryseed-cakeofpeculiar form,baked inapeculiarmould,whichalwayshadaplaceon the tea-table atBretton.Graham liked it, and there itwasasofyore—setbeforeGraham'splatewiththesilverknifeandforkbesideit.Grahamwasthenexpectedtotea:Grahamwasnow,perhaps,inthehouse;eremanyminutesImightseehim.

"Sitdown—sitdown,"saidmyconductress,asmystepfalteredalittleinpassingtothehearth.Sheseatedmeonthesofa,butIsoonpassedbehindit,sayingthefirewastoohot;initsshadeIfoundanotherseatwhichsuitedmebetter. Mrs. Bretton was never wont to make a fuss about any person oranything; without remonstrance she sufferedme to havemy ownway. Shemadethetea,andshetookupthenewspaper.Ilikedtowatcheveryactionofmygodmother; all hermovementswere soyoung: shemusthavebeennowabovefifty,yetneitherhersinewsnorherspiritseemedyettouchedbytherustof age. Though portly, she was alert, and though serene, she was at timesimpetuous—good health and an excellent temperament kept her green as inherspring.

Whilesheread,Iperceivedshelistened—listenedforherson.Shewasnotthe woman ever to confess herself uneasy, but there was yet no lull in theweather,andifGrahamwereoutinthathoarsewind—roaringstillunsatisfied—Iwellknewhismother'sheartwouldbeoutwithhim.

"Ten minutes behind his time," said she, looking at her watch; then, inanotherminute,aliftingofhereyesfromthepage,andaslightinclinationof

herheadtowardsthedoor,denotedthatsheheardsomesound.Presentlyherbrowcleared;andthenevenmyear,lesspractised,caughttheironclashofagateswungto,stepsongravel,lastlythedoor-bell.Hewascome.Hismotherfilled the teapot from the urn, she drew nearer the hearth the stuffed andcushionedblue chair—herownchairby right, but I saw therewasonewhomightwithimpunityusurpit.Andwhenthatonecameupthestairs—whichhesoondid,after,Isuppose,somesuchattentiontothetoiletasthewildandwetnightrenderednecessary,andstrodestraightin—

"Is it you, Graham?" said hismother, hiding a glad smile and speakingcurtly.

"Whoelse should itbe,mamma?"demanded theUnpunctual,possessinghimselfirreverentlyoftheabdicatedthrone.

"Don'tyoudeservecoldtea,forbeinglate?"

"Ishallnotgetmydeserts,fortheurnsingscheerily."

"Wheelyourselftothetable,lazyboy:noseatwillserveyoubutmine;ifyouhadonesparkofasenseofpropriety,youwouldalwaysleavethatchairfortheOldLady."

"SoIshould;onlythedearOldLadypersistsinleavingitforme.Howisyourpatient,mamma?"

"Willshecomeforwardandspeakforherself?"saidMrs.Bretton,turningtomycorner;andatthisinvitation,forwardIcame.Grahamcourteouslyroseup to greetme.He stood tall on the hearth, a figure justifying hismother'sunconcealedpride.

"Soyouarecomedown,"saidhe;"youmustbebetterthen—muchbetter.Iscarcelyexpectedweshouldmeetthus,orhere.Iwasalarmedlastnight,andifIhadnotbeenforcedtohurryawaytoadyingpatient,Icertainlywouldnothaveleftyou;butmymotherherselfissomethingofadoctress,andMarthaanexcellentnurse. I saw thecasewas a fainting-fit, notnecessarilydangerous.Whatbrought iton,Ihaveyet to learn,andallparticulars;meantime,I trustyoureallydofeelbetter?"

"Muchbetter,"Isaidcalmly."Muchbetter,Ithankyou,Dr.John."

For,reader,thistallyoungman—thisdarlingson—thishostofmine—thisGraham Bretton, was Dr. John: he, and no other; and, what is more, Iascertained this identity scarcelywith surprise.What ismore,when I heardGraham'ssteponthestairs,Iknewwhatmanneroffigurewouldenter,andforwhoseaspect topreparemyeyes.Thediscoverywasnotof to-day, itsdawnhad penetrated my perceptions long since. Of course I remembered youngBrettonwell; and though tenyears (from sixteen to twenty-six)maygreatly

changetheboyastheymaturehimtotheman,yettheycouldbringnosuchutter difference as would suffice wholly to blind my eyes, or baffle mymemory. Dr. John Graham Bretton retained still an affinity to the youth ofsixteen: he had his eyes; he had some of his features; to wit, all theexcellently-moulded lower half of the face; I found him out soon. I firstrecognised him on that occasion, noted several chapters back, when myunguardedly-fixedattentionhaddrawnonmethemortificationofanimpliedrebuke.Subsequentobservationconfirmed,ineverypoint,thatearlysurmise.Itraced in the gesture, the port, and the habits of hismanhood, all his boy'spromise.Iheardinhisnowdeeptonestheaccentofformerdays.Certainturnsofphrase,peculiartohimofold,werepeculiartohimstill;andsowasmanyatrickofeyeandlip,manyasmile,manyasuddenraylevelledfromtheirid,underhiswell-characteredbrow.

Tosayanythingonthesubject,tohintatmydiscovery,hadnotsuitedmyhabitsofthought,orassimilatedwithmysystemoffeeling.Onthecontrary,Ihad preferred to keep the matter to myself. I liked entering his presencecoveredwithacloudhehadnotseenthrough,whilehestoodbeforemeundera rayof special illuminationwhich shoneallpartialoverhishead, trembledabouthisfeet,andcastlightnofarther.

Well I knew that to him it couldmake little difference, were I to comeforwardandannounce,"ThisisLucySnowe!"SoIkeptbackinmyteacher'splace;andasheneveraskedmyname,soInevergaveit.Heheardmecalled"Miss," and "Miss Lucy;" he never heard the surname, "Snowe." As tospontaneousrecognition—thoughI,perhaps,wasstilllesschangedthanhe—theideaneverapproachedhismind,andwhyshouldIsuggestit?

During tea,Dr.Johnwaskind,as itwashisnature tobe; thatmealover,and the tray carried out, he made a cosy arrangement of the cushions in acornerofthesofa,andobligedmetosettleamongstthem.Heandhismotheralsodrewtothefire,anderewehadsattenminutes,Icaughttheeyeofthelatterfastenedsteadilyuponme.Womenarecertainlyquickerinsomethingsthanmen.

"Well,"sheexclaimed,presently,"Ihaveseldomseenastrongerlikeness!Graham,haveyouobservedit?"

"Observedwhat?Whatails theOldLadynow?Howyoustare,mamma!Onewouldthinkyouhadanattackofsecondsight."

"Tellme,Graham,ofwhomdoesthatyoungladyremindyou?"pointingtome.

"Mamma, you put her out of countenance. I often tell you abruptness isyour fault; remember, too, that to you she is a stranger, and does not know

yourways."

"Now,when she looksdown;now,when she turns sideways,who is shelike,Graham?"

"Indeed,mamma,sinceyoupropoundtheriddle,Ithinkyououghttosolveit!"

"Andyouhaveknownhersometime,yousay—eversinceyoufirstbegantoattendtheschoolintheRueFossette:—yetyounevermentionedtomethatsingularresemblance!"

"IcouldnotmentionathingofwhichIneverthought,andwhichIdonotnowacknowledge.Whatcanyoumean?"

"Stupidboy!lookather."

Grahamdidlook:butthiswasnottobeendured;Isawhowitmustend,soIthoughtitbesttoanticipate.

"Dr. John," I said, "has had somuch to do and think of, since he and IshookhandsatourlastpartinginSt.Ann'sStreet,that,whileIreadilyfoundoutMr.GrahamBretton,somemonthsago,itneveroccurredtomeaspossiblethatheshouldrecogniseLucySnowe."

"Lucy Snowe! I thought so! I knew it!" criedMrs. Bretton. And she atonce stepped across the hearth and kissedme. Some ladieswould, perhaps,have made a great bustle upon such a discovery without being particularlyglad of it; but it was not my godmother's habit to make a bustle, and shepreferred all sentimental demonstrations in bas-relief. So she and I got overthesurprisewithfewwordsandasinglesalute;yetIdaresayshewaspleased,and I know I was. While we renewed old acquaintance, Graham, sittingopposite,silentlydisposedofhisparoxysmofastonishment.

"Mammacallsmeastupidboy,andIthinkIamso,"atlengthhesaid;"for,uponmyhonour,oftenas Ihave seenyou, Ineveronce suspected this fact:andyetIperceiveitallnow.LucySnowe!Tobesure!Irecollectherperfectly,and there she sits; not a doubt of it. But," he added, "you surely have notknownmeasanoldacquaintanceallthistime,andnevermentionedit."

"ThatIhave,"wasmyanswer.

Dr.Johncommentednot.Isupposedheregardedmysilenceaseccentric,buthewasindulgentinrefrainingfromcensure.Idaresay,too,hewouldhavedeemeditimpertinenttohaveinterrogatedmeveryclosely,tohaveaskedmethe why and wherefore of my reserve; and, though he might feel a littlecurious,theimportanceofthecasewasbynomeanssuchastotemptcuriositytoinfringeondiscretion.

For my part, I just ventured to inquire whether he remembered thecircumstanceofmyoncelookingathimveryfixedly;fortheslightannoyancehehadbetrayedonthatoccasionstilllingeredsoreonmymind.

"IthinkIdo!"saidhe:"IthinkIwasevencrosswithyou."

"Youconsideredmealittlebold;perhaps?"Iinquired.

"Notatall.Only,shyandretiringasyourgeneralmannerwas,Iwonderedwhat personal or facial enormity inme proved somagnetic to your usuallyavertedeyes."

"Youseehowitwasnow?"

"Perfectly."

And here Mrs. Bretton broke in with many, many questions about pasttimes; and for her satisfaction I had to recur togone-by troubles, to explaincausesofseemingestrangement,totouchonsingle-handedconflictwithLife,withDeath,withGrief,withFate.Dr.Johnlistened,sayinglittle.Heandshethen toldme of changes they had known: evenwith them all had not gonesmoothly, and fortune had retrenched her once abundant gifts. But socourageousamother,withsuchachampioninherson,waswellfittedtofightagood fightwith theworld, and toprevailultimately.Dr. Johnhimselfwasoneof thoseonwhosebirthbenignplanetshavecertainly smiled.Adversitymightsetagainsthimhermostsullenfront:hewasthemantobeatherdownwithsmiles.Strongandcheerful,andfirmandcourteous;notrash,yetvaliant;hewastheaspiranttowooDestinyherself,andtowinfromherstoneeyeballsabeamalmostloving.

In the profession he had adopted, his success was now quite decided.Within the last threemonths he had taken this house (a small château, theytold me, about half a league without the Porte de Crécy); this country sitebeingchosenforthesakeofhismother'shealth,withwhichtownairdidnotnowagree.HitherhehadinvitedMrs.Bretton,andshe,onleavingEngland,had brought with her such residue furniture of the former St. Ann's Streetmansionasshehadthoughtfittokeepunsold.Hencemybewildermentatthephantomsofchairs,andthewraithsoflooking-glasses,tea-urns,andteacups.

Astheclockstruckeleven,Dr.Johnstoppedhismother.

"MissSnowemustretirenow,"hesaid;"sheisbeginningtolookverypale.To-morrow Iwill venture to put somequestions respecting the cause of herlossofhealth.She ismuchchanged, indeed, since last July,when I sawherenactwithnolittlespirit thepartofaverykillingfinegentleman.Asto lastnight's catastrophe, I am sure thereby hangs a tale, but we will inquire nofurtherthisevening.Good-night,MissLucy."

Andsohekindlyledmetothedoor,andholdingawax-candle,lightedmeuptheoneflightofstairs.

WhenIhadsaidmyprayers,andwhenIwasundressedandlaiddown,Ifelt that I stillhad friends.Friends,notprofessingvehementattachment,notoffering the tender solace of well-matched and congenial relationship; onwhom,therefore,butmoderatedemandofaffectionwastobemade,ofwhombut moderate expectation formed; but towards whom my heart softenedinstinctively, and yearned with an importunate gratitude, which I entreatedReasonbetimestocheck.

"Donotletmethinkofthemtoooften,toomuch,toofondly,"Iimplored:"letmebecontentwitha temperatedraughtof this livingstream: letmenotrunathirst,andapplypassionatelytoitswelcomewaters:letmenotimagineinthemasweetertastethanearth'sfountainsknow.Oh!wouldtoGodImaybe enabled to feel enough sustained by an occasional, amicable intercourse,rare,brief,unengrossingandtranquil:quitetranquil!"

Still repeating this word, I turned to my pillow; and still repeating it, Isteepedthatpillowwithtears.

CHAPTERXVII.

LATERRASSE.

These struggles with the natural character, the strong native bent of theheart,mayseemfutileandfruitless,but in theendtheydogood.Theytend,however slightly, to give the actions, the conduct, that turn which Reasonapproves,andwhichFeeling,perhaps,toooftenopposes:theycertainlymakeadifferenceinthegeneraltenourofalife,andenableittobebetterregulated,moreequable,quieteronthesurface;anditisonthesurfaceonlythecommongazewill fall.As towhat liesbelow, leave thatwithGod.Man,yourequal,weakasyou,andnotfit tobeyourjudge,maybeshutout thence: takeit toyourMaker—showHimthesecretsofthespiritHegave—askHimhowyouaretobearthepainsHehasappointed—kneelinHispresence,andpraywithfaith for light in darkness, for strength in piteousweakness, for patience inextreme need. Certainly, at some hour, though perhaps not your hour, thewaiting waters will stir; in some shape, though perhaps not the shape youdreamed,whichyourheartloved,andforwhichitbled,thehealingheraldwilldescend,thecrippleandtheblind,andthedumb,andthepossessedwillbeledto bathe.Herald, comequickly!Thousands lie round the pool,weeping anddespairing, to see it, through slow years, stagnant. Long are the "times" of

Heaven:theorbitsofangelmessengersseemwidetomortalvision;theymayenring ages: the cycle of one departure and return may clasp unnumberedgenerations; and dust, kindling to brief suffering life, and through pain,passing back to dust,maymeanwhile perish out ofmemory again, and yetagain.Tohowmanymaimedandmourningmillionsisthefirstandsoleangelvisitant,himeasternscallAzrael!

I tried togetupnextmorning,butwhile Iwasdressing, andat intervalsdrinkingcoldwaterfromthecarafeonmywashstand,withdesigntobraceupthat trembling weakness which made dressing so difficult, in came Mrs.Bretton.

"Hereisanabsurdity!"washermorningaccost."Notso,"sheadded,anddealingwithmeatonce inherownbrusque,energeticfashion—thatfashionwhich I used formerly to enjoy seeing applied to her son, and by himvigorously resisted—in twominutessheconsignedmecaptive to theFrenchbed.

"Thereyoulietillafternoon,"saidshe."Myboyleftordersbeforehewentout thatsuchshouldbe thecase,andIcanassureyoumyson ismasterandmustbeobeyed.Presentlyyoushallhavebreakfast."

Presentlyshebrought thatmeal—brought itwithherownactivehands—notleavingmetoservants.SheseatedherselfonthebedwhileIate.Nowitisnot everybody, even amongst our respected friends and esteemedacquaintance,whomwe like tohavenearus,whomwe like towatchus, towaitonus,toapproachuswiththeproximityofanursetoapatient.Itisnotevery friendwhose eye is a light in a sick room,whose presence is there asolace:butallthiswasMrs.Brettontome;allthisshehadeverbeen.Foodordrinkneverpleasedmesowellaswhenitcamethroughherhands. Idonotremembertheoccasionwhenherentranceintoaroomhadnotmadethatroomcheerier. Our natures own predilections and antipathies alike strange. Therearepeoplefromwhomwesecretlyshrink,whomwewouldpersonallyavoid,thoughreasonconfessesthattheyaregoodpeople:thereareotherswithfaultsof temper,&c., evident enough, besidewhomwe live content, as if the airabout themdidusgood.Mygodmother's livelyblackeyeandclearbrunettecheek, her warm, prompt hand, her self-reliant mood, her decided bearing,wereallbeneficial tomeas theatmosphereof somesalubriousclimate.Hersonusedtocallher"theoldlady;" itfilledmewithpleasantwondertonotehow the alacrity and power of five-and-twenty still breathed from her andaroundher.

"Iwouldbringmyworkhere,"shesaid,asshetookfrommetheemptiedteacup,"andsitwithyouthewholeday,ifthatoverbearingJohnGrahamhadnot put his veto upon such a proceeding. 'Now,mamma,' he said, when he

wentout,'takenotice,youarenottoknockupyourgod-daughterwithgossip,'and he particularly desiredme to keep close tomyownquarters, and spareyoumyfinecompany.Hesays,Lucy,hethinksyouhavehadanervousfever,judgingfromyourlook,—isthatso?"

IrepliedthatIdidnotquiteknowwhatmyailmenthadbeen,butthatIhadcertainlysufferedagooddealespeciallyinmind.Further,onthissubject,Ididnot consider it advisable to dwell, for the details of what I had undergonebelonged to a portion of my existence in which I never expected mygodmother to takeashare. Intowhatanewregionwouldsuchaconfidencehaveledthathale,serenenature!Thedifferencebetweenherandmemightbefiguredbythatbetweenthestatelyshipcruisingsafeonsmoothseas,withitsfull complement of crew, a captain gay and brave, and venturous andprovident;andthelife-boat,whichmostdaysoftheyearliesdryandsolitaryinanold,darkboat-house,onlyputting to seawhen thebillows runhigh inroughweather,when cloud encounterswater,whendanger anddeathdividebetweenthemtheruleofthegreatdeep.No,the"LouisaBretton"neverwasout of harbour on such a night, and in such a scene: her crew could notconceive it; so the half-drowned life-boat man keeps his own counsel, andspinsnoyarns.

Sheleftme,andIlayinbedcontent:itwasgoodofGrahamtoremembermebeforehewentout.

My day was lonely, but the prospect of coming evening abridged andcheered it. Then, too, I felt weak, and rest seemed welcome; and after themorninghoursweregoneby,—thosehourswhich alwaysbring, even to thenecessarily unoccupied, a sense of business to be done, of tasks waitingfulfilment, a vague impression of obligation to be employed—when thisstirring timewaspast,and thesilentdescentofafternoonhushedhousemaidstepsonthestairsandinthechambers,Ithenpassedintoadreamymood,notunpleasant.

Mycalmlittleroomseemedsomehowlikeacaveinthesea.Therewasnocolouraboutit,exceptthatwhiteandpalegreen,suggestiveoffoamanddeepwater; the blanched cornice was adorned with shell-shaped ornaments, andtherewerewhitemouldingslikedolphinsintheceiling-angles.Eventhatonetouchofcolourvisibleintheredsatinpincushionboreaffinitytocoral;eventhat dark, shining glassmight havemirrored amermaid.When I closedmyeyes, I heard a gale, subsiding at last, bearing upon the house-front like asettling swell upona rock-base. I heard it drawnandwithdrawn far, faroff,like a tide retiring froma shoreof theupperworld—aworld sohighabovethattherushofitslargestwaves,thedashofitsfiercestbreakers,couldsounddowninthissubmarinehome,onlylikemurmursandalullaby.

Amidstthesedreamscameevening,andthenMarthabroughtalight;withheraidIwasquicklydressed,andstrongernowthaninthemorning,Imademywaydowntothebluesaloonunassisted.

Dr.John, itappears,hadconcludedhisroundofprofessionalcallsearlierthan usual; his formwas the first object thatmetmy eyes as I entered theparlour; he stood in thatwindow-recessopposite thedoor, reading the closetypeofanewspaperbysuchdulllightasclosingdayyetgave.Thefireshoneclear,butthelampstoodonthetableunlit,andteawasnotyetbroughtup.

As toMrs.Bretton,myactivegodmother—who, I afterwards found,hadbeenoutintheopenairallday—layhalf-reclinedinherdeep-cushionedchair,actuallylostinanap.Hersonseeingme,cameforward.Inoticedthathetrodcarefully,nottowakethesleeper;healsospokelow:hismellowvoiceneverhad any sharpness in it;modulated as at present, itwas calculated rather tosoothethanstartleslumber.

"Thisisaquietlittlechâteau,"heobserved,afterinvitingmetositnearthecasement. "I don't know whether you may have noticed it in your walks:though,indeed,fromthechausséeitisnotvisible;justamilebeyondthePortedeCrécy,youturndownalanewhichsoonbecomesanavenue,andthatleadsyouon,throughmeadowandshade,totheverydoorofthishouse.Itisnotamodern place, but built somewhat in the old style of the Basse-Ville. It isratheramanoirthanachâteau;theycallit'LaTerrasse,'becauseitsfrontrisesfrom a broad turfed walk, whence steps lead down a grassy slope to theavenue.Seeyonder!Themoonrises:shelookswellthroughthetree-boles."

Where,indeed,doesthemoonnotlookwell?Whatisthescene,confinedorexpansive,whichherorbdoesnothallow?Rosyorfiery,shemountednowabove a not distant bank; even while we watched her flushed ascent, sheclearedtogold,andinverybriefspace,floatedupstainlessintoanowcalmsky. Did moonlight soften or sadden Dr. Bretton? Did it touch him withromance?Ithinkitdid.Albeitofnosighingmood,hesighedinwatchingit:sighed tohimselfquietly.Noneed toponder the causeor the courseof thatsigh;Iknewitwaswakenedbybeauty;IknewitpursuedGinevra.Knowingthis, theideapresseduponmethat itwasinsomesortmydutytospeakthename he meditated. Of course he was ready for the subject: I saw in hiscountenanceateemingplenitudeofcomment,questionandinterest;apressureof language and sentiment, only checked, I thought, by sense ofembarrassmenthowtobegin.Tosparehimthisembarrassmentwasmybest,indeedmysoleuse.Ihadbuttouttertheidol'sname,andlove'stenderlitanywould flow out. I had just found a fitting phrase, "You know that MissFanshawe is goneon a tourwith theCholmondeleys," andwasopeningmylipstospeaktoit,whenhescatteredmyplansbyintroducinganothertheme.

"Thefirstthingthismorning,"saidhe,puttinghissentimentinhispocket,turningfromthemoon,andsittingdown,"IwenttotheRueFossette,andtoldthe cuisinière that you were safe and in good hands. Do you know that Iactually found thatshehadnotyetdiscoveredyourabsencefromthehouse:she thought you safe in the great dormitory.Withwhat care youmust havebeenwaitedon!"

"Oh!allthatisveryconceivable,"saidI."Gotoncoulddonothingformebut bringme a little tisane and a crust of bread, and I had rejected both sooftenduringthepastweek,thatthegoodwomangottiredofuselessjourneysfromthedwelling-housekitchentotheschool-dormitory,andonlycameonceadayatnoontomakemybed.Ibelieve,however,thatsheisagood-naturedcreature,andwouldhavebeendelightedtocookmecôtelettesdemouton,ifIcouldhaveeatenthem."

"WhatdidMadameBeckmeanbyleavingyoualone?"

"MadameBeckcouldnotforeseethatIshouldfallill."

"Yournervoussystemboreagoodshareofthesuffering?"

"Iamnotquitesurewhatmynervoussystemis,butIwasdreadfullylow-spirited."

"Whichdisablesmefromhelpingyoubypillorpotion.Medicinecangivenobodygoodspirits.Myarthaltsat the thresholdofHypochondria: she justlooks in and sees a chamber of torture, but can neither say nor do much.Cheerfulsocietywouldbeofuse;youshouldbeaslittlealoneaspossible;youshouldtakeplentyofexercise."

Acquiescenceandapausefollowedtheseremarks.Theysoundedallright,I thought,andbore thesafesanctionofcustom,and thewell-wornstampofuse.

"Miss Snowe," recommenced Dr. John—my health, nervous systemincluded,beingnow,somewhattomyrelief,discussedanddonewith—"isitpermittedmetoaskwhatyourreligionis?AreyouaCatholic?"

I looked up in some surprise—"A Catholic? No! Why suggest such anidea?"

"The manner in which you were consigned to me last night made medoubt."

"Iconsigned toyou?But, indeed, I forget. Ityet remains forme to learnhowIfellintoyourhands."

"Why,undercircumstances thatpuzzledme. Ihadbeen inattendanceallday yesterday on a case of singularly interesting and critical character; the

disease being rare, and its treatment doubtful: I saw a similar and still finercaseinahospitalinParis;butthatwillnotinterestyou.Atlastamitigationofthepatient'smosturgentsymptoms(acutepainisoneofitsaccompaniments)liberatedme,andIsetouthomeward.MyshortestwaylaythroughtheBasse-Ville,andasthenightwasexcessivelydark,wild,andwet,Itookit.Inridingpast anoldchurchbelonging toacommunityofBéguines, I sawbya lampburning over the porch or deep arch of the entrance, a priest lifting someobjectinhisarms.Thelampwasbrightenoughtorevealthepriest'sfeaturesclearly,andIrecognisedhim;hewasamanIhaveoftenmetbythesickbedsofbothrichandpoor:andchieflythelatter.Heis,Ithink,agoodoldman,farbetter thanmost of his class in this country; superior, indeed, in everyway,betterinformed,aswellasmoredevotedtoduty.Oureyesmet;hecalledonmetostop:whathesupportedwasawoman,faintingordying.Ialighted.

"'Thispersonisoneofyourcountrywomen,'hesaid:'saveher,ifsheisnotdead.'

"Mycountrywoman,onexamination,turnedouttobetheEnglishteacherat Madame Beck's pensionnat. She was perfectly unconscious, perfectlybloodless,andnearlycold.

"'Whatdoesitallmean?'wasmyinquiry.

"He communicated a curious account; that you had been to him thatevening at confessional; that your exhausted and suffering appearance,coupledwithsomethingsyouhadsaid—"

"ThingsIhadsaid?Iwonderwhatthings!"

"Awfulcrimes,nodoubt;buthedidnottellmewhat:there,youknow,theseal of the confessional checked his garrulity, and my curiosity. Yourconfidences,however,hadnotmadeanenemyofthegoodfather;itseemshewassostruck,andfeltsosorrythatyoushouldbeoutonsuchanightalone,that hehad esteemed it aChristianduty towatchyouwhenyouquitted thechurch, and so tomanage as not to lose sight of you, till you should havereachedhome.Perhapstheworthymanmight,halfunconsciously,haveblentin thisproceedingsomelittleof thesubtletyofhisclass: itmighthavebeenhis resolve to learn the locality of your home—did you impart that in yourconfession?"

"I did not: on the contrary, I carefully avoided the shadow of anyindication: and as tomy confession,Dr. John, I suppose youwill thinkmemadfortakingsuchastep,butIcouldnothelpit:Isupposeitwasallthefaultofwhatyoucallmy'nervoussystem.'Icannotputthecaseintowords,butmydaysandnightsweregrownintolerable:acruelsenseofdesolationpainedmymind:afeelingthatwouldmakeitsway,rushout,orkillme—like(andthis

youwillunderstand,Dr.John)thecurrentwhichpassesthroughtheheart,andwhich, if aneurismor anyothermorbid causeobstructs its natural channels,seeksabnormaloutlet.Iwantedcompanionship,Iwantedfriendship,Iwantedcounsel.Icouldfindnoneoftheseinclosetorchamber,soIwentandsoughttheminchurchandconfessional.AstowhatIsaid,itwasnoconfidence,nonarrative.Ihavedonenothingwrong:mylifehasnotbeenactiveenoughforany dark deed, either of romance or reality: all I poured out was a dreary,desperatecomplaint."

"Lucy,yououghttotravelforaboutsixmonths:why,yourcalmnatureisgrowing quite excitable! Confound Madame Beck! Has the little buxomwidownobowels,tocondemnherbestteachertosolitaryconfinement?"

"ItwasnotMadameBeck'sfault,"saidI;"itisnolivingbeing'sfault,andIwon'thearanyoneblamed."

"Whoisinthewrong,then,Lucy?"

"Me—Dr. John—me; and a great abstraction onwhosewide shoulders Iliketolaythemountainsofblametheyweresculpturedtobear:meandFate."

"'Me'musttakebettercareinfuture,"saidDr.John—smiling,Isuppose,atmybadgrammar.

"Changeofair—changeofscene;thosearemyprescriptions,"pursuedthepracticalyoungdoctor."Buttoreturntoourmuttons,Lucy.Asyet,PèreSilas,withallhistact(theysayheisaJesuit),isnowiserthanyouchoosehimtobe;for,insteadofreturningtotheRueFossette,yourfeveredwanderings—theremusthavebeenhighfever—"

"No,Dr.John:thefevertookitsturnthatnight—now,don'tmakeoutthatIwasdelirious,forIknowdifferently."

"Good! youwere as collected asmyself at thismoment, no doubt.Yourwanderings had taken an opposite direction to the pensionnat. Near theBéguinage, amidst the stress of flood and gust, and in the perplexity ofdarkness,youhadswoonedandfallen.Thepriestcametoyoursuccour,andthephysician,aswehaveseen,supervened.Betweenusweprocuredafiacreandbroughtyouhere.PèreSilas,oldasheis,wouldcarryyouup-stairs,andlayyouonthatcouchhimself.Hewouldcertainlyhaveremainedwithyoutillsuspendedanimationhadbeenrestored:andsoshouldI,but,atthatjuncture,ahurriedmessengerarrivedfromthedyingpatientIhadscarcelyleft—thelastduties were called for—the physician's last visit and the priest's last rite;extreme unction could not be deferred. Père Silas and myself departedtogether,mymotherwasspendingtheeveningabroad;wegaveyouinchargetoMartha,leavingdirections,whichitseemsshefollowedsuccessfully.Now,areyouaCatholic?"

"Notyet,"saidI,withasmile."AndneverletPèreSilasknowwhereIlive,orhewilltrytoconvertme;butgivehimmybestandtruestthankswhenyouseehim,andifeverIgetrichIwillsendhimmoneyforhischarities.See,Dr.John,yourmotherwakes;yououghttoringfortea."

Which he did; and, asMrs. Bretton sat up—astonished and indignant atherselffortheindulgencetowhichshehadsuccumbed,andfullypreparedtodenythatshehadsleptatall—hersoncamegailytotheattack.

"Hushaby,mamma!Sleepagain.Youlookthepictureofinnocenceinyourslumbers."

"My slumbers, John Graham!What are you talking about? You know Ineverdosleepbyday:itwastheslightestdozepossible."

"Exactly! a seraph's gentle lapse—a fairy's dream. Mamma, under suchcircumstances,youalwaysremindmeofTitania."

"Thatisbecauseyou,yourself,aresolikeBottom."

"Miss Snowe—did you ever hear anything like mamma's wit? She is amostsprightlywomanofhersizeandage."

"Keepyourcomplimentstoyourself,sir,anddonotneglectyourownsize:whichseemstomeagooddealontheincrease.Lucy,hashenotrathertheairofanincipientJohnBull?Heusedtobeslenderasaneel,andnowIfancyinhim a sort of heavy dragoon bent—a beef-eater tendency. Graham, takenotice!IfyougrowfatIdisownyou."

"As if you could not sooner disown your own personality! I amindispensabletotheoldlady'shappiness,Lucy.Shewouldpineawayingreenandyellowmelancholyifshehadnotmysixfeetofiniquitytoscold.Itkeepsherlively—itmaintainsthewholesomefermentofherspirits."

The twowerenowstandingopposite toeachother,oneoneachside thefire-place; theirwordswerenotvery fond,but theirmutual looksatoned forverbal deficiencies. At least, the best treasure of Mrs. Bretton's life wascertainlycasketedinherson'sbosom;herdearestpulsethrobbedinhisheart.Astohim,ofcourseanotherlovesharedhisfeelingswithfiliallove,and,nodoubt,asthenewpassionwasthelatestborn,soheassigneditinhisemotionsBenjamin's portion.Ginevra!Ginevra!DidMrs.Bretton yet knowatwhosefeetherownyoungidolhadlaidhishomage?Wouldsheapprovethatchoice?I could not tell; but I could well guess that if she knew Miss Fanshawe'sconducttowardsGraham:heralternationsbetweencoldnessandcoaxing,andrepulseandallurement;ifshecouldatallsuspectthepainwithwhichshehadtriedhim; ifshecouldhaveseen,as Ihadseen,his finespiritssubduedandharassed, his inferior preferred before him, his subordinate made the

instrument of his humiliation—then Mrs. Bretton would have pronouncedGinevraimbecile,orperverted,orboth.Well—Ithoughtsotoo.

Thatsecondeveningpassedassweetlyasthefirst—moresweetlyindeed:weenjoyedasmootherinterchangeofthought;oldtroubleswerenotrevertedto, acquaintance was better cemented; I felt happier, easier, more at home.Thatnight—insteadofcryingmyselfasleep—Iwentdowntodreamlandbyapathwayborderedwithpleasantthoughts.

CHAPTERXVIII.

WEQUARREL.

DuringthefirstdaysofmystayattheTerrace,Grahamnevertookaseatnearme,orinhisfrequentpacingoftheroomapproachedthequarterwhereIsat,or lookedpre-occupied,ormoregrave thanusual,but I thoughtofMissFanshaweandexpectedhernametoleapfromhislips.Ikeptmyearandmindin perpetual readiness for the tender theme;my patiencewas ordered to bepermanently under arms, and my sympathy desired to keep its cornucopiareplenishedandreadyforoutpouring.Atlast,andafteralittleinwardstruggle,which I saw and respected, he one day launched into the topic. It wasintroduceddelicately;anonymouslyasitwere.

"Yourfriendisspendinghervacationintravelling,Ihear?"

"Friend,forsooth!"thoughtItomyself:butitwouldnotdotocontradict;hemusthavehisownway;Imustownthesoftimpeachment:friendletitbe.Still,bywayofexperiment,Icouldnothelpaskingwhomhemeant?

Hehadtakenaseatatmywork-table;henowlaidhandsonareelofthreadwhichheproceededrecklesslytounwind.

"Ginevra—MissFanshawe,hasaccompaniedtheCholmondeleysonatourthroughthesouthofFrance?"

"Shehas."

"Doyouandshecorrespond?"

"It will astonish you to hear that I never once thought of makingapplicationforthatprivilege."

"Youhaveseenlettersofherwriting?"

"Yes;severaltoheruncle."

"Theywill not bedeficient inwit andnaïveté; there is somuch sparkle,

andsolittleartinhersoul?"

"She writes comprehensively enough when she writes to M. deBassompierre: he who runs may read." (In fact, Ginevra's epistles to herwealthy kinsman were commonly business documents, unequivocalapplicationsforcash.)

"Andherhandwriting?Itmustbepretty,light,ladylike,Ishouldthink?"

Itwas,andIsaidso.

"I verily believe that all she does iswell done," saidDr. John; and as Iseemedinnohurrytochimeinwith thisremark,headded"You,whoknowher,couldyounameapointinwhichsheisdeficient?"

"She does several things very well." ("Flirtation amongst the rest,"subjoinedI,inthought.)

"Whendoyousupposeshewillreturntotown?"hesooninquired.

"Pardon me, Dr. John, I must explain. You honour me too much inascribing to me a degree of intimacy with Miss Fanshawe I have not thefelicitytoenjoy.Ihaveneverbeenthedepositaryofherplansandsecrets.Youwill find her particular friends in another sphere than mine: amongst theCholmondeleys,forinstance."

HeactuallythoughtIwasstungwithakindofjealouspainsimilartohisown!

"Excuse her," he said; "judge her indulgently; the glitter of fashionmisleadsher,butshewillsoonfindoutthatthesepeoplearehollow,andwillreturn to you with augmented attachment and confirmed trust. I knowsomething of theCholmondeleys: superficial, showy, selfish people; dependonit,atheartGinevravaluesyoubeyondascoreofsuch."

"Youareverykind,"Isaidbriefly.

Adisclaimerofthesentimentsattributedtomeburnedonmylips,but

Iextinguishedtheflame.Isubmittedtobelookeduponasthe

humiliated,cast-off,andnowpiningconfidanteofthedistinguished

MissFanshawe:but,reader,itwasahardsubmission.

"Yet,yousee,"continuedGraham,"whileIcomfortyou,Icannottakethesameconsolationtomyself;Icannothopeshewilldomejustice.DeHamalismostworthless,yetIfearhepleasesher:wretcheddelusion!"

My patience really gaveway, andwithout notice: all at once. I supposeillnessandweaknesshadwornitandmadeitbrittle.

"Dr. Bretton," I broke out, "there is no delusion like your own. On allpointsbutoneyouareaman,frank,healthful,right-thinking,clear-sighted:onthisexceptionalpointyouarebutaslave.Ideclare,whereMissFanshaweisconcerned,youmeritnorespect;norhaveyoumine."

Igotup,andlefttheroomverymuchexcited.

Thislittlescenetookplaceinthemorning;Ihadtomeethimagainintheevening, and then I saw Ihaddonemischief.Hewasnotmadeof commonclay,notputtogetheroutofvulgarmaterials;whiletheoutlinesofhisnaturehadbeenshapedwithbreadthandvigour,thedetailsembracedworkmanshipofalmostfemininedelicacy:finer,muchfiner,thanyoucouldbepreparedtomeet with; than you could believe inherent in him, even after years ofacquaintance. Indeed, till some over-sharp contact with his nerves hadbetrayed,byitseffects,theiracutesensibility,thiselaborateconstructionmustbeignored;andthemoreespeciallybecausethesympatheticfacultywasnotprominentinhim:tofeel,andtoseizequicklyanother'sfeelings,areseparateproperties; a fewconstructionspossessboth, someneither.Dr. Johnhad theone in exquisite perfection; and because I have admitted that he was notendowedwith theother inequaldegree, thereaderwillconsideratelyrefrainfrom passing to an extreme, and pronouncing him _un_sympathizing,unfeeling: on the contrary, he was a kind, generous man. Make your needknown,hishandwasopen.Putyourgrief intowords,he turnednodeafear.Expect refinements of perception, miracles of intuition, and realizedisappointment. This night, when Dr. John entered the room, and met theeveninglamp,Isawwellandatoneglancehiswholemechanism.

Toonewhohadnamedhim"slave,"and,onanypoint,bannedhimfromrespect,hemustnowhavepeculiarfeelings.Thattheepithetwaswellapplied,andthebanjust,mightbe;heputforthnodenialthatitwasso:hismindevencandidlyrevolvedthatunmanningpossibility.Hesoughtinthisaccusationthecauseofthatill-successwhichhadgotsogallingaholdonhismentalpeace:Amid the worry of a self-condemnatory soliloquy, his demeanour seemedgrave, perhaps cold, both tome and hismother. And yet therewas no badfeeling,nomalice,norancour,nolittlenessinhiscountenance,beautifulwithaman's best beauty, even in its depression.When I placed his chair at thetable,whichIhastenedtodo,anticipatingtheservant,andwhenIhandedhimhis tea,which I didwith trembling care, he said: "Thank you, Lucy," in askindlyatoneofhisfullpleasantvoiceasevermyearwelcomed.

Formy part, therewas only one plan to be pursued; Imust expiatemyculpablevehemence,orImustnotsleepthatnight.Thiswouldnotdoatall;Icouldnotstandit:Imadenopretenceofcapacitytowagewaronthisfooting.School solitude, conventual silence and stagnation, anything seemedpreferabletolivingembroiledwithDr.John.AstoGinevra,shemighttakethe

silverwingsofadove,oranyotherfowlthatflies,andmountstraightuptothehighestplace,amongthehigheststars,whereherlover'shighestflightoffancychose to fix theconstellationofhercharms:nevermorebe itmine todispute thearrangement.Long I tried tocatchhiseye.Againandagain thateyejustmetmine;but,havingnothingtosay,itwithdrew,andIwasbaffled.Aftertea,hesat,sadandquiet,readingabook.IwishedIcouldhavedaredtogoandsitnearhim,butitseemedthatifIventuredtotakethatstep,hewouldinfalliblyevincehostilityandindignation. I longedtospeakout,andIdarednotwhisper.Hismotherlefttheroom;then,movedbyinsupportableregret,Ijustmurmuredthewords"Dr.Bretton."

He looked up from his book; his eyes were not cold ormalevolent, hismouthwasnotcynical;hewasreadyandwillingtohearwhatImighthavetosay:hisspiritwasofvintagetoomellowandgeneroustosourinonethunder-clap.

"Dr.Bretton,forgivemyhastywords:do,doforgivethem."

He smiled thatmoment I spoke. "Perhaps I deserved them,Lucy. If youdon'trespectme,IamsureitisbecauseIamnotrespectable.Ifear,Iamanawkwardfool:Imustmanagebadlyinsomeway,forwhereIwishtoplease,itseemsIdon'tplease."

"Ofthatyoucannotbesure;andevenifsuchbethecase,isitthefaultofyourcharacter,orofanother'sperceptions?Butnow,letmeunsaywhatIsaidin anger. In one thing, and in all things, I deeply respect you. If you thinkscarcely enough of yourself, and too much of others, what is that but anexcellence?"

"CanIthinktoomuchofGinevra?"

"Ibelieveyoumay;youbelieveyoucan't.Letusagreetodiffer.Letmebepardoned;thatiswhatIask."

"DoyouthinkIcherishill-willforonewarmword?"

"Iseeyoudonotandcannot;butjustsay,'Lucy,Iforgiveyou!'Saythat,toeasemeoftheheart-ache."

"Putawayyourheart-ache,asIwillputawaymine;foryouwoundedmealittle,Lucy.Now,whenthepainisgone,Imorethanforgive:Ifeelgrateful,astoasincerewell-wisher."

"Iamyoursincerewell-wisher:youareright."

Thusourquarrelended.

Reader,ifinthecourseofthiswork,youfindthatmyopinionofDr.Johnundergoesmodification,excuse theseeming inconsistency. Igive the feeling

as at the time I felt it; I describe the viewof character as it appearedwhendiscovered.

He showed the fineness of his nature by being kinder to me after thatmisunderstanding than before. Nay, the very incident which, bymy theory,must in some degree estrangeme and him, changed, indeed, somewhat ourrelations;butnotinthesenseIpainfullyanticipated.Aninvisible,butacoldsomething,veryslight,verytransparent,butverychill:asortofscreenoficehadhitherto,allthroughourtwolives,glazedthemediumthroughwhichweexchangedintercourse.Thosefewwarmwords,thoughonlywarmwithanger,breathed on that frail frost-work of reserve; about this time, it gave note ofdissolution.Ithinkfromthatday,solongaswecontinuedfriends,heneverindiscoursestoodontopicsofceremonywithme.Heseemedtoknowthatifhewouldbuttalkabouthimself,andaboutthatinwhichhewasmostinterested,my expectation would always be answered, my wish always satisfied. Itfollows,asamatterofcourse,thatIcontinuedtohearmuchof"Ginevra."

"Ginevra!"He thought her so fair, so good; he spoke so lovingly of hercharms, her sweetness, her innocence, that, in spite of my plain proseknowledgeofthereality,akindofreflectedglowbegantosettleonheridea,evenforme.Still,reader,Iamfreetoconfess,thatheoftentalkednonsense;but I strove to be unfailingly patientwith him. I had hadmy lesson: I hadlearned how severe for me was the pain of crossing, or grieving, ordisappointinghim.Inastrangeandnewsense,Igrewmostselfish,andquitepowerlesstodenymyselfthedelightofindulginghismood,andbeingplianttohiswill.Hestill seemed tomemostabsurdwhenheobstinatelydoubted,anddespondedabouthispowertowinintheendMissFanshawe'spreference.Thefancybecamerootedinmyownmindmorestubbornlythanever,thatshewasonlycoquettingtogoadhim,andthat,atheart,shecovetedeveryoneofhiswordsandlooks.Sometimesheharassedme,inspiteofmyresolutiontobear and hear; in themidst of the indescribable gall-honey pleasure of thusbearingandhearing,hestrucksoontheflintofwhatfirmnessIowned,thatitemittedfireonceandagain.Ichancedtoassertoneday,withaviewtostillinghis impatience, that in my own mind, I felt positive Miss Fanshawe mustintendeventuallytoaccepthim.

"Positive!Itwaseasytosayso,buthadIanygroundsforsuchassurance?"

"Thebestgrounds."

"Now,Lucy,dotellmewhat!"

"You know them as well as I; and, knowing them, Dr. John, it reallyamazesmethatyoushouldnotreposethefrankestconfidenceinherfidelity.Todoubt,underthecircumstances,isalmosttoinsult."

"Now you are beginning to speak fast and to breathe short; but speak alittlefasterandbreathea littleshorter, tillyouhavegivenanexplanation—afullexplanation:Imusthaveit."

"Youshall,Dr.John.Insomecases,youarealavish,generousman:youare aworshipper ever readywith the votive offering should Père Silas everconvert you, you will give him abundance of alms for his poor, you willsupplyhisaltarwithtapers,andtheshrineofyourfavouritesaintyouwilldoyourbesttoenrich:Ginevra,Dr.John—"

"Hush!"saidhe,"don'tgoon."

"Hush,Iwillnot:andgoonIwill:GinevrahashadherhandsfilledfromyourhandsmoretimesthanIcancount.Youhavesoughtforherthecostliestflowers;youhavebusiedyourbrainindevisinggiftsthemostdelicate:such,one would have thought, as only a woman could have imagined; and inaddition,Miss Fanshawe owns a set of ornaments, to purchase which yourgenerositymusthavevergedonextravagance."

ThemodestyGinevraherselfhadneverevincedinthismatter,nowflushedalloverthefaceofheradmirer.

"Nonsense!" he said, destructively snipping a skein of silk with myscissors. "I offered them to please myself: I felt she did me a favour inacceptingthem."

"Shedidmore thana favour,Dr. John: shepledgedherveryhonour thatshewouldmakeyousomereturn;andifshecannotpayyouinaffection,sheoughttohandoutabusiness-likeequivalent,intheshapeofsomerouleauxofgoldpieces."

"Butyoudon'tunderstandher; she is far toodisinterested tocare formygifts,andtoosimple-mindedtoknowtheirvalue."

Ilaughedout:Ihadheardheradjudgetoeveryjewelitsprice;andwellIknew money-embarrassment, money-schemes; money's worth, andendeavours to realise supplies, had, young as she was, furnished the mostfrequent,andthefavouritestimulusofherthoughtsforyears.

Hepursued. "You shouldhave seenherwhenever I have laidonher lapsome trifle; socool, sounmoved:noeagerness to take,notevenpleasure incontemplating. Just fromamiable reluctance togrieveme, shewouldpermitthe bouquet to lie beside her, and perhaps consent to bear it away. Or, if Iachieved the fastening of a bracelet on her ivory arm, however pretty thetrinketmightbe(andIalwayscarefullychosewhatseemedtomepretty,andwhat of coursewasnot valueless), the glitter never dazzledher bright eyes:shewouldhardlycastonelookonmygift."

"Then,ofcourse,notvaluingit,shewouldunloose,andreturnittoyou?"

"No; for sucha repulse shewas toogood-natured.Shewouldconsent toseemtoforgetwhatIhaddone,andretaintheofferingwithlady-likequietandeasyoblivion.Undersuchcircumstances,howcanamanbuildonacceptanceofhispresentsasafavourablesymptom?Formypart,wereItoofferherallIhave, and she to take it, such is her incapacity to be swayed by sordidconsiderations, I should not venture to believe the transaction advancedmeonestep."

"Dr. John," Ibegan, "Love isblind;"but just thenablue subtle ray spedsidewaysfromDr.John'seye:itremindedmeofolddays,itremindedmeofhispicture:ithalfledmetothinkthatpart,atleast,ofhisprofessedpersuasionofMissFanshawe's naïvetéwas assumed; it ledme dubiously to conjecturethat perhaps, in spite of his passion for her beauty, his appreciation of herfoibles might possibly be less mistaken, more clear-sighted, than from hisgenerallanguagewaspresumable.Afterallitmightbeonlyachancelook,orat best the token of amerelymomentary impression. Chance or intentionalrealorimaginary,itclosedtheconversation.

CHAPTERXIX.

THECLEOPATRA.

MystayatLaTerrassewasprolongedafortnightbeyondthecloseofthevacation.Mrs.Bretton'skindmanagementprocuredme this respite.Her sonhavingonedaydeliveredthedictumthat"Lucywasnotyetstrongenoughtogo back to that den of a pensionnat," she at once drove over to the RueFossette,hadaninterviewwiththedirectress,andprocuredtheindulgence,onthe plea of prolonged rest and change being necessary to perfect recovery.Hereupon, however, followed an attention I could verywell have dispensedwith,viz—apolitecallfromMadameBeck.

That lady—one fine day—actually came out in a fiacre as far as thechâteau.IsupposeshehadresolvedwithinherselftoseewhatmannerofplaceDr. John inhabited.Apparently, the pleasant site and neat interior surpassedher expectations; she eulogized all she saw,pronounced theblue salon "unepiècemagnifique,"profusely congratulatedmeon the acquisitionof friends,"tellementdignes,aimables,etrespectables,"turnedalsoaneatcomplimentinmy favour, and, upon Dr. John coming in, ran up to him with the utmostbuoyancy,openingatthesametimesuchafireofrapidlanguage,allsparklingwithfelicitationsandprotestationsabouthis"château,"—"madamesamère,la

dignechâtelaine:"alsohislooks;which,indeed,wereveryflourishing,andatthemoment additionally embellished by the good-natured but amused smilewithwhichhealwayslistenedtoMadame'sfluentandfloridFrench.Inshort,Madameshoneinherverybestphasethatday,andcameinandwentoutquitea living catherine-wheel of compliments, delight, and affability. Halfpurposely,andhalftoasksomequestionaboutschool-business,Ifollowedhertothecarriage,andlookedinaftershewasseatedandthedoorclosed.Inthatbrief fraction of timewhat a change had beenwrought!An instant ago, allsparkles and jests, she now sat sterner than a judge and graver than a sage.Strangelittlewoman!

IwentbackandteasedDr.JohnaboutMadame'sdevotiontohim.Howhelaughed!Whatfunshoneinhiseyesasherecalledsomeofherfinespeeches,and repeated them, imitatinghervolubledelivery!Hehadanacute senseofhumour,andwasthefinestcompanyintheworld—whenhecouldforgetMissFanshawe.

**

To"sitinsunshinecalmandsweet"issaidtobeexcellentforweakpeople;itgivesthemvitalforce.WhenlittleGeorgetteBeckwasrecoveringfromherillness,Iusedtotakeherinmyarmsandwalkwithherinthegardenbythehour together, beneath a certainwall hungwith grapes,which the Southernsunwasripening:thatsuncherishedherlittlepaleframequiteaseffectuallyasitmellowedandswelledtheclusteringfruit.

There are human tempers, bland, glowing, and genial, within whoseinfluence it is asgood for thepoor in spirit to live, as it is for the feeble inframetobaskintheglowofnoon.Ofthenumberofthesechoicenatureswerecertainly both Dr. Bretton's and his mother's. They liked to communicatehappiness,assome like tooccasionmisery: theydid it instinctively;withoutfuss,andapparentlywithlittleconsciousness;themeanstogivepleasurerosespontaneouslyintheirminds.EverydaywhileIstayedwiththem,somelittleplanwasproposedwhichresultedinbeneficialenjoyment.FullyoccupiedaswasDr.John'stime,hestillmadeitinhiswaytoaccompanyusineachbriefexcursion. I can hardly tell how he managed his engagements; they werenumerous,yetbydintofsystem,heclassedtheminanorderwhichlefthimadailyperiodofliberty.Ioftensawhimhard-worked,yetseldomover-driven,and never irritated, confused, or oppressed.What he did was accomplishedwith the ease and grace of all-sufficing strength; with the bountifulcheerfulnessofhighandunbrokenenergies.UnderhisguidanceIsaw,inthatonehappyfortnight,moreofVillette, itsenvirons,and its inhabitants, thanIhadseeninthewholeeightmonthsofmypreviousresidence.Hetookmetoplacesof interest in the town,ofwhosenames Ihadnotbefore somuchasheard; with willingness and spirit he communicates much noteworthy

information.He never seemed to think it a trouble to talk tome, and, I amsure, itwasnevera task tome to listen. Itwasnothisway to treat subjectscoldly and vaguely; he rarely generalized, never prosed. He seemed to likenicedetails almost asmuchas I liked themmyself:he seemedobservantofcharacter:andnotsuperficiallyobservant,either.Thesepointsgavethequalityof interest tohisdiscourse;and the factofhis speakingdirect fromhisownresources, and not borrowing or stealing from books—here a dry fact, andthereatritephrase,andelsewhereahackneyedopinion—ensuredafreshness,as welcome as it was rare. Before my eyes, too, his disposition seemed tounfoldanotherphase;topasstoafreshday:toriseinnewandnoblerdawn.

Hismotherpossessedagooddevelopmentofbenevolence,butheownedabetterandlarger.Ifound,onaccompanyinghimtotheBasse-Ville—thepoorandcrowdedquarterofthecity—thathiserrandstherewereasmuchthoseofthe philanthropist as the physician. I understood presently that cheerfully,habitually, and in single-minded unconsciousness of any special meritdistinguishing his deeds—he was achieving, amongst a very wretchedpopulation,aworldofactivegood.Thelowerorderslikedhimwell;hispoor,patientsinthehospitalswelcomedhimwithasortofenthusiasm.

Butstop—Imustnot,fromthefaithfulnarrator,degenerateintothepartialeulogist.Well, fullwell, do I know thatDr. Johnwas not perfect, anymorethan I am perfect.Human fallibility leavened him throughout: therewas nohour,andscarcelyamomentofthetimeIspentwithhimthatinactorspeech,or look,hedidnotbetraysomething thatwasnotofagod.AgodcouldnothavethecruelvanityofDr.John,norhissometimelevity.Noimmortalcouldhaveresembledhiminhisoccasionaltemporaryoblivionofallbutthepresent—inhispassingpassionforthatpresent;shownnotcoarsely,bydevotingittomaterialindulgence,butselfishly,byextractingfromitwhateveritcouldyieldofnutrimenttohismasculineself-love:hisdelightwastofeedthatravenoussentiment,without thoughtof thepriceof provender, or care for the cost ofkeepingitsleekandhigh-pampered.

Thereader is requested tonoteaseemingcontradiction in the twoviewswhichhavebeengivenofGrahamBretton—thepublicandprivate—theout-door and the in-door view. In the first, the public, he is shownoblivious ofself;asmodestinthedisplayofhisenergies,asearnestintheirexercise.Inthesecond, the firesidepicture, there is expressedconsciousnessofwhathehasand what he is; pleasure in homage, some recklessness in exciting, somevanityinreceivingthesame.Bothportraitsarecorrect.

ItwashardlypossibletoobligeDr.Johnquietlyandinsecret.Whenyouthought that the fabrication of some trifle dedicated to his use had beenachieved unnoticed, and that, like other men, he would use it when placedready for his use, and never ask whence it came, he amazed you by a

smilingly-uttered observation or two, proving that his eye had been on thework fromcommencement to close: that he had noted the design, traced itsprogress,andmarkeditscompletion.Itpleasedhimtobethusserved,andhelethispleasurebeaminhiseyeandplayabouthismouth.

Thiswouldhavebeenallverywell,ifhehadnotaddedtosuchkindlyandunobtrusiveevidenceacertainwilfulnessindischargingwhathecalleddebts.When his mother worked for him, he paid her by showering about her hisbrightanimalspirits,withevenmoreaffluencethanhisgay,taunting,teasing,lovingwont. If Lucy Snowewere discovered to have put her hand to suchwork,heplanned,inrecompence,somepleasantrecreation.

IoftenfeltamazedathisperfectknowledgeofVillette;aknowledgenotmerelyconfined to itsopenstreets,butpenetrating toall itsgalleries, salles,and cabinets: of every doorwhich shut in an object worth seeing, of everymuseum, of every hall, sacred to art or science, he seemed to possess the"Open!Sesame."Ineverhadaheadforscience,butanignorant,blind,fondinstinct inclinedme to art. I liked to visit the picture-galleries, and I dearlylikedtobelefttherealone.Incompany,awretchedidiosyncracyforbademeto see much or to feel anything. In unfamiliar company, where it wasnecessarytomaintainaflowoftalkonthesubjectsinpresence,halfanhourwouldknockmeup,withacombinedpressureofphysicallassitudeandentiremental incapacity. I never yet saw the well-reared child, much less theeducatedadult,whocouldnotputmetoshame,bythesustainedintelligenceof its demeanour under the ordeal of a conversable, sociable visitation ofpictures, historical sights or buildings, or any lions of public interest. Dr.Brettonwasaciceroneaftermyownheart;hewouldtakemebetimes,erethegallerieswere filled, leaveme there for twoor three hours, and call formewhenhisownengagementsweredischarged.Meantime,Iwashappy;happy,not always in admiring, but in examining, questioning, and formingconclusions. In the commencement of these visits, there was somemisunderstanding and consequent struggle between Will and Power. Theformerfacultyexactedapprobationof thatwhich itwasconsideredorthodoxtoadmire;thelattergroanedforthitsutterinabilitytopaythetax;itwasthenself-sneeredat,spurredup,goadedontorefineitstaste,andwhetitszest.Themore it was chidden, however, the more it wouldn't praise. Discoveringgraduallythatawonderfulsenseoffatigueresultedfromtheseconscientiousefforts,IbegantoreflectwhetherImightnotdispensewiththatgreatlabour,and concluded eventually that Imight, and so sank supine into a luxury ofcalmbeforeninety-nineoutofahundredoftheexhibitedframes.

Itseemedtomethatanoriginalandgoodpicturewasjustasscarceasanoriginal and good book; nor did I, in the end, tremble to say to myself,standingbeforecertainchef-d'oeuvresbearinggreatnames,"Thesearenota

whit likenature.Nature'sdaylightneverhad thatcolour:neverwasmadesoturbid,eitherbystormorcloud,asitislaidoutthere,underaskyofindigo:and that indigo is not ether; and those darkweeds plastered upon it are nottrees."Severalverywellexecutedandcomplacent-lookingfatwomenstruckmeasbynomeansthegoddessestheyappearedtoconsiderthemselves.Manyscores ofmarvellously-finished little Flemish pictures, and also of sketches,excellent for fashion-books displaying varied costumes in the handsomestmaterials, gave evidence of laudable industry whimsically applied. And yettherewere fragments of truth here and therewhich satisfied the conscience,andgleamsoflightthatcheeredthevision.Nature'spowerherebrokethroughin amountain snow-storm; and thereher glory in a sunny southernday.Anexpression in this portrait proved clear insight into character; a face in thathistorical painting, by its vivid filial likeness, startlingly reminded you thatgeniusgaveitbirth.TheseexceptionsIloved:theygrewdearasfriends.

One day, at a quiet early hour, I foundmyself nearly alone in a certaingallery,wherein one particular picture of portentous size, set up in the bestlight,havingacordonofprotectionstretchedbeforeit,andacushionedbenchduly set in front for the accommodation ofworshipping connoisseurs,who,havinggazedthemselvesofftheirfeet,mightbefaintocompletethebusinesssitting:thispicture,Isay,seemedtoconsideritselfthequeenofthecollection.

It represented a woman, considerably larger, I thought, than the life. Icalculated that this lady, put into a scale of magnitude, suitable for thereception of a commodity of bulk, would infallibly turn from fourteen tosixteenstone.Shewas,indeed,extremelywellfed:verymuchbutcher'smeat—tosaynothingofbread,vegetables,andliquids—mustshehaveconsumedtoattainthatbreadthandheight,thatwealthofmuscle,thataffluenceofflesh.She lay half-reclined on a couch: why, it would be difficult to say; broaddaylightblazedroundher;sheappearedinheartyhealth,strongenoughtodotheworkoftwoplaincooks;shecouldnotpleadaweakspine;sheoughttohave been standing, or at least sitting bolt upright. She, had no business tolounge away the noon on a sofa. She ought likewise to have worn decentgarments; a gown covering her properly, which was not the case: out ofabundance ofmaterial—seven-and-twenty yards, I should say, of drapery—shemanaged tomake inefficient raiment. Then, for thewretched untidinesssurroundingher,therecouldbenoexcuse.Potsandpans—perhapsIoughttosayvasesandgoblets—wererolledhereandthereontheforeground;aperfectrubbish of flowers wasmixed amongst them, and an absurd and disorderlymassofcurtainupholstery smothered thecouchandcumbered the floor.Onreferringtothecatalogue,Ifoundthatthisnotableproductionborethename"Cleopatra."

Well, I was sitting wondering at it (as the bench was there, I thought I

mightaswell takeadvantageof itsaccommodation),andthinkingthatwhilesome of the details—as roses, gold cups, jewels, &c., were very prettilypainted,itwasonthewholeanenormouspieceofclaptrap;theroom,almostvacantwhenIentered,began to fill.Scarcelynoticing thiscircumstance(as,indeed,itdidnotmattertome)Iretainedmyseat;rathertorestmyselfthanwithaviewtostudyingthishuge,dark-complexionedgipsy-queen;ofwhom,indeed,Isoontired,andbetookmyselfforrefreshmenttothecontemplationofsome exquisite little pictures of still life: wild-flowers, wild-fruit, mossywoodnests,casketingeggsthatlookedlikepearlsseenthroughcleargreensea-water;allhungmodestlybeneaththatcoarseandpreposterouscanvas.

Suddenly a light tap visitedmy shoulder. Starting, turning, Imet a facebenttoencountermine;afrowning,almostashockedfaceitwas.

"Quefaites-vousici?"saidavoice.

"Mais,Monsieur,jem'amuse."

"Vousvousamusez!etàquoi,s'ilvousplait?Maisd'abord, faites-moi leplaisirdevouslever;prenezmonbras,etallonsdel'autrecôté."

I didprecisely as Iwasbid.M.PaulEmanuel (itwashe) returned fromRome, and now a travelled man, was not likely to be less tolerant ofinsubordinationnow,thanbeforethisaddeddistinctionlaurelledhistemples.

"Permitmetoconductyoutoyourparty,"saidhe,aswecrossedtheroom.

"Ihavenoparty."

"Youarenotalone?"

"Yes,Monsieur."

"Didyoucomehereunaccompanied?"

"No,Monsieur.Dr.Brettonbroughtmehere."

"Dr.BrettonandMadamehismother,ofcourse?"

"No;onlyDr.Bretton."

"Andhetoldyoutolookatthatpicture?"

"Bynomeans;Ifounditoutformyself."

M. Paul's hairwas shorn close as raven down, or I think it would havebristled on his head. Beginning now to perceive his drift, I had a certainpleasureinkeepingcool,andworkinghimup.

"Astounding insular audacity!" cried the Professor. "Singulières femmesquecesAnglaises!"

"Whatisthematter,Monsieur?"

"Matter!How dare you, a young person, sit coolly down,with the self-possessionofagarçon,andlookatthatpicture?"

"It isaveryuglypicture,butIcannotatallseewhyIshouldnotlookatit."

"Bon!bon!Speaknomoreofit.Butyououghtnottobeherealone."

"If,however,Ihavenosociety—noparty,asyousay?Andthen,whatdoesitsignifywhetherIamalone,oraccompanied?nobodymeddleswithme."

"Taisez-vous, et asseyez-vous là—là!"—setting down a chair withemphasisinaparticularlydullcorner,beforeaseriesofmostspeciallydreary"cadres."

"Mais,Monsieur?"

"Mais,Mademoiselle,asseyez-vous,etnebougezpas—entendez-vous?—jusqu'àcequ'onviennevouschercher,ouquejevousdonnelapermission."

"Queltristecoin!"criedI,"etquelleslaidstableaux!"

And "laids," indeed, they were; being a set of four, denominated in thecatalogue "La vie d'une femme." Theywere painted rather in a remarkablestyle—flat, dead, pale, and formal. The first represented a "Jeune Fille,"comingoutof a church-door, amissal inherhand,herdressveryprim,hereyes cast down, hermouth pursed up—the image of amost villanous littleprecocious she-hypocrite. The second, a "Mariée," with a long white veil,kneelingataprie-dieu inherchamber,holdingherhandsplastered together,finger to finger, and showing thewhites of her eyes in amost exasperatingmanner. The third, a "JeuneMère," hanging disconsolate over a clayey andpuffybabywithafacelikeanunwholesomefullmoon.Thefourth,a"Veuve,"being a blackwoman, holding by the hand a black little girl, and the twainstudiouslysurveyinganelegantFrenchmonument,setupinacornerofsomePère laChaise.All these four "Anges"were grim andgrey as burglars, andcoldandvapidasghosts.Whatwomentolivewith! insincere, ill-humoured,bloodless, brainless nonentities! As bad in their way as the indolent gipsy-giantess,theCleopatra,inhers.

It was impossible to keep one's attention long confined to thesemaster-pieces,andso,bydegrees,Iveeredround,andsurveyedthegallery.

AperfectcrowdofspectatorswasbythistimegatheredroundtheLioness,fromwhosevicinageIhadbeenbanished;nearlyhalfthiscrowdwereladies,but M. Paul afterwards told me, these were "des dames," and it was quiteproper for them to contemplate what no "demoiselle" ought to glance at. IassuredhimplainlyIcouldnotagreeinthisdoctrine,anddidnotseethesense

ofit;whereupon,withhisusualabsolutism,hemerelyrequestedmysilence,andalso,inthesamebreath,denouncedmymingledrashnessandignorance.A more despotic little man than M. Paul never filled a professor's chair. Inoticed,bytheway,thathelookedatthepicturehimselfquiteathisease,andforaverylongwhile:hedidnot,however,neglecttoglancefromtimetotimemyway,inorder,Isuppose,tomakesurethatIwasobeyingorders,andnotbreakingbounds.By-and-by,heagainaccostedme.

"HadInotbeenill?"hewishedtoknow:"heunderstoodIhad."

"Yes,butIwasnowquitewell."

"WherehadIspentthevacation?"

"ChieflyintheRueFossette;partlywithMadameBretton."

"HehadheardthatIwasleftaloneintheRueFossette;wasthatso?"

"Notquitealone:MarieBroc"(thecrétin)"waswithme."

He shrugged his shoulders; varied and contradictory expressions playedrapidly over his countenance. Marie Broc was well known to M. Paul; henevergavealessoninthethirddivision(containingtheleastadvancedpupils),that she did not occasion in him a sharp conflict between antagonisticimpressions. Her personal appearance, her repulsive manners, her oftenunmanageabledisposition, irritatedhis temper, and inspiredhimwith strongantipathy;afeelinghewastooapttoconceivewhenhistastewasoffendedorhis will thwarted. On the other hand, her misfortunes, constituted a strongclaimonhis forbearanceandcompassion—suchaclaimas itwasnot inhisnaturetodeny;henceresultedalmostdailydrawnbattlesbetweenimpatienceanddisgustontheonehand,pityandasenseofjusticeontheother;inwhich,tohiscreditbeitsaid,itwasveryseldomthattheformerfeelingsprevailed:whentheydid,however,M.Paulshowedaphaseofcharacterwhichhad itsterrors.His passionswere strong, his aversions and attachments alike vivid;the force he exerted in holding both in check by no means mitigated anobserver's sense of their vehemence.With such tendencies, it may well besupposed he often excited in ordinaryminds fear and dislike; yet itwas anerror to fear him: nothing drove him so nearly frantic as the tremor of anapprehensive and distrustful spirit; nothing soothed him like confidencetempered with gentleness. To evince these sentiments, however, required athoroughcomprehensionofhisnature;andhisnaturewasofanorder rarelycomprehended.

"How did you get on withMarie Broc?" he asked, after someminutes'silence.

"Monsieur,Ididmybest;butitwasterribletobealonewithher!"

"Youhave,then,aweakheart!Youlackcourage;and,perhaps,charity.

YoursarenotthequalitieswhichmightconstituteaSisterofMercy."

[He was a religious little man, in his way: the self-denying and self-sacrificingpartoftheCatholicreligioncommandedthehomageofhissoul.]

"Idon'tknow,indeed:ItookasgoodcareofherasIcould;butwhenherauntcametofetchheraway,itwasagreatrelief."

"Ah!youareanegotist.Therearewomenwhohavenursedhospitals-fullofsimilarunfortunates.Youcouldnotdothat?"

"CouldMonsieurdoithimself?"

"Womenwhoareworthythenameoughtinfinitelytosurpass;ourcoarse,fallible,self-indulgentsex,inthepowertoperformsuchduties."

"Iwashedher,Ikeptherclean,Ifedher,Itriedtoamuseher;butshemademouthsatmeinsteadofspeaking."

"Youthinkyoudidgreatthings?"

"No;butasgreatasIcoulddo."

"Thenlimitedareyourpowers,forintendingoneidiotyoufellsick."

"Notwiththat,Monsieur;Ihadanervousfever:mymindwasill."

"Vraiment!Vousvalezpeudechose.Youarenotcastinanheroicmould;yourcouragewillnotavailtosustainyouinsolitude;itmerelygivesyouthetemeritytogazewithsang-froidatpicturesofCleopatra."

Itwouldhavebeeneasy toshowangerat the teasing,hostile toneof thelittleman.Ihadneverbeenangrywithhimyet,however,andhadnopresentdispositiontobegin.

"Cleopatra!"Irepeated,quietly."Monsieur,too,hasbeenlookingat

Cleopatra;whatdoeshethinkofher?"

"Cela ne vaut rien," he responded. "Une femme superbe—une tailled'impératrice,desformesdeJunon,maisunepersonnedontjenevoudraisnipour femme, ni pour fille, ni pour soeur.Aussi vousne jeterezplus un seulcoupd'oeildesacôté."

"But I have looked at her a greatmany timeswhileMonsieur has beentalking:Icanseeherquitewellfromthiscorner."

"Turntothewallandstudyyourfourpicturesofawoman'slife."

"Excuseme,M.Paul;theyaretoohideous:butifyouadmirethem,allowmetovacatemyseatandleaveyoutotheircontemplation."

"Mademoiselle,"hesaid,grimacingahalf-smile,orwhatheintendedforasmile, thoughitwasbutagrimandhurriedmanifestation."YounurslingsofProtestantismastonishme.YouunguardedEnglishwomenwalkcalmlyamidstred-hot ploughshares and escape burning. I believe, if some of you werethrown into Nebuchadnezzar's hottest furnace you would issue forthuntraversedbythesmelloffire."

"WillMonsieurhavethegoodnesstomoveaninchtooneside?"

"How! At what are you gazing now? You are not recognising anacquaintanceamongstthatgroupofjeunesgens?"

"Ithinkso—Yes,IseethereapersonIknow."

Infact,Ihadcaughtaglimpseofaheadtooprettytobelongtoanyotherthan theredoubtedColoneldeHamal.Whataveryfinished,highlypolishedlittlepate itwas!Whatafigure,so trimandnatty!Whatwomanishfeetandhands!Howdaintilyheheldaglasstooneofhisoptics!withwhatadmirationhe gazed upon the Cleopatra! and then, how engagingly he tittered andwhispered a friend at his elbow! Oh, the man of sense! Oh, the refinedgentlemanofsuperiortasteandtact!Iobservedhimforabouttenminutes,andperceivedthathewasexceedinglytakenwiththisduskandportlyVenusoftheNile. So much was I interested in his bearing, so absorbed in divining hischaracter by his looks andmovements, I temporarily forgotM. Paul; in theinterimagroupcamebetweenthatgentlemanandme;orpossiblyhisscruplesmight have received another andworse shock frommy present abstraction,causinghimtowithdrawvoluntarily:atanyrate,whenIagainlookedround,hewasgone.

My eye, pursuant of the search,met not him, but another and dissimilarfigure,wellseenamidstthecrowd,fortheheightaswellastheportlenteachitsdistinction.ThiswaycameDr.John,invisage,inshape,inhue,asunlikethedark,acerb,andcausticlittleprofessor,asthefruitoftheHesperidesmightbe unlike the sloe in the wild thicket; as the high-couraged but tractableArabianisunliketherudeandstubborn"sheltie."Hewaslookingforme,buthad not yet explored the corner where the schoolmaster had just put me. Iremainedquiet;yetanotherminuteIwouldwatch.

HeapproacheddeHamal;hepausednearhim;Ithoughthehadapleasureinlookingoverhishead;Dr.Bretton,too,gazedontheCleopatra.Idoubtifitwere to his taste: he did not simper like the little Count; hismouth lookedfastidious,hiseyecool;withoutdemonstrationhesteppedaside,leavingroomfor others to approach. I sawnow that hewaswaiting, and, rising, I joinedhim.

Wetookone turnroundthegallery;withGrahamitwasverypleasant to

takesuchaturn.Ialwayslikeddearlytohearwhathehadtosayabouteitherpicturesorbooks;becausewithoutpretendingtobeaconnoisseur,healwaysspokehisthought,andthatwassuretobefresh:veryoftenitwasalsojustandpithy. It was pleasant also to tell him some things he did not know—helistenedsokindly,soteachably;unformalizedbyscrupleslestsotobendhisbright handsome head, to gather a woman's rather obscure and stammeringexplanation, should imperil the dignity of his manhood. And when hecommunicatedinformationinreturn, itwaswitha lucidintelligencethat leftallhiswordscleargravenonthememory;noexplanationofhisgiving,nofactofhisnarrating,didIeverforget.

Asweleftthegallery,IaskedhimwhathethoughtoftheCleopatra(aftermakinghimlaughbytellinghimhowProfessorEmanuelhadsentmetotherightabout,andtakinghimtoseethesweetseriesofpicturesrecommendedtomyattention.)

"Pooh!"saidhe."Mymotherisabetter-lookingwoman.Iheardsome

Frenchfops,yonder,designatingheras'letypeduvoluptueux;'ifso,Icanonly say, 'le voluptueux' is little to my liking. Compare that mulatto withGinevra!"

CHAPTERXX.

THECONCERT.

Onemorning,Mrs.Bretton,comingpromptlyintomyroom,desiredmetoopenmydrawersandshowhermydresses;whichIdid,withoutaword.

"Thatwilldo,"saidshe,whenshehadturnedthemover."Youmusthaveanewone."

She went out. She returned presently with a dressmaker. She had memeasured."Imean,"saidshe,"tofollowmyowntaste,andtohavemyownwayinthislittlematter."

Twodaysaftercamehome—apinkdress!

"Thatisnotforme,"Isaid,hurriedly,feelingthatIwouldalmostassoonclothemyselfinthecostumeofaChineseladyofrank.

"Weshallseewhetheritisforyouornot,"rejoinedmygodmother,addingwith her resistless decision: "Mark my words. You will wear it this veryevening."

I thought I shouldnot; I thoughtnohuman force should avail toputme

intoit.Apinkdress!Iknewitnot.Itknewnotme.Ihadnotprovedit.

MygodmotherwentontodecreethatIwastogowithherandGrahamtoaconcertthatsamenight:whichconcert,sheexplained,wasagrandaffairtobeheld in the large salle, or hall, of the principal musical society. The mostadvanced of the pupils of the Conservatoire were to perform: it was to befollowedbya lottery"aubénéficedespauvres;"and tocrownall, theKing,Queen, and Prince of Labassecour were to be present. Graham, in sendingtickets,hadenjoinedattentiontocostumeasacomplimentduetoroyalty:healsorecommendedpunctualreadinessbyseveno'clock.

Aboutsix,Iwasusheredupstairs.Withoutanyforceatall,Ifoundmyselfled and influenced by another's will, unconsulted, unpersuaded, quietlyoverruled.Inshort,thepinkdresswenton,softenedbysomedraperyofblacklace. Iwas pronounced to be en grande tenue, and requested to look in theglass.Ididsowithsomefearandtrembling;withmorefearandtrembling,Iturnedaway.Seveno'clockstruck;Dr.Brettonwascome;mygodmotherandIwentdown.Shewascladinbrownvelvet;asIwalkedinhershadow,howIenviedherthosefoldsofgrave,darkmajesty!Grahamstoodinthedrawing-roomdoorway.

"I do hope he will not think I have been decking myself out to drawattention,"wasmyuneasyaspiration.

"Here,Lucy,aresomeflowers,"saidhe,givingmeabouquet.Hetooknofurther notice ofmy dress thanwas conveyed in a kind smile and satisfiednod,which calmed at oncemy sense of shame and fear of ridicule. For therest; the dress was made with extreme simplicity, guiltless of flounce orfurbelow;itwasbutthelightfabricandbrighttintwhichscaredme,andsinceGraham found in it nothing absurd,myown eye consented soon to becomereconciled.

Isupposepeoplewhogoeverynight toplacesofpublicamusement,canhardly enter into the fresh gala feelingwithwhich an opera or a concert isenjoyedby those forwhomit isa rarity: Iamnotsure that Iexpectedgreatpleasurefromtheconcert,havingbutaveryvaguenotionofitsnature,butIliked thedrive therewell.The snug comfort of the close carriageon a coldthoughfinenight,thepleasureofsettingoutwithcompanionssocheerfulandfriendly, the sightof the starsglinting fitfully through the trees aswe rolledalongtheavenue;thenthefreerburstofthenight-skywhenweissuedforthtotheopenchaussée,thepassagethroughthecitygates,thelightsthereburning,the guards there posted, the pretence of inspection, to which we theresubmitted,andwhichamusedussomuch—allthesesmallmattershadforme,in their novelty, a peculiarly exhilarating charm.Howmuch of it lay in theatmosphere of friendship diffused about me, I know not: Dr. John and his

motherwerebothintheirfinestmood,contendinganimatedlywitheachotherthewholeway,andasfranklykindtomeasifIhadbeenoftheirkin.

OurwaylaythroughsomeofthebeststreetsofVillette,streetsbrightlylit,andfarmore livelynowthanathighnoon.Howbrilliantseemed theshops!Howglad,gay,andabundantflowedthetideoflifealongthebroadpavement!While I looked, the thought of the Rue Fossette came across me—of thewalled-ingardenandschool-house,andofthedark,vast"classes,"where,asat this very hour, itwasmywont towander all solitary, gazing at the starsthroughthehigh,blindlesswindows,andlisteningtothedistantvoiceofthereader in the refectory, monotonously exercised upon the "lecture pieuse."ThusmustIsoonagainlistenandwander;andthisshadowofthefuturestolewithtimelysobrietyacrosstheradiantpresent.

By this time we had got into a current of carriages all tending in onedirection,andsoonthefrontofagreatilluminatedbuildingblazedbeforeus.Ofwhat I should seewithin thisbuilding, Ihad,asbefore intimated,butanimperfectidea;fornoplaceofpublicentertainmenthaditeverbeenmylottoenteryet.

We alighted under a portico where there was a great bustle and a greatcrowd,but Idonotdistinctly remember furtherdetails,until I foundmyselfmounting a majestic staircase wide and easy of ascent, deeply and softlycarpetedwithcrimson,leadinguptogreatdoorsclosedsolemnly,andwhosepanelswerealsocrimson-clothed.

Ihardlynoticedbywhatmagic thesedoorsweremade to rollback—Dr.John managed these points; roll back they did, however, and within wasdisclosedahall—grand,wide,andhigh,whosesweepingcircularwalls,anddomedhollowceiling,seemedtomealldeadgold(thuswithniceartwas itstained),relievedbycornicing,fluting,andgarlandry,eitherbright, likegoldburnished,orsnow-white,likealabaster,orwhiteandgoldmingledinwreathsofgildedleavesandspotlesslilies:whereverdraperyhung,wherevercarpetswerespread,orcushionsplaced,thesolecolouremployedwasdeepcrimson.Pendentfromthedome,flamedamassthatdazzledme—amass,Ithought,ofrock-crystal, sparkling with facets, streaming with drops, ablaze with stars,andgorgeouslytingedwithdewsofgemsdissolved,orfragmentsofrainbowsshivered.Itwasonlythechandelier,reader,butformeitseemedtheworkofeasterngenii:Ialmostlookedtoseeifahuge,dark,cloudyhand—thatoftheSlave of the Lamp—were not hovering in the lustrous and perfumedatmosphereofthecupola,guardingitswondroustreasure.

Wemovedon—Iwasnot at all consciouswhither—but at some turnwesuddenlyencounteredanotherpartyapproachingfromtheoppositedirection.Ijustnowseethatgroup,asitflashed—uponmeforonemoment.Ahandsome

middle-agedladyindarkvelvet;agentlemanwhomightbeherson—thebestface,thefinestfigure,Ithought,Ihadeverseen;athirdpersoninapinkdressandblacklacemantle.

I noted themall—the thirdperson aswell as theother two—and for thefractionofamomentbelievedthemallstrangers, thusreceivinganimpartialimpression of their appearance. But the impression was hardly felt and notfixed, before the consciousness that I faced a great mirror, filling acompartment between twopillars, dispelled it: the partywas our ownparty.Thusfor thefirst,andperhapsonlytimeinmylife,Ienjoyedthe"giftie"ofseeingmyselfasothersseeme.Noneedtodwellontheresult.Itbroughtajarofdiscord,apangofregret; itwasnot flattering,yet,afterall, Iought tobethankful;itmighthavebeenworse.

Atlast,wewereseatedinplacescommandingagoodgeneralviewofthatvastanddazzling,butwarmandcheerfulhall.Alreadyitwasfilled,andfilledwith a splendid assemblage. I do not know that the women were verybeautiful,but theirdresseswere soperfect; and foreigners, even suchasareungracefulindomesticprivacy,seemtopossestheartofappearinggracefulinpublic: howeverblunt andboisterous those every-day andhomemovementsconnectedwithpeignoirandpapillotes, there isaslide,abend,acarriageoftheheadandarms,amienof themouthandeyes,keptnicely in reserve forgalause—alwaysbroughtoutwith thegrande toilette, anddulyputonwiththe"parure."

Somefineforms therewerehereand there,modelsofapeculiarstyleofbeauty; a style, I think, never seen in England; a solid, firm-set, sculpturalstyle.Theseshapeshavenoangles:acaryatidinmarbleisalmostasflexible;aPhidian goddess is notmore perfect in a certain still and stately sort. TheyhavesuchfeaturesastheDutchpaintersgivetotheirmadonnas:low-countryclassic features, regular but round, straight but stolid; and for their depth ofexpressionlesscalm,ofpassionlesspeace,apolarsnow-fieldcouldaloneofferatype.Womenofthisorderneednoornament,andtheyseldomwearany;thesmooth hair, closely braided, supplies a sufficient contrast to the smoothercheekandbrow;thedresscannotbetoosimple;theroundedarmandperfectneckrequireneitherbraceletnorchain.

With one of these beauties I once had the honour and rapture to beperfectlyacquainted:theinertforceofthedeep,settledlovesheboreherself,waswonderful;itcouldonlybesurpassedbyherproudimpotencytocareforany other living thing. Of blood, her cool veins conducted no flow; placidlymphfilledandalmostobstructedherarteries.

SuchaJunoasIhavedescribedsatfullinourview—asortofmarkforalleyes,andquiteconsciousthatsoshewas,butprooftothemagneticinfluence

ofgazeorglance:cold,rounded,blonde,andbeauteousasthewhitecolumn,capitalledwithgilding,whichroseatherside.

Observing that Dr. John's attention was much drawn towards her, Ientreatedhiminalowvoice"fortheloveofheaventoshieldwellhisheart.You need not fall in love with that lady," I said, "because, I tell youbeforehand,youmightdieatherfeet,andshewouldnotloveyouagain."

"Verywell,"saidhe,"andhowdoyouknowthatthespectacleofhergrandinsensibilitymightnotwithmebethestrongeststimulustohomage?Thestingofdesperationis,Ithink,awonderfulirritanttomyemotions:but"(shrugginghisshoulders)"youknownothingaboutthesethings;I'lladdressmyselftomymother.Mamma,I'minadangerousway."

"Asifthatinterestedme!"saidMrs.Bretton.

"Alas!thecrueltyofmylot!"respondedherson."Nevermanhadamoreunsentimentalmotherthanmine:sheneverseemstothinkthatsuchacalamitycanbefallherasadaughter-in-law."

"If I don't, it is not forwant of having that same calamity held overmyhead: you have threatenedmewith it for the last ten years. 'Mamma, I amgoingtobemarriedsoon!'wasthecrybeforeyouwerewelloutofjackets."

"But,mother,oneofthesedaysitwillberealized.Allofasudden,whenyouthinkyouaremostsecure,IshallgoforthlikeJacoborEsau,oranyotherpatriarch,andtakemeawife:perhapsofthesewhichareofthedaughtersoftheland."

"Atyourperil,JohnGraham!thatisall."

"Thismotherofminemeansmetobeanoldbachelor.Whatajealousoldlady it is!But now just look at that splendid creature in the pale blue satindress,andhairofpalerbrown,with'refletssatinés'asthoseofherrobe.Wouldyounotfeelproud,mamma, if Iweretobringthatgoddesshomesomeday,andintroducehertoyouasMrs.Bretton,junior?"

"You will bring no goddess to La Terrasse: that little château will notcontain twomistresses; especially if the second be of the height, bulk, andcircumferenceofthatmightydollinwoodandwax,andkidandsatin."

"Mamma,shewouldfillyourbluechairsoadmirably!"

"Fillmychair? Idefy the foreignusurper!a ruefulchair should itbe forher:buthush,JohnGraham!Holdyourtongue,anduseyoureyes."

During theaboveskirmish, thehall,which, Ihad thought,seemedfullattheentrance,continued toadmitpartyafterparty,until thesemicirclebeforethestagepresentedonedensemassofheads,slopingfromfloortoceiling.The

stage,too,orratherthewidetemporaryplatform,largerthananystage,deserthalf anhour since,wasnowoverflowingwith life; round twograndpianos,placed about the centre, a white flock of young girls, the pupils of theConservatoire, had noiselessly poured. I had noticed their gathering, whileGrahamandhismotherwereengagedindiscussingthebelleinbluesatin,andhadwatchedwithinteresttheprocessofarrayingandmarshallingthem.Twogentlemen,ineachofwhomIrecognisedanacquaintance,officeredthisvirgintroop.One,anartistic-lookingman,bearded,andwithlonghair,wasanotedpianiste,andalsothefirstmusic-teacherinVillette;heattendedtwiceaweekatMadameBeck'spensionnat,togivelessonstothefewpupilswhoseparentswererichenoughtoallowtheirdaughterstheprivilegeofhisinstructions;hisnamewasM.JosefEmanuel,andhewashalf-brothertoM.Paul:whichpotentpersonagewasnowvisibleinthepersonofthesecondgentleman.

M.Paul amusedme; I smiled tomyself as Iwatchedhim,he seemedsothoroughly in his element—standing conspicuous in presence of awide andgrand assemblage, arranging, restraining, over-aweing about one hundredyoungladies.Hewas,too,soperfectlyinearnest—soenergetic,sointent,and,aboveall,soabsolute:andyetwhatbusinesshadhethere?Whathadhetodowithmusic or theConservatoire—hewho couldhardlydistinguishonenotefromanother?Iknewthatitwashisloveofdisplayandauthoritywhichhadbroughthim there—a lovenotoffensive,onlybecause sonaive. Itpresentlybecameobviousthathisbrother,M.Josef,wasasmuchunderhiscontrolaswere thegirls themselves.Neverwassucha littlehawkofamanas thatM.Paul!Erelong,somenotedsingersandmusiciansdawnedupontheplatform:as these stars rose, thecomet-likeprofessor set. Insufferable tohimwereallnotorietiesandcelebrities:wherehecouldnotoutshine,hefled.

Andnowallwasprepared:butonecompartmentof thehallwaitedtobefilled—a compartment covered with crimson, like the grand staircase anddoors, furnishedwithstuffedandcushionedbenches, rangedoneachsideoftworegalchairs,placedsolemnlyunderacanopy.

A signal was given, the doors rolled back, the assembly stood up, theorchestraburstout,and,tothewelcomeofachoralburst,entertheKing,theQueen,theCourtofLabassecour.

Tillthen,Ihadneverseteyesonlivingkingorqueen;itmayconsequentlybeconjecturedhowIstrainedmypowersofvisiontotakeinthesespecimensofEuropeanroyalty.Bywhomsoevermajestyisbeheldforthefirsttime,therewillalwaysbeexperiencedavaguesurpriseborderingondisappointment,thatthesamedoesnotappearseated,enpermanence,onathrone,bonnetedwithacrown,and furnished,as to thehand,witha sceptre.Lookingout forakingandqueen,andseeingonlyamiddle-agedsoldieranda ratheryoung lady, Ifelthalfcheated,halfpleased.

WelldoIrecallthatKing—amanoffifty,alittlebowed,alittlegrey:therewasnofaceinallthatassemblywhichresembledhis.Ihadneverread,neverbeen told anything of his nature or his habits; and at first the stronghieroglyphicsgravenaswithironstyletonhisbrow,roundhiseyes,besidehismouth,puzzledandbaffled instinct.Ere long,however, if Ididnotknow,atleastIfelt,themeaningofthosecharacterswrittenwithouthand.Theresatasilent sufferer—a nervous, melancholy man. Those eyes had looked on thevisits of a certain ghost—had long waited the comings and goings of thatstrangestspectre,Hypochondria.Perhapshesawhernowonthatstage,overagainst him, amidst all that brilliant throng.Hypochondria has thatwont, toriseinthemidstofthousands—darkasDoom,paleasMalady,andwell-nighstrong as Death. Her comrade and victim thinks to be happy one moment—"Not so," says she; "I come."And she freezes theblood inhis heart, andbecloudsthelightinhiseye.

SomemightsayitwastheforeigncrownpressingtheKing'sbrowswhichbent them to that peculiar andpainful fold; somemight quote the effects ofearly bereavement. Something there might be of both these; but these areembittered by that darkest foe of humanity—constitutionalmelancholy. TheQueen,hiswife, knew this: it seemed tome, the reflectionofherhusband'sgrieflay,asubduingshadow,onherownbenignantface.Amild,thoughtful,gracefulwomanthatprincessseemed;notbeautiful,notatalllikethewomenofsolidcharmsandmarblefeelingsdescribedapageortwosince.Herswasasomewhatslendershape;herfeatures,thoughdistinguishedenough,weretoosuggestiveofreigningdynastiesandroyal lines togiveunqualifiedpleasure.Theexpressionclothingthatprofilewasagreeableinthepresentinstance;butyou could not avoid connecting it with remembered effigies, where similarlinesappeared,underphaseignoble;feeble,orsensual,orcunning,asthecasemightbe.TheQueen'seye,however,washerown;andpity,goodness,sweetsympathy,blesseditwithdivinestlight.Shemovednosovereign,butalady—kind,loving,elegant.Herlittleson,thePrinceofLabassecour,andyoungDucdeDindonneau,accompaniedher:he leanedonhismother'sknee;and,everandanon,inthecourseofthatevening,Isawherobservantofthemonarchather side, conscious of his beclouded abstraction, and desirous to rouse himfromitbydrawinghisattentiontotheirson.Sheoftenbentherheadtolistento the boy's remarks, andwould then smilingly repeat them to his sire.ThemoodyKing started, listened, smiled, but invariably relapsed as soon as hisgoodangelceasedspeaking.Fullmournfulandsignificantwasthatspectacle!Notthelesssobecause,bothforthearistocracyandthehonestbourgeoisieofLabassecour, its peculiarity seemed to be wholly invisible: I could notdiscoverthatonesoulpresentwaseitherstruckortouched.

WiththeKingandQueenhadenteredtheircourt,comprisingtwoorthreeforeign ambassadors; and with them came the elite of the foreigners then

residentinVillette.Thesetookpossessionofthecrimsonbenches;theladieswereseated;mostof themen remainedstanding: their sable rank, lining thebackground, looked like a dark foil to the splendourdisplayed in front.Norwasthissplendourwithoutvaryinglightandshadeandgradation:themiddledistancewasfilledwithmatronsinvelvetsandsatins,inplumesandgems;thebenches in the foreground, to the Queen's right hand, seemed devotedexclusivelytoyounggirls,theflower—perhaps,Ishouldrathersay,thebud—ofVillettearistocracy.Herewerenojewels,nohead-dresses,novelvetpileorsilken sheen purity, simplicity, and aërial grace reigned in that virgin band.Youngheadssimplybraided,andfairforms(Iwasgoingtowritesylphforms,but thatwould have been quite untrue: several of these "jeunes filles,"whohadnotnumberedmore thansixteenorseventeenyears,boastedcontoursasrobustandsolidas thoseofa stoutEnglishwomanof five-and-twenty)—fairforms robed in white, or pale rose, or placid blue, suggested thoughts ofheaven and angels. I knew a couple, at least, of these "rose et blanche"specimens of humanity. Here was a pair of Madame Beck's late pupils—MesdemoisellesMathildeandAngélique:pupilswho,duringtheirlastyearatschool,oughttohavebeeninthefirstclass,butwhosebrainsnevergotthembeyondtheseconddivision.InEnglish,theyhadbeenundermyowncharge,andhardworkitwastogetthemtotranslaterationallyapageofTheVicarofWakefield.Also during threemonths I had one of them formy vis-à-vis attable,andthequantityofhouseholdbread,butter,andstewedfruit,shewouldhabitually consume at "second déjeuner" was a real world's wonder—to beexceededonlyby the factofheractuallypocketingslices shecouldnoteat.Herebetruths—wholesometruths,too.

I knew another of these seraphs—the prettiest, or, at any rate, the leastdemureandhypocriticallookingofthelot:shewasseatedbythedaughterofanEnglishpeer,alsoanhonest,thoughhaughty-lookinggirl:bothhadenteredin the suite of theBritish embassy. She (i.e.my acquaintance) had a slight,pliantfigure,notatallliketheformsoftheforeigndamsels:herhair,too,wasnotclose-braided, likeashelloraskull-capofsatin; it looked likehair,andwaved from her head, long, curled, and flowing. She chatted away volubly,and seemed full of a light-headed sort of satisfaction with herself and herposition. Ididnot lookatDr.Bretton;but Iknew thathe, too, sawGinevraFanshawe: he had become so quiet, he answered so briefly his mother'sremarks,hesooftensuppressedasigh.Whyshouldhesigh?Hehadconfessedatasteforthepursuitofloveunderdifficulties;herewasfullgratificationforthat taste.His lady-lovebeameduponhim froma sphereabovehisown:hecouldnotcomenearher;hewasnotcertainthathecouldwinfromheralook.Iwatchedtoseeifshewouldsofarfavourhim.Ourseatwasnotfarfromthecrimson benches; wemust inevitably be seen thence, by eyes so quick androvingasMissFanshawe's,andverysoonthoseopticsofherswereuponus:

atleast,uponDr.andMrs.Bretton.Ikeptratherintheshadeandoutofsight,not wishing to be immediately recognised: she looked quite steadily at Dr.John, and then she raised a glass to examine his mother; a minute or twoafterwards she laughingly whispered her neighbour; upon the performancecommencing,herramblingattentionwasattractedtotheplatform.

On the concert I need not dwell; the reader would not care to havemyimpressions thereanent: and, indeed, it would not be worth while to recordthem,astheyweretheimpressionsofanignorancecrasse.Theyoungladiesof the Conservatoire, being verymuch frightened, made rather a tremulousexhibition on the twograndpianos.M. JosefEmanuel stoodby themwhiletheyplayed;buthehadnot the tactor influenceofhiskinsman,who,undersimilarcircumstances,wouldcertainlyhavecompelledpupilsofhistodemeanthemselveswithheroismandself-possession.M.Paulwouldhaveplacedthehysteric débutantes between two fires—terror of the audience, and terror ofhimself—andwouldhave inspired themwith the courageofdesperation, bymakingthelatterterrorincomparablythegreater:M.Josefcouldnotdothis.

Followingthewhitemuslinpianistes,cameafine,full-grown,sulkyladyin white satin. She sang. Her singing just affected me like the tricks of aconjuror: I wondered how she did it—how shemade her voice run up anddown,andcutsuchmarvellouscapers;butasimpleScotchmelody,playedbyarudestreetminstrel,hasoftenmovedmemoredeeply.

Afterwardssteppedforthagentleman,who,bendinghisbodyagooddealinthedirectionoftheKingandQueen,andfrequentlyapproachinghiswhite-glovedhandtotheregionofhisheart,ventedabitteroutcryagainstacertain"fausse Isabelle." I thought he seemed especially to solicit the Queen'ssympathy; but, unless I am egregiously mistaken, her Majesty lent herattentionratherwiththecalmofcourtesythantheearnestnessofinterest.Thisgentleman'sstateofmindwasveryharrowing,andIwasgladwhenhewounduphismusicalexpositionofthesame.

Some rousing choruses struck me as the best part of the evening'sentertainment.Therewerepresentdeputiesfromallthebestprovincialchoralsocieties;genuine,barrel-shaped,nativeLabassecouriens.Theseworthiesgavevoicewithoutmincingthemattertheirheartyexertionshadatleastthisgoodresult—theeardrankthenceasatisfyingsenseofpower.

Through the whole performance—timid instrumental duets, conceitedvocalsolos,sonorous,brass-lungedchoruses—myattentiongavebutoneeyeandoneeartothestage,theotherbeingpermanentlyretainedintheserviceofDr.Bretton:Icouldnotforgethim,norceasetoquestionhowhewasfeeling,what he was thinking, whether he was amused or the contrary. At last hespoke.

"Andhowdoyoulikeitall,Lucy?Youareveryquiet,"hesaid,inhisowncheerfultone.

"I am quiet," I said, "because I am so very, very much interested: notmerelywiththemusic,butwitheverythingaboutme."

He then proceeded to make some further remarks, with so muchequanimityandcomposurethatIbegantothinkhehadreallynotseenwhatIhadseen,andIwhispered—"MissFanshaweishere:haveyounoticedher?"

"Oh,yes!andIobservedthatyounoticedhertoo."

"IsshecomewithMrs.Cholmondeley,doyouthink?"

"Mrs.Cholmondeleyistherewithaverygrandparty.Yes;Ginevrawasinher train; andMrs.Cholmondeleywas inLady——'s train,whowas in theQueen'strain.IfthiswerenotoneofthecompactlittleminorEuropeancourts,whoseveryformalitiesarelittlemoreimposingthanfamiliarities,andwhosegalagrandeurisbuthomelinessinSundayarray,itwouldsoundallveryfine."

"Ginevrasawyou,Ithink?"

"So do I think so. I have had my eye on her several times since youwithdrew yours; and I have had the honour of witnessing a little spectaclewhichyouwerespared."

I did not askwhat; Iwaited voluntary information,whichwas presentlygiven.

"MissFanshawe,"he said, "hasacompanionwithher—a ladyof rank. Ihappen to know Lady Sara by sight; her noble mother has called me inprofessionally. She is a proudgirl, but not in the least insolent, and I doubtwhetherGinevrawillhavegainedgroundinherestimationbymakingabuttofherneighbours."

"Whatneighbours?"

"Merelymyselfandmymother.Astomeitisallverynatural:nothing,Isuppose,canbefairergamethantheyoungbourgeoisdoctor;butmymother!I never saw her ridiculed before. Do you know, the curling lip, andsarcasticallylevelledglassthusdirected,gavemeamostcurioussensation?"

"Thinknothingofit,Dr.John:itisnotworthwhile.IfGinevrawereinagiddy mood, as she is eminently to-night, she would make no scruple oflaughing at that mild, pensive Queen, or that melancholy King. She is notactuated by malevolence, but sheer, heedless folly. To a feather-brainedschool-girlnothingissacred."

"Butyouforget:IhavenotbeenaccustomedtolookonMissFanshaweinthelightofafeather-brainedschool-girl.Wasshenotmydivinity—theangel

ofmycareer?"

"Hem!Therewasyourmistake."

"To speak the honest truth, without any false rant or assumed romance,thereactuallywasamoment,sixmonthsago,whenIthoughtherdivine.Doyourememberourconversationaboutthepresents?Iwasnotquiteopenwithyouindiscussingthatsubject:thewarmthwithwhichyoutookitupamusedme.Bywayofhavingthefullbenefitofyourlights,IallowedyoutothinkmemoreinthedarkthanIreallywas.ItwasthattestofthepresentswhichfirstprovedGinevramortal.Stillherbeautyretained its fascination: threedays—three hours ago, I was very much her slave. As she passed me to-night,triumphantinbeauty,myemotionsdidherhomage;butforonelucklesssneer,I shouldyetbe thehumblestofher servants.Shemighthavescoffedatme,and,whilewounding,shewouldnotsoonhavealienatedme:throughmyself,shecouldnotintenyearshavedonewhat,inamoment,shehasdonethroughmymother."

Heheld his peace awhile.Never before had I seen somuch fire, and solittlesunshineinDr.John'sblueeyeasjustnow.

"Lucy,"herecommenced,"lookwellatmymother,andsay,withoutfearorfavour,inwhatlightshenowappearstoyou."

"Asshealwaysdoes—anEnglish,middle-classgentlewoman;well,thoughgravely dressed, habitually independent of pretence, constitutionallycomposedandcheerful."

"Sosheseemstome—blessher!Themerrymaylaughwithmamma,buttheweakonlywilllaughather.Sheshallnotberidiculed,withmyconsent,atleast;norwithoutmy—myscorn—myantipathy—my—"

Hestopped:anditwastime—forhewasgettingexcited—moreitseemedthantheoccasionwarranted.IdidnotthenknowthathehadwitnesseddoublecausefordissatisfactionwithMissFanshawe.Theglowofhiscomplexion,theexpansionofhisnostril,theboldcurvewhichdisdaingavehiswell-cutunderlip, showed him in a new and striking phase. Yet the rare passion of theconstitutionallysuaveandserene,isnotapleasantspectacle;nordidIlikethesortofvindictivethrillwhichpassedthroughhisstrongyoungframe.

"DoIfrightenyou,Lucy?"heasked.

"Icannottellwhyyouaresoveryangry."

"Forthisreason,"hemutteredinmyear."Ginevraisneitherapureangel,norapure-mindedwoman."

"Nonsense!youexaggerate:shehasnogreatharminher."

"Toomuchforme.Icanseewhereyouareblind.Nowdismissthesubject.Letme amusemyself by teasingmamma: Iwill assert that she is flagging.Mamma,prayrouseyourself."

"John,Iwillcertainlyrouseyouifyouarenotbetterconducted.WillyouandLucybesilent,thatImayhearthesinging?"

They were then thundering in a chorus, under cover of which all thepreviousdialoguehadtakenplace.

"You hear the singing,mamma!Now, Iwillwagermy studs,which aregenuine,againstyourpastebrooch—"

"Mypaste brooch,Graham?Profaneboy!youknow that it is a stoneofvalue."

"Oh!thatisoneofyoursuperstitions:youwerecheatedinthebusiness."

"Iamcheatedinfewerthingsthanyouimagine.Howdoyouhappentobeacquaintedwithyoungladiesofthecourt,John?Ihaveobservedtwoofthempayyounosmallattentionduringthelasthalf-hour."

"Iwishyouwouldnotobservethem."

"Whynot?Becauseoneofthemsatiricallylevelshereyeglassatme?Sheisapretty,sillygirl:butareyouapprehensivethathertitterwilldiscomfittheoldlady?"

"The sensible, admirableold lady!Mother,youarebetter tome than tenwivesyet."

"Don'tbedemonstrative,John,orIshallfaint,andyouwillhavetocarrymeout; and if thatburdenwere laiduponyou,youwould reverseyour lastspeech,andexclaim,'Mother,tenwivescouldhardlybeworsetomethanyouare!'"

**

The concert over, the Lottery "au bénéfice des pauvres" came next: theintervalbetweenwasoneofgeneralrelaxation,andthepleasantestimaginablestir and commotion.Thewhite flockwas cleared from the platform; a busythrongofgentlemencrowdeditinstead,makingarrangementsforthedrawing;and amongst these—the busiest of all—re-appeared that certainwell-knownform,nottallbutactive,alivewiththeenergyandmovementofthreetallmen.HowM.Pauldidwork!Howheissueddirections,and,atthesametime,sethis own shoulder to the wheel! Half-a-dozen assistants were at his beck toremovethepianos,&c.;nomatter,hemustaddtotheirstrengthhisown.Theredundancyofhisalertnesswashalf-vexing,half-ludicrous:inmymindIbothdisapprovedandderidedmostofthisfuss.Yet, inthemidstofprejudiceand

annoyance, I could not, while watching, avoid perceiving a certain notdisagreeable naïveté in all he did and said; nor could I be blind to certainvigorouscharacteristicsofhisphysiognomy,renderedconspicuousnowbythecontrastwithathrongoftamerfaces:thedeep,intentkeennessofhiseye,thepowerofhisforehead,pale,broad,andfull—themobilityofhismostflexiblemouth.Helackedthecalmofforce,butitsmovementanditsfirehesignallypossessed.

Meantime the whole hall was in a stir; most people rose and remainedstanding, for a change; some walked about, all talked and laughed. Thecrimsoncompartmentpresentedapeculiarlyanimatedscene.The longcloudofgentlemen,breakingintofragments,mixedwiththerainbowlineofladies;twoor three officer-likemen approached theKing and conversedwith him.TheQueen, leavingherchair,glidedalongtherankofyoungladies,whoallstoodupasshepassed;andtoeachinturnIsawhervouchsafesometokenofkindness—a gracious word, look or smile. To the two pretty English girls,LadySaraandGinevraFanshawe,sheaddressedseveralsentences;assheleftthem, both, and especially the latter, seemed to glow all over withgratification. They were afterwards accosted by several ladies, and a littlecircle of gentlemen gathered round them; amongst these—the nearest toGinevra—stoodtheCountdeHamal.

"This room is stiflingly hot," said Dr. Bretton, rising with suddenimpatience."Lucy—mother—willyoucomeamomenttothefreshair?"

"Gowithhim,Lucy,"saidMrs.Bretton."Iwouldratherkeepmyseat."

Willingly would I have kept mine also, but Graham's desire must takeprecedenceofmyown;Iaccompaniedhim.

Wefoundthenight-airkeen;oratleastIdid:hedidnotseemtofeelit;butitwasverystill,and thestar-sownskyspreadcloudless. Iwaswrapped inafur shawl.We took some turns on the pavement; in passing under a lamp,Grahamencounteredmyeye.

"Youlookpensive,Lucy:isitonmyaccount?"

"Iwasonlyfearingthatyouweregrieved."

"Not at all: so be of good cheer—as I am. Whenever I die, Lucy, mypersuasionisthatitwillnotbeofheart-complaint.Imaybestung,Imayseemtodroopforatime,butnopainormaladyofsentimenthasyetgonethroughmywholesystem.Youhavealwaysseenmecheerfulathome?"

"Generally."

"Iamgladshelaughedatmymother.Iwouldnotgivetheoldladyforadozenbeauties.Thatsneerdidmeallthegoodintheworld.Thankyou,Miss

Fanshawe!"And he lifted his hat from his waved locks, andmade amockreverence.

"Yes,"hesaid,"Ithankher.Shehasmademefeelthatninepartsintenofmyheart have alwaysbeen soundas abell, and the tenthbled fromamerepuncture:alancet-prickthatwillhealinatrice."

"You are angry just now, heated and indignant; you will think and feeldifferentlyto-morrow."

"Iheatedandindignant!Youdon'tknowme.Onthecontrary, theheat isgone:Iamascoolasthenight—which,bytheway,maybetoocoolforyou.Wewillgoback."

"Dr.John,thisisasuddenchange."

"Notit:orifitbe,therearegoodreasonsforit—twogoodreasons:

Ihavetoldyouone.Butnowletusre-enter."

We did not easily regain our seats; the lottery was begun, and all wasexcitedconfusion;crowdsblockedthesortofcorridoralongwhichwehadtopass:itwasnecessarytopauseforatime.Happeningtoglanceround—indeedIhalffanciedIheardmynamepronounced—Isawquitenear,theubiquitous,theinevitableM.Paul.Hewaslookingatmegravelyandintently:atme,orrather at my pink dress—sardonic comment on which gleamed in his eye.Nowitwashishabittoindulgeinstricturesonthedress,bothoftheteachersandpupils,atMadameBeck's—ahabitwhichtheformer,atleast,heldtobeanoffensiveimpertinence:asyetIhadnotsufferedfromit—mysombredailyattire not being calculated to attract notice. Iwas in nomood to permit anynewencroachment to-night: rather thanaccepthisbanter, Iwould ignorehispresence,andaccordinglysteadilyturnedmyfacetothesleeveofDr.John'scoat; finding in that sameblack sleeve aprospectmore redolentof pleasureand comfort,more genial,more friendly, I thought, thanwas offered by thedark little Professor's unlovely visage. Dr. John seemed unconsciously tosanction the preference by looking down and saying in his kind voice, "Ay,keep close to my side, Lucy: these crowding burghers are no respecters ofpersons."

I could not, however, be true to myself. Yielding to some influence,mesmericorotherwise—aninfluenceunwelcome,displeasing,buteffective—Iagainglancedroundtosee ifM.Paulwasgone.No, therehestoodonthesame spot, looking still, but with a changed eye; he had penetrated mythought, and readmywish to shun him.Themocking but not ill-humouredgaze was turned to a swarthy frown, and when I bowed, with a view toconciliation,Igotonlythestiffestandsternestofnodsinreturn.

"Whom have you made angry, Lucy?" whispered Dr. Bretton, smiling."Whoisthatsavage-lookingfriendofyours?"

"OneoftheprofessorsatMadameBeck's:averycrosslittleman."

"Helooksmightycrossjustnow:whathaveyoudonetohim?Whatisitallabout?Ah,Lucy,Lucy!tellmethemeaningofthis."

"Nomystery, I assure you.M. Emanuel is very exigeant, and because Ilookedatyourcoat-sleeve,insteadofcurtseyinganddippingtohim,hethinksIhavefailedinrespect."

"Thelittle—"beganDr.John:Iknownotwhatmorehewouldhaveadded,foratthatmomentIwasnearlythrowndownamongstthefeetofthecrowd.M.Paul had rudely pushed past, andwas elbowing hiswaywith such utterdisregard to the convenience and security of all around, that a veryuncomfortablepressurewastheconsequence.

"Ithinkheiswhathehimselfwouldcall'méchant,'"saidDr.Bretton.

Ithoughtso,too.

Slowlyandwithdifficultywemadeourwayalongthepassage,andatlastregainedourseats.Thedrawingofthelotterylastednearlyanhour;itwasananimatingandamusingscene;andasweeachheld tickets,weshared in thealternationsofhopeandfearraisedbyeachturnofthewheel.Twolittlegirls,of five and six years old, drew the numbers: and the prizes were dulyproclaimedfromtheplatform.Theseprizeswerenumerous, thoughofsmallvalue.ItsofelloutthatDr.JohnandIeachgainedone:minewasacigar-case,his a lady's head-dress—a most airy sort of blue and silver turban, with astreamer of plumage on one side, like a snowy cloud. He was excessivelyanxioustomakeanexchange;butIcouldnotbebroughttohearreason,andtothisdayIkeepmycigar-case:itserves,whenIlookatit,toremindmeofoldtimes,andonehappyevening.

Dr.John,forhispart,heldhisturbanatarm'slengthbetweenhisfingerandthumb,andlookedatitwithamixtureofreverenceandembarrassmenthighlyprovocative of laughter. The contemplation over, he was about coolly todepositthedelicatefabriconthegroundbetweenhisfeet;heseemedtohaveno shadowof an ideaof the treatment or stowage it ought to receive: if hismotherhadnotcome to the rescue, I thinkhewould finallyhavecrushed itunderhisarmlikeanopera-hat;sherestoredittotheband-boxwhenceithadissued.

Grahamwas quite cheerful all the evening, and his cheerfulness seemednaturalandunforced.Hisdemeanour,his look, isnoteasilydescribed; therewassomethinginitpeculiar,and,initsway,original.Ireadinitnocommon

mastery of the passions, and a fund of deep and healthy strength which,without any exhausting effort, bore downDisappointment and extracted herfang.Hismanner,now, remindedmeofqualities Ihadnoticed inhimwhenprofessionallyengagedamongstthepoor, theguilty,andthesuffering,intheBasse-Ville: he looked at once determined, enduring, and sweet-tempered.Whocouldhelplikinghim?Hebetrayednoweaknesswhichharassedallyourfeelingswithconsiderationsastohowitsfalteringmustbepropped;fromhimbrokenoirritabilitywhichstartledcalmandquenchedmirth;hislipsletfallnocausticthatburnedtothebone;hiseyeshotnomoroseshaftsthatwentcold,andrusty,andvenomedthroughyourheart:besidehimwasrestandrefuge—aroundhim,fosteringsunshine.

And yet he had neither forgiven nor forgotten Miss Fanshawe. Onceangered, I doubt ifDr.Brettonwere tobe soonpropitiated—oncealienated,whetherhewereevertobereclaimed.Helookedathermorethanonce;notstealthily or humbly, but with a movement of hardy, open observation. DeHamalwasnowa fixturebesideher;Mrs.Cholmondeley sat near, and theyand shewerewholly absorbed in the discourse,mirth, and excitement,withwhichthecrimsonseatswereasmuchastirasanyplebeianpartofthehall.Inthe course of some apparently animated discussion, Ginevra once or twiceliftedherhandandarm;ahandsomebraceletgleamedupon the latter. IsawthatitsgleamflickeredinDr.John'seye—quickeningthereinaderisive,irefulsparkle;helaughed:——

"I think,"hesaid,"Iwill laymyturbanonmywontedaltarofofferings;there, at any rate, itwouldbe certain to find favour: nogrisette has amorefacile faculty of acceptance. Strange! for after all, I know she is a girl offamily."

"Butyoudon'tknowhereducation,Dr.John,"saidI."Tossedaboutallherlife from one foreign school to another, she may justly proffer the plea ofignoranceinextenuationofmostofherfaults.Andthen,fromwhatshesays,Ibelieveherfatherandmotherwerebroughtupmuchasshehasbeenbroughtup."

"I alwaysunderstood shehadno fortune; andonce I hadpleasure in thethought,"saidhe.

"Shetellsme,"Ianswered,"thattheyarepoorathome;shealwaysspeaksquite candidly on such points: you never find her lying, as these foreignerswilloftenlie.Herparentshavealargefamily:theyoccupysuchastationandpossess such connections as, in their opinion, demand display; stringentnecessity of circumstances and inherent thoughtlessness of dispositioncombined,haveengenderedrecklessunscrupulousnessastohowtheyobtainthemeansofsustainingagoodappearance.Thisisthestateofthings,andthe

onlystateofthings,shehasseenfromchildhoodupwards."

"Ibelieveit—andIthoughttomouldhertosomethingbetter:but,Lucy,tospeaktheplaintruth,Ihavefeltanewthingto-night,inlookingatheranddeHamal.Ifeltitbeforenoticingtheimpertinencedirectedatmymother.Isawalookinterchangedbetweenthemimmediatelyaftertheirentrance,whichthrewamostunwelcomelightonmymind."

"Howdoyoumean?Youhavebeenlongawareoftheflirtationtheykeepup?"

"Ay, flirtation!Thatmightbean innocentgirlishwile to lureon the truelover;butwhatIrefertowasnotflirtation:itwasalookmarkingmutualandsecret understanding—it was neither girlish nor innocent. No woman, weresheasbeautifulasAphrodite,whocouldgiveorreceivesuchaglance,shalleverbesought inmarriagebyme:Iwouldratherwedapaysanne inashortpetticoatandhighcap—andbesurethatshewashonest."

Icouldnothelpsmiling.Ifeltsurehenowexaggeratedthecase:Ginevra,Iwascertain,washonestenough,withallhergiddiness.Itoldhimso.Heshookhishead,andsaidhewouldnotbethemantotrustherwithhishonour.

"Theonlything,"saidI,"withwhichyoumaysafelytrusther.Shewouldunscrupulously damage a husband's purse and property, recklessly try hispatienceandtemper:Idon'tthinkshewouldbreathe,orletanotherbreathe,onhishonour."

"Youarebecomingheradvocate,"saidhe."Doyouwishmetoresumemyoldchains?"

"No:Iamgladtoseeyoufree,andtrustthatfreeyouwilllongremain.Yetbe,atthesametime,just."

"I am so: just as Rhadamanthus, Lucy. When once I am thoroughlyestranged, I cannot help being severe. But look! the King and Queen arerising. I like that Queen: she has a sweet countenance. Mamma, too, isexcessivelytired;weshallnevergettheoldladyhomeifwestaylonger."

"I tired, John?" criedMrs. Bretton, looking at least as animated and aswide-awakeasher son. "Iwouldundertake to sityououtyet: leaveusbothhere till morning, and we should see which would look the most jaded bysunrise."

"Ishouldnotliketotrytheexperiment;for,intruth,mamma,youarethemostunfadingofevergreensand the freshestofmatrons. Itmust thenbeonthe plea of your son's delicate nerves and fragile constitution that I found apetitionforourspeedyadjournment."

"Indolentyoungman!Youwishyouwereinbed,nodoubt;andIsuppose

youmustbehumoured.ThereisLucy,too,lookingquitedoneup.Forshame,Lucy!Atyourage,aweekofevenings-outwouldnothavemademeashadepaler.Comeaway,bothofyou;andyoumaylaughattheoldladyasmuchasyouplease,but,formypart,Ishalltakechargeofthebandboxandturban."

Whichshedidaccordingly.Iofferedtorelieveher,butwasshakenoffwithkindlycontempt:mygodmotheropinedthatIhadenoughtodototakecareofmyself. Not standing on ceremony now, in themidst of the gay "confusionworse confounded" succeeding to the King and Queen's departure, Mrs.Brettonprecededus,andpromptlymadeusalanethroughthecrowd.Grahamfollowed,apostrophizinghismotherasthemostflourishinggrisetteithadeverbeen his good fortune to see charged with carriage of a bandbox; he alsodesiredme tomarkheraffection for thesky-blue turban,andannouncedhisconvictionthatsheintendedonedaytowearit.

Thenightwasnowverycoldandverydark,butwithlittledelaywefoundthecarriage.Soonwewerepackedinit,aswarmandassnugasatafire-side;andthedrivehomewas,Ithink,stillpleasanterthanthedrivetotheconcert.Pleasant it was, even though the coachman—having spent in the shop of a"marchanddevin"aportionof the timewepassedat theconcert—droveusalong the dark and solitary chaussée far past the turn leading down to LaTerrasse; we, who were occupied in talking and laughing, not noticing theaberration till, at last, Mrs. Bretton intimated that, though she had alwaysthought the château a retired spot, she did not know it was situated at theworld'send,asshedeclaredseemednowtobethecase,forshebelievedwehadbeenanhourandahalfenroute,andhadnotyettakentheturndowntheavenue.

Then Graham looked out, and perceiving only dim-spread fields, withunfamiliar rowsofpollardsandlimesrangedalongtheirelse invisiblesunk-fences, began to conjecture how matters were, and calling a halt anddescending,hemountedtheboxandtookthereinshimself.Thankstohim,wearrivedsafeathomeaboutanhourandahalfbeyondourtime.

Marthahadnotforgottenus;acheerfulfirewasburning,andaneatsupperspread in the dining-room: we were glad of both. The winter dawn wasactuallybreakingbeforewegainedourchambers.ItookoffmypinkdressandlacemantlewithhappierfeelingsthanIhadexperiencedinputtingthemon.Notall,perhaps,whohadshonebrightlyarrayedatthatconcertcouldsaythesame;fornotallhadbeensatisfiedwithfriendship—withitscalmcomfortandmodesthope.

CHAPTERXXI.

REACTION.

Yet three days, and then I must go back to the pensionnat. I almostnumbered the moments of these days upon the clock; fain would I haveretarded their flight; but they glided by while I watched them: they werealreadygonewhileIyetfearedtheirdeparture.

"Lucywillnotleaveusto-day,"saidMrs.Bretton,coaxinglyatbreakfast;"sheknowswecanprocureasecondrespite."

"IwouldnotaskforoneifImighthaveitforaword,"saidI."Ilongtogetthegood-byover,and tobesettled in theRueFossetteagain. Imustgo thismorning:Imustgodirectly;mytrunkispackedandcorded."

Itappeared;however,thatmygoingdependeduponGraham;hehadsaidhewouldaccompany,me,anditsofelloutthathewasengagedallday,andonly returned home at dusk. Then ensued a little combat of words. Mrs.Brettonandhersonpressedmetoremainonenightmore.Icouldhavecried,soirritatedandeagerwasItobegone.Ilongedtoleavethemasthecriminalon thescaffold longsfor theaxe todescend: that is, Iwished thepangover.HowmuchIwishedit,theycouldnottell.Onthesepoints,minewasastateofmindoutoftheirexperience.

ItwasdarkwhenDr.JohnhandedmefromthecarriageatMadameBeck'sdoor.Thelampabovewaslit;itrainedaNovemberdrizzle,asithadrainedallday: the lamplightgleamedonthewetpavement.Justsuchanightwas itasthatonwhich,notayearago, Ihad first stoppedat thisvery threshold; justsimilar was the scene. I remembered the very shapes of the paving-stoneswhichIhadnotedwithidleeye,while,withathick-beatingheart,Iwaitedtheunclosingof that door atwhich I stood—a solitary and a suppliant.On thatnight,too,Ihadbrieflymethimwhonowstoodwithme.HadIeverremindedhimofthatrencontre,orexplainedit?Ihadnot,noreverfelttheinclinationtodoso:itwasapleasantthought,laidbyinmyownmind,andbestkeptthere.

Grahamrungthebell.Thedoorwasinstantlyopened,for itwasjust thatperiod of the evening when the half-boarders took their departure—consequently,Rosinewasonthealert.

"Don't come in," said I to him; but he stepped amoment into thewell-lighted vestibule. I had not wished him to see that "the water stood in myeyes,"forhiswastookindanatureevertobeneedlesslyshownsuchsignsofsorrow.He alwayswished to heal—to relieve—when, physician as hewas,neithercurenoralleviationwere,perhaps,inhispower.

"Keep up your courage, Lucy. Think of my mother and myself as truefriends.Wewillnotforgetyou."

"NorwillIforgetyou,Dr.John."

Mytrunkwasnowbroughtin.Wehadshakenhands;hehadturnedtogo,but he was not satisfied: he had not done or said enough to content hisgenerousimpulses.

"Lucy,"—steppingafterme—"shallyoufeelverysolitaryhere?"

"AtfirstIshall."

"Well,mymotherwill soon call to see you; and,meantime, I'll tell youwhatI'lldo.I'llwrite—justanycheerfulnonsensethatcomesintomyhead—shallI?"

"Good,gallantheart!"thoughtItomyself;butIshookmyhead,smiling,andsaid,"Neverthinkofit:imposeonyourselfnosuchtask.Youwritetome!—you'llnothavetime."

"Oh!Iwillfindormaketime.Good-by!"

Hewasgone.Theheavydoorcrashedto:theaxehadfallen—thepangwasexperienced.

Allowingmyselfnotimetothinkorfeel—swallowingtearsasiftheyhadbeenwine—Ipassed toMadame's sitting-room topay thenecessaryvisit ofceremonyandrespect.Shereceivedmewithperfectlywell-actedcordiality—wasevendemonstrative, thoughbrief, inherwelcome. In tenminutes Iwasdismissed.Fromthesalle-à-mangerIproceededtotherefectory,wherepupilsandteacherswerenowassembledforeveningstudy:againIhadawelcome,and one not, I think, quite hollow. That over, I was free to repair to thedormitory.

"AndwillGrahamreallywrite?"Iquestioned,asIsanktiredontheedgeofthebed.

Reason,comingstealthilyuptomethroughthetwilightofthatlong,dimchamber,whispered sedately—"Hemaywrite once.Sokind is his nature, itmaystimulatehimforoncetomaketheeffort.Butitcannotbecontinued—itmay not be repeated. Great were that folly which should build on such apromise—insanethatcredulitywhichshouldmistakethetransitoryrain-pool,holdinginitshollowonedraught,fortheperennialspringyieldingthesupplyofseasons."

Ibentmyhead:Isatthinkinganhourlonger.Reasonstillwhisperedme,layingonmyshoulderawitheredhand,andfrostilytouchingmyearwiththechillbluelipsofeld.

"If," muttered she, "if he should write, what then? Do you meditatepleasure in replying?Ah, fool! Iwarn you!Brief be your answer.Hope no

delightofheart—no indulgenceof intellect:grantnoexpansion to feeling—giveholiday tono single faculty:dallywithno friendlyexchange: fosternogenialintercommunion…."

"ButIhavetalkedtoGrahamandyoudidnotchide,"Ipleaded.

"No," said she, "I needed not. Talk for you is good discipline. Youconverseimperfectly.Whileyouspeak,therecanbenooblivionofinferiority—no encouragement to delusion: pain, privation, penury stamp yourlanguage…."

"But,"Iagainbrokein,"wherethebodilypresenceisweakandthespeechcontemptible, surely there cannot be error in making written language themediumofbetterutterancethanfalteringlipscanachieve?"

Reasononly answered, "Atyourperil youcherish that idea, or suffer itsinfluencetoanimateanywritingofyours!"

"ButifIfeel,mayIneverexpress?"

"Never!"declaredReason.

Igroanedunderherbitter sternness.Never—never—oh,hardword!Thishag, thisReason,wouldnot letmelookup,orsmile,orhope:shecouldnotrest unless I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken-in, and broken-down.According toher, Iwasbornonly toworkforapieceofbread, toawait thepainsofdeath,andsteadilythroughalllifetodespond.Reasonmightberight;yetnowonderwearegladattimestodefyher,torushfromunderherrodandgive a truant hour to Imagination—her soft, bright foe, our sweetHelp, ourdivineHope.Weshallandmustbreakboundsatintervals,despitetheterriblerevengethatawaitsourreturn.Reasonisvindictiveasadevil:formeshewasalwaysenvenomedasastep-mother.IfIhaveobeyedherithaschieflybeenwiththeobedienceoffear,notoflove.LongagoIshouldhavediedofherill-usageherstint,herchill,herbarrenboard,hericybed,hersavage,ceaselessblows;but for thatkinderPowerwhoholdsmysecretandswornallegiance.Often has Reason turned me out by night, in mid-winter, on cold snow,flinging for sustenance the gnawedbone dogs had forsaken: sternly has shevowedherstoresheldnothingmoreforme—harshlydeniedmyright toaskbetterthings….Then,lookingup,haveIseenintheskyaheadamidstcirclingstars,ofwhichthemidmostandthebrightestlentaraysympatheticandattent.Aspirit,softerandbetterthanHumanReason,hasdescendedwithquietflightto the waste—bringing all round her a sphere of air borrowed of eternalsummer;bringingperfumeof flowerswhichcannot fade—fragranceof treeswhosefruitislife;bringingbreezespurefromaworldwhosedayneedsnosunto lighten it.Myhungerhas this good angel appeasedwith food, sweet andstrange,gatheredamongstgleaningangels,garneringtheirdew-whiteharvest

in the first fresh hour of a heavenly day; tenderly has she assuaged theinsufferable fears which weep away life itself—kindly given rest to deadlyweariness—generously lent hope and impulse to paralyzed despair. Divine,compassionate, succourable influence!When I bend the knee to other thanGod, it shall be at thywhite andwinged feet, beautiful onmountain or onplain.TempleshavebeenrearedtotheSun—altarsdedicatedtotheMoon.Oh,greater glory! To thee neither hands build, nor lips consecrate: but hearts,throughages,are faithful to thyworship.Adwelling thouhast, toowideforwalls, too high for dome—a temple whose floors are space—rites whosemysteriestranspireinpresence,tothekindling,theharmonyofworlds!

Sovereigncomplete!thouhadst,forendurance,thygreatarmyofmartyrs;for achievement, thy chosen band of worthies. Deity unquestioned, thineessencefoilsdecay!

ThisdaughterofHeavenrememberedmeto-night;shesawmeweep,andshe came with comfort: "Sleep," she said. "Sleep, sweetly—I gild thydreams!"

She kept her word, andwatchedme through a night's rest; but at dawnReasonrelievedtheguard.Iawokewithasortofstart; therainwasdashingagainst thepanes,andthewindutteringapeevishcryat intervals; thenight-lampwasdyingontheblackcircularstandinthemiddleofthedormitory:dayhad already broken. How I pity those whom mental pain stuns instead ofrousing!Thismorningthepangofwakingsnatchedmeoutofbedlikeahandwithagiant'sgripe.HowquicklyIdressedinthecoldoftherawdawn!HowdeeplyIdrankoftheice-coldwaterinmycarafe!Thiswasalwaysmycordial,to which, like other dram-drinkers, I had eager recourse when unsettled bychagrin.

Ere long thebell rang its réveillée to thewhole school.Beingdressed, Idescended alone to the refectory, where the stove was lit and the air waswarm;throughtherestofthehouseitwascold,withthenippingseverityofacontinentalwinter:thoughnowbutthebeginningofNovember,anorthwindhad thus early brought a wintry blight over Europe: I remember the blackstovespleasedmelittlewhenIfirstcame;butnowIbegantoassociatewiththemasenseofcomfort,andlikedthem,asinEnglandwelikeafireside.

Sitting down before this dark comforter, I presently fell into a deepargumentwithmyselfonlifeanditschances,ondestinyandherdecrees.Mymind,calmerandstrongernowthanlastnight,madeforitselfsomeimperiousrules,prohibitingunderdeadlypenaltiesallweakretrospectofhappinesspast;commanding a patient journeying through the wilderness of the present,enjoiningarelianceonfaith—awatchingofthecloudandpillarwhichsubduewhiletheyguide,andawewhiletheyillumine—hushingtheimpulsetofond

idolatry, checking the longing out-look for a far-off promised land whoseriversare,perhaps,never tobe, reachedsave indyingdreams,whose sweetpastures are to be viewedbut from the desolate and sepulchral summit of aNebo.

Bydegrees,acompositefeelingofblendedstrengthandpainwounditselfwirily round my heart, sustained, or at least restrained, its throbbings, andmademefitfortheday'swork.Iliftedmyhead.

AsIsaidbefore,Iwassittingnearthestove,letintothewallbeneaththerefectoryandthecarré,andthussufficingtoheatbothapartments.Piercingthesamewall, and close beside the stove,was awindow, looking also into thecarré; as I looked up a cap-tassel, a brow, two eyes, filled a pane of thatwindow; the fixed gaze of those two eyes hit right againstmy own glance:theywerewatchingme.Ihadnot till thatmomentknownthat tearswereonmycheek,butIfeltthemnow.

This was a strange house, where no corner was sacred from intrusion,wherenotatearcouldbeshed,norathoughtpondered,butaspywasathandtonoteandtodivine.Andthisnew,thisout-door,thismalespy,whatbusinesshadbroughthimto thepremisesat thisunwontedhour?Whatpossible righthadheto intrudeonmethus?Nootherprofessorwouldhavedaredtocrossthecarrébeforetheclass-bellrang.M.Emanueltooknoaccountofhoursnorofclaims:therewassomebookofreferenceinthefirst-classlibrarywhichhehad occasion to consult; he had come to seek it: on his way he passed therefectory.Itwasverymuchhishabittoweareyesbefore,behind,andoneachsideofhim:hehad seenme through the littlewindow—henowopened therefectorydoor,andtherehestood.

"Mademoiselle,vousêtestriste."

"Monsieur,j'enaibienledroit."

"Vous êtesmalade de coeur et d'humeur," he pursued. "You are at oncemournfulandmutinous.IseeonyourcheektwotearswhichIknowarehotastwo sparks, and salt as two crystals of the sea.While I speak you eye mestrangely.ShallItellyouofwhatIamremindedwhilewatchingyou?"

"Monsieur, I shall be called away to prayers shortly; my time forconversationisveryscantandbriefatthishour—excuse——"

"Iexcuseeverything,"heinterrupted;"mymoodissomeek,neitherrebuffnor,perhaps,insultcouldruffleit.Youremindme,then,ofayoungshewildcreature,newcaught,untamed,viewingwithamixtureoffireandfearthefirstentranceofthebreaker-in."

Unwarrantableaccost!—rashandrudeifaddressedtoapupil;toateacher

inadmissible.He thought to provoke awarm reply; I had seen him vex thepassionate to explosion before now. In me his malice should find nogratification;Isatsilent.

"You look," said he, "like one who would snatch at a draught of sweetpoison,andspurnwholesomebitterswithdisgust.

"Indeed, I never liked bitters; nor do I believe themwholesome.And towhatever is sweet, be it poison or food, you cannot, at least, deny its owndeliciousquality—sweetness.Better,perhaps,todiequicklyapleasantdeath,thandragonlongacharmlesslife."

"Yet,"saidhe,"youshouldtakeyourbitterdosedulyanddaily,ifIhadthepower toadminister it;and,as to thewell-belovedpoison,Iwould,perhaps,breaktheverycupwhichheldit."

I sharply turned my head away, partly because his presence utterlydispleased me, and partly because I wished to shun questions: lest, in mypresentmood,theeffortofansweringshouldovermasterself-command.

"Come," said he, more softly, "tell me the truth—you grieve at beingpartedfromfriends—isitnotso?"

The insinuating softness was not more acceptable than the inquisitorialcuriosity. Iwassilent.Hecame into the room,satdownon thebenchabouttwoyardsfromme,andperseveredlong,and,forhim,patiently,inattemptstodrawmeintoconversation—attemptsnecessarilyunavailing,becauseIcouldnot talk.At last Ientreated tobe letalone. Inuttering the request,myvoicefaltered, my head sank on my arms and the table. I wept bitterly, thoughquietly.Hesatawhilelonger.Ididnotlookupnorspeak,tilltheclosingdoorandhisretreatingsteptoldmethathewasgone.Thesetearsprovedarelief.

Ihadtimetobathemyeyesbeforebreakfast,andIsupposeIappearedatthatmealassereneasanyotherperson:not,however,quiteasjocund-lookingastheyoungladywhoplacedherselfintheseatoppositemine,fixedonmeapairofsomewhatsmalleyestwinklinggleefully,andfranklystretchedacrossthe table a white hand to be shaken.Miss Fanshawe's travels, gaieties, andflirtationsagreedwithhermightily;shehadbecomequiteplump,hercheekslookedasroundasapples.Ihadseenherlastineleganteveningattire.Idon'tknowthatshelookedlesscharmingnowinherschool-dress,akindofcarelesspeignoirofadark-bluematerial,dimlyanddingilyplaidedwithblack.Ieventhinkthisduskywrappergavehercharmsatriumph;enhancingbycontrastthefairness of her skin, the freshness of her bloom, the golden beauty of hertresses.

"I amgladyou are comeback,Timon," said she.Timonwasoneof herdozennames forme. "Youdon't knowhowoften I havewantedyou in this

dismalhole."

"Oh,haveyou?Then,ofcourse,ifyouwantedme,youhavesomethingformetodo:stockings tomend,perhaps."InevergaveGinevraaminute'sorafarthing'screditfordisinterestedness.

"Crabbedandcrustyasever!"saidshe."Iexpectedasmuch:itwouldnotbeyouifyoudidnotsnubone.Butnow,come,grand-mother,Ihopeyoulikecoffeeasmuch,andpistoletsaslittleasever:areyoudisposedtobarter?"

"Takeyourownway."

Thiswayconsisted inahabitshehadofmakingmeconvenient.Shedidnot like themorning cup of coffee; its school brewage not being strong orsweet enough to suit her palate; and she had an excellent appetite, like anyotherhealthyschool-girl,forthemorningpistoletsorrolls,whichwerenew-bakedandverygood, andofwhicha certainallowancewas served toeach.This allowance being more than I needed, I gave half to Ginevra; nevervarying inmypreference, thoughmanyothersused tocovet the superfluity;and she in return would sometimes give me a portion of her coffee. ThismorningIwasgladof thedraught;hunger Ihadnone,andwith thirst Iwasparched.Idon'tknowwhyIchosetogivemybreadrathertoGinevrathantoanother;norwhy,iftwohadtosharetheconvenienceofonedrinking-vessel,as sometimes happened—for instance, when we took a long walk into thecountry, and halted for refreshment at a farm—I always contrived that sheshouldbemyconvive,andratherlikedtolethertakethelion'sshare,whetherofthewhitebeer,thesweetwine,orthenewmilk:soitwas,however,andsheknewit;and,therefore,whilewewrangleddaily,wewereneveralienated.

Afterbreakfastmycustomwastowithdrawtothefirstclasse,andsitandread,or think(oftenest the latter) therealone, till thenine-o'clockbell threwopenalldoors,admittedthegatheredrushofexternesanddemi-pensionnaires,andgavethesignalforentranceonthatbustleandbusinesstowhich,tillfiveP.M.,therewasnorelax.

Iwasjustseatedthismorning,whenatapcametothedoor.

"Pardon,Mademoiselle,"saidapensionnaire,enteringgently;andhavingtakenfromherdesksomenecessarybookorpaper,shewithdrewontip-toe,murmuringasshepassedme,"Quemademoiselleestappliquée!"

Appliquée,indeed!Themeansofapplicationwerespreadbeforeme,butIwasdoingnothing;andhaddonenothing,andmeanttodonothing.Thusdoestheworldgiveuscreditformeritswehavenot.MadameBeckherselfdeemedmearegularbas-bleu,andoftenandsolemnlyusedtowarnmenot tostudytoomuch,lest"thebloodshouldallgotomyhead."Indeed,everybodyintheRue Fossette held a superstition that "Meess Lucie" was learned; with the

notable exception of M. Emanuel, who, by means peculiar to himself, andquite inscrutable to me, had obtained a not inaccurate inkling of my realqualifications,andusedtotakequietopportunitiesofchucklinginmyearhismalign glee over their scantmeasure. Formy part, I never troubledmyselfaboutthispenury.Idearlyliketothinkmyownthoughts;Ihadgreatpleasureinreadingafewbooks,butnotmany:preferringalwaysthoseonwhosestyleor sentiment the writer's individual nature was plainly stamped; flagginginevitably over characterless books, however clever and meritorious:perceivingwellthat,asfarasmyownmindwasconcerned,Godhadlimitedits powers and, its action—thankful, I trust, for the gift bestowed, butunambitiousofhigherendowments,notrestlesslyeagerafterhigherculture.

Thepolitepupilwas scarcelygone,when,unceremoniously,without tap,in burst a second intruder.Had I been blind I should have knownwho thiswas.Aconstitutionalreserveofmannerhadbythistimetoldwithwholesomeand,forme,commodiouseffect,onthemannersofmyco-inmates;rarelydidInow suffer from rude or intrusive treatment. When I first came, it wouldhappenonceandagain thatabluntGermanwouldclapmeon the shoulder,andaskmetorunarace;orariotousLabassecourienneseizemebythearmanddragmetowardstheplayground:urgentproposalstotakeaswingatthe"PasdeGéant,"ortojoininacertainrompinghide-and-seekgamecalled"Un,deux, trois," were formerly also of hourly occurrence; but all these littleattentions had ceased some time ago—ceased, too, without my finding itnecessarytobeatthetroubleofpoint-blankcuttingthemshort.Ihadnownofamiliardemonstrationtodreadorendure,savefromonequarter;andasthatwasEnglishIcouldbearit.GinevraFanshawemadenoscrupleof—attimes—catchingmeasIwascrossingthecarré,whirlingmeroundinacompulsorywaltz, and heartily enjoying the mental and physical discomfiture herproceeding induced.GinevraFanshawe itwaswho nowbroke in upon "mylearnedleisure."Shecarriedahugemusic-bookunderherarm.

"Gotoyourpractising,"saidItoheratonce:"awaywithyoutothelittlesalon!"

"Not till Ihavehada talkwithyou,chèreamie. Iknowwhereyouhavebeenspendingyourvacation,andhowyouhavecommencedsacrificingtothegraces,andenjoyinglifelikeanyotherbelle.Isawyouattheconcerttheothernight,dressed,actually,likeanybodyelse.Whoisyourtailleuse?"

"Tittle-tattle:howprettilyitbegins!Mytailleuse!—afiddlestick!

Come,sheeroff,Ginevra.Ireallydon'twantyourcompany."

"But when I want yours so much, ange farouche, what does a littlereluctanceonyourpartsignify?Dieumerci!weknowhowtomanoeuvrewithourgiftedcompatriote—thelearned'ourseBritannique.'Andso,Ourson,you

knowIsidore?"

"IknowJohnBretton."

"Oh, hush!" (putting her fingers in her ears) "you crackmy tympanumswith your rudeAnglicisms.But, how is ourwell-beloved John?Do tellmeabout him. The poor man must be in a sad way. What did he say to mybehaviourtheothernight?Wasn'tIcruel?"

"DoyouthinkInoticedyou?"

"Itwasadelightfulevening.Oh,thatdivinedeHamal!Andthentowatchthe other sulking and dying in the distance; and the old lady—my futuremamma-in-law!ButIamafraidIandLadySarawerealittlerudeinquizzingher."

"Lady Sara never quizzed her at all; and for what you did, don't makeyourselfintheleastuneasy:Mrs.Brettonwillsurviveyoursneer."

"Shemay:oldladiesaretough;butthatpoorsonofhers!Dotellmewhathesaid:Isawhewasterriblycutup."

"HesaidyoulookedasifatheartyouwerealreadyMadamedeHamal."

"Did he?" she cried with delight. "He noticed that? How charming! Ithoughthewouldbemadwithjealousy.

"Ginevra,haveyouseriouslydonewithDr.Bretton?Doyouwanthimtogiveyouup?"

"Oh!youknowhecan'tdothat:butwasn'themad?"

"Quitemad,"Iassented;"asmadasaMarchhare."

"Well,andhoweverdidyougethimhome?"

"However,indeed!Haveyounopityonhispoormotherandme?Fancyus holding him tight down in the carriage, and he raving between us, fit todriveeverybodydelirious.Theverycoachmanwentwrong,somehow,andwelostourway."

"Youdon'tsayso?Youarelaughingatme.Now,LucySnowe—"

"Iassureyouit isfact—andfact,also, thatDr.Brettonwouldnotstayinthecarriage:hebrokefromus,andwouldrideoutside."

"Andafterwards?"

"Afterwards—when he did reach home—the scene transcendsdescription."

"Oh,butdescribeit—youknowitissuchfun!"

"Fun for you,Miss Fanshawe? but" (with stern gravity) "you know theproverb—'Whatissporttoonemaybedeathtoanother.'"

"Goon,there'sadarlingTimon."

"Conscientiously,Icannot,unlessyouassuremeyouhavesomeheart."

"Ihave—suchanimmensity,youdon'tknow!"

"Good! In that case, you will be able to conceive Dr. Graham Brettonrejectinghissupperinthefirstinstance—thechicken,thesweetbreadpreparedforhis refreshment, lefton the tableuntouched.Then——but it isofnousedwellingatlengthontheharrowingdetails.Sufficeittosay,thatnever,inthemost stormy fits andmoments of his infancy, had hismother suchwork totuckthesheetsabouthimasshehadthatnight."

"Hewouldn'tliestill?"

"Hewouldn'tliestill:thereitwas.Thesheetsmightbetuckedin,butthethingwastokeepthemtuckedin."

"Andwhatdidhesay?"

"Say! Can't you imagine him demanding his divine Ginevra,anathematizingthatdemon,deHamal—ravingaboutgoldenlocks,blueeyes,whitearms,glitteringbracelets?"

"No,didhe?Hesawthebracelet?"

"Sawthebracelet?Yes,asplainasIsawit:and,perhaps,forthefirsttime,he sawalso thebrand-markwithwhich its pressurehas encircledyour arm.Ginevra"(rising,andchangingmytone),"come,wewillhaveanendofthis.Goawaytoyourpractising."

AndIopenedthedoor.

"Butyouhavenottoldmeall."

"You had better not wait until I do tell you all. Such extracommunicativenesscouldgiveyounopleasure.March!"

"Cross thing!" saidshe;but sheobeyed:and, indeed, the firstclassewasmyterritory,andshecouldnot therelegallyresistanoticeofquittancefromme.

Yet, to speak the truth, neverhad I been lessdissatisfiedwithher than Iwas then.Therewaspleasure in thinkingof the contrastbetween the realityandmydescription—to rememberDr. John enjoying thedrivehome, eatinghis supperwith relish, and retiring to restwithChristian composure. ItwasonlywhenIsawhimreallyunhappythatIfeltreallyvexedwiththefair,frailcauseofhissuffering.

**

A fortnight passed; I was getting once more inured to the harness ofschool,andlapsingfromthepassionatepainofchangetothepalsyofcustom.Oneafternoon,incrossingthecarré,onmywaytothefirstclasse,whereIwasexpectedtoassistatalessonof"styleandliterature,"Isaw,standingbyoneofthe longandlargewindows,Rosine, theportress.Herattitude,asusual,wasquitenonchalante.Shealways"stoodatease;"oneofherhandsrestedinherapron-pocket, the other at this moment held to her eyes a letter, whereofMademoisellecoollyperusedtheaddress,anddeliberatelystudiedtheseal.

A letter!Theshapeofa lettersimilar to thathadhauntedmybrain in itsvery core for seven days past. I had dreamed of a letter last night. Strongmagnetismdrewmetothatletternow;yet,whetherIshouldhaveventuredtodemandofRosinesomuchasaglanceatthatwhiteenvelope,withthespotofredwaxinthemiddle,Iknownot.No;IthinkIshouldhavesneakedpastinterrorofarebufffromDisappointment:myheartthrobbednowasifIalreadyheardthetrampofherapproach.Nervousmistake!ItwastherapidstepoftheProfessorofLiteraturemeasuringthecorridor.Ifledbeforehim.CouldIbutbeseatedquietlyatmydeskbeforehisarrival,withtheclassundermyordersallindisciplinedreadiness,hewould,perhaps,exemptmefromnotice;but,ifcaught lingering in the carré, I should be sure to come in for a specialharangue.Ihadtimetogetseated, toenforceperfectsilence, to takeoutmywork,and tocommence it amidst theprofoundestandbest trainedhush,ereM.Emanuelenteredwithhisvehementburstoflatchandpanel,andhisdeep,redundantbow,propheticofcholer.

Asusualhebrokeuponus likeaclapof thunder;but insteadof flashinglightning-wise from thedoor to the estrade, his careerhaltedmidwayatmydesk.Settinghisfacetowardsmeandthewindow,hisbacktothepupilsandtheroom,hegavemealook—suchalookasmighthavelicensedmetostandstraightupanddemandwhathemeant—alookofscowlingdistrust.

"Voilà! pour vous," said he, drawing his hand from his waist-coat, andplacingonmydeskaletter—theveryletterIhadseeninRosine'shand—theletterwhosefaceofenamelledwhiteandsingleCyclop's-eyeofvermilion-redhadprintedthemselvessoclearandperfectontheretinaofaninwardvision.Iknewit,Ifeltittobetheletterofmyhope,thefruitionofmywish,thereleasefrom my doubt, the ransom from my terror. This letter M. Paul, with hisunwarrantably interfering habits, had taken from the portress, and nowdeliveredithimself.

Imighthavebeenangry,buthadnotasecondforthesensation.Yes:Iheldinmyhandnotaslightnote,butanenvelope,whichmust,atleast,containasheet: it felt not flimsy, but firm, substantial, satisfying. And here was the

direction,"MissLucySnowe,"inaclean,clear,equal,decidedhand;andherewastheseal,round,full,deftlydroppedbyuntremulousfingers,stampedwiththewell-cut impress of initials, "J.G.B." I experienced a happy feeling—aglad emotionwhichwentwarm tomy heart, and ran lively through allmyveins.Foronceahopewasrealized.Iheldinmyhandamorselofrealsolidjoy:notadream,notanimageofthebrain,notoneofthoseshadowychancesimagination pictures, and onwhich humanity starves but cannot live; not amess of thatmanna I drearily eulogized awhile ago—which, indeed, at firstmeltsonthelipswithanunspeakableandpreternaturalsweetness,butwhich,in the end, our souls full surely loathe; longing deliriously for natural andearth-grownfood,wildlyprayingHeaven'sSpiritstoreclaimtheirownspirit-dew and essence—an aliment divine, but formortals deadly. It was neithersweethailnorsmallcoriander-seed—neitherslightwafer,norluscioushoney,Ihadlightedon;itwasthewild,savourymessofthehunter,nourishingandsalubrious meat, forest-fed or desert-reared, fresh, healthful, and life-sustaining. It was what the old dying patriarch demanded of his son Esau,promising in requital theblessingofhis lastbreath. Itwasagodsend;and Iinwardly thanked theGodwhohadvouchsafed it.OutwardlyIonly thankedman,crying,"Thankyou,thankyou,Monsieur!"

Monsieurcurledhislip,gavemeaviciousglanceoftheeye,andstrodetohis estrade. M. Paul was not at all a good little man, though he had goodpoints.

DidIreadmyletterthereandthen?DidIconsumethevenisonatonceandwithhaste,asifEsau'sshaftfleweveryday?

I knew better. The cover with its address—the seal, with its three clearletters—wasbounty and abundance for thepresent. I stole from the room, Iprocuredthekeyofthegreatdormitory,whichwaskeptlockedbyday.Iwenttomybureau;withasortofhasteandtremblinglestMadameshouldcreepup-stairsandspyme,Iopenedadrawer,unlockedabox,andtookoutacase,and—havingfeastedmyeyeswithonemorelook,andapproachedthesealwithamixture of awe and shame and delight, to my lips—I folded the untastedtreasure, yet all fair and inviolate, in silver paper, committed it to the case,shut up box and drawer, reclosed, relocked the dormitory, and returned toclass, feeling as if fairy tales were true, and fairy gifts no dream. Strange,sweetinsanity!Andthisletter,thesourceofmyjoy,Ihadnotyetread:didnotyetknowthenumberofitslines.

WhenIre-enteredtheschoolroom,beholdM.Paulraginglikeapestilence!Some pupil had not spoken audibly or distinctly enough to suit his ear andtaste, and now she and others were weeping, and he was raving from hisestrade,almostlivid.Curioustomention,asIappeared,hefellonme.

"WasIthemistressofthesegirls?DidIprofesstoteachthemtheconductbefitting ladies?—and did I permit and, he doubted not, encourage them tostrangle theirmother-tongue in their throats, tomince andmash it betweentheir teeth,as if theyhadsomebasecause tobeashamedof thewords theyuttered?Wasthismodesty?Heknewbetter.Itwasavilepseudosentiment—theoffspringortheforerunnerofevil.Ratherthansubmittothismoppingandmowing, this mincing and grimacing, this, grinding of a noble tongue, thisgeneralaffectationandsickeningstubbornnessofthepupilsofthefirstclass,he would throw them up for a set of insupportable petites maîtresses, andconfinehimselftoteachingtheABCtothebabiesofthethirddivision."

WhatcouldIsaytoallthis?Reallynothing;andIhopedhewouldallowmetobesilent.Thestormrecommenced.

"Everyanswertohisquerieswasthenrefused?Itseemedtobeconsideredin that place—that conceited boudoir of a first classe, with its pretentiousbook-cases, its green-baized desks, its rubbish of flower-stands, its trash offramedpicturesandmaps,anditsforeignsurveillante,forsooth!—itseemedtobethefashiontothinktherethattheProfessorofLiteraturewasnotworthyofa reply!Thesewerenew ideas; imported,hedidnotdoubt, straight from 'laGrandeBretagne:'theysavouredofislandinsolenceandarrogance."

Lull the second—thegirls, not oneofwhomwas ever known toweep atear for the rebukes of any othermaster, now all melting like snow-statuesbefore the intemperate heat ofM. Emanuel: I not yet much shaken, sittingdown,andventuringtoresumemywork.

Something—either in my continued silence or in the movement of myhand, stitching—transported M. Emanuel beyond the last boundary ofpatience;heactuallysprangfromhisestrade.Thestovestoodnearmydesk,heattackedit;thelittleirondoorwasnearlydashedfromitshinges,thefuelwasmadetofly.

"Est-cequevousavez l'intentiondem'insulter?"saidhe tome, ina low,furiousvoice,ashethusoutraged,underpretenceofarrangingthefire.

Itwastimetosoothehimalittleifpossible.

"Mais,Monsieur,"saidI,"Iwouldnotinsultyoufortheworld.Iremembertoowellthatyouoncesaidweshouldbefriends."

I didnot intendmyvoice to falter, but it did:more, I think, through theagitationoflatedelightthaninanyspasmofpresentfear.Stilltherecertainlywas something in M. Paul's anger—a kind of passion of emotion—thatspeciallytendedtodrawtears.Iwasnotunhappy,normuchafraid,yetIwept.

"Allons, allons!" said he presently, looking round and seeing the deluge

universal. "Decidedly Iamamonsteranda ruffian. Ihaveonlyonepocket-handkerchief," he added, "but if I had twenty, I would offer you each one.Yourteachershallbeyourrepresentative.Here,MissLucy."

And he took forth and held out tome a clean silk handkerchief.Now apersonwhodidnotknowM.Paul,whowasunusedtohimandhisimpulses,wouldnaturallyhavebungledat thisoffer—declinedacceptingthesame—etcetera.ButItooplainlyfeltthiswouldneverdo:theslightesthesitationwouldhavebeenfataltotheincipienttreatyofpeace.Iroseandmetthehandkerchiefhalf-way,receiveditwithdecorum,wipedtherewithmyeyes,and,resumingmy seat, and retaining the flag of truce in my hand and on my lap, tookespecial care during the remainder of the lesson to touchneither needle northimble,scissorsnormuslin.ManyajealousglancedidM.Paulcastattheseimplements; he hated them mortally, considering sewing a source ofdistractionfromtheattentionduetohimself.Averyeloquentlessonhegave,andverykindand friendlywashe to theclose.Erehehaddone, thecloudsweredispersedandthesunshiningout—tearswereexchangedforsmiles.

Inquittingtheroomhepausedoncemoreatmydesk.

"Andyourletter?"saidhe,thistimenotquitefiercely.

"Ihavenotyetreadit,Monsieur."

"Ah!itistoogoodtoreadatonce;yousaveit,as,whenIwasaboy,

Iusedtosaveapeachwhosebloomwasveryripe?"

The guess came so near the truth, I could not prevent a suddenly-risingwarmthinmyfacefromrevealingasmuch.

"Youpromiseyourselfapleasantmoment,"saidhe,"inreadingthatletter;youwillopenitwhenalone—n'est-cepas?Ah!asmileanswers.Well,well!oneshouldnotbetooharsh;'lajeunessen'aqu'untemps.'"

"Monsieur,Monsieur!"Icried,orratherwhisperedafterhim,asheturnedto go, "do not leave me under a mistake. This is merely a friend's letter.Withoutreadingit,Icanvouchforthat."

"Jeconçois,jeconçois:onsaitcequec'estqu'unami.Bonjour,

Mademoiselle!"

"But,Monsieur,hereisyourhandkerchief."

"Keep it, keep it, till the letter is read, then bring itme; I shall read thebillet'stenorinyoureyes."

When he was gone, the pupils having already poured out of theschoolroomintotheberceau,andthenceintothegardenandcourttotaketheir

customary recreation before the five-o'clock dinner, I stood a momentthinking, and absently twisting the handkerchief round my arm. For somereason—gladdened, I think, by a sudden return of the golden glimmer ofchildhood,rousedbyanunwontedrenewalofitsbuoyancy,mademerrybytheliberty of the closing hour, and, above all, solaced at heart by the joyousconsciousness of that treasure in the case, box, drawer up-stairs,—I fell toplayingwith thehandkerchief as if itwere aball, casting it into the air andcatching it—as it fell.Thegamewasstoppedbyanotherhand thanmine—ahandemergingfromapaletôt-sleeveandstretchedovermyshoulder;itcaughttheextemporisedplaythingandboreitawaywiththesesullenwords:

"Jevoisbienquevousvousmoquezdemoietdemeseffets."

Reallythatlittlemanwasdreadful:amerespriteofcapriceand,ubiquity:oneneverkneweitherhiswhimorhiswhereabout.

CHAPTERXXII.

THELETTER.

When all was still in the house; when dinner was over and the noisyrecreation-hour past;when darkness had set in, and the quiet lampof studywaslitintherefectory;whentheexternesweregonehome,theclashingdoorandclamorousbellhushedfortheevening;whenMadamewassafelysettledin the salle-à-manger in companywith hermother and some friends; I thenglided to the kitchen, begged a bougie for one half-hour for a particularoccasion, foundacceptanceofmypetition at thehandsofmy friendGoton,who answered, "Mais certainement, chou-chou, vous en aurez deux, si vousvoulez;"and,lightinhand,Imountednoiselesstothedormitory.

Great was my chagrin to find in that apartment a pupil gone to bedindisposed,—greaterwhenIrecognised,amidthemuslinnightcapborders,the"figurechiffonnée"ofMistressGinevraFanshawe;supineatthismoment,itistrue—but certain to wake and overwhelm me with chatter when theinterruption would be least acceptable: indeed, as I watched her, a slighttwinkling of the eyelids warned me that the present appearance of reposemight be but a ruse, assumed to cover sly vigilance over "Timon's"movements;shewasnottobetrusted.AndIhadsowishedtobealone,justtoreadmypreciousletterinpeace.

Well, Imust go to the classes.Having sought and foundmy prize in itscasket, I descended. Ill-luck pursued me. The classes were undergoingsweepingandpurificationbycandle-light, according tohebdomadalcustom:

bencheswerepiledondesks,theairwasdimwithdust,dampcoffee-grounds(usedbyLabassecourienhousemaidsinsteadoftea-leaves)darkenedthefloor;all was hopeless confusion. Baffled, but not beaten, I withdrew, bent asresolutelyaseveronfindingsolitudesomewhere.

TakingakeywhereofIknewtherepository,Imountedthreestaircasesinsuccession,reachedadark,narrow,silentlanding,openedaworm-eatendoor,anddivedintothedeep,black,coldgarret.Herenonewouldfollowme—noneinterrupt—notMadameherself.Ishutthegarret-door;Iplacedmylightonadodderedandmouldychestofdrawers;Iputonashawl,fortheairwasice-cold;Itookmyletter;tremblingwithsweetimpatience,Ibrokeitsseal.

"Willitbelong—willitbeshort?"thoughtI,passingmyhandacrossmyeyestodissipatethesilverydimnessofasuave,south-windshower.

Itwaslong.

"Willitbecool?—willitbekind?"

Itwaskind.

Tomy checked, bridled, disciplined expectation, it seemed very kind: tomylongingandfamishedthoughtitseemed,perhaps,kinderthanitwas.

SolittlehadIhoped,somuchhadIfeared;therewasafulnessofdelightinthistasteoffruition—such,perhaps,asmanyahumanbeingpassesthroughlife without ever knowing. The poor English teacher in the frosty garret,reading by a dim candle guttering in the wintry air, a letter simply good-natured—nothingmore;thoughthatgood-naturethenseemedtomegodlike—washappierthanmostqueensinpalaces.

Ofcourse,happinessofsuchshalloworigincouldbebutbrief;yet,whileitlasted it was genuine and exquisite: a bubble—but a sweet bubble—of realhoney-dew.Dr. Johnhadwritten tomeat length;hehadwritten tomewithpleasure; he had written with benignant mood, dwelling with sunnysatisfactionon scenes that hadpassedbeforehis eyes andmine,—onplaceswe had visited together—on conversations we had held—on all the littlesubject-matter,inshort,ofthelastfewhalcyonweeks.Butthecordialcoreofthedelightwas,aconvictiontheblithe,geniallanguagegenerouslyimparted,thatithadbeenpouredoutnotmerelytocontentme—buttogratifyhimself.Agratificationhemightnevermoredesire,nevermoreseek—anhypothesis inevery point of view approaching the certain; but that concerned the future.This present moment had no pain, no blot, no want; full, pure, perfect, itdeeplyblessedme.Apassingseraphseemedtohaverestedbesideme,leanedtowards my heart, and reposed on its throb a softening, cooling, healing,hallowingwing.Dr.John,youpainedmeafterwards:forgivenbeeveryill—freelyforgiven—forthesakeofthatonedearrememberedgood!

Are therewicked things,nothuman,whichenvyhumanbliss?Are thereevilinfluenceshauntingtheair,andpoisoningitforman?Whatwasnearme?

Something in thatvastsolitarygarretsoundedstrangely.MostsurelyandcertainlyIheard,as itseemed,astealthyfootonthatfloor:asortofglidingoutfromthedirectionoftheblackrecesshauntedbythemalefactorcloaks.Iturned: my light was dim; the room was long—but as I live! I saw in themiddleofthatghostlychamberafigureallblackandwhite;theskirtsstraight,narrow,black;theheadbandaged,veiled,white.

Saywhatyouwill,reader—tellmeIwasnervousormad;affirmthatIwasunsettledbytheexcitementofthatletter;declarethatIdreamed;thisIvow—Isawthere—inthatroom—onthatnight—animagelike—aNUN.

I cried out; I sickened. Had the shape approached me I might haveswooned. It receded: I made for the door. How I descended all the stairs Iknow not. By instinct I shunned the refectory, and shaped my course toMadame'ssitting-room:Iburstin.Isaid—

"Thereissomethinginthegrenier;Ihavebeenthere:Isawsomething.

Goandlookatit,allofyou!"

Isaid,"Allofyou;"for theroomseemedtomefullofpeople, thoughintruth therewerebut fourpresent:MadameBeck;hermother,MadameKint,whowasoutofhealth, andnowstayingwithheronavisit;herbrother,M.Victor Kint, and another gentleman, who, when I entered the room, wasconversingwiththeoldlady,andhadhisbacktowardsthedoor.

Mymortalfearandfaintnessmusthavemademedeadlypale.I feltcoldandshaking.Theyallroseinconsternation;theysurroundedme.Iurgedthemto go to the grenier; the sight of the gentlemen didme good and gavemecourage:itseemedasifthereweresomehelpandhope,withmenathand.Iturnedto thedoor,beckoningthemtofollow.Theywantedtostopme,butIsaid they must come this way: they must see what I had seen—somethingstrange, standing in the middle of the garret. And, now, I remembered myletter, left on the drawerswith the light.This precious letter!Fleshor spiritmustbedefied for its sake. I flewup-stairs,hastening the fasteras IknewIwasfollowed:theywereobligedtocome.

Lo!whenIreachedthegarret-door,allwithinwasdarkasapit:thelightwasout.Happily someone—Madame, I think,withherusual calmsense—hadbroughtalampfromtheroom;speedily,therefore,astheycameup,araypierced the opaque blackness. There stood the bougie quenched on thedrawers;butwherewastheletter?AndIlookedforthatnow,andnotforthenun.

"My letter! my letter!" I panted and plained, almost beside myself. Igropedon the floor,wringingmyhandswildly.Cruel, cruel doom!Tohavemybitofcomfortpreternaturallysnatchedfromme,ereIhadwell tasteditsvirtue!

I don't knowwhat the others were doing; I could not watch them: theyaskedmequestionsIdidnotanswer;theyransackedallcorners;theyprattledaboutthisandthatdisarrangementofcloaks,abreachorcrackinthesky-light—I know not what. "Something or somebody has been here," was sagelyaverred.

"Oh! they have taken my letter!" cried the grovelling, groping,monomaniac.

"Whatletter,Lucy?Mydeargirl,whatletter?"askedaknownvoiceinmyear.CouldIbelievethatear?No:andIlookedup.CouldItrustmyeyes?HadI recognised the tone?Did Inow lookon the faceof thewriterof thatveryletter? Was this gentleman near me in this dim garret, John Graham—Dr.Brettonhimself?

Yes:itwas.HehadbeencalledinthatveryeveningtoprescribeforsomeaccessofillnessinoldMadameKint;hewasthesecondgentlemanpresentinthesalle-à-mangerwhenIentered.

"Wasitmyletter,Lucy?"

"Yourown:yours—theletteryouwrotetome.Ihadcomeheretoreaditquietly. I could not find another spot where it was possible to have it tomyself.Ihadsaveditallday—neveropenedittillthisevening:itwasscarcelyglancedover:Icannotbeartoloseit.Oh,myletter!"

"Hush!don'tcryanddistressyourselfsocruelly.Whatisitworth?Hush!Come out of this cold room; they are going to send for the police now toexaminefurther:weneednotstayhere—come,wewillgodown."

Awarmhand,takingmycoldfingers,ledmedowntoaroomwheretherewasafire.Dr.JohnandIsatbeforethestove.Hetalkedtomeandsoothedmewith unutterable goodness, promising me twenty letters for the one lost. Iftherearewordsandwrongslikeknives,whosedeep-inflictedlacerationsneverheal—cutting injuries and insults of serrated and poison-dripping edge—so,too,thereareconsolationsoftonetoofinefortheearnotfondlyandforeverto retain their echo: caressing kindnesses—loved, lingered over through awhole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call withundimmedshine,outofthatravencloudforeshadowingDeathhimself.IhavebeentoldsincethatDr.BrettonwasnotnearlysoperfectasIthoughthim:thathis actual character lacked the depth, height, compass, and endurance itpossessedinmycreed.Idon'tknow:hewasasgoodtomeasthewellistothe

parchedwayfarer—asthesuntotheshiveringjailbird.Irememberhimheroic.HeroicatthismomentwillIholdhimtobe.

Heaskedme,smiling,whyIcaredforhislettersoverymuch.Ithought,butdidnotsay,thatIprizeditlikethebloodinmyveins.IonlyansweredthatIhadsofewletterstocarefor.

"Iamsureyoudidnotreadit,"saidhe;"oryouwouldthinknothingofit!"

"Ireadit,butonlyonce.Iwanttoreaditagain.Iamsorryitislost."AndIcouldnothelpweepingafresh.

"Lucy,Lucy,mypoorlittlegod-sister(iftherebesucharelationship),here—hereisyourletter.Whyisitnotbetterworthsuchtears,andsuchtenderlyexaggeratingfaith?"

Curious,characteristicmanoeuvre!HisquickeyehadseentheletteronthefloorwhereIsoughtit;hishand,asquick,hadsnatcheditup.Hehadhiddenitinhiswaistcoatpocket.Ifmytroublehadwroughtwithawhitlessstressandreality,Idoubtwhetherhewouldeverhaveacknowledgedorrestoredit.Tearsof temperatureonedegreecooler than thoseIshedwouldonlyhaveamusedDr.John.

Pleasure at regaining made me forget merited reproach for the teasingtorment;myjoywasgreat;itcouldnotbeconcealed:yetIthinkitbrokeoutmoreincountenancethanlanguage.Isaidlittle.

"Areyousatisfiednow?"askedDr.John.

IrepliedthatIwas—satisfiedandhappy.

"Wellthen,"heproceeded,"howdoyoufeelphysically?Areyougrowingcalmer?Notmuch:foryoutremblelikealeafstill."

It seemed tome, however, that Iwas sufficiently calm: at least I felt nolongerterrified.Iexpressedmyselfcomposed.

"Youareable,consequently, to tellmewhatyousaw?Youraccountwasquitevague,doyouknow?Youlookedwhiteasthewall;butyouonlyspokeof'something,'notdefiningwhat.Wasitaman?Wasitananimal?Whatwasit?"

"IneverwilltellexactlywhatIsaw,"saidI,"unlesssomeoneelseseesittoo, and then I will give corroborative testimony; but otherwise, I shall bediscreditedandaccusedofdreaming."

"Tellme,"saidDr.Bretton;"Iwillhear it inmyprofessionalcharacter: Ilookonyounow fromaprofessional point ofview, and I read, perhaps, allyouwouldconceal—inyoureye,whichiscuriouslyvividandrestless:inyourcheek,whichthebloodhasforsaken;inyourhand,whichyoucannotsteady.

Come,Lucy,speakandtellme."

"Youwouldlaugh—?"

"Ifyoudon'ttellmeyoushallhavenomoreletters."

"Youarelaughingnow."

"Iwillagaintakeawaythatsingleepistle:beingmine,IthinkIhavearighttoreclaimit."

Ifeltrailleryinhiswords:itmademegraveandquiet;butIfoldeduptheletterandcovereditfromsight.

"Youmay hide it, but I can possess it anymoment I choose. You don'tknowmy skill in sleight of hand; I might practise as a conjuror if I liked.Mamma says sometimes, too, that I have a harmonizing property of tongueandeye;butyouneversawthatinme—didyou,Lucy?"

"Indeed—indeed—whenyouwereamereboyIusedtoseeboth:farmorethenthannow—fornowyouarestrong,andstrengthdispenseswithsubtlety.Butstill,—Dr.John,youhavewhat theycall in thiscountry 'unair fin,' thatnobodycan,mistake.MadameBecksawit,and—"

"Andlikedit,"saidhe,laughing,"becauseshehasitherself.But,

Lucy,givemethatletter—youdon'treallycareforit."

To this provocative speech Imade no answer.Graham inmirthfulmoodmustnotbehumouredtoofar.Justnowtherewasanewsortofsmileplayingabouthis lips—verysweet,but itgrievedmesomehow—anewsortof lightsparklinginhiseyes:nothostile,butnotreassuring.I rose togo—Ibidhimgood-nightalittlesadly.

His sensitiveness—that peculiar, apprehensive, detective faculty of his—felt in amoment the unspoken complaint—the scarce-thought reproach. HeaskedquietlyifIwasoffended.Ishookmyheadasimplyinganegative.

"Permitme,then,tospeakalittleseriouslytoyoubeforeyougo.Youareinahighlynervousstate. I feelsure fromwhat isapparent inyour lookandmanner,howeverwellcontrolled,thatwhilstalonethiseveninginthatdismal,perishingsepulchralgarret—thatdungeonunder the leads, smellingofdampandmould,rankwithphthisisandcatarrh:aplaceyouneveroughttoenter—that you saw, or thought you saw, some appearance peculiarly calculated toimpress the imagination. I know that you are not, nor everwere, subject tomaterial terrors, fears of robbers, &c.—I am not so sure that a visitation,bearingaspectralcharacter,wouldnotshakeyourverymind.Becalmnow.Thisisallamatterofthenerves,Isee:butjustspecifythevision."

"Youwilltellnobody?"

"Nobody—mostcertainly.YoumaytrustmeasimplicitlyasyoudidPèreSilas.Indeed,thedoctorisperhapsthesaferconfessorofthetwo,thoughhehasnotgreyhair."

"Youwillnotlaugh?"

"PerhapsImay,todoyougood:butnotinscorn.Lucy,Ifeelasafriendtowardsyou,thoughyourtimidnatureisslowtotrust."

He now looked like a friend: that indescribable smile and sparkle weregone;thoseformidablearchedcurvesoflip,nostril,eyebrow,weredepressed;reposemarkedhisattitude—attentionsoberedhisaspect.Wontoconfidence,ItoldhimexactlywhatIhadseen:erenowIhadnarratedtohimthelegendofthehouse—whilingawaywiththatnarrativeanhourofacertainmildOctoberafternoon,whenheandIrodethroughBoisl'Etang.

Hesatandthought,andwhilehethought,weheardthemallcomingdown-stairs.

"Are they going to interrupt?" said he, glancing at the door with anannoyedexpression.

"They will not come here," I answered; for we were in the little salonwhereMadameneversatintheevening,andwhereitwasbymerechancethatheatwasstilllingeringinthestove.Theypassedthedoorandwentontothesalle-à-manger.

"Now,"hepursued,"theywill talkabout thieves,burglars,andsoon: letthem do so—mind you say nothing, and keep your resolution of describingyournuntonobody.Shemayappeartoyouagain:don'tstart."

"Youthinkthen,"Isaid,withsecrethorror,"shecameoutofmybrain,andisnowgoneinthere,andmayglideoutagainatanhourandadaywhenIlooknotforher?"

"Ithinkitacaseofspectralillusion:Ifear,followingonandresultingfromlong-continuedmentalconflict."

"Oh, Doctor John—I shudder at the thought of being liable to such anillusion!Itseemedsoreal.Istherenocure?—nopreventive?"

"Happinessisthecure—acheerfulmindthepreventive:cultivateboth."

Nomockeryinthisworldeversoundstomesohollowasthatofbeingtoldto cultivate happiness. What does such advice mean? Happiness is not apotato, tobeplanted inmould, and tilledwithmanure.Happiness is agloryshiningfardownuponusoutofHeaven.Sheisadivinedewwhichthesoul,oncertainofitssummermornings,feelsdroppinguponitfromtheamaranthbloomandgoldenfruitageofParadise.

"Cultivate happiness!" I said briefly to the doctor: "do you cultivatehappiness?Howdoyoumanage?"

"Iamacheerfulfellowbynature:andthenill-luckhasneverdoggedme.Adversitygavemeandmymotheronepassingscowlandbrush,butwedefiedher,orratherlaughedather,andshewentby.".

"Thereisnocultivationinallthis."

"Idonotgivewaytomelancholy."

"Yes:Ihaveseenyousubduedbythatfeeling."

"AboutGinevraFanshawe—eh?"

"Didshenotsometimesmakeyoumiserable?"

"Pooh!stuff!nonsense!YouseeIambetternow."

Ifa laughingeyewitha lively light,anda facebrightwithbeamingandhealthyenergy,couldattestthathewasbetter,betterhecertainlywas.

"Youdonotlookmuchamiss,orgreatlyoutofcondition,"Iallowed.

"Andwhy, Lucy, can't you look and feel as I do—buoyant, courageous,andfittodefyallthenunsandflirtsinChristendom?Iwouldgivegoldonthespotjusttoseeyousnapyourfingers.Trythemanoeuvre."

"IfIweretobringMissFanshaweintoyourpresencejustnow?"

"Ivow,Lucy,sheshouldnotmoveme:or,sheshouldmovemebutbyonething—true,yes,andpassionatelove.Iwouldaccordforgivenessatnolessaprice."

"Indeed!asmileofherswouldhavebeenafortunetoyouawhilesince."

"Transformed,Lucy:transformed!Remember,youoncecalledmeaslave!butIamafreemannow!"

He stood up: in the port of his head, the carriage of his figure, in hisbeaming eye andmien, there revealed itself a libertywhichwasmore thanease—amoodwhichwasdisdainofhispastbondage.

"Miss Fanshawe," he pursued, "has led me through a phase of feelingwhichisover:Ihaveenteredanothercondition,andamnowmuchdisposedtoexactloveforlove—passionforpassion—andgoodmeasureofit,too."

"Ah,Doctor!Doctor! you said itwas your nature to pursue Love underdifficulties—tobecharmedbyaproudinsensibility!".

He laughed, and answered, "My nature varies: themood of one hour issometimesthemockeryofthenext.Well,Lucy"(drawingonhisgloves),"will

theNuncomeagainto-night,thinkyou?"

"Idon'tthinkshewill."

"Give her my compliments, if she does—Dr. John's compliments—andentreat her to have the goodness towait a visit from him. Lucy,was she aprettynun?Hadsheaprettyface?Youhavenottoldmethatyet;andthatisthereallyimportantpoint."

"Shehadawhiteclothoverherface,"saidI,"buthereyesglittered."

"Confusiontohergoblintrappings!"criedhe,irreverently:"butatleastshehadhandsomeeyes—brightandsoft."

"Coldandfixed,"wasthereply.

"No, no,we'll none of her: she shall not haunt you,Lucy.Give her thatshakeofthehand,ifshecomesagain.Willshestandthat,doyouthink?"

Ithoughtittookindandcordialforaghosttostand:andsowasthesmilewhichmatchedit,andaccompaniedhis"Good-night."

**

And had there been anything in the garret? What did they discover? Ibelieve,ontheclosestexamination, theirdiscoveriesamountedtoverylittle.Theytalked,atfirst,ofthecloaksbeingdisturbed;butMadameBecktoldmeafterwardsshethoughttheyhungmuchasusual:andasforthebrokenpaneintheskylight,sheaffirmedthataperturewasrarelywithoutoneormorepanesbrokenorcracked:andbesides,aheavyhail-stormhadfallenafewdaysago.Madame questioned me very closely as to what I had seen, but I onlydescribed an obscure figure clothed in black: I took care not to breathe theword"nun,"certainthatthiswordwouldatoncesuggesttohermindanideaofromanceandunreality.Shechargedmetosaynothingonthesubjecttoanyservant,pupil,orteacher,andhighlycommendedmydiscretionincomingtoherprivatesalle-à-manger,insteadofcarryingthetaleofhorrortotheschoolrefectory.Thusthesubjectdropped.Iwasleftsecretlyandsadlytowonder,inmy ownmind, whether that strange thing was of this world, or of a realmbeyondthegrave;orwhetherindeeditwasonlythechildofmalady,andIofthatmaladytheprey.

CHAPTERXXIII.

VASHTI.

Towondersadly,didIsay?No:anewinfluencebegantoactuponmylife,

and sadness, for a certain space, was held at bay. Conceive a dell, deep-hollowed in forest secresy; it lies in dimness and mist: its turf is dank, itsherbage pale and humid.A stormor an axemakes awide gap amongst theoak-trees; the breeze sweeps in; the sun looks down; the sad, cold dellbecomes a deep cup of lustre; high summer pours her blue glory and hergoldenlightoutofthatbeauteoussky,whichtillnowthestarvedhollowneversaw.

Anewcreedbecamemine—abeliefinhappiness.

Itwasthreeweekssincetheadventureofthegarret,andIpossessedinthatcase,box,drawerup-stairs,casketedwiththatfirstletter,fourcompanionsliketoit,tracedbythesamefirmpen,sealedwiththesameclearseal,fullofthesamevitalcomfort.Vitalcomfort it seemed tome then: I read them inafteryears; theywerekindlettersenough—pleasingletters,becausecomposedbyonewellpleased;inthetwolasttherewerethreeorfourclosinglineshalf-gay,half-tender, "by feeling touched, but not subdued." Time, dear reader,mellowedthemtoabeverageofthismildquality;butwhenIfirsttastedtheirelixir,freshfromthefountsohonoured,itseemedjuiceofadivinevintage:adraughtwhichHebemightfill,andtheverygodsapprove.

Doesthereader,rememberingwhatwassaidsomepagesback,caretoaskhowIansweredtheseletters:whetherunderthedry,stintingcheckofReason,oraccordingtothefull,liberalimpulseofFeeling?

To speak truth, I compromised matters; I served two masters: I boweddowninthehousesofRimmon,andliftedtheheartatanothershrine.Iwroteto these letters twoanswers—one formyown relief, theother forGraham'sperusal.

Tobeginwith:FeelingandIturnedReasonoutofdoors,drewagainstherbarandbolt, thenwesatdown,spreadourpaper,dippedintheinkaneagerpen, and,with deep enjoyment, poured out our sincere heart.Whenwe haddone—whentwosheetswerecoveredwiththelanguageofastrongly-adherentaffection, a rooted and active gratitude—(once, for all, in this parenthesis, Idisclaim,with theutmostscorn,everysneakingsuspicionofwhatarecalled"warmer feelings:" women do not entertain these "warmer feelings" where,fromthecommencement,throughthewholeprogressofanacquaintance,theyhave never once been cheated of the conviction that, to do so would be tocommitamortalabsurdity:nobodyeverlaunchesintoLoveunlesshehasseenordreamedtherisingofHope'sstaroverLove'stroubledwaters)—when,then,Ihadgivenexpressiontoaclosely-clinginganddeeply-honouringattachment—anattachmentthatwantedtoattracttoitselfandtaketoitsownlotallthatwaspainfulinthedestinyofitsobject;thatwould,ifitcould,haveabsorbedandconductedawayallstormsandlightningsfromanexistenceviewedwitha

passionofsolicitude—then,justatthatmoment,thedoorsofmyheartwouldshake, bolt and bar would yield, Reason would leap in vigorous andrevengeful, snatch the full sheets, read, sneer, erase, tear up, re-write, fold,seal,direct,andsendaterse,curtmissiveofapage.Shedidright.

Ididnotliveonlettersonly:Iwasvisited,Iwaslookedafter;onceaweekIwastakenouttoLaTerrasse;alwaysIwasmademuchof.Dr.Brettonfailednottotellmewhyhewassokind:"Tokeepawaythenun,"hesaid;"hewasdetermined to dispute with her her prey. He had taken," he declared, "athoroughdisliketoher,chieflyonaccountofthatwhiteface-cloth,andthosecoldgreyeyes:themomentheheardofthoseodiousparticulars,"heaffirmed,"consummatedisgusthadincitedhimtoopposeher;hewasdeterminedtotrywhetherheorshewasthecleverest,andheonlywishedshewouldoncemorelook in uponmewhen hewas present:" but that she never did. In short, heregardedmescientifically in the lightofapatient,andatonceexercisedhisprofessionalskill,andgratifiedhisnaturalbenevolence,byacourseofcordialandattentivetreatment.

Oneevening,thefirstinDecember,Iwaswalkingbymyselfinthecarré;itwassixo'clock;theclasse-doorswereclosed;butwithin,thepupils,rampantin the licence of evening recreation, were counterfeiting aminiature chaos.Thecarréwasquitedark,exceptaredlightshiningunderandaboutthestove;thewideglass-doorsandthelongwindowswerefrostedover;acrystalsparkleofstarlight,hereand therespangling thisblanchedwinterveil,andbreakingwithscatteredbrilliancethepalenessofitsembroidery,proveditaclearnight,thoughmoonless.ThatIshoulddaretoremainthusaloneindarkness,showedthatmynerveswereregainingahealthytone:Ithoughtofthenun,buthardlyfeared her; though the staircase was behind me, leading up, through blind,black night, from landing to landing, to the haunted grenier. Yet I ownmyheartquaked,mypulseleaped,whenIsuddenlyheardbreathingandrustling,and turning, saw in the deep shadow of the steps a deeper shadow still—ashapethatmovedanddescended.Itpausedawhileattheclasse-door,andthenit glidedbeforeme.Simultaneously camea clangorof thedistant door-bell.Life-likesoundsbringlife-likefeelings:thisshapewastooroundandlowformygauntnun:itwasonlyMadameBeckonduty.

"MademoiselleLucy!" criedRosine, bursting in, lamp in hand, from thecorridor,"onestlàpourvousausalon."

Madamesawme,IsawMadame,Rosinesawusboth:therewasnomutualrecognition. I made straight for the salon. There I found what I own IanticipatedIshouldfind—Dr.Bretton;buthewasinevening-dress.

"Thecarriageisatthedoor,"saidhe;"mymotherhassentittotakeyoutothe theatre; she was going herself, but an arrival has prevented her: she

immediatelysaid,'TakeLucyinmyplace.'Willyougo?"

"Just now? I am not dressed," cried I, glancing despairingly atmy darkmerino.

"Youhavehalfanhourtodress.Ishouldhavegivenyounotice,butIonlydeterminedongoingsincefiveo'clock,whenIheardtherewastobeagenuineregaleinthepresenceofagreatactress."

And hementioned a name that thrilledme—a name that, in those days,couldthrillEurope.Itishushednow:itsoncerestlessechoesareallstill;shewhobore itwentyearsago toher rest:nightandoblivion longsinceclosedaboveher;butthenherday—adayofSirius—stoodatitsfullheight,lightandfervour.

"I'llgo;Iwillbereadyintenminutes,"Ivowed.AndawayIflew,neveronce checked, reader, by the thoughtwhich perhaps at thismoment checksyou: namely, that to go anywhere with Graham and without Mrs. Brettoncouldbeobjectionable.Icouldnothaveconceived,muchlesshaveexpressedtoGraham,suchthought—suchscruple—withoutriskofexcitingatyrannousself-contempt: of kindling an inward fire of shame so quenchless, and sodevouring,thatIthinkitwouldsoonhavelickeduptheverylifeinmyveins.Besides,my godmother, knowing her son, and knowingme,would as soonhave thought of chaperoning a sister with a brother, as of keeping anxiousguardoverourincomingsandoutgoings.

Thepresentwasnooccasion for showyarray;mydunmist crapewouldsuffice, and I sought the same in the great oak-wardrobe in the dormitory,where hung no less than forty dresses. But there had been changes andreforms,andsomeinnovatinghandhadprunedthissamecrowdedwardrobe,andcarrieddiversgarmentstothegrenier—mycrapeamongsttherest.Imustfetchit.Igotthekey,andwentaloftfearless,almostthoughtless.Iunlockedthe door, I plunged in. The reader may believe it or not, but when I thussuddenlyentered,thatgarretwasnotwhollydarkasitshouldhavebeen:fromone point there shone a solemn light, like a star, but broader. So plainly itshone, that itrevealedthedeepalcovewithaportionofthetarnishedscarletcurtaindrawnoverit.Instantly,silently,beforemyeyes,itvanished;sodidthecurtainandalcove:allthatendofthegarretbecameblackasnight.Iventurednoresearch; Ihadnot timenorwill; snatchingmydress,whichhungon thewall, happily near the door, I rushed out, relocked the doorwith convulsedhaste,anddarteddownwardstothedormitory.

But I trembled too much to dress myself: impossible to arrange hair orfastenhooks-and-eyeswithsuchfingers,soIcalledRosineandbribedhertohelpme.Rosine likedabribe,soshedidherbest, smoothedandplaitedmyhair as well as a coiffeur would have done, placed the lace collar

mathematically straight, tied the neck-ribbon accurately—in short, did herworkliketheneat-handedPhillisshecouldbewhenshechose.Havinggivenmemyhandkerchief and gloves, she took the candle and lightedme down-stairs.Afterall,Ihadforgottenmyshawl;sheranbacktofetchit;andIstoodwithDr.Johninthevestibule,waiting.

"Whatisthis,Lucy?"saidhe,lookingdownatmenarrowly."Hereistheoldexcitement.Ha!thenunagain?"

But Iutterlydenied thecharge: Iwasvexed tobe suspectedofa secondillusion.Hewassceptical.

"Shehasbeen, as sure as I live," saidhe; "her figure crossingyour eyesleavesonthemapeculiargleamandexpressionnottobemistaken."

"She has not been," I persisted: for, indeed, I could deny her apparitionwithtruth.

"Theoldsymptomsarethere,"heaffirmed:"aparticularpale,andwhattheScotchcalla'raised'look."

Hewassoobstinate,IthoughtitbettertotellhimwhatIreallyhadseen.Ofcoursewithhimitwasheldtobeanothereffectofthesamecause:itwasallopticalillusion—nervousmalady,andsoon.NotonebitdidIbelievehim;but I dared not contradict: doctors are so self-opinionated, so immovable intheirdry,materialistviews.

Rosinebroughttheshawl,andIwasbundledintothecarriage.

**

The theatre was full—crammed to its roof: royal and noble were there:palaceandhotelhademptiedtheirinmatesintothosetierssothrongedandsohushed.DeeplydidIfeelmyselfprivilegedinhavingaplacebeforethatstage;IlongedtoseeabeingofwhosepowersIhadheardreportswhichmademeconceivepeculiaranticipations. Iwondered if shewould justifyher renown:withstrangecuriosity,withfeelingssevereandaustere,yetofrivetedinterest,Iwaited.Shewasastudyofsuchnatureashadnotencounteredmyeyesyet:agreatandnewplanetshewas:butinwhatshape?Iwaitedherrising.

SheroseatninethatDecembernight:abovethehorizonIsawhercome.Shecouldshineyetwithpalegrandeurandsteadymight;butthatstarvergedalready on its judgment-day. Seen near, it was a chaos—hollow, half-consumed:anorbperishedorperishing—halflava,halfglow.

Ihadheardthiswomantermed"plain,"andIexpectedbonyharshnessandgrimness—somethinglarge,angular,sallow.WhatIsawwastheshadowofaroyalVashti:aqueen,fairasthedayonce,turnedpalenowliketwilight,andwastedlikewaxinflame.

For awhile—a long while—I thought it was only a woman, though anuniquewoman,whomovedinmightandgracebeforethismultitude.By-and-by I recognisedmymistake.Behold! I founduponher somethingneitherofwomannorofman:ineachofhereyessatadevil.Theseevilforcesboreherthrough the tragedy, kept up her feeble strength—for she was but a frailcreature;andastheactionroseandthestirdeepened,howwildlytheyshookherwiththeirpassionsofthepit!TheywroteHELLonherstraight,haughtybrow.Theytunedhervoicetothenoteoftorment.Theywrithedherregalfacetoademoniacmask.HateandMurderandMadnessincarnateshestood.

Itwasamarvelloussight:amightyrevelation.

Itwasaspectaclelow,horrible,immoral.

Swordsmen thrust through, and dying in their blood on the arena sand;bulls goring horses disembowelled,made ameeker vision for the public—amilder condiment for a people's palate—than Vashti torn by seven devils:devilswhichcriedsoreandrentthetenementtheyhaunted,butstillrefusedtobeexorcised.

Sufferinghadstruckthatstageempress;andshestoodbeforeheraudienceneitheryieldingto,norenduring,nor,infinitemeasure,resentingit:shestoodlocked in struggle, rigid in resistance. She stood, not dressed, but draped inpale antique folds, long and regular like sculpture. A background andentourageandflooringofdeepestcrimsonthrewherout,whitelikealabaster—likesilver:rather,beitsaid,likeDeath.

Wherewas the artist of the Cleopatra? Let him come and sit down andstudy thisdifferentvision.Lethimseekhere themightybrawn, themuscle,theaboundingblood,thefull-fedfleshheworshipped:letallmaterialistsdrawnighandlookon.

I have said that she does not resent her grief. No; theweakness of thatwordwouldmakeitalie.Toher,whathurtsbecomesimmediatelyembodied:shelooksonitasathingthatcanbeattacked,worrieddown,torninshreds.Scarcelyasubstanceherself,shegrapplestoconflictwithabstractions.Beforecalamity she is a tigress; she rends her woes, shivers them in convulsedabhorrence. Pain, for her, has no result in good: tears water no harvest ofwisdom: on sickness, on death itself, she looks with the eye of a rebel.Wicked,perhaps,sheis,butalsosheisstrong;andherstrengthhasconqueredBeauty,hasovercomeGrace,andboundbothatherside,captivespeerlesslyfair,anddocileasfair.Evenintheuttermostfrenzyofenergyiseachmaenadmovement royally, imperially, incedingly upborne. Her hair, flying loose inrevel or war, is still an angel's hair, and glorious under a halo. Fallen,insurgent,banished,sheremembers theheavenwheresherebelled.Heaven'slight, following her exile, pierces its confines, and discloses their forlorn

remoteness.

PlacenowtheCleopatra,oranyotherslug,beforeherasanobstacle,andseehercutthroughthepulpymassasthescimitarofSaladinclovethedowncushion.Let Paul PeterRubenswake from the dead, let him rise out of hiscerements, and bring into this presence all the army of his fat women; themagianpowerorprophet-virtuegiftingthatslightrodofMoses,could,atonewaft,releaseandre-mingleaseaspell-parted,whelmingtheheavyhostwiththedown-rushofoverthrownsea-ramparts.

Vashtiwas not good, Iwas told; and I have said she did not lookgood:thoughaspirit,shewasaspiritoutofTophet.Well,ifsomuchofunholyforcecanarisefrombelow,maynotanequaleffluxofsacredessencedescendonedayfromabove?

WhatthoughtDr.Grahamofthisbeing?

ForlongintervalsIforgottolookhowhedemeanedhimself,ortoquestionwhat he thought. The strongmagnetism of genius drewmy heart out of itswontedorbit;thesunflowerturnedfromthesouthtoafiercelight,notsolar—a rushing, red, cometary light—hot on vision and to sensation. I had seenactingbefore, but never anything like this: never anythingwhich astonishedHope and hushedDesire;which outstripped Impulse and paledConception;which,insteadofmerelyirritatingimaginationwiththethoughtofwhatmightbe done, at the same time fevering the nerves because it was not done,disclosedpowerlikeadeep,swollenwinterriver,thunderingincataract,andbearingthesoul,likealeaf,onthesteepandsteellysweepofitsdescent.

Miss Fanshawe, with her usual ripeness of judgment, pronounced Dr.Bretton a serious, impassioned man, too grave and too impressible. Not insuch light did I ever see him: no such faults could I lay to his charge.Hisnaturalattitudewasnotthemeditative,norhisnaturalmoodthesentimental;impressionablehewasasdimplingwater,but,almostaswater,unimpressible:thebreeze,thesun,movedhim—metalcouldnotgrave,norfirebrand.

Dr.Johncouldthinkandthinkwell,buthewasratheramanofactionthanof thought; he could feel, and feel vividly in hisway, but his heart had nochordforenthusiasm:tobright,soft,sweet influenceshiseyesandlipsgavebright,soft,sweetwelcome,beautiful toseeasdyesofroseandsilver,pearland purple, imbuing summer clouds; forwhat belonged to storm,whatwaswild and intense, dangerous, sudden, and flaming, he hadno sympathy, andheld with it no communion. When I took time and regained inclination toglanceathim,itamusedandenlightenedmetodiscoverthathewaswatchingthat sinister and sovereign Vashti, not with wonder, nor worship, nor yetdismay, but simplywith intense curiosity. Her agony did not pain him, herwildmoan—worsethanashriek—didnotmuchmovehim;herfuryrevolted

him somewhat, but not to the point of horror.Cool youngBriton!The palecliffsofhisownEnglanddonotlookdownonthetidesoftheChannelmorecalmlythanhewatchedthePythianinspirationofthatnight.

Lookingathisface,Ilongedtoknowhisexactopinions,andatlastIputaquestiontendingtoelicitthem.Atthesoundofmyvoiceheawokeasifoutofa dream; for he had been thinking, and very intently thinking, his ownthoughts,afterhisownmanner."HowdidhelikeVashti?"Iwishedtoknow.

"Hm-m-m,"wasthefirstscarcearticulatebutexpressiveanswer;andthensuch a strange smile went wandering round his lips, a smile so critical, soalmost callous! I suppose that for natures of that order his sympathieswerecallous.Inafewtersephraseshetoldmehisopinionof,andfeelingtowards,the actress: he judged her as a woman, not an artist: it was a brandingjudgment.

Thatnightwasalreadymarkedinmybookoflife,notwithwhite,butwithadeep-redcross.But Ihadnotdonewith ityet;andothermemorandaweredestinedtobesetdownincharactersoftintindelible.

Towards midnight, when the deepening tragedy blackened to the death-scene,andallheldtheirbreath,andevenGrahambithisunder-lip,andknithisbrow,andsatstillandstruck—whenthewholetheatrewashushed,whenthevision of all eyes centred in one point, when all ears listened towards onequarter—nothingbeingseenbut thewhite formsunkona seat,quivering inconflict with her last, her worst-hated, her visibly-conquering foe—nothingheard but her throes, her gaspings, breathing yet of mutiny, panting stilldefiance;when,asitseemed,aninordinatewill,convulsingaperishingmortalframe,bentittobattlewithdoomanddeath,foughteveryinchofground,soldeverydropofblood,resistedtothelatesttherapeofeveryfaculty,wouldsee,would hear,would breathe,would live, up to,within,well-nigh beyond themoment when death says to all sense and all being—"Thus far and nofarther!"—

Just thena stir,pregnantwithomen, rustledbehind the scenes—feet ran,voices spoke.Whatwas it?demanded thewholehouse.A flame, a smellofsmokereplied.

"Fire!" rang through the gallery. "Fire!" was repeated, re-echoed, yelledforth: and then, and faster than pen can set it down, came panic, rushing,crushing—ablind,selfish,cruelchaos.

AndDr.John?Reader,Iseehimyet,withhislookofcomelycourageandcordialcalm.

"Lucywillsitstill, Iknow,"saidhe,glancingdownatmewith thesameserenegoodness, the same repose of firmness that I have seen in himwhen

sitting at his side amid the secure peace of his mother's hearth. Yes, thusadjured,IthinkIwouldhavesatstillunderarockingcrag:but,indeed,tositstillinactualcircumstanceswasmyinstinct;andatthepriceofmyverylife,Iwouldnothavemovedtogivehimtrouble,thwarthiswill,ormakedemandsonhisattention.Wewereinthestalls,andforafewminutestherewasamostterrible,ruthlesspressureaboutus.

"Howterrifiedare thewomen!"saidhe;"but if themenwerenotalmostequallyso,ordermightbemaintained.Thisisasorryscene:Iseefiftyselfishbrutesat thismoment,eachofwhom,ifIwerenear,Icouldconscientiouslyknockdown.Iseesomewomenbraverthansomemen.Thereisoneyonder—GoodGod!"

WhileGrahamwasspeaking,ayounggirlwhohadbeenveryquietlyandsteadily clinging to a gentleman before us, was suddenly struck from herprotector'sarmsbyabig,butcherlyintruder,andhurledunderthefeetofthecrowd.Scarcetwosecondslastedherdisappearance.Grahamrushedforwards;he and the gentleman, a powerful man though grey-haired, united theirstrength to thrust back the throng;herhead and longhair fell backoverhisshoulder:sheseemedunconscious.

"Trustherwithme;Iamamedicalman,"saidDr.John.

"Ifyouhavenoladywithyou,beitso,"wastheanswer."Holdher,andIwillforceapassage:wemustgethertotheair."

"I have a lady," said Graham; "but she will be neither hindrance norincumbrance."

Hesummonedmewithhiseye:wewereseparated.Resolute,however,torejoinhim,Ipenetratedthelivingbarrier,creepingunderwhereIcouldnotgetbetweenorover.

"Fastenonme,anddon'tleavego,"hesaid;andIobeyedhim.

Our pioneer proved strong and adroit; he opened the densemass like awedge;withpatienceandtoilheatlastboredthroughtheflesh-and-bloodrock—sosolid,hot,andsuffocating—andbroughtustothefresh,freezingnight.

"YouareanEnglishman!"saidhe,turningshortlyonDr.Bretton,whenwegotintothestreet.

"AnEnglishman.AndIspeaktoacountryman?"wasthereply.

"Right. Be good enough to stand here two minutes, whilst I find mycarriage."

"Papa,Iamnothurt,"saidagirlishvoice;"amIwithpapa?"

"Youarewithafriend,andyourfatheriscloseathand."

"TellhimIamnothurt,exceptjustinmyshoulder.Oh,myshoulder!

Theytrodjusthere."

"Dislocation,perhaps!"mutteredtheDoctor:"letushopethereisnoworseinjurydone.Lucy,lendahandoneinstant."

And I assistedwhilehemade somearrangementofdraperyandpositionfor the ease of his suffering burden. She suppressed amoan, and lay in hisarmsquietlyandpatiently.

"Sheisverylight,"saidGraham,"likeachild!"andheaskedinmyear,"Issheachild,Lucy?Didyounoticeherage?"

"I am not a child—I am a person of seventeen," responded the patient,demurely and with dignity. Then, directly after: "Tell papa to come; I getanxious."

The carriage drove up; her father relievedGraham; but in the exchangefromonebearertoanothershewashurt,andmoanedagain.

"Mydarling!"saidthefather,tenderly;thenturningtoGraham,"Yousaid,sir,youareamedicalman?"

"Iam:Dr.Bretton,ofLaTerrasse."

"Good.Willyoustepintomycarriage?"

"Myowncarriageishere:Iwillseekit,andaccompanyyou."

"Bepleased,then,tofollowus."Andhenamedhisaddress:"TheHôtel

Crécy,intheRueCrécy."

Wefollowed;thecarriagedrovefast;myselfandGrahamweresilent.

Thisseemedlikeanadventure.

Some little timebeing lost in seekingourownequipage,we reached thehotel perhaps about tenminutes after these strangers. Itwas an hotel in theforeignsense:acollectionofdwelling-houses,notan inn—avast, loftypile,withahugearchtoitsstreet-door,leadingthroughavaultedcoveredway,intoasquareallbuiltround.

Wealighted,passedupawide,handsomepublicstaircase,andstoppedatNuméro 2 on the second landing; the first floor comprising the abode of Iknownotwhat"princeRusse,"asGrahaminformedme.Onringingthebellatasecondgreatdoor,wewereadmittedtoasuiteofveryhandsomeapartments.Announcedbya servant in livery,weenteredadrawing-roomwhosehearthglowedwithanEnglishfire,andwhosewallsgleamedwithforeignmirrors.Nearthehearthappearedalittlegroup:aslightformsunkinadeeparm-chair,

oneor twowomenbusyabout it, the iron-greygentlemananxiously lookingon.

"Where is Harriet? I wish Harriet would come to me," said the girlishvoice,faintly.

"Where is Mrs. Hurst?" demanded the gentleman impatiently andsomewhatsternlyoftheman-servantwhohadadmittedus.

"I amsorry to say she isgoneoutof town, sir;myyoung ladygaveherleavetillto-morrow."

"Yes—Idid—Idid.Sheisgonetoseehersister;Isaidshemightgo:

Iremembernow,"interposedtheyounglady;"butIamsosorry,for

ManonandLouisoncannotunderstandawordIsay,andtheyhurtme

withoutmeaningtodoso."

Dr. John and the gentleman now interchanged greetings; andwhile theypassedafewminutesinconsultation,Iapproachedtheeasy-chair,andseeingwhatthefaintandsinkinggirlwishedtohavedone,Ididitforher.

Iwasstilloccupiedinthearrangement,whenGrahamdrewnear;hewasno less skilled insurgery thanmedicine,and,onexamination, found thatnofurtheradvicethanhisownwasnecessarytothetreatmentofthepresentcase.Heorderedhertobecarriedtoherchamber,andwhisperedtome:—"Gowiththewomen,Lucy;theyseembutdull;youcanatleastdirecttheirmovements,andthussparehersomepain.Shemustbetouchedverytenderly."

Thechamberwasaroomshadowywithpale-bluehangings,vaporouswithcurtainingsandveilingsofmuslin;thebedseemedtomelikesnow-driftandmist—spotless, soft, andgauzy.Making thewomen standapart, I undressedtheir mistress, without their well-meaning but clumsy aid. I was not in asufficientlycollectedmood tonotewith separatedistinctnesseverydetailofthe attire I removed, but I received a general impression of refinement,delicacy,andperfectpersonalcultivation;which,inaperiodofafter-thought,offeredinmyreflectionsasingularcontrasttonotesretainedofMissGinevraFanshawe'sappointments.

Thegirlwasherselfasmall,delicatecreature,butmadelikeamodel.AsIfoldedbackherplentifulyetfinehair,soshiningandsoft,andsoexquisitelytended,Ihadundermyobservationayoung,pale,weary,buthigh-bredface.The brow was smooth and clear; the eyebrows were distinct, but soft, andmeltingtoameretraceatthetemples;theeyeswerearichgiftofnature—fineandfull, large,deep,seemingtoholddominionover theslightersubordinatefeatures—capable,probably,ofmuchsignificanceatanotherhourandunderothercircumstancesthanthepresent,butnowlanguidandsuffering.Herskin

wasperfectlyfair,theneckandhandsveinedfinelylikethepetalsofaflower;a thin glazing of the ice of pride polished this delicate exterior, and her lipworeacurl—Idoubtnotinherentandunconscious,butwhich,ifIhadseenitfirstwith the accompaniments of health and state,would have struckme asunwarranted,andproving in the little ladyaquitemistakenviewof lifeandherownconsequence.

HerdemeanourundertheDoctor'shandsatfirstexcitedasmile;itwasnotpuerile—rather, on thewhole, patient and firm—but yet, once or twice sheaddressed himwith suddenness and sharpness, saying that he hurt her, andmustcontrivetogiveherlesspain;Isawherlargeeyes,too,settleonhisfacelike the solemn eyes of some pretty, wondering child. I know not whetherGraham felt this examination: if he did, he was cautious not to check ordiscomfort it by any retaliatory look. I think he performed his work withextreme care and gentleness, sparing her what pain he could; and sheacknowledged as much, when he had done, by the words:—"Thank you,Doctor, and good-night," very gratefully pronounced as she uttered them,however,itwaswitharepetitionoftheserious,directgaze,Ithought,peculiarinitsgravityandintentness.

Theinjuries,itseems,werenotdangerous:anassurancewhichherfatherreceivedwith a smile that almostmade one his friend—it was so glad andgratified. He now expressed his obligations to Graham with as muchearnestness as was befitting an Englishman addressing one who has servedhim,butisyetastranger;healsobeggedhimtocallthenextday.

"Papa," said a voice from the veiled couch, "thank the lady, too; is shethere?"

I opened the curtainwith a smile, and looked in at her. She lay now atcomparative ease; she looked pretty, though pale; her face was delicatelydesigned,andifatfirstsightitappearedproud,Ibelievecustommightproveittobesoft.

"Ithanktheladyverysincerely,"saidherfather:"Ifancyshehasbeenverygoodtomychild.I thinkwescarcelydare tellMrs.Hurstwhohasbeenhersubstituteanddoneherwork;shewillfeelatonceashamedandjealous."

Andthus,inthemostfriendlyspirit,partinggreetingswereinterchanged;and refreshment having been hospitably offered, but by us, as it was late,refused,wewithdrewfromtheHôtelCrécy.

Onourwaybackwe repassed the theatre.Allwas silence anddarkness:theroaring,rushingcrowdallvanishedandgone—thedamps,aswellas theincipient fire, extinct and forgotten.Nextmorning's papers explained that itwasbutsomeloosedraperyonwhichasparkhadfallen,andwhichhadblazed

upandbeenquenchedinamoment.

CHAPTERXXIV.

M.DEBASSOMPIERRE.

Thosewholiveinretirement,whoseliveshavefallenamidtheseclusionofschoolsorofotherwalled-inandguardeddwellings,areliabletobesuddenlyandforalongwhiledroppedoutofthememoryoftheirfriends,thedenizensof a freer world. Unaccountably, perhaps, and close upon some space ofunusually frequent intercourse—some congeries of rather exciting littlecircumstances,whosenaturalsequelwouldratherseemtobe thequickeningthan thesuspensionofcommunication—therefallsastillypause,awordlesssilence,a longblankofoblivion.Unbrokenalwaysis thisblank;alikeentireandunexplained.Theletter, themessageoncefrequent,arecutoff; thevisit,formerly periodical, ceases to occur; the book, paper, or other token thatindicatedremembrance,comesnomore.

Alwaysthereareexcellentreasonsfortheselapses,ifthehermitbutknewthem.Thoughheisstagnantinhiscell,hisconnectionswithoutarewhirlingintheveryvortexoflife.Thatvoidintervalwhichpassesforhimsoslowlythattheveryclocksseematastand,andthewinglesshoursplodbyinthelikenessoftiredtrampspronetorestatmilestones—thatsameinterval,perhaps,teemswithevents,andpantswithhurryforhisfriends.

The hermit—if he be a sensible hermit—will swallowhis own thoughts,and lockuphisownemotionsduring theseweeksof inwardwinter.HewillknowthatDestinydesignedhimtoimitate,onoccasion,thedormouse,andhewill be conformable:make a tidy ball of himself, creep into a hole of life'swall,andsubmitdecentlytothedriftwhichblowsinandsoonblockshimup,preservinghiminicefortheseason.

Let him say, "It is quite right: it ought to be so, since so it is." And,perhaps,onedayhis snow-sepulchrewillopen, spring's softnesswill return,thesunandsouth-windwillreachhim;thebuddingofhedges,andcarollingofbirds, and singing of liberated streams,will call him to kindly resurrection.Perhapsthismaybethecase,perhapsnot:thefrostmaygetintohisheartandneverthawmore;whenspringcomes,acroworapiemaypickoutofthewallonlyhisdormouse-bones.Well,eveninthatcase,allwillberight:itistobesupposedheknewfromthefirsthewasmortal,andmustonedaygothewayofallflesh,"Aswellsoonassyne."

Followingthateventfuleveningatthetheatre,cameformesevenweeksas

bareassevensheetsofblankpaper:nowordwaswrittenononeofthem;notavisit,notatoken.

About the middle of that time I entertained fancies that something hadhappenedtomyfriendsatLaTerrasse.Themid-blankisalwaysabecloudedpointfor thesolitary:hisnervesachewith thestrainof longexpectancy; thedoubtshithertorepelledgathernowtoamassand—stronginaccumulation—rollbackuponhimwithaforcewhichsavoursofvindictiveness.Night, too,becomes an unkindly time, and sleep and his nature cannot agree: strangestarts and struggles harass his couch: the sinister band of bad dreams,withhorror of calamity, and sick dread of entire desertion at their head, join theleagueagainsthim.Poorwretch!Hedoeshisbesttobearup,butheisapoor,pallid,wastingwretch,despitethatbest.

Towards the lastof these longsevenweeks I admitted,what through theother six I had jealously excluded—the conviction that these blanks wereinevitable: the resultofcircumstances, the fiatof fate,apartofmy life's lotand—aboveall—amatteraboutwhoseoriginnoquestionmusteverbeasked,forwhosepainfulsequencenomurmureveruttered.OfcourseIdidnotblamemyselfforsuffering:IthankGodIhadatruersenseofjusticethantofallintoany imbecile extravagance of self-accusation; and as to blaming others forsilence, in my reason I well knew them blameless, and in my heartacknowledged them so: but it was a rough and heavy road to travel, and Ilongedforbetterdays.

I trieddifferent expedients to sustain and fill existence: I commencedanelaborate piece of lace-work, I studied German pretty hard, I undertook acourseofregularreadingofthedriestandthickestbooksinthelibrary;inallmy efforts I was as orthodox as I knew how to be. Was there errorsomewhere?Verylikely.IonlyknowtheresultwasasifIhadgnawedafiletosatisfyhunger,ordrankbrinetoquenchthirst.

Myhourof tormentwasthepost-hour.Unfortunately,Iknewit toowell,andtriedasvainlyasassiduouslytocheatmyselfofthatknowledge;dreadingthe rackofexpectation,and thesickcollapseofdisappointmentwhichdailyprecededandfolloweduponthatwell-recognisedring.

Isupposeanimalskeptincages,andsoscantilyfedastobealwaysuponthevergeoffamine,awaittheirfoodasIawaitedaletter.Oh!—tospeaktruth,and drop that tone of a false calmwhich long to sustain, outwears nature'sendurance—Iunderwent in thosesevenweeksbitter fearsandpains,strangeinward trials, miserable defections of hope, intolerable encroachments ofdespair. This last came so near me sometimes that her breath went rightthroughme.Iusedtofeelitlikeabalefulairorsigh,penetratedeep,andmakemotionpauseatmyheart,orproceedonlyunderunspeakableoppression.The

letter—thewell-belovedletter—wouldnotcome;anditwasallofsweetnessinlifeIhadtolookfor.

In theveryextremityofwant, Ihadrecourseagain,andyetagain, to thelittle packet in the case—the five letters. How splendid that month seemedwhoseskieshadbeheldtherisingofthesefivestars!ItwasalwaysatnightIvisitedthem,andnotdaringtoaskeveryeveningforacandleinthekitchen,Iboughtawaxtaperandmatches to light it,andat thestudy-hourstoleup tothedormitory and feastedonmycrust from theBarmecide's loaf. It didnotnourishme:Ipinedonit,andgotasthinasashadow:otherwiseIwasnotill.

Reading there somewhat late one evening, and feeling that the power toreadwasleavingme—forthelettersfromincessantperusalwerelosingallsapandsignificance:mygoldwaswitheringtoleavesbeforemyeyes,andIwassorrowing over the disillusion—suddenly a quick tripping foot ran up thestairs.IknewGinevraFanshawe'sstep:shehaddinedintownthatafternoon;shewasnowreturned,andwouldcomeheretoreplacehershawl,&c.inthewardrobe.

Yes: in she came, dressed in bright silk,with her shawl falling fromhershoulders,andhercurls,half-uncurledinthedampofnight,droopingcarelessandheavyuponherneck.Ihadhardlytimetorecasketmytreasuresandlockthemupwhenshewasatmysideherhumourseemednoneofthebest.

"Ithasbeenastupidevening:theyarestupidpeople,"shebegan.

"Who? Mrs. Cholmondeley? I thought you always found her housecharming?"

"IhavenotbeentoMrs.Cholmondeley's."

"Indeed!Haveyoumadenewacquaintance?"

"MyuncledeBassompierreiscome."

"Your uncle de Bassompierre! Are you not glad?—I thought he was afavourite."

"Youthoughtwrong:themanisodious;Ihatehim."

"Becauseheisaforeigner?orforwhatotherreasonofequalweight?"

"Heisnotaforeigner.ThemanisEnglishenough,goodnessknows;andhad an English name till three or four years ago; but his mother was aforeigner,adeBassompierre,andsomeofher familyaredeadandhave lefthimestates,atitle,andthisname:heisquiteagreatmannow."

"Doyouhatehimforthatreason?"

"Don'tIknowwhatmammasaysabouthim?Heisnotmyownuncle,but

marriedmamma'ssister.Mammadetestshim;shesayshekilledauntGinevrawithunkindness:he looks likeabear.Suchadismalevening!"shewenton."I'llgonomoretohisbighotel.Fancymewalkingintoaroomalone,andagreat man fifty years old coming forwards, and after a few minutes'conversationactuallyturninghisbackuponme,andthenabruptlygoingoutoftheroom.Suchoddways!Idaresayhisconsciencesmotehim,fortheyallsayathomeIamthepictureofauntGinevra.Mammaoftendeclaresthelikenessisquiteridiculous."

"Wereyoutheonlyvisitor?"

"The only visitor? Yes; then there was missy, my cousin: little spoiled,pamperedthing."

"M.deBassompierrehasadaughter?"

"Yes,yes:don'tteaseonewithquestions.Oh,dear!Iamsotired."

Sheyawned.Throwingherselfwithoutceremonyonmybedsheadded,"ItseemsMademoisellewasnearlycrushedtoa jelly inahubbubat the theatresomeweeksago."

"Ah!indeed.AndtheyliveatalargehotelintheRueCrécy?"

"Justement.Howdoyouknow?"

"Ihavebeenthere."

"Oh, you have? Really! You go everywhere in these days. I supposeMother Bretton took you. She and Esculapius have the entrée of the deBassompierre apartments: it seems 'my son John' attended missy on theoccasion of her accident—Accident? Bah! All affectation! I don't think shewas squeezedmore than she richly deserves for her airs. And now there isquite an intimacy struck up: I heard something about 'auld lang syne,' andwhatnot.Oh,howstupidtheyallwere!"

"All!Yousaidyouweretheonlyvisitor."

"DidI?Youseeoneforgetstoparticularizeanoldwomanandherboy."

"Dr.andMrs.BrettonwereatM.deBassompierre'sthisevening?"

"Ay,ay!as largeas life; andmissyplayed thehostess.Whataconceiteddollitis!"

Souredandlistless,MissFanshawewasbeginningtodisclosethecausesofherprostratecondition.Therehadbeenaretrenchmentofincense,adiversionora totalwithholdingofhomageandattentioncoquetryhadfailedofeffect,vanityhadundergonemortification.Shelayfuminginthevapours.

"IsMissdeBassompierrequitewellnow?"Iasked.

"AswellasyouorI,nodoubt;butsheisanaffectedlittlething,andgaveherself invalid airs to attract medical notice. And to see the old dowagermaking her recline on a couch, and 'my son John' prohibiting excitement,etcetera—faugh!thescenewasquitesickening."

"Itwouldnothavebeensoiftheobjectofattentionhadbeenchanged:ifyouhadtakenMissdeBassompierre'splace."

"Indeed!Ihate'mysonJohn!'"

"'My son John!'—whom do you indicate by that name? Dr. Bretton'smothernevercallshimso."

"Thensheought.Aclownish,bearishJohnheis."

"Youviolatethetruthinsayingso;andasthewholeofmypatienceisnowspunoffthedistaff,Iperemptorilydesireyoutorisefromthatbed,andvacatethisroom."

"Passionate thing!Yourface is thecolourofacoquelicot. Iwonderwhatalwaysmakesyousomighty testyà l'endroitdugrosJean? 'JohnAnderson,myJoe,John!'Oh,thedistinguishedname!"

Thrilling with exasperation, to which it would have been sheer folly tohavegivenvent—fortherewasnocontendingwiththatunsubstantialfeather,thatmealy-wingedmoth—Iextinguishedmytaper,lockedmybureau,andlefther, since she would not leave me. Small-beer as she was, she had turnedinsufferablyacid.

ThemorrowwasThursdayandahalf-holiday.Breakfastwasover; Ihadwithdrawn to the first classe. The dreaded hour, the post-hour,was nearing,and I satwaiting it,much as a ghost-seermightwait his spectre. Less thaneverwasaletterprobable;still,striveasIwould,Icouldnotforgetthatitwaspossible.Asthemomentslessened,arestlessnessandfearalmostbeyondtheaverageassailedme.Itwasadayofwintereastwind,andIhadnowforsometimeenteredintothatdrearyfellowshipwiththewindsandtheirchanges,solittleknown,soincomprehensibletothehealthy.Thenorthandeastownedaterrificinfluence,makingallpainmorepoignant,allsorrowsadder.Thesouthcouldcalm, thewest sometimescheer:unless, indeed, theybroughton theirwingstheburdenofthunder-clouds,undertheweightandwarmthofwhichallenergydied.

BitteranddarkaswasthisJanuaryday,Irememberleavingtheclasse,andrunning down without bonnet to the bottom of the long garden, and thenlingeringamongst thestrippedshrubs, in the forlornhope that thepostman'sringmightoccurwhile Iwasoutofhearing,and Imight thusbe spared thethrillwhichsomeparticularnerveornerves,almostgnawedthroughwiththe

unremitting tooth of a fixed idea,were becomingwholly unfit to support. IlingeredaslongasIdaredwithoutfearofattractingattentionbymyabsence.Imuffledmyheadinmyapron,andstoppedmyearsinterrorofthetorturingclang,suretobefollowedbysuchblanksilence,suchbarrenvacuumforme.At last I ventured to re-enter the first classe, where, as it was not yet nineo'clock,nopupilshadbeenadmitted.Thefirstthingseenwasawhiteobjectonmyblackdesk,awhite, flatobject.Theposthad, indeed,arrived;bymeunheard.Rosinehadvisitedmycell,and,likesomeangel,hadleftbehindherabright tokenofherpresence.That shining thingon thedeskwas indeedaletter,arealletter;Isawsomuchatthedistanceofthreeyards,andasIhadbutonecorrespondentonearth,fromthatoneitmustcome.Herememberedmeyet.Howdeepapulseofgratitudesentnewlifethroughmyheart.

Drawingnear,bendingand lookingon the letter, in tremblingbutalmostcertainhopeofseeingaknownhand,itwasmylottofind,onthecontrary,anautographforthemomentdeemedunknown—apalefemalescrawl,insteadofafirm,masculinecharacter.Ithenthoughtfatewastoohardforme,andIsaid,audibly,"Thisiscruel."

ButIgotoverthatpainalso.Lifeisstilllife,whateveritspangs:oureyesandearsandtheiruseremainwithus,thoughtheprospectofwhatpleasesbewhollywithdrawn,andthesoundofwhatconsolesbequitesilenced.

I opened the billet: by this time I had recognised its handwriting asperfectlyfamiliar.Itwasdated"LaTerrasse,"anditranthus:—

"DEARLUCY,—Itoccurstometoinquirewhatyouhavebeendoingwithyourselfforthelastmonthortwo?NotthatIsuspectyouwouldhavetheleastdifficulty ingivinganaccountofyourproceedings.Idaresayyouhavebeenjust as busy and as happy as ourselves at La Terrasse. As to Graham, hisprofessional connection extends daily: he is somuch sought after, somuchengaged,thatItellhimhewillgrowquiteconceited.Likearightgoodmother,asIam,Idomybesttokeephimdown:noflatterydoeshegetfromme,asyouknow.Andyet,Lucy,heisafinefellow:hismother'sheartdancesatthesightofhim.Afterbeinghurriedhereandtherethewholeday,andpassingtheordeal of fifty sorts of tempers, and combating a hundred caprices, andsometimeswitnessing cruel sufferings—perhaps, occasionally, as I tell him,inflicting them—atnighthestill comeshome tome in suchkindly,pleasantmood, that really, I seem to live in a sort ofmoral antipodes, and on theseJanuaryeveningsmydayriseswhenotherpeople'snightsetsin.

"Stillheneedskeeping inorder,andcorrecting,and repressing,and Idohimthatgoodservice;buttheboyissoelasticthereisnosuchthingasvexinghimthoroughly.WhenIthinkIhaveatlastdrivenhimtothesullens,heturnsonmewithjokesforretaliation:butyouknowhimandallhisiniquities,andI

ambutanelderlysimpletontomakehimthesubjectofthisepistle.

"Asforme,IhavehadmyoldBrettonagenthereonavisit,andhavebeenplunged overhead and ears in business matters. I do so wish to regain forGrahamatleastsomepartofwhathisfatherlefthim.Helaughstoscornmyanxietyonthispoint,biddingmelookandseehowhecanprovideforhimselfandmetoo,andaskingwhattheoldladycanpossiblywantthatshehasnot;hintingaboutsky-blueturbans;accusingmeofanambitiontoweardiamonds,keepliveryservants,haveanhotel,andleadthefashionamongsttheEnglishclaninVillette.

"Talking of sky-blue turbans, I wish you had been with us the otherevening.He had come in really tired, and after I had given him his tea, hethrew himself into my chair with his customary presumption. To my greatdelight,hedroppedasleep.(Youknowhowheteasesmeaboutbeingdrowsy;I, who never, by any chance, close an eye by daylight.) While he slept, Ithoughthelookedverybonny,Lucy:foolasIamtobesoproudofhim;butwhocanhelpit?Showmehispeer.LookwhereIwill,IseenothinglikehiminVillette.Well,Itookitintomyheadtoplayhimatrick:soIbroughtoutthesky-blueturban,andhandlingitwithgingerlyprecaution,Imanagedtoinvesthisbrowswiththisgrandadornment.Iassureyouitdidnotatallmisbecomehim;helookedquiteEastern,exceptthatheissofair.Nobody,however,canaccuse him of having red hair now—it is genuine chestnut—a dark, glossychestnut; andwhen I putmy large cashmere about him, therewas as fine ayoungbey,dey,orpachaimprovisedasyouwouldwishtosee.

"Itwasgoodentertainment;butonlyhalf-enjoyed,sinceIwasalone:youshouldhavebeenthere.

"In due timemy lord awoke: the looking-glass above the fireplace soonintimatedtohimhisplight:asyoumayimagine,Inowliveunderthreatanddreadofvengeance.

"Buttocometothegistofmyletter.IknowThursdayisahalf-holidayintheRueFossette:beready,then,byfiveintheafternoon,atwhichhourIwillsend thecarriage to takeyouout toLaTerrasse.Be sure tocome:youmaymeet some old acquaintance. Good-by, my wise, dear, grave little god-daughter.—Verytrulyyours,

"LOUISABRETTON.".

Now,aletterlikethatsetsonetorights!Imightstillbesadafterreadingthat letter, but I was more composed; not exactly cheered, perhaps, butrelieved.Myfriends,atleast,werewellandhappy:noaccidenthadoccurredtoGraham;noillnesshadseizedhismother—calamitiesthathadsolongbeenmydreamandthought.Theirfeelingsformetoowere—astheyhadbeen.Yet,

howstrange itwas to lookonMrs.Bretton'ssevenweeksandcontrast themwith my seven weeks! Also, how very wise it is in people placed in anexceptional position to hold their tongues and not rashly declare how suchposition galls them! The world can understand well enough the process ofperishingforwantoffood:perhapsfewpersonscanenter intoorfollowoutthat of going mad from solitary confinement. They see the long-buriedprisonerdisinterred,amaniacoranidiot!—howhissenseslefthim—howhisnerves,firstinflamed,underwentnamelessagony,andthensunktopalsy—isasubjecttoointricateforexamination,tooabstractforpopularcomprehension.Speakofit!youmightalmostaswellstandupinanEuropeanmarket-place,and propound dark sayings in that language and mood whereinNebuchadnezzar, the imperial hypochondriac, communed with his baffledChaldeans. And long, long may the minds to whom such themes are nomystery—by whom their bearings are sympathetically seized—be few innumber,andrareofrencounter.Longmayitbegenerallythoughtthatphysicalprivations alonemerit compassion, and that the rest is a figment.When theworldwas younger and haler than now,moral trialswere a deepermysterystill:perhapsinallthelandofIsraeltherewasbutoneSaul—certainlybutoneDavidtosootheorcomprehendhim.

Thekeen, still coldof themorningwassucceeded, later in theday,byasharpbreathingfromRussianwastes:thecoldzonesighedoverthetemperatezone,andfrozeitfast.Aheavyfirmament,dull,andthickwithsnow,sailedupfrom thenorth,andsettledoverexpectantEurope.Towardsafternoonbeganthe descent. I feared no carriage would come, the white tempest raged sodenseandwild.Buttrustmygodmother!Oncehavingasked,shewouldhaveher guest.About six o'clock Iwas lifted from the carriage over the alreadyblocked-upfrontstepsofthechâteau,andputinatthedoorofLaTerrasse.

Runningthroughthevestibule,andup-stairstothedrawing-room,thereIfoundMrs.Bretton—asummer-day inherownperson.Had Ibeen twiceascoldasIwas,herkindkissandcordialclaspwouldhavewarmedme.Inurednowforsolongatimetoroomswithbareboards,blackbenches,desks,andstoves,thebluesaloonseemedtomegorgeous.InitsChristmas-likefirealonetherewasaclearandcrimsonsplendourwhichquitedazzledme.

Whenmygodmotherhadheldmyhandforalittlewhile,andchattedwithme,andscoldedmeforhavingbecomethinnerthanwhenshelastsawme,sheprofessedtodiscoverthatthesnow-windhaddisorderedmyhair,andsentmeup-stairstomakeitneatandremovemyshawl.

Repairingtomyownlittlesea-greenroom,therealsoIfoundabrightfire,andcandlestoowerelit:atallwaxlightstoodoneachsidethegreatlookingglass; but between the candles, and before the glass, appeared somethingdressingitself—anairy,fairything—small,slight,white—awinterspirit.

Ideclare,foronemomentI thoughtofGrahamandhisspectral illusions.With distrustful eye I noted the details of this new vision. It wore white,sprinkledslightlywithdropsofscarlet;itsgirdlewasred;ithadsomethinginitshairleafy,yetshining—alittlewreathwithanevergreengloss.Spectralornot,heretrulywasnothingfrightful,andIadvanced.

Turningquickuponme,a largeeye,under long lashes, flashedoverme,the intruder: the lashes were as dark as long, and they softened with theirpencillingtheorbtheyguarded.

"Ah! you are come!" she breathed out, in a soft, quiet voice, and shesmiledslowly,andgazedintently.

Iknewhernow.Havingonlyonceseenthatsortofface,withthatcastoffineanddelicatefeaturing,Icouldnotbutknowher.

"MissdeBassompierre,"Ipronounced.

"No,"wasthereply,"notMissdeBassompierreforyou!"Ididnotinquirewhothenshemightbe,butwaitedvoluntaryinformation.

"Youarechanged,butstillyouareyourself,"shesaid,approachingnearer."Irememberyouwell—yourcountenance,thecolourofyourhair,theoutlineofyourface…."

Ihadmovedtothefire,andshestoodopposite,andgazedintome;andasshe gazed, her face became graduallymore andmore expressive of thoughtandfeeling,tillatlastadimnessquenchedherclearvision.

"Itmakesme almost cry to look so far back," said she: "but as tobeingsorry, or sentimental, don't think it: on the contrary, I am quite pleased andglad."

Interested, yet altogether at fault, I knew not what to say. At last Istammered,"IthinkInevermetyoutillthatnight,someweeksago,whenyouwerehurt…?"

She smiled. "Youhave forgotten then that I have sat onyourknee,beenlifted in your arms, even shared your pillow?You no longer remember thenightwhenIcamecrying,likeanaughtylittlechildasIwas,toyourbedside,andyoutookmein.Youhavenomemoryforthecomfortandprotectionbywhich you soothed an acute distress? Go back to Bretton. Remember Mr.Home."

AtlastIsawitall."AndyouarelittlePolly?"

"IamPaulinaMaryHomedeBassompierre."

How time can change! Little Pollywore in her pale, small features, herfairy symmetry, her varying expression, a certain promise of interest and

grace; but Paulina Mary was become beautiful—not with the beauty thatstrikestheeyelikearose—orbed,ruddy,andreplete;notwiththeplump,andpink, and flaxen attributes of her blond cousin Ginevra; but her seventeenyears had brought her a refined and tender charm which did not lie incomplexion,thoughherswasfairandclear;norinoutline,thoughherfeatureswere sweet, andher limbsperfectly turned;but, I think, rather in a subduedglow from the soul outward. This was not an opaque vase, of materialhowevercostly,butalampchastelylucent,guardingfromextinction,yetnothidingfromworship,aflamevitalandvestal.Inspeakingofherattractions,Iwouldnotexaggeratelanguage;but,indeed,theyseemedtomeveryrealandengaging.What though allwas on a small scale, it was the perfumewhichgavethiswhitevioletdistinction,andmadeitsuperiortothebroadestcamelia—thefullestdahliathateverbloomed.

"Ah!andyouremembertheoldtimeatBretton?"

"Better," said she, "better, perhaps, than you. I remember itwithminutedistinctness:notonlythetime,butthedaysofthetime,andthehoursofthedays."

"Youmusthaveforgottensomethings?"

"Verylittle,Iimagine."

"Youwerethenalittlecreatureofquickfeelings:youmust,longerethis,have outgrown the impressions with which joy and grief, affection andbereavement,stampedyourmindtenyearsago."

"YouthinkIhaveforgottenwhomIliked,andinwhatdegreeIlikedthemwhenachild?"

"Thesharpnessmustbegone—thepoint,thepoignancy—thedeepimprintmustbesoftenedawayandeffaced?"

"Ihaveagoodmemoryforthosedays."

She looked as if she had. Her eyes were the eyes of one who canremember;onewhosechildhooddoesnotfadelikeadream,norwhoseyouthvanish likea sunbeam.Shewouldnot take life, looselyand incoherently, inparts,andletoneseasonslipassheenteredonanother:shewouldretainandadd; often review from the commencement, and so grow in harmony andconsistencyasshegrewinyears.StillIcouldnotquiteadmit theconvictionthatallthepictureswhichnowcrowdeduponmewerevividandvisibletoher.Herfondattachments,hersportsandcontestswithawell-lovedplaymate,thepatient,truedevotionofherchild'sheart,herfears,herdelicatereserves,herlittletrials,thelastpiercingpainofseparation….Iretracedthesethings,andshookmyheadincredulous.Shepersisted."Thechildofsevenyearslivesyet

inthegirlofseventeen,"saidshe.

"YouusedtobeexcessivelyfondofMrs.Bretton,"Iremarked,intendingtotesther.Shesetmerightatonce.

"Notexcessivelyfond,"saidshe;"I likedher:I respectedherasIshoulddonow:sheseemstomeverylittlealtered."

"Sheisnotmuchchanged,"Iassented.

Weweresilentafewminutes.Glancingroundtheroomshesaid,"ThereareseveralthingsherethatusedtobeatBretton!Irememberthatpincushionandthatlooking-glass."

Evidentlyshewasnotdeceivedinherestimateofherownmemory;not,atleast,sofar.

"Youthink,then,youwouldhaveknownMrs.Bretton?"Iwenton.

"I perfectly remembered her; the turn of her features, her olivecomplexion,andblackhair,herheight,herwalk,hervoice."

"Dr. Bretton, of course," I pursued, "would be out of the question: and,indeed,asIsawyourfirstinterviewwithhim,Iamawarethatheappearedtoyouasastranger."

"ThatfirstnightIwaspuzzled,"sheanswered.

"Howdidtherecognitionbetweenhimandyourfathercomeabout?"

"They exchanged cards. The names Graham Bretton and Home deBassompierregaverisetoquestionsandexplanations.Thatwasonthesecondday;butbeforethenIwasbeginningtoknowsomething."

"How—knowsomething?"

"Why,"shesaid,"howstrangeitisthatmostpeopleseemsoslowtofeelthetruth—nottosee,butfeel!WhenDr.Brettonhadvisitedmeafewtimes,andsatnearandtalkedtome;whenIhadobservedthelookinhiseyes, theexpressionabouthismouth,theformofhischin,thecarriageofhishead,andallthatwedoobserveinpersonswhoapproachus—howcouldIavoidbeingledbyassociationtothinkofGrahamBretton?Grahamwasslighterthanhe,andnotgrownso tall, andhada smoother face, and longerand lighterhair,andspoke—notsodeeply—morelikeagirl;butyetheisGraham,justasIamlittlePolly,oryouareLucySnowe."

I thought the same, but I wondered to find my thoughts hers: there arecertain things in which we so rarely meet with our double that it seems amiraclewhenthatchancebefalls.

"YouandGrahamwereonceplaymates."

"Anddoyourememberthat?"shequestionedinherturn.

"Nodoubthewillrememberitalso,"saidI.

"Ihavenotaskedhim: few thingswouldsurprisemesomuchas to findthathedid.Isupposehisdispositionisstillgayandcareless?"

"Wasitsoformerly?Diditsostrikeyou?Doyouthusrememberhim?"

"Iscarcelyrememberhiminanyotherlight.Sometimeshewasstudious;sometimes hewasmerry: but whether busywith his books or disposed forplay,itwaschieflythebooksorgamehethoughtof;notmuchheedingthosewithwhomhereadoramusedhimself."

"Yettoyouhewaspartial."

"Partialtome?Oh,no!hehadotherplaymates—hisschool-fellows;Iwasoflittleconsequencetohim,exceptonSundays:yes,hewaskindonSundays.Irememberwalkingwithhimhand-in-handtoSt.Mary's,andhisfindingtheplacesinmyprayer-book;andhowgoodandstillhewasonSundayevenings!So mild for such a proud, lively boy; so patient with all my blunders inreading; and so wonderfully to be depended on, for he never spent thoseevenings from home: I had a constant fear that he would accept someinvitationandforsakeus;butheneverdid,norseemedevertowishtodoit.Thus,ofcourse,itcanbenomore.IsupposeSundaywillnowbeDr.Bretton'sdining-outday….?"

"Children, come down!" here called Mrs. Bretton from below. Paulinawouldstillhavelingered,butIinclinedtodescend:wewentdown.

CHAPTERXXV.

THELITTLECOUNTESS.

Cheerful as my godmother naturally was, and entertaining as, for oursakes,shemadeapointofbeing,therewasnotrueenjoymentthateveningatLa Terrasse, till, through thewild howl of thewinter-night, were heard thesignalsoundsofarrival.Howoften,whilewomenandgirlssitwarmatsnugfire-sides, their hearts and imaginations are doomed to divorce from thecomfortsurroundingtheirpersons,forcedoutbynighttowanderthroughdarkways, to dare stress of weather, to contend with the snow-blast, to wait atlonely gates and stiles in wildest storms, watching and listening to see andhearthefather,theson,thehusbandcominghome.

Fatherandsoncameatlasttothechâteau:fortheCountdeBassompierre

that night accompaniedDr.Bretton. I knownotwhich of our trio heard thehorses first; the asperity, the violence of theweatherwarranted our runningdownintothehalltomeetandgreetthetworidersastheycamein;buttheywarned us to keep our distance: bothwerewhite—twomountains of snow;andindeedMrs.Bretton,seeingtheircondition,orderedtheminstantlytothekitchen; prohibiting them, at their peril, from setting foot on her carpetedstaircasetill theyhadseverallyputoff thatmaskofOldChristmastheynowaffected.Intothekitchen,however,wecouldnothelpfollowingthem:itwasalarge oldDutch kitchen, picturesque and pleasant. The littlewhiteCountessdancedinacircleaboutherequallywhitesire,clappingherhandsandcrying,"Papa,papa,youlooklikeanenormousPolarbear."

The bear shook himself, and the little sprite fled far from the frozenshower.Backshecame,however,laughing,andeagertoaidinremovingthearcticdisguise.TheCount,atlastissuingfromhisdreadnought,threatenedtooverwhelmherwithitaswithanavalanche.

"Come, then," said she, bending to invite the fall, and when it wasplayfully advanced above her head, bounding out of reach like some littlechamois.

Hermovementshad the supple softness, thevelvetgraceof akitten;herlaughwasclearerthantheringofsilverandcrystal;asshetookhersire'scoldhandsandrubbedthem,andstoodontiptoetoreachhislipsforakiss,thereseemed to shine roundher ahaloof lovingdelight.Thegrave and reverendseignorlookeddownonherasmendolookonwhatistheappleoftheireye.

"Mrs. Bretton," said he: "what am I to do with this daughter ordaughterlingofmine?Sheneithergrowsinwisdomnorinstature.Don'tyoufindherprettynearlyasmuchthechildasshewastenyearsago?"

"She cannot be more the child than this great boy of mine," said Mrs.Bretton, who was in conflict with her son about some change of dress shedeemedadvisable,andwhichheresisted.HestoodleaningagainsttheDutchdresser,laughingandkeepingheratarm'slength.

"Come,mamma," said he, "bywayof compromise, and to secure for usinwardaswellasoutwardwarmth, letushaveaChristmaswassail-cup,andtoastOldEnglandhere,onthehearth."

So,whiletheCountstoodbythefire,andPaulinaMarystilldancedtoandfro—happy in the libertyof thewidehall-likekitchen—Mrs.BrettonherselfinstructedMarthatospiceandheatthewassail-bowl,and,pouringthedraughtintoaBrettonflagon,itwasservedround,reaminghot,bymeansofasmallsilvervessel,whichIrecognisedasGraham'schristening-cup.

"Here'stoAuldLangSyne!"saidtheCount;holdingtheglancingcupon

high.Then,lookingatMrs.Bretton.—

"Wetwaha'paidleti'theburn

Framorningsuntilldine,

Butseasbetweenusbraidha'roared

Sin'auldlanesyne.

"Andsurelyye'llbeyourpint-stoup,

AndsurelyI'llbemine;

Andwe'lltasteacupo'kindnessyet

Forauldlangsyne."

"Scotch!Scotch!"criedPaulina;"papaistalkingScotch;andScotchheis,partly.WeareHomeanddeBassompierre,CaledonianandGallic."

"AndisthataScotchreelyouaredancing,youHighlandfairy?"askedherfather."Mrs.Bretton, therewillbeagreenringgrowingup in themiddleofyourkitchenshortly. Iwouldnotanswerforherbeingquitecannie:she isastrangelittlemortal."

"TellLucytodancewithme,papa;thereisLucySnowe."

Mr.Home(therewasstillquiteasmuchabouthimofplainMr.Homeasofproud Count de Bassompierre) held his hand out tome, saying kindly, "herememberedmewell; and,evenhadhisownmemorybeen less trustworthy,mynamewassooftenonhisdaughter'slips,andhehadlistenedtosomanylongtalesaboutme,Ishouldseemlikeanoldacquaintance."

Every one nowhad tasted thewassail-cup except Paulina,whose pas defée,oudefantaisie,nobody thoughtof interrupting tooffersoprofanatoryadraught; but she was not to be overlooked, nor baulked of her mortalprivileges.

"Letmetaste,"saidshetoGraham,ashewasputtingthecupontheshelfofthedresseroutofherreach.

Mrs.BrettonandMr.Homewerenowengagedinconversation.Dr.Johnhadnotbeenunobservantofthefairy'sdance;hehadwatchedit,andhehadliked it. To say nothing of the softness and beauty of the movements,eminently grateful to his grace-loving eye, that ease in his mother's housecharmedhim,foritsethimatease:againsheseemedachildforhim—again,almosthisplaymate.Iwonderedhowhewouldspeaktoher;Ihadnotyetseenhimaddressher;hisfirstwordsprovedthattheolddaysof"littlePolly"hadbeenrecalledtohismindbythisevening'schild-likelight-heartedness.

"Yourladyshipwishesforthetankard?"

"IthinkIsaidso.IthinkIintimatedasmuch."

"Couldn't consent to a step of the kind on any account. Sorry for it, butcouldn'tdoit."

"Why? I am quite well now: it can't break my collar-bone again, ordislocatemyshoulder.Isitwine?"

"No;nordew."

"Idon'twantdew;Idon'tlikedew:butwhatisit?"

"Ale—strongale—oldOctober;brewed,perhaps,whenIwasborn."

"Itmustbecurious:isitgood?"

"Excessivelygood."

Andhetookitdown,administeredtohimselfaseconddoseofthismightyelixir,expressedinhismischievouseyesextremecontentmentwiththesame,andsolemnlyreplacedthecupontheshelf.

"I should like a little," said Paulina, looking up; "I never had any 'oldOctober:'isitsweet?"

"Perilouslysweet,"saidGraham.

Shecontinuedtolookupexactlywiththecountenanceofachildthatlongsfor some prohibited dainty. At last the Doctor relented, took it down, andindulged himself in the gratification of letting her taste from his hand; hiseyes, alwaysexpressive in the revelationofpleasurable feelings, luminouslyand smilingly avowed that itwas a gratification; and he prolonged it by soregulating thepositionof thecup thatonlyadropat a timecould reach therosy,sippinglipsbywhichitsbrimwascourted.

"Alittlemore—alittlemore,"saidshe,petulantlytouchinghishandwiththeforefinger,tomakehiminclinethecupmoregenerouslyandyieldingly."Itsmellsofspiceandsugar,butIcan'ttasteit;yourwristissostiff,andyouaresostingy."

Heindulgedher,whispering,however,withgravity:"Don'ttellmymotherorLucy;theywouldn'tapprove."

"NordoI,"saidshe,passingintoanothertoneandmannerassoonasshehad fairly assayed the beverage, just as if it had acted upon her like somedisenchantingdraught,undoing theworkofawizard:"I find itanythingbutsweet; it isbitter andhot, and takesawaymybreath.YouroldOctoberwasonlydesirablewhileforbidden.Thankyou,nomore."

And,withaslightbend—careless,butasgracefulasherdance—sheglidedfromhimandrejoinedherfather.

I think she had spoken truth: the child of seven was in the girl ofseventeen.

Grahamlookedafterheralittlebaffled,alittlepuzzled;hiseyewasonheragooddealduringtherestoftheevening,butshedidnotseemtonoticehim.

Asweascendedtothedrawing-roomfortea,shetookherfather'sarm:hernaturalplaceseemedtobeathisside;hereyesandherearswerededicatedtohim.HeandMrs.Brettonwerethechieftalkersofourlittleparty,andPaulinawas their best listener, attending closely to all thatwas said, prompting therepetitionofthisorthattraitoradventure.

"Andwherewereyouatsucha time,papa?Andwhatdidyousay then?And tellMrs.Brettonwhathappenedon thatoccasion."Thus shedrewhimout.

Shedidnotagainyieldtoanyeffervescenceofglee;theinfantinesparklewasexhaledforthenight:shewassoft,thoughtful,anddocile.Itwasprettytoseeherbidgood-night; hermanner toGrahamwas touchedwithdignity: inherveryslightsmileandquietbowspoketheCountess,andGrahamcouldnotbut look grave, and bend responsive. I saw he hardly knew how to blendtogetherinhisideasthedancingfairyanddelicatedame.

Nextday,whenwewereallassembledroundthebreakfast-table,shiveringand fresh from the morning's chill ablutions, Mrs. Bretton pronounced adecree that nobody, who was not forced by dire necessity, should quit herhousethatday.

Indeed, egress seemed next to impossible; the drift darkened the lowerpanesofthecasement,and,onlookingout,onesawtheskyandairvexedanddim,thewindandsnowinangryconflict.Therewasnofallnow,butwhathadalready descended was torn up from the earth, whirled round by briefshriekinggusts,andcastintoahundredfantasticforms.

TheCountesssecondedMrs.Bretton.

"Papa shall not go out," said she, placing a seat for herself beside herfather's arm-chair. "Iwill look after him.Youwon't go into town,will you,papa?"

"Ay,andNo,"wastheanswer."IfyouandMrs.Brettonareverygoodtome,Polly—kind,youknow,andattentive;ifyoupetmeinaverynicemanner,and make much of me, I may possibly be induced to wait an hour afterbreakfastandseewhetherthisrazor-edgedwindsettles.But,yousee,yougivemenobreakfast;youoffermenothing:youletmestarve."

"Quick!please,Mrs.Bretton,andpouroutthecoffee,"entreatedPaulina,"whilst I take careof theCountdeBassompierre inother respects: sincehegrewintoaCount,hehasneededsomuchattention."

Sheseparatedandpreparedaroll.

"There, papa, are your 'pistolets' charged," said she. "And there is somemarmalade,justthesamesortofmarmaladeweusedtohaveatBretton,andwhichyousaidwasasgoodasifithadbeenconservedinScotland—"

"Andwhichyourlittleladyshipusedtobegformyboy—doyourememberthat?"interposedMrs.Bretton."Haveyouforgottenhowyouwouldcometomyelbowand touchmysleevewith thewhisper, 'Please,ma'am, somethinggoodforGraham—alittlemarmalade,orhoney,orjam?"'

"No,mamma,"brokeinDr.John, laughing,yetreddening;"itsurelywasnotso:Icouldnothavecaredforthesethings."

"Didheordidhenot,Paulina?"

"Helikedthem,"assertedPaulina.

"Never blush for it, John," said Mr. Home, encouragingly. "I like themmyself yet, and always did. And Polly showed her sense in catering for afriend'smaterial comforts: it was I who put her into theway of such goodmanners—nor do I let her forget them. Polly, offerme a small slice of thattongue."

"There,papa:butrememberyouareonlywaiteduponwiththisassiduity;onconditionofbeingpersuadable,andreconcilingyourselftoLaTerrassefortheday."

"Mrs.Bretton,"saidtheCount,"Iwanttogetridofmydaughter—tosendhertoschool.Doyouknowofanygoodschool?"

"ThereisLucy'splace—MadameBeck's."

"MissSnoweisinaschool?"

"Iama teacher,"Isaid,andwasrathergladof theopportunityofsayingthis.ForalittlewhileIhadbeenfeelingasifplacedinafalseposition.Mrs.Brettonandsonknewmycircumstances;buttheCountandhisdaughterdidnot.Theymightchoosetovarybysomeshadestheirhithertocordialmannertowardsme,whenawareofmygrade in society. I spoke then readily:but aswarmof thoughts Ihadnotanticipatednor invoked, rosedimat thewords,making me sigh involuntarily. Mr. Home did not lift his eyes from hisbreakfast-plate for about twominutes, nordidhe speak;perhapshehadnotcaught the words—perhaps he thought that on a confession of that nature,politenesswould interdict comment: the Scotch are proverbially proud; and

homelyaswasMr.Homeinlook,simpleinhabitsandtastes,Ihaveallalongintimatedthathewasnotwithouthisshareofthenationalquality.Washisapseudopride?was it realdignity?I leave thequestionundecided in itswidesense. Where it concerned me individually I can only answer: then, andalways,heshowedhimselfatrue-heartedgentleman.

By nature he was a feeler and a thinker; over his emotions and hisreflections spread a mellowing of melancholy; more than a mellowing: introubleandbereavementitbecameacloud.HedidnotknowmuchaboutLucySnowe; what he knew, he did not very accurately comprehend: indeed hismisconceptionsofmycharacteroftenmademesmile;buthesawmywalkinlife lay ratheron the shadysideof thehill:hegavemecredit fordoingmyendeavourtokeepthecoursehonestlystraight;hewouldhavehelpedmeifhecould:havingnoopportunityofhelping,hestillwishedmewell.Whenhedidlookatme,hiseyewaskind;whenhedidspeak,hisvoicewasbenevolent.

"Yours,"saidhe,"isanarduouscalling.Iwishyouhealthandstrengthtowininit—success."

His fair littledaughterdidnot take the informationquitesocomposedly:shefixedonmeapairofeyeswidewithwonder—almostwithdismay.

"Are you a teacher?" cried she. Then, having paused on the unpalatableidea,"Well,Ineverknewwhatyouwere,noreverthoughtofasking:forme,youwerealwaysLucySnowe."

"AndwhatamInow?"Icouldnotforbearinquiring.

"Yourself,ofcourse.Butdoyoureallyteachhere,inVillette?"

"Ireallydo."

"Anddoyoulikeit?"

"Notalways."

"Andwhydoyougoonwithit?"

Her father looked at, and, I feared,was going to check her; but he onlysaid, "Proceed, Polly, proceedwith that catechism—prove yourself the littlewiseacreyouare. IfMissSnowewere toblushand lookconfused, I shouldhavetobidyouholdyourtongue;andyouandIwouldsitoutthepresentmealin somedisgrace;but sheonly smiles, sopushherhard,multiply the cross-questions.Well,MissSnowe,whydoyougoonwithit?"

"Chiefly,Ifear,forthesakeofthemoneyIget."

"Notthenfrommotivesofpurephilanthropy?PollyandIwereclingingtothathypothesisasthemostlenientwayofaccountingforyoureccentricity."

"No—no,sir.RatherfortheroofofshelterIamthusenabledtokeepovermyhead; and for the comfort ofmind it givesme to think thatwhile I canworkformyself,Iamsparedthepainofbeingaburdentoanybody."

"Papa,saywhatyouwill,IpityLucy."

"Takeupthatpity,MissdeBassompierre;takeitupinbothhands,asyoumight a little callow gosling squattering out of boundswithout leave; put itbackinthewarmnestofaheartwhenceitissued,andreceiveinyourearthiswhisper.IfmyPollyevercametoknowbyexperiencetheuncertainnatureofthisworld'sgoods, Ishould likeher toactasLucyacts: toworkforherself,thatshemightburdenneitherkithnorkin."

"Yes,papa,"saidshe,pensivelyand tractably."ButpoorLucy! I thoughtshewasarichlady,andhadrichfriends."

"Youthoughtlikealittlesimpleton.Ineverthoughtso.WhenIhadtimetoconsiderLucy'smannerandaspect,whichwasnotoften, I sawshewasonewhohad toguardandnotbeguarded; toactandnotbeserved:and this lothas,Iimagine,helpedhertoanexperienceforwhich,ifshelivelongenoughto realize its fullbenefit, shemayyetblessProvidence.But this school,"hepursued, changing his tone fromgrave to gay: "wouldMadameBeck admitmyPolly,doyouthink,MissLucy?"

I said, there needed but to tryMadame; itwould soon be seen: shewasfond of English pupils. "If you, sir," I added, "will but take Miss deBassompierreinyourcarriagethisveryafternoon,IthinkIcananswerforitthatRosine, the portress,will not be very slow in answeringyour ring; andMadame,Iamsure,willputonherbestpairofglovestocomeintothesalontoreceiveyou."

"Inthatcase,"respondedMr.Home,"Iseenosortofnecessitythereisfordelay.Mrs.Hurstcansendwhatshecallsheryoung lady's 'things'afterher;Polly can settle down to her horn-bookbefore night; and you,MissLucy, Itrust,will not disdain to cast an occasional eye upon her, and letme know,fromtimeto time,howshegetson. Ihopeyouapproveof thearrangement,CountessdeBassompierre?"

TheCountesshemmedandhesitated."Ithought,"saidshe,"IthoughtIhadfinishedmyeducation—"

"Thatonlyproveshowmuchwemaybemistakeninourthoughts.Iholdafar different opinion, asmost of thesewillwho have been auditors of yourprofoundknowledgeoflifethismorning.Ah,mylittlegirl,thouhastmuchtolearn;andpapaoughttohavetaughttheemorethanhehasdone!Come,thereisnothingforitbuttotryMadameBeck;andtheweatherseemssettling,andIhavefinishedmybreakfast—"

"But,papa!"

"Well?"

"Iseeanobstacle."

"Idon'tatall."

"Itisenormous,papa;itcanneverbegotover;itisaslargeasyouinyourgreatcoat,andthesnowdriftonthetop."

"And,likethatsnowdrift,capableofmelting?"

"No!itisoftoo—toosolidflesh:itisjustyourownself.MissLucy,warnMadameBecknottolistentoanyoverturesabouttakingme,because,intheend,itwouldturnoutthatshewouldhavetotakepapatoo:asheissoteasing,Iwill justtell talesabouthim.Mrs.Brettonandallofyoulisten:Aboutfiveyearsago,whenIwas twelveyearsold,he took it intohishead thathewasspoilingme;thatIwasgrowingunfittedfortheworld,andIdon'tknowwhat,andnothingwouldserveorsatisfyhim,butImustgotoschool.Icried,andsoon;butM.deBassompierreprovedhard-hearted,quitefirmandflinty,andtoschoolIwent.Whatwastheresult?Inthemostadmirablemanner,papacametoschool likewise:everyotherdayhecalled toseeme.MadameAigredouxgrumbled, but it was of no use; and so, at last, papa and I were both, in amanner, expelled.Lucy can just tellMadameBeck this little trait: it is onlyfairtoletherknowwhatshehastoexpect."

Mrs. Bretton asked Mr. Home what he had to say in answer to thisstatement. As he made no defence, judgment was given against him, andPaulinatriumphed.

Butshehadothermoodsbesidesthearchandnaïve.Afterbreakfast;whenthe two elders withdrew—I suppose to talk over certain of Mrs. Bretton'sbusinessmatters—andtheCountess,Dr.Bretton,andI,wereforashorttimealonetogether—allthechildlefther;withus,morenearlyhercompanionsinage,sheroseatoncetothelittlelady:herveryfaceseemedtoalter;thatplayoffeature,andcandouroflook,which,whenshespoketoherfather,madeitquite dimpled and round, yielded to an aspect more thoughtful, and linesdistincterandlessmobile.

No doubt Graham noted the change as well as I. He stood for someminutesnear thewindow, lookingoutat the snow;presentlyhe,approachedthehearth,andenteredintoconversation,butnotquitewithhisusualease:fittopicsdidnotseemtorisetohislips;hechosethemfastidiously,hesitatingly,andconsequentlyinfelicitously:hespokevaguelyofVillette—itsinhabitants,itsnotablesightsandbuildings.HewasansweredbyMissdeBassompierreinquite womanly sort; with intelligence, with a manner not indeed wholly

disindividualized:atone,aglance,agesture,hereandthere,ratheranimatedand quick thanmeasured and stately, still recalled little Polly; but yet therewas so fine and even a polish, so calm and courteous a grace, gilding andsustainingthesepeculiarities,thatalesssensitivemanthanGrahamwouldnothave ventured to seize upon them as vantage points, leading to frankerintimacy.

YetwhileDr.Brettoncontinuedsubdued,and,forhim,sedate,hewasstillobservant.Notoneofthosepettyimpulsesandnaturalbreaksescapedhim.Hedidnotmissonecharacteristicmovement,onehesitationinlanguage,oronelisp in utterance. At times, in speaking fast, she still lisped; but colouredwhenever such lapse occurred, and in a painstaking, conscientious manner,quiteasamusingastheslighterror,repeatedthewordmoredistinctly.

Whenevershedid this,Dr.Brettonsmiled.Gradually,as theyconversed,the restraint on each side slackened: might the conference have but beenprolonged,Ibelieveitwouldsoonhavebecomegenial:alreadytoPaulina'slipandcheekreturnedthewreathing,dimplingsmile;shelispedonce,andforgottocorrectherself.AndDr.John,Iknownothowhechanged,butchangehedid.Hedidnotgrowgayer—noraillery,nolevitysparkledacrosshisaspect—but his position seemed to becomeone ofmore pleasure to himself, and hespokehis augmented comfort in readier language, in tonesmore suave.Tenyears ago this pair had always found abundance to say to each other; theintervening decade had not narrowed the experience or impoverished theintelligence of either: besides, there are certain natures ofwhich themutualinfluenceissuch,thatthemoretheysay,themoretheyhavetosay.Fortheseoutofassociationgrowsadhesion,andoutofadhesion,amalgamation.

Graham,however,mustgo:hiswasaprofessionwhoseclaimsareneitherto be ignored nor deferred.He left the room; but before he could leave thehousetherewasareturn.Iamsurehecameback—notforthepaper,orcardinhisdesk,which formedhisostensible errand—but to assurehimself, byonemore glance, that Paulina's aspect was really such as memory was bearingaway:thathehadnotbeenviewinghersomehowbyapartial,artificiallight,andmakingafondmistake.No!hefoundtheimpressiontrue—rather,indeed,hegainedthanlostbythisreturn:hetookawaywithhimapartinglook—shy,butverysoft—asbeautiful,asinnocent,asanylittlefawncouldliftoutofitscoveroffern,oranylambfromitsmeadow-bed.

Being left alone,Paulinaand Ikept silence for some time:weboth tookoutsomework,andpliedamuteanddiligenttask.Thewhite-woodworkboxof old days was now replaced by one inlaid with precious mosaic, andfurnishedwith implementsofgold; the tinyand tremblingfingers thatcouldscarceguidetheneedle,thoughtinystill,werenowswiftandskilful:buttherewasthesamebusyknittingofthebrow,thesamelittledaintymannerisms,the

samequick turnsandmovements—nowto replaceastray tress,andanon toshakefromthesilkenskirtsomeimaginaryatomofdust—someclingingfibreofthread.

ThatmorningIwasdisposedforsilence:theausterefuryofthewinter-dayhadonmeanawing,hushinginfluence.ThatpassionofJanuary,sowhiteandsobloodless,wasnotyetspent:thestormhadraveditselfhoarse,butseemedno nearer exhaustion. Had Ginevra Fanshawe been my companion in thatdrawing-room, she would not have suffered me to muse and listenundisturbed.Thepresencejustgonefromuswouldhavebeenhertheme;andhow she would have rung the changes on one topic! how she would havepursuedandpesteredmewithquestionsandsurmises—worriedandoppressedmewithcommentsandconfidencesIdidnotwant,andlongedtoavoid.

PaulinaMarycastonceortwicetowardsmeaquietbutpenetratingglanceof her dark, full eye; her lips half opened, as if to the impulse of comingutterance:butshesawanddelicatelyrespectedmyinclinationforsilence.

"Thiswillnotholdlong,"Ithoughttomyself;forIwasnotaccustomedtofindinwomenorgirlsanypowerofself-control,orstrengthofself-denial.AsfarasIknewthem,thechanceofagossipabout theirusuallytrivialsecrets,their often very washy and paltry feelings, was a treat not to be readilyforegone.

ThelittleCountesspromisedanexception:shesewedtillshewastiredofsewing,andthenshetookabook.

As chance would have it, she had sought it in Dr. Bretton's owncompartmentofthebookcase;anditprovedtobeanoldBrettonbook—someillustratedworkofnaturalhistory.OftenhadIseenherstandingatGraham'sside,restingthatvolumeonhisknee,andreadingtohistuition;and,whenthelesson was over, begging, as a treat, that he would tell her all about thepictures. Iwatchedherkeenly: herewas a true test of thatmemory shehadboasted;wouldherrecollectionsnowbefaithful?

Faithful?Itcouldnotbedoubted.Assheturnedtheleaves,overherfacepassedgleamafter gleamof expression, the least intelligent ofwhichwas afullgreetingtothePast.Andthensheturnedtothetitle-page,andlookedatthe namewritten in the schoolboyhand.She looked at it long; norwas shesatisfiedwithmerelylooking:shegentlypassedoverthecharactersthetipsofher fingers, accompanying the actionwith an unconscious but tender smile,which converted the touch into a caress. Paulina loved the Past; but thepeculiarityofthislittlescenewas,thatshesaidnothing:shecouldfeelwithoutpouringoutherfeelingsinafluxofwords.

Shenowoccupiedherselfatthebookcasefornearlyanhour;takingdown

volume after volume, and renewing her acquaintancewith each. This done,sheseatedherselfonalowstool,restedhercheekonherhand,andthought,andstillwasmute.

The soundof the front dooropenedbelow, a rushof coldwind, andherfather's voice speaking toMrs. Bretton in the hall, startled her at last. Shesprangup:shewasdown-stairsinonesecond.

"Papa!papa!youarenotgoingout?"

"Mypet,Imustgointotown."

"Butitistoo—toocold,papa."

And then I heardM. deBassompierre showing to her how hewaswellprovidedagainsttheweather;andhowhewasgoingtohavethecarriage,andtobequitesnuglysheltered;and, inshort,provingthatsheneednotfearforhiscomfort.

"Butyouwill promise to comebackhere this evening, before it is quitedark;—youandDr.Bretton,both,inthecarriage?Itisnotfittoride."

"Well, if I see the Doctor, I will tell him a lady has laid on him hercommandstotakecareofhisprecioushealthandcomehomeearlyundermyescort."

"Yes, you must say a lady; and he will think it is his mother, and beobedient.And,papa,mindtocomesoon,forIshallwatchandlisten."

Thedoorclosed,andthecarriagerolledsoftlythroughthesnow;andbackreturnedtheCountess,pensiveandanxious.

Shedidlisten,andwatch,wheneveningclosed;butitwasinstillestsort:walkingthedrawing-roomwithquitenoiselessstep.Shecheckedatintervalsher velvetmarch; inclined her ear, and consulted the night sounds: I shouldrather say, the night silence; for now, at last, thewindwas fallen. The sky,relievedofitsavalanche,laynakedandpale:throughthebarrenboughsoftheavenuewecouldseeitwell,andnotealsothepolarsplendourofthenew-yearmoon—anorbwhiteasaworldofice.Norwasitlatewhenwesawalsothereturnofthecarriage.

Paulinahadnodanceofwelcome for this evening. Itwaswith a sort ofgravity that she took immediate possession of her father, as he entered theroom;butsheatoncemadehimherentireproperty,ledhimtotheseatofherchoice, and, while softly showering round him honeyed words ofcommendationforbeingsogoodandcominghomesosoon,youwouldhavethought itwas entirely by the power of her little hands hewas put into hischair,andsettledandarranged;forthestrongmanseemedtotakepleasureinwhollyyieldinghimselftothisdominion-potentonlybylove.

Graham did not appear till some minutes after the Count. Paulina halfturnedwhen his stepwas heard: they spoke, but only a word or two; theirfingers met a moment, but obviously with slight contact. Paulina remainedbesideher father;Graham threwhimself into a seaton theother sideof theroom.

ItwaswellthatMrs.BrettonandMr.Homehadagreatdealtosaytoeachother—almost an inexhaustible fund of discourse in old recollections;otherwise,Ithink,ourpartywouldhavebeenbutastillonethatevening.

After tea, Paulina's quick needle and pretty golden thimble were busilypliedbythelamp-light,buthertonguerested,andhereyesseemedreluctanttoraiseoften their lids, sosmoothandso full-fringed.Graham, too,musthavebeentiredwithhisday'swork:helisteneddutifullytohiseldersandbetters,said very little himself, and followed with his eye the gilded glance ofPaulina's thimble; as if it had been some bright moth on the wing, or thegoldenheadofsomedartinglittleyellowserpent.

CHAPTERXXVI.

ABURIAL.

Fromthisdatemylifedidnotwantvariety;Iwentoutagooddeal,withtheentireconsentofMadameBeck,whoperfectlyapprovedthegradeofmyacquaintance. That worthy directress had never from the first treated meotherwisethanwithrespect;andwhenshefoundthatIwasliabletofrequentinvitationsfromachâteauandagreathotel,respectimprovedintodistinction.

Notthatshewasfulsomeaboutit:Madame,inall thingsworldly,wasinnothing weak; there was measure and sense in her hottest pursuit of self-interest,calmandconsideratenessinherclosestclutchofgain;without,then,layingherselfopentomycontemptasatime-serverandatoadie,shemarkedwithtactthatshewaspleasedpeopleconnectedwithherestablishmentshouldfrequentsuchassociatesasmustcultivateandelevate, rather than thosewhomightdeteriorateanddepress.Sheneverpraisedeithermeormyfriends;onlyonce when she was sitting in the sun in the garden, a cup of coffee at herelbowandtheGazetteinherhand,lookingverycomfortable,andIcameupand asked leave of absence for the evening, she delivered herself in thisgracioussort:—

"Oui,oui,mabonneamie:jevousdonnelapermissiondecoeuretdegré.Votre travail dansmamaison a toujours été admirable, rempli de zèle et dediscrétion:vousavezbienledroitdevousamuser.Sortezdonctantquevous

voudrez.Quantàvotrechoixdeconnaissances, j'ensuiscontente;c'estsage,digne,laudable."

SheclosedherlipsandresumedtheGazette.

The readerwill not too gravely regard the little circumstance that aboutthis time the triply-enclosed packet of five letters temporarily disappearedfrommybureau.Blankdismaywasnaturallymyfirstsensationonmakingthediscovery;butinamomentItookheartofgrace.

"Patience!" whispered I to myself. "Let me say nothing, but waitpeaceably;theywillcomebackagain."

Andtheydidcomeback:theyhadonlybeenonashortvisittoMadame'schamber;havingpassed their examination, theycamebackdulyand truly: Ifoundthemallrightthenextday.

Iwonderwhatshethoughtofmycorrespondence?WhatestimatedidsheformofDr.JohnBretton'sepistolarypowers?Inwhatlightdidtheoftenverypithy thoughts, the generally sound, and sometimes original opinions, set,withoutpretension,inaneasily-flowing,spiritedstyle,appeartoher?Howdidshelikethatgenial,halfhumorousvein,whichtomegavesuchdelight?Whatdidshethinkofthefewkindwordsscatteredhereandthere—notthickly,asthe diamondswere scattered in the valley of Sindbad, but sparely, as thosegems lie in unfabled beds?Oh,MadameBeck! how seemed these things toyou?

IthinkinMadameBeck'seyesthefivelettersfoundacertainfavour.Oneday after she had borrowed them of me (in speaking of so suave a littlewoman, one ought to use suave terms), I caught her examining me with asteady contemplativegaze, a little puzzled, but not at allmalevolent. Itwasduring that brief spacebetween lessons,when thepupils turnedout into thecourtforaquarterofanhour'srecreation;sheandIremainedinthefirstclassealone:when Imether eye,her thoughts forced themselvespartially throughherlips.

"Ilya,"saidshe,"quelquechosedebienremarquabledanslecaractère

Anglais."

"How,Madame?"

Shegavealittlelaugh,repeatingtheword"how"inEnglish.

"Jenesauraisvousdire'how;'mais,enfin,lesAnglaisontdesidéesàeux,en amitié, en amour, en tout. Mais au moins il n'est pas besoin de lessurveiller,"sheadded,gettingupandtrottingawaylikethecompactlittleponyshewas.

"Then I hope,"murmured I tomyself, "youwill graciously let alonemylettersforthefuture."

Alas!somethingcamerushingintomyeyes,dimmingutterlytheirvision,blotting from sight the schoolroom, the garden, the bright winter sun, as Irememberedthatnevermorewouldletters,suchasshehadread,cometome.Ihadseenthelastofthem.ThatgoodlyriveronwhosebanksIhadsojourned,ofwhosewavesafewrevivingdropshadtrickledtomylips,wasbendingtoanother course: it was leaving my little hut and field forlorn and sand-dry,pouringitswealthofwatersfaraway.Thechangewasright,just,natural;notawordcouldbesaid:butIlovedmyRhine,myNile;IhadalmostworshippedmyGanges, and I grieved that the grand tide should roll estranged, shouldvanish like a false mirage. Though stoical, I was not quite a stoic; dropsstreamedfastonmyhands,onmydesk:Iweptonesultryshower,heavyandbrief.

ButsoonIsaidtomyself,"TheHopeIambemoaningsufferedandmademe suffer much: it did not die till it was full time: following an agony solingering,deathoughttobewelcome."

WelcomeIendeavouredtomakeit.Indeed,longpainhadmadepatienceahabit.IntheendIclosedtheeyesofmydead,covereditsface,andcomposeditslimbswithgreatcalm.

The letters, however, must be put away, out of sight: people who haveundergone bereavement always jealously gather together and lock awaymementos: it is not supportable to be stabbed to the heart eachmoment bysharprevivalofregret.

One vacant holiday afternoon (theThursday) going tomy treasure,withintent toconsider its finaldisposal, Iperceived—and this timewithastrongimpulseofdispleasure—thatithadbeenagaintamperedwith:thepacketwasthere,indeed,buttheribbonwhichsecuredithadbeenuntiedandretied;andbyothersymptomsIknewthatmydrawerhadbeenvisited.

This was a little too much. Madame Beck herself was the soul ofdiscretion, besides having as strong a brain and sound a judgment as everfurnishedahumanhead;thatsheshouldknowthecontentsofmycasket,wasnot pleasant, but might be borne. Little Jesuit inquisitress as she was, shecouldseethingsinatruelight,andunderstandtheminanunpervertedsense;buttheideathatshehadventuredtocommunicateinformation,thusgained,toothers; that she had, perhaps, amused herself with a companion overdocuments,inmyeyesmostsacred,shockedmecruelly.Yet,thatsuchwasthecaseInowsawreasontofear;Ievenguessedherconfidant.Herkinsman,M.Paul Emanuel, had spent yesterday evening with her: she wasmuch in thehabitofconsultinghim,andofdiscussingwithhimmattersshebroachedtono

oneelse.Thisverymorning,inclass,thatgentlemanhadfavouredmewithaglancewhichheseemedtohaveborrowedfromVashti,theactress;Ihadnotat themomentcomprehendedthatblue,yet lurid, flashoutofhisangryeye;but I read its meaning now. He, I believed, was not apt to regard whatconcernedme froma fairpointofview,nor to judgemewith toleranceandcandour:Ihadalwaysfoundhimsevereandsuspicious:thethoughtthattheseletters, mere friendly letters as they were, had fallen once, and might fallagain,intohishands,jarredmyverysoul.

WhatshouldIdotopreventthis?Inwhatcornerofthisstrangehousewasitpossibletofindsecurityorsecresy?Wherecouldakeybeasafeguard,orapadlockabarrier?

In thegrenier?No, Ididnot like thegrenier.Besides,mostof theboxesanddrawersthereweremouldering,anddidnotlock.Rats,too,gnawedtheirway through the decayedwood; andmicemade nests amongst the litter oftheircontents:mydearletters(mostdearstill,thoughIchabodwaswrittenontheircovers)mightbeconsumedbyvermin;certainlythewritingwouldsoonbecomeobliteratedbydamp.No;thegrenierwouldnotdo—butwherethen?

Whileponderingthisproblem,Isatinthedormitorywindow-seat.Itwasafinefrostyafternoon;thewintersun,alreadysetting,gleamedpaleonthetopsof the garden-shrubs in the "allée défendue." One great old pear-tree—thenun's pear-tree—stoodup a tall dryad skeleton, grey, gaunt, and stripped.Athoughtstruckme—oneofthosequeerfantasticthoughtsthatwillsometimesstrikesolitarypeople.Iputonmybonnet,cloak,andfurs,andwentoutintothecity.

Bendingmystepstotheoldhistoricalquarterofthetown,whosehoaxandovershadowedprecincts I always sought by instinct inmelancholymoods, Iwanderedonfromstreettostreet,till,havingcrossedahalfdeserted"place"orsquare,Ifoundmyselfbeforeasortofbroker'sshop;anancientplace,fullofancientthings.WhatIwantedwasametalboxwhichmightbesoldered,orathick glass jar or bottle which might be stoppered or sealed hermetically.Amongstmiscellaneousheaps,Ifoundandpurchasedthelatterarticle.

I thenmadea little rollofmy letters,wrapped them inoiled silk,boundthemwithtwine,and,havingputtheminthebottle,gottheoldJewbrokertostopper,seal,andmakeitair-tight.Whileobeyingmydirections,heglancedatmenowandthensuspiciouslyfromunderhisfrost-whiteeyelashes.Ibelievehe thought there was some evil deed on hand. In all this I had a drearysomething—not pleasure—but a sad, lonely satisfaction. The impulse underwhichIacted, themoodcontrollingme,weresimilar to the impulseand themoodwhichhad inducedme tovisit theconfessional.Withquickwalking Iregainedthepensionnatjustatdark,andintimefordinner.

Atseveno'clock themoon rose.Athalf-past seven,when thepupils andteacherswereatstudy,andMadameBeckwaswithhermotherandchildreninthe salle-à-manger,when the half-boarderswere all gone home, andRosinehad left the vestibule, and all was still—I shawled myself, and, taking thesealedjar,stoleoutthroughthefirst-classedoor,intotheberceauandthenceintothe"alléedéfendue."

Methusaleh, the pear-tree, stood at the further endof thiswalk, nearmyseat: he rose up, dim and gray, above the lower shrubs round him. NowMethusaleh, though soveryold,wasof sound timber still;only therewasahole,orratheradeephollow,nearhisroot.Iknewtherewassuchahollow,hiddenpartlybyivyandcreepersgrowingthickround;andthereImeditatedhidingmytreasure.ButIwasnotonlygoingtohideatreasure—Imeantalsotoburyagrief.ThatgriefoverwhichIhadlatelybeenweeping,asIwrappeditinitswinding-sheet,mustbeinterred.

Well, I cleared away the ivy, and found thehole; itwas large enough toreceive the jar, and I thrust it deep in. In a tool-shed at the bottom of thegarden,laytherelicsofbuilding-materials,leftbymasonslatelyemployedtorepairapartofthepremises.Ifetchedthenceaslateandsomemortar,puttheslate on the hollow, secured it with cement, covered the hole with blackmould,and, finally, replaced the ivy.Thisdone, I rested, leaningagainst thetree;lingering,likeanyothermourner,besideanewly-soddedgrave.

The air of the night was very still, but dimwith a peculiarmist, whichchangedthemoonlightintoaluminoushaze.Inthisair,orthismist,therewassomequality—electrical,perhaps—whichactedinstrangesortuponme.IfeltthenasIhadfeltayearagoinEngland—onanightwhentheauroraborealiswas streamingand sweeping roundheaven,when,belated in lonely fields, Ihadpausedtowatchthatmusteringofanarmywithbanners—thatquiveringofserriedlances—thatswiftascentofmessengersfrombelowthenorthstartothedark,highkeystoneofheaven'sarch.Ifelt,nothappy,farotherwise,butstrongwithreinforcedstrength.

If life be a war, it seemed my destiny to conduct it single-handed. Iponderednowhowtobreakupmywinter-quarters—toleaveanencampmentwherefoodandforagefailed.Perhaps, toeffect thischange,anotherpitchedbattlemustbe foughtwith fortune; if so, Ihadamind to theencounter: toopoortolose,Godmightdestinemetogain.Butwhatroadwasopen?—whatplanavailable?

On this question I was still pausing, when the moon, so dim hitherto,seemedtoshineoutsomewhatbrighter:araygleamedevenwhitebeforeme,andashadowbecamedistinctandmarked.I lookedmorenarrowly, tomakeout the cause of thiswell-defined contrast appearing a little suddenly in the

obscure alley: whiter and blacker it grew on my eye: it took shape withinstantaneous transformation. I stood about three yards from a tall, sable-robed,snowy-veiledwoman.

Fiveminutespassed.Ineitherflednorshrieked.Shewastherestill.

Ispoke.

"Whoareyou?andwhydoyoucometome?"

She stoodmute. She had no face—no features: all below her browwasmaskedwithawhitecloth;butshehadeyes,andtheyviewedme.

Ifelt,ifnotbrave,yetalittledesperate;anddesperationwilloftensufficetofillthepostanddotheworkofcourage.Iadvancedonestep.Istretchedoutmyhand, forImeant to touchher.Sheseemedtorecede. Idrewnearer:herrecession,stillsilent,becameswift.Amassofshrubs,full-leavedevergreens,laurel and dense yew, intervened betweenme andwhat I followed. Havingpassedthatobstacle,Ilookedandsawnothing.Iwaited.Isaid,—"Ifyouhaveanyerrandtomen,comebackanddeliverit."Nothingspokeorre-appeared.

This timetherewasnoDr.Johntowhomtohaverecourse: therewasnoonetowhomIdaredwhisperthewords,"Ihaveagainseenthenun."

**

PaulinaMary soughtmy frequent presence in theRueCrécy. In the oldBrettondays,thoughshehadneverprofessedherselffondofme,mysocietyhadsoonbecometoherasortofunconsciousnecessary.IusedtonoticethatifI withdrew to my room, she would speedily come trotting after me, andopening the door and peeping in, say, with her little peremptory accent,—"Comedown.Why do you sit here by yourself?Youmust come into theparlour."

Inthesamespiritsheurgedmenow—"LeavetheRueFossette,"shesaid,"andcomeandlivewithus.PapawouldgiveyoufarmorethanMadameBeckgivesyou."

Mr.Homehimselfofferedmeahandsomesum—thricemypresentsalary—ifIwouldaccepttheofficeofcompaniontohisdaughter.Ideclined.IthinkIshouldhavedeclinedhadIbeenpoorerthanIwas,andwithscantierfundofresource,morestintednarrownessoffutureprospect.Ihadnotthatvocation.Icould teach; I could give lessons; but to be either a private governess or acompanionwasunnaturaltome.Ratherthanfilltheformerpostinanygreathouse, Iwoulddeliberatelyhave takenahousemaid'splace,boughta strongpairofgloves,sweptbedroomsandstaircases,andcleanedstovesandlocks,inpeaceandindependence.Ratherthanbeacompanion,Iwouldhavemadeshirtsandstarved.

I was no bright lady's shadow—not Miss de Bassompierre's. Overcastenoughitwasmynatureoftentobe;ofasubduedhabitIwas:butthedimnessanddepressionmustbothbevoluntary—suchaskeptmedocileatmydesk,inthemidstofmynowwell-accustomedpupilsinMadameBeck'sfistclasse;oralone,atmyownbedside,inherdormitory,orinthealleyandseatwhichwerecalled mine, in her garden: my qualifications were not convertible, noradaptable; they could not be made the foil of any gem, the adjunct of anybeauty,theappendageofanygreatnessinChristendom.MadameBeckandI,without assimilating, understood each otherwell. I was not her companion,norherchildren'sgoverness;sheleftmefree:shetiedmetonothing—nottoherself—not even to her interests: once, when she had for a fortnight beencalledfromhomebyanearrelation'sillness,andonherreturn,allanxiousandfullofcareaboutherestablishment,lestsomethinginherabsenceshouldhavegonewrongfindingthatmattershadproceededmuchasusual,andthattherewasnoevidenceofglaringneglect—shemadeeachoftheteachersapresent,inacknowledgmentofsteadiness.Tomybedsideshecameattwelveo'clockatnight, and told me she had no present for me: "I must make fidelityadvantageoustotheSt.Pierre,"saidshe;"ifIattempttomakeitadvantageousto you, there will arise misunderstanding between us—perhaps separation.One thing, however, I can do to please you—leave you alone with yourliberty:c'est-cequejeferai."Shekeptherword.Everyslightshackleshehadever laid onme, she, from that time,with quiet hand removed. Thus I hadpleasure in voluntarily respecting her rules: gratification in devoting doubletime,intakingdoublepainswiththepupilsshecommittedtomycharge.

As toMarydeBassompierre, Ivisitedherwithpleasure, thoughIwouldnot live with her. My visits soon taught me that it was unlikely even myoccasional and voluntary societywould long be indispensable to her.M. deBassompierre,forhispart,seemedimpervioustothisconjecture,blindtothispossibility; unconscious as any child to the signs, the likelihoods, the fitfulbeginningsofwhat,whenitdrewtoanend,hemightnotapprove.

Whetherornothewouldcordiallyapprove,Iusedtospeculate.Difficulttosay. He was much taken up with scientific interests; keen, intent, andsomewhat oppugnant in what concerned his favourite pursuits, butunsuspiciousandtrustfulintheordinaryaffairsoflife.FromallIcouldgather,heseemed to regardhis"daughterling"asstillbutachild,andprobablyhadnotyetadmittedthenotionthatothersmightlookonherinadifferentlight:hewould speakofwhat shouldbedonewhen"Polly"wasawoman,whensheshouldbegrownup;and"Polly,"standingbesidehischair,wouldsometimessmileandtakehishonouredheadbetweenherlittlehands,andkisshisiron-grey locks; and, at other times, she would pout and toss her curls: but sheneversaid,"Papa,Iamgrownup."

She had differentmoods for different people.With her father she reallywas still a child,orchild-like, affectionate,merry, andplayful.Withmeshewas serious, and as womanly as thought and feeling couldmake her.WithMrs.Brettonshewasdocileandreliant,butnotexpansive.WithGrahamshewasshy,atpresentveryshy;atmomentsshetriedtobecold;onoccasionsheendeavoured to shun him.His stepmade her start; his entrance hushed her;when he spoke, her answers failed of fluency; when he took leave, sheremainedself-vexedanddisconcerted.Evenherfathernoticedthisdemeanourinher.

"MylittlePolly,"hesaidonce,"youlivetooretiredalife;ifyougrowtobeawomanwiththeseshymanners,youwillhardlybefittedforsociety.YoureallymakequiteastrangerofDr.Bretton:howisthis?Don'tyourememberthat,asalittlegirl,youusedtoberatherpartialtohim?"

"Rather, papa," echoed she, with her slightly dry, yet gentle and simpletone.

"Andyoudon'tlikehimnow?Whathashedone?"

"Nothing.Y—e—s, I likehima little; butwearegrown strange to eachother."

"Then rub it off, Polly; rub the rust and the strangeness off. Talk awaywhenheishere,andhavenofearofhim?"

"Hedoesnottalkmuch.Isheafraidofme,doyouthink,papa?"

"Oh,tobesure,whatmanwouldnotbeafraidofsuchalittlesilentlady?"

"Then tell him some day not tomindmy being silent. Say that it ismyway,andthatIhavenounfriendlyintention."

"Yourway,you littlechatter-box?So far frombeingyourway, it isonlyyourwhim!"

"Well,I'llimprove,papa."

Andveryprettywasthegracewithwhich,thenextday,shetriedtokeepher word. I saw her make the effort to converse affably with Dr. John ongeneraltopics.Theattentioncalledintoherguest'sfaceapleasurableglow;hemetherwithcaution,andrepliedtoherinhissoftesttones,asiftherewasakindofgossamerhappinesshanging in theairwhichhefeared todisturbbydrawing too deep a breath. Certainly, in her timid yet earnest advance tofriendship, it could not be denied that therewas amost exquisite and fairycharm.

WhentheDoctorwasgone,sheapproachedherfather'schair.

"DidIkeepmyword,papa?DidIbehavebetter?"

"MyPollybehavedlikeaqueen.Ishallbecomequiteproudofherifthisimprovementcontinues.By-and-byweshallseeherreceivingmyguestswithquiteacalm,grandmanner.MissLucyandIwillhavetolookaboutus,andpolishupallourbestairsandgraceslestweshouldbethrownintotheshade.Still,Polly,thereisalittleflutter,alittletendencytostammernowandthen,andeven,tolispasyoulispedwhenyouweresixyearsold."

"No,papa,"interruptedsheindignantly,"thatcan'tbetrue."

"IappealtoMissLucy.Didshenot,inansweringDr.Bretton'squestionastowhether she had ever seen the palace of the Prince of Bois l'Etang, say,'yeth,'shehadbeenthere'theveral'times?"

"Papa,youaresatirical,youareméchant!Icanpronounceallthelettersofthealphabetasclearlyasyoucan.ButtellmethisyouareveryparticularinmakingmebeciviltoDr.Bretton,doyoulikehimyourself?"

"Tobesure: foroldacquaintancesakeI likehim: thenhe isaverygoodson to his mother; besides being a kind-hearted fellow and clever in hisprofession:yes,thecallantiswellenough."

"Callant!Ah,Scotchman!Papa,isittheEdinburghortheAberdeenaccentyouhave?"

"Both,mypet,both: anddoubtless theGlaswegian into thebargain. It isthatwhichenablesme tospeakFrenchsowell:agudeScots tonguealwayssucceedswellattheFrench."

"TheFrench!Scotchagain:incorrigiblepapa.You,too,needschooling."

"Well, Polly, youmust persuadeMiss Snowe to undertake both you andme;tomakeyousteadyandwomanly,andmerefinedandclassical."

ThelightinwhichM.deBassompierreevidentlyregarded"MissSnowe,"usedtooccasionmemuchinwardedification.Whatcontradictoryattributesofcharacterwesometimesfindascribedtous,accordingtotheeyewithwhichweareviewed!MadameBeckesteemedmelearnedandblue;MissFanshawe,caustic, ironic, and cynical;Mr. Home, amodel teacher, the essence of thesedate anddiscreet: somewhat conventional, perhaps, too strict, limited, andscrupulous, but still the pink and pattern of governess-correctness; whilstanotherperson,ProfessorPaulEmanuel, towit,never lostanopportunityofintimating his opinion that mine was rather a fiery and rash nature—adventurous,indocile,andaudacious.Ismiledatthemall.IfanyoneknewmeitwaslittlePaulinaMary.

As I would not be Paulina's nominal and paid companion, genial andharmoniousasIbegantofindherintercourse,shepersuadedmetojoinherinsomestudy,asaregularandsettledmeansofsustainingcommunication:she

proposed the German language, which, like myself, she found difficult ofmastery.WeagreedtotakeourlessonsintheRueCrécyofthesamemistress;this arrangement threw us together for some hours of every week. M. deBassompierre seemed quite pleased: it perfectly met his approbation, thatMadameMinervaGravityshouldassociateaportionofherleisurewiththatofhisfairanddearchild.

That other self-elected judge ofmine, the professor in theRue Fossette,discovering by some surreptitious spying means, that I was no longer sostationaryashitherto,butwentoutregularlyatcertainhoursofcertaindays,tookituponhimselftoplacemeundersurveillance.PeoplesaidM.Emanuelhadbeenbroughtupamongst Jesuits. I shouldmore readilyhaveaccreditedthis report had hismanoeuvres been bettermasked.As itwas, I doubted it.Neverwasamoreundisguisedschemer,afranker,looserintriguer.Hewouldanalyze his own machinations: elaborately contrive plots, and forthwithindulge in explanatory boasts of their skill. I knownotwhether Iwasmoreamusedorprovoked,byhis steppingup tomeonemorningandwhisperingsolemnlythathe"hadhiseyeonme:heatleastwoulddischargethedutyofafriend,andnotleavemeentirelytomyowndevices.Myproceedingsseemedatpresentveryunsettled:hedidnotknowwhattomakeofthem:hethoughthis cousin Beck very much to blame in suffering this sort of flutteringinconsistencyinateacherattachedtoherhouse.Whathadapersondevotedtoaseriouscalling,thatofeducation,todowithCountsandCountesses,hotelsandchâteaux?Tohim,Iseemedaltogether'enl'air.'Onhisfaith,hebelievedIwentoutsixdaysintheseven."

Isaid,"Monsieurexaggerated.Icertainlyhadenjoyedtheadvantageofalittlechangelately,butnotbeforeithadbecomenecessary;andtheprivilegewasbynomeansexercisedinexcess."

"Necessary! How was it necessary? I was well enough, he supposed?Change necessary! He would recommend me to look at the Catholic'religieuses,'andstudytheirlives.Theyaskednochange."

Iamnojudgeofwhatexpressioncrossedmyfacewhenhethusspoke,butitwasonewhichprovokedhim:heaccusedmeofbeingreckless,worldly,andepicurean; ambitious of greatness, and feverishly athirst for the pomps andvanities of life. It seems I had no "dévouement," no "récueillement" inmycharacter; no spirit of grace, faith, sacrifice, or self-abasement. Feeling theinutilityofansweringthesecharges,ImutelycontinuedthecorrectionofapileofEnglishexercises.

"He could see in me nothing Christian: like many other Protestants, Irevelledintheprideandself-willofpaganism."

Islightlyturnedfromhim,nestlingstillcloserunderthewingofsilence.

A vague sound grumbled between his teeth; it could not surely be a"juron:"hewastooreligiousforthat;butIamcertainIheardthewordsacré.Grievoustorelate,thesamewordwasrepeated,withtheunequivocaladditionof mille something, when I passed him about two hours afterwards in thecorridor,preparedtogoandtakemyGermanlessonintheRueCrécy.Neverwasabetterlittleman,insomepoints,thanM.Paul:never,inothers,amorewaspishlittledespot.

**

OurGermanmistress,FräuleinAnnaBraun,wasaworthy,heartywoman,of about forty-five; she ought, perhaps, to have lived in the days ofQueenElizabeth,asshehabituallyconsumed,forherfirstandsecondbreakfasts,beerand beef: also, her direct and downrightDeutsch nature seemed to suffer asensationofcruelrestraint fromwhatshecalledourEnglishreserve; thoughwe thought we were very cordial with her: but we did not slap her on theshoulder, and if we consented to kiss her cheek, it was done quietly, andwithout any explosive smack.These omissions oppressed anddepressedherconsiderably;still,onthewhole,wegotonverywell.Accustomedtoinstructforeigngirls,whohardlyeverwillthinkandstudyforthemselves—whohavenoideaofgrapplingwithadifficulty,andovercomingitbydintofreflectionor application—our progress, which in truth was very leisurely, seemed toastoundher.Inhereyes,wewereapairofglacialprodigies,cold,proud,andpreternatural.

TheyoungCountesswasalittleproud,alittlefastidious:andperhaps,withhernativedelicacyandbeauty,shehadarighttothesefeelings;butIthinkitwasatotalmistaketoascribethemtome.Ineverevadedthemorningsalute,whichPaulinawouldslipwhenshecould;norwasacertain littlemannerofstill disdain a weapon known in my armoury of defence; whereas, Paulinaalwayskeptitclear,fine,andbright,andanyroughGermansallycalledforthatonceitssteellyglisten.

HonestAnnaBraun, in somemeasure, felt thisdifference;andwhile shehalf-feared,half-worshippedPaulina,asasortofdaintynymph—anUndine—shetookrefugewithme,asabeingallmortal,andofeasiermood.

AbookwelikedwelltoreadandtranslatewasSchiller'sBallads;Paulinasoonlearnedtoreadthembeautifully;theFräuleinwouldlistentoherwithabroadsmileofpleasure,andsayhervoicesoundedlikemusic.Shetranslatedthem,too,withafacileflowoflanguage,andinastrainofkindredandpoeticfervour:hercheekwouldflush,herlipstremblinglysmile,herbeauteouseyeskindleormeltasshewenton.She learnt thebestbyheart,andwouldoftenrecite them when we were alone together. One she liked well was "DesMädchens Klage:" that is, she liked well to repeat the words, she found

plaintivemelodyinthesound;thesenseshewouldcriticise.Shemurmured,aswesatoverthefireoneevening:—

DuHeilige,rufedeinKindzurück,

IchhabegenossendasirdischeGlück,

Ichhabegelebtundgeliebet!

"Livedandloved!"saidshe,"isthatthesummitofearthlyhappiness,theendoflife—tolove?Idon'tthinkitis.Itmaybetheextremeofmortalmisery,itmaybesheerwasteoftime,andfruitlesstortureoffeeling.IfSchillerhadsaidtobeloved,hemighthavecomenearerthetruth.Isnotthatanotherthing,Lucy,tobeloved?"

"Isupposeitmaybe:butwhyconsiderthesubject?Whatislovetoyou?Whatdoyouknowaboutit?"

Shecrimsoned,halfinirritation,halfinshame.

"Now,Lucy,"shesaid,"Iwon'ttakethatfromyou.Itmaybewellforpapatolookonmeasababy:Iratherpreferthatheshouldthusviewme;butyouknow and shall learn to acknowledge that I am verging on my nineteenthyear."

"Nomatterifitwereyourtwenty-ninth;wewillanticipatenofeelingsbydiscussionandconversation;wewillnottalkaboutlove."

"Indeed, indeed!" said she—all in hurry and heat—"you may think tocheckandholdmein,asmuchasyouplease;butIhavetalkedaboutit,andheard about it too; and a great deal and lately, and disagreeably anddetrimentally:andinawayyouwouldn'tapprove."

And the vexed, triumphant, pretty, naughty being laughed. I could notdiscernwhat shemeant,and Iwouldnotaskher: Iwasnonplussed.Seeing,however, the utmost innocence in her countenance—combined with sometransientperversenessandpetulance—Isaidatlast,—

"Who talks toyoudisagreeablyanddetrimentallyon suchmatters?Whothathasnearaccesstoyouwoulddaretodoit?"

"Lucy," replied shemore softly, "it is apersonwhomakesmemiserablesometimes;andIwishshewouldkeepaway—Idon'twanther."

"Butwho,Paulina,canitbe?Youpuzzlememuch."

"It is—it is my cousin Ginevra. Every time she has leave to visit Mrs.Cholmondeleyshecallshere,andwhenevershefindsmealoneshebeginstotalkaboutheradmirers.Love,indeed!Youshouldhearallshehastosayaboutlove."

"Oh,Ihaveheardit,"saidI,quitecoolly;"andonthewhole,perhapsitisaswellyoushouldhaveheardittoo:itisnottoberegretted,itisallright.Yet,surely, Ginevra's mind cannot influence yours. You can look over both herheadandherheart."

"She does influence me very much. She has the art of disturbing myhappinessandunsettlingmyopinions.Shehurtsmethroughthefeelingsandpeopledearesttome."

"What does she say, Paulina? Give me some idea. There may becounteractionofthedamagedone."

"Thepeople I have longest andmost esteemed are degradedbyher.ShedoesnotspareMrs.Bretton—shedoesnotspare….Graham."

"No, I daresay: and how does shemix up thesewith her sentiment andher….love?Shedoesmixthem,Isuppose?"

"Lucy,sheisinsolent;and,Ibelieve,false.YouknowDr.Bretton.Webothknow him. Hemay be careless and proud; but when was he ever mean orslavish?Dayafterdaysheshowshimtomekneelingatherfeet,pursuingherlike her shadow.She—repulsinghimwith insult, andhe imploringherwithinfatuation.Lucy,isittrue?Isanyofittrue?"

"Itmaybetruethatheoncethoughtherhandsome:doesshegivehimoutasstillhersuitor?"

"Shesaysshemightmarryhimanyday:heonlywaitsherconsent."

"It is these taleswhichhavecaused that reserve inyourmanner towardsGrahamwhichyourfathernoticed."

"Theyhavecertainlymademealldoubtfulabouthischaracter.AsGinevraspeaks,theydonotcarrywiththemthesoundofunmixedtruth:

Ibelievesheexaggerates—perhapsinvents—butIwanttoknowhowfar."

"SupposewebringMissFanshawetosomeproof.Giveheranopportunityofdisplayingthepowersheboasts."

"Icoulddothatto-morrow.Papahasaskedsomegentlementodinner,allsavants.Graham,who,papaisbeginningtodiscover,isasavant,too—skilled,theysay, inmore thanonebranchof science—isamong thenumber.NowIshouldbemiserabletositattableunsupported,amidstsuchaparty.Icouldnottalk toMessieursA——andZ——, theParisianAcademicians:allmynewcreditformannerwouldbeputinperil.YouandMrs.Brettonmustcomeformysake;Ginevra,ataword,willjoinyou."

"Yes; then I will carry a message of invitation, and she shall have thechanceofjustifyinghercharacterforveracity."

CHAPTERXXVII.

THEHÔTELCRÉCY.

Themorrowturnedoutamorelivelyandbusydaythanwe—orthanI,atleast—hadanticipated.Itseemsitwasthebirthdayofoneoftheyoungprincesof Labassecour—the eldest, I think, theDuc deDindonneau, and a generalholidaywasgiveninhishonourattheschools,andespeciallyattheprincipal"Athénée," or college.The youth of that institution had also concocted, andweretopresentaloyaladdress;forwhichpurposetheyweretobeassembledinthepublicbuildingwheretheyearlyexaminationswereconducted,andtheprizes distributed. After the ceremony of presentation, an oration, or"discours,"wastofollowfromoneoftheprofessors.

SeveralofM.deBassompierre's friends—the savants-beingmoreor lessconnectedwith theAthénée, theywere expected to attend on this occasion;togetherwith theworshipfulmunicipality ofVillette,M. leChevalier Staas,theburgomaster,andtheparentsandkinsfolkoftheAtheniansingeneral.M.de Bassompierre was engaged by his friends to accompany them; his fairdaughter would, of course, be of the party, and she wrote a little note toGinevraandmyself,biddinguscomeearlythatwemightjoinher.

As Miss Fanshawe and I were dressing in the dormitory of the RueFossette,she(MissF.)suddenlyburstintoalaugh.

"Whatnow?"Iasked;forshehadsuspendedtheoperationofarrangingherattire,andwasgazingatme.

"It seems so odd," she replied, with her usual half-honest half-insolentunreserve,"thatyouandIshouldnowbesomuchona level,visiting in thesamesphere;havingthesameconnections."

"Why,yes,"saidI;"Ihadnotmuchrespectfortheconnectionsyouchieflyfrequentedawhileago:Mrs.CholmondeleyandCo.wouldneverhavesuitedmeatall."

"Whoareyou,MissSnowe?"sheinquired, inatoneofsuchundisguisedandunsophisticatedcuriosity,asmademelaughinmyturn.

"Youusedtocallyourselfanurserygoverness;whenyoufirstcamehereyou really had the care of the children in this house: I have seen you carrylittle Georgette in your arms, like a bonne—few governesses would havecondescendedsofar—andnowMadameBecktreatsyouwithmorecourtesythanshetreatstheParisienne,St.Pierre;andthatproudchit,mycousin,makes

youherbosomfriend!"

"Wonderful!" I agreed, much amused at her mystification. "Who am Iindeed?Perhapsapersonageindisguise.PityIdon'tlookthecharacter."

"Iwonderyouarenotmoreflatteredbyallthis,"shewenton;"youtakeitwithstrangecomposure.IfyoureallyarethenobodyIoncethoughtyou,youmustbeacoolhand."

"Thenobodyyouoncethoughtme!"Irepeated,andmyfacegrewalittlehot;but Iwouldnotbeangry:ofwhat importancewasa school-girl's crudeuseof the termsnobodyandsomebody? Iconfinedmyself, therefore, to theremarkthatIhadmerelymetwithcivility;andasked"whatshesawincivilitytothrowtherecipientintoafeverofconfusion?"

"Onecan'thelpwonderingatsomethings,"shepersisted.

"Wonderingatmarvelsofyourownmanufacture.Areyoureadyatlast?"

"Yes;letmetakeyourarm."

"Iwouldrathernot:wewillwalksidebyside."

Whenshetookmyarm,shealwaysleaneduponmeherwholeweight;and,asIwasnotagentleman,orherlover,Ididnotlikeit.

"There, again!" she cried. "I thought, by offering to take your arm, tointimate approbation of your dress and general appearance: I meant it as acompliment."

"Youdid?Youmeant,inshort,toexpressthatyouarenotashamedtobeseeninthestreetwithme?ThatifMrs.Cholmondeleyshouldbefondlingherlapdogatsomewindow,orColoneldeHamalpickinghisteethinabalcony,and should catch a glimpse of us, you would not quite blush for yourcompanion?"

"Yes,"saidshe,withthatdirectnesswhichwasherbestpoint—whichgaveanhonestplainnesstoherveryfibswhenshetoldthem—whichwas,inshort,thesalt,thesolepreservativeingredientofacharacterotherwisenotformedtokeep.

Idelegatedthetroubleofcommentingonthis"yes"tomycountenance;orrather, my under-lip voluntarily anticipatedmy tongue of course, reverenceandsolemnitywerenotthefeelingsexpressedinthelookIgaveher.

"Scornful, sneeringcreature!"shewenton,aswecrossedagreat square,and entered the quiet, pleasant park, our nearest way to the Rue Crécy."NobodyinthisworldwaseversuchaTurktomeasyouare!"

"Youbringitonyourself:letmealone:havethesensetobequiet:Iwilllet

youalone."

"As if one could let you alone, when you are so peculiar and somysterious!"

"Themystery and peculiarity being entirely the conception of your ownbrain—maggots—neithermorenorless,besogoodastokeepthemoutofmysight."

"Butareyouanybody?"perseveredshe,pushingherhand,inspiteofme,undermyarm;andthatarmpresseditselfwithinhospitableclosenessagainstmyside,bywayofkeepingouttheintruder.

"Yes,"Isaid,"Iamarisingcharacter:onceanoldlady'scompanion,thenanursery-governess,nowaschool-teacher."

"Do—dotellmewhoyouare?I'llnotrepeatit,"sheurged,adheringwithludicroustenacitytothewisenotionofanincognitoshehadgotholdof;andshe squeezed the arm of which she had now obtained full possession, andcoaxed and conjured till I was obliged to pause in the park to laugh.Throughout our walk she rang the most fanciful changes on this theme;proving,byherobstinatecredulity,or incredulity,her incapacity toconceivehowanypersonnot bolsteredupbybirthorwealth, not supportedby someconsciousnessofnameorconnection,couldmaintainanattitudeofreasonableintegrity. As for me, it quite sufficed to my mental tranquillity that I wasknownwhere it imported that known I shouldbe; the rest sat onmeeasily:pedigree,socialposition,andreconditeintellectualacquisition,occupiedaboutthe same space andplace inmy interests and thoughts; theyweremy third-classlodgers—towhomcouldbeassignedonlythesmallsitting-roomandthelittle back bedroom: even if the dining and drawing-rooms stood empty, Ineverconfessedittothem,asthinkingminoraccommodationsbettersuitedtotheircircumstances.Theworld,Isoonlearned,heldadifferentestimate:andImakenodoubt, theworldisveryrightinitsview,yetbelievealsothatIamnotquitewronginmine.

Therearepeoplewhomaloweredpositiondegradesmorally,towhomlossofconnectioncosts lossof self-respect:arenot these justified inplacing thehighest value on that station and association which is their safeguard fromdebasement? If aman feels that hewould become contemptible in his owneyeswere it generally known that his ancestrywere simple and not gentle,poor and not rich,workers and not capitalists,would it be right severely toblamehimforkeeping these fatal factsoutof sight—for starting, trembling,quailingatthechancewhichthreatensexposure?Thelongerwelive,themoreoutexperiencewidens;thelesspronearewetojudgeourneighbour'sconduct,toquestiontheworld'swisdom:whereveranaccumulationofsmalldefencesis found, whether surrounding the prude's virtue or the man of the world's

respectability,there,besure,itisneeded.

We reached theHôtel Crécy; Paulinawas ready;Mrs. Brettonwaswithher; and, under her escort and that of M. de Bassompierre, we were soonconductedtotheplaceofassembly,andseatedingoodseats,ataconvenientdistancefromtheTribune.TheyouthoftheAthénéeweremarshalledbeforeus,themunicipalityandtheirbourgmestrewereinplacesofhonour,theyoungprinces,withtheirtutors,occupiedaconspicuousposition,andthebodyofthebuildingwascrowdedwiththearistocracyandfirstburghersofthetown.

Concerningtheidentityoftheprofessorbywhomthe"discours"wastobedelivered, I had as yet entertained neither care nor question. Some vagueexpectation Ihad that a savantwould standupanddeliver a formal speech,halfdogmatismtotheAthenians,halfflatterytotheprinces.

TheTribunewasyet emptywhenwe entered, but in tenminutes after itwasfilled;suddenly,inasecondoftime,ahead,chest,andarmsgrewabovethecrimsondesk.ThisheadIknew:itscolour,shape,port,expression,werefamiliar both to me and Miss Fanshawe; the blackness and closeness ofcranium,theamplitudeandpalenessofbrow,thebluenessandfireofglance,were details so domesticated in the memory, and so knit with many awhimsical association, as almost by this their sudden apparition, to ticklefancytoa laugh.Indeed,Iconfess, formypart, Idid laughtill Iwaswarm;but then I bentmyhead, andmademyhandkerchief and a loweredveil thesoleconfidantsofmymirth.

I think I was glad to see M. Paul; I think it was rather pleasant thanotherwise,tobeholdhimsetupthere,fierceandfrank,darkandcandid,testyandfearless,aswhenregnantonhisestradeinclass.Hispresencewassuchasurprise:Ihadnotoncethoughtofexpectinghim,thoughIknewhefilledthechairofBellesLettresinthecollege.WithhiminthatTribune,Ifeltsurethatneither formalism nor flattery would be our doom; but for what wasvouchsafed us, forwhatwas poured suddenly, rapidly, continuously, on ourheads—IownIwasnotprepared.

Hespoketotheprinces,thenobles,themagistrates,andtheburghers,withjust the sameease,with almost the samepointed, choleric earnestness,withwhichhewaswont toharangue the threedivisionsof theRueFossette.Thecollegiansheaddressed,notasschoolboys,butasfuturecitizensandembryopatriots.The timeswhichhave sincecomeonEuropehadnotbeen foretoldyet,andM.Emanuel'sspiritseemednewtome.WhowouldhavethoughttheflatandfatsoilofLabassecourcouldyieldpoliticalconvictionsandnationalfeelings,suchaswerenowstronglyexpressed?OfthebearingofhisopinionsIneedheregivenospecialindication;yetitmaybepermittedmetosaythatIbelievedthelittlemannotmoreearnestthanrightinwhathesaid:withallhis

firehewassevereandsensible;hetrampledUtopiantheoriesunderhisheel;he rejected wild dreams with scorn;—but when he looked in the face oftyranny—oh,thenthereopenedalightinhiseyeworthseeing;andwhenhespokeofinjustice,hisvoicegavenouncertainsound,butremindedmeratheroftheband-trumpet,ringingattwilightfromthepark.

Idonotthinkhisaudienceweregenerallysusceptibleofsharinghisflamein itspurity;but someof thecollegeyouthcaught fireasheeloquently toldthem what should be their path and endeavour in their country's and inEurope'sfuture.Theygavehimalong,loud,ringingcheer,asheconcluded:withallhisfierceness,hewastheirfavouriteprofessor.

AsourpartylefttheHall,hestoodattheentrance;hesawandknewme,andliftedhishat;heofferedhishandinpassing,andutteredthewords"Qu'endites vous?"—question eminently characteristic, and remindingme, even inthis hismoment of triumph, of that inquisitive restlessness, that absence ofwhat I considered desirable self-control,whichwere amongst his faults.Heshould not have cared just then to ask what I thought, or what anybodythought,buthedidcare,andhewastoonatural toconceal, tooimpulsive torepress hiswish.Well! if I blamed his over-eagerness, I liked his naiveté. Iwouldhavepraisedhim:Ihadplentyofpraiseinmyheart;but,alas!nowordson my lips.Who has words at the right moment? I stammered some lameexpressions; butwas truly gladwhen other people, coming upwith profusecongratulations,coveredmydeficiencybytheirredundancy.

AgentlemanintroducedhimtoM.deBassompierre;andtheCount,whohadlikewisebeenhighlygratified,askedhimtojoinhisfriends(forthemostpartM. Emanuel's likewise), and to dinewith them at theHôtel Crécy. Hedeclined dinner, for he was a man always somewhat shy at meeting theadvancesof thewealthy: therewasa strengthof sturdy independence in thestringingofhissinews—notobtrusive,butpleasantenoughtodiscoverasoneadvancedinknowledgeofhischaracter;hepromised,however,tostepinwithhisfriend,M.A——,aFrenchAcademician,inthecourseoftheevening.

Atdinnerthatday,GinevraandPaulinaeachlooked,inherownway,verybeautiful; theformer,perhaps,boasted theadvantage inmaterialcharms,butthelattershonepre-eminentforattractionsmoresubtleandspiritual:forlightand eloquence of eye, for grace ofmien, forwinning variety of expression.Ginevra'sdressofdeepcrimsonrelievedwellherlightcurls,andharmonizedwithherrose-likebloom.Paulina'sattire—infashionclose,thoughfaultlesslyneat,butintextureclearandwhite—madetheeyegratefulforthedelicatelifeofhercomplexion, for the soft animationofhercountenance, for the tenderdepth of her eyes, for the brown shadow and bounteous flow of her hair—darkerthanthatofherSaxoncousin,aswerealsohereyebrows,hereyelashes,her full irids, and largemobilepupils.Naturehaving traced all thesedetails

slightly, andwith a careless hand, inMiss Fanshawe's case; and inMiss deBassompierre's,wroughtthemtoahighanddelicatefinish.

Paulinawasawedbythesavants,butnotquite tomutism:sheconversedmodestly,diffidently;notwithouteffort,butwithsotrueasweetness,sofineand penetrating a sense, that her fathermore than once suspended his owndiscourse to listen, and fixedonheraneyeofprouddelight. ItwasapoliteFrenchman,M.Z——,averylearned,butquiteacourtlyman,whohaddrawnher into discourse. I was charmed with her French; it was faultless—thestructurecorrect,theidiomstrue,theaccentpure;Ginevra,whohadlivedhalfher lifeon theContinent,coulddonothing like itnot thatwordsever failedMissFanshawe,butrealaccuracyandpuritysheneitherpossessed,norinanynumberofyearswouldacquire.Here,too,M.deBassompierrewasgratified;for,onthepointoflanguage,hewascritical.

Another listener and observer there was; one who, detained by someexigency of his profession, had come in late to dinner. Both ladies werequietlyscannedbyDr.Bretton,atthemomentoftakinghisseatatthetable;andthatguardedsurveywasmorethanoncerenewed.HisarrivalrousedMissFanshawe,who had hitherto appeared listless: she now became smiling andcomplacent, talked—though what she said was rarely to the purpose—orrather, was of a purpose somewhat mortifyingly below the standard of theoccasion.Her light, disconnected prattlemight have gratifiedGrahamonce;perhaps it pleased him still: perhaps itwas only fancywhich suggested thethoughtthat,whilehiseyewasfilledandhisearfed,histaste,hiskeenzest,his lively intelligence, were not equally consulted and regaled. It is certainthat,restlessandexactingasseemedthedemandonhisattention,heyieldedcourteously all that was required: his manner showed neither pique norcoolness: Ginevra was his neighbour, and to her, during dinner, he almostexclusively confined his notice. She appeared satisfied, and passed to thedrawing-roominverygoodspirits.

Yet,nosoonerhadwereachedthatplaceofrefuge,thansheagainbecameflat and listless: throwing herself on a couch, she denounced both the"discours"andthedinnerasstupidaffairs,andinquiredofhercousinhowshecouldhear such a set ofprosaic "gros-bonnets" asher fathergathered abouthim.Themomentthegentlemenwereheardtomove,herrailingsceased:shestartedup,flewtothepiano,anddashedatitwithspirit.Dr.Brettonentering,one of the first, took up his station beside her. I thought hewould not longmaintainthatpost:therewasapositionnearthehearthtowhichIexpectedtoseehimattracted:thispositionheonlyscannedwithhiseye;whilehelooked,others drew in. The grace and mind of Paulina charmed these thoughtfulFrenchmen: the fineness of her beauty, the soft courtesy of hermanner, herimmature,butrealandinbredtact,pleasedtheirnationaltaste;theyclustered

abouther,not indeed to talk science;whichwouldhave renderedherdumb,buttotouchonmanysubjectsinletters,inarts,inactuallife,onwhichitsoonappearedthatshehadbothreadandreflected.Ilistened.IamsurethatthoughGrahamstoodaloof,helistenedtoo:hishearingaswellashisvisionwasveryfine,quick,discriminating.Iknewhegatheredtheconversation;Ifeltthatthemodeinwhichitwassustainedsuitedhimexquisitely—pleasedhimalmosttopain.

InPaulinatherewasmoreforce,bothoffeelingandcharacter;thanmostpeople thought—thanGrahamhimself imagined—thanshewouldevershowtothosewhodidnotwishtoseeit.Tospeaktruth,reader,thereisnoexcellentbeauty, no accomplished grace, no reliable refinement, without strength asexcellent,ascomplete,astrustworthy.Aswellmightyoulookforgoodfruitandblossomonarootlessandsaplesstree,asforcharmsthatwillendureinafeebleandrelaxednature.Foralittlewhile,thebloomingsemblanceofbeautymayflourishroundweakness;butitcannotbearablast:itsoonfades,eveninserenest sunshine. Graham would have started had any suggestive spiritwhisperedof thesinewand thestaminasustaining thatdelicatenature;but Iwhohadknownherasachild,kneworguessedbywhatagoodandstrongroothergracesheldtothefirmsoilofreality.

WhileDr.Brettonlistened,andwaitedanopeninginthemagiccircle,hisglance restlessly sweeping the room at intervals, lighted by chance on me,where I sat in a quiet nook not far from my godmother and M. deBassompierre,who,asusual,wereengagedinwhatMr.Homecalled"atwo-handedcrack:"whattheCountwouldhaveinterpretedasatête-à-tête.Grahamsmiledrecognition,crossedtheroom,askedmehowIwas,toldmeIlookedpale. I also hadmy own smile atmy own thought: it was now about threemonthssinceDr.Johnhadspokentome—alapseofwhichhewasnotevenconscious.Hesatdown,andbecamesilent.Hiswishwasrathertolookthanconverse.GinevraandPaulinawerenowopposite tohim:hecouldgazehisfill:hesurveyedbothforms—studiedbothfaces.

Several new guests, ladies as well as gentlemen, had entered the roomsince dinner, dropping in for the evening conversation; and amongst thegentlemen, Imay incidentallyobserve, I had alreadynoticedbyglimpses, asevere,dark,professorialoutline,hoveringaloofinaninnersaloon,seenonlyinvista.M.Emanuelknewmanyofthegentlemenpresent,butIthinkwasastrangertomostoftheladies,exceptingmyself;inlookingtowardsthehearth,hecouldnotbutseeme,andnaturallymadeamovementtoapproach;seeing,however,Dr.Brettonalso,hechangedhismindandheldback.Ifthathadbeenall,therewouldhavebeennocauseforquarrel;butnotsatisfiedwithholdingback,hepuckereduphiseyebrows,protrudedhislip,andlookedsouglythatIaverted my eyes from the displeasing spectacle. M. Joseph Emanuel had

arrived,aswellashisausterebrother,andatthisverymomentwasrelievingGinevraatthepiano.Whatamaster-touchsucceededherschool-girljingle!Inwhatgrand,grateful tones the instrumentacknowledged thehandof the trueartist!

"Lucy,"beganDr.Bretton,breakingsilenceandsmiling,asGinevraglidedbeforehim,castingaglanceasshepassedby,"MissFanshaweiscertainlyafinegirl."

OfcourseIassented.

"Isthere,"hepursued,"anotherintheroomaslovely?"

"Ithinkthereisnotanotherashandsome."

"Iagreewithyou,Lucy:youandIdooftenagreeinopinion,intaste,

Ithink;oratleastinjudgment."

"Dowe?"Isaid,somewhatdoubtfully.

"Ibelieveifyouhadbeenaboy,Lucy,insteadofagirl—mymother'sgod-son instead of her god-daughter, we should have been good friends: ouropinionswouldhavemeltedintoeachother."

Hehadassumedabanteringair:a light,half-caressing,half-ironic,shoneaslantinhiseye.Ah,Graham!IhavegivenmorethanonesolitarymomenttothoughtsandcalculationsofyourestimateofLucySnowe:wasitalwayskindor just?Had Lucy been intrinsically the same but possessing the additionaladvantages ofwealth and station,wouldyourmanner to her, your value forher, have been quitewhat they actuallywere?And yet by these questions Iwould not seriously infer blame. No; you might sadden and trouble mesometimes; but then mine was a soon-depressed, an easily-derangedtemperament—it fell if a cloud crossed the sun. Perhaps before the eye ofsevereequityIshouldstandmoreatfaultthanyou.

Trying,then,tokeepdowntheunreasonablepainwhichthrilledmyheart,onthusbeingmadetofeelthatwhileGrahamcoulddevotetoothersthemostgraveandearnest,themanliestinterest,hehadnomorethanlightrailleryforLucy,thefriendoflangsyne,Iinquiredcalmly,—"Onwhatpointsarewesocloselyinaccordance?"

"Weeachhaveanobservantfaculty.You,perhaps,don'tgivemecreditforthepossession;yetIhaveit."

"But you were speaking of tastes: we may see the same objects, yetestimatethemdifferently?"

"Letusbringittothetest.Ofcourse,youcannotbutrenderhomagetothemeritsofMissFanshawe:now,whatdoyouthinkofothersintheroom?—my

mother,forinstance;orthelionsyonder,MessieursA——andZ——;or,letussay,thatpalelittlelady,MissdeBassompierre?"

"YouknowwhatIthinkofyourmother.IhavenotthoughtofMessieursA——andZ——."

"Andtheother?"

"Ithinksheis,asyousay,apalelittlelady—pale,certainly,justnow,whensheisfatiguedwithover-excitement."

"Youdon'trememberherasachild?"

"Iwonder,sometimes,whetheryoudo."

"Ihadforgottenher;butitisnoticeable,thatcircumstances,persons,evenwordsandlooks,thathadslippedyourmemory,may,undercertainconditions,certainaspectsofyourownoranother'smind,revive."

"Thatispossibleenough."

"Yet," he continued, "the revival is imperfect—needs confirmation,partakessomuchofthedimcharacterofadream,oroftheairyoneofafancy,thatthetestimonyofawitnessbecomesnecessaryforcorroboration.Wereyounot a guest atBretton tenyears ago,whenMr.Homebrought his little girl,whomwethencalled'littlePolly,'tostaywithmamma?"

"Iwastherethenightshecame,andalsothemorningshewentaway."

"Ratherapeculiarchild,wasshenot? IwonderhowI treatedher.Was Ifondofchildren in thosedays?Was thereanythinggraciousorkindlyaboutme—great, reckless, schoolboy as I was? But you don't recollect me, ofcourse?"

"YouhaveseenyourownpictureatLaTerrasse.Itislikeyoupersonally.Inmanner,youwerealmostthesameyesterdayasto-day."

"But,Lucy,how is that?Suchanoracle reallywhetsmycuriosity.WhatamIto-day?WhatwasItheyesterdayoftenyearsback?"

"Gracioustowhateverpleasedyou—unkindlyorcrueltonothing."

"Thereyouarewrong;IthinkIwasalmostabrutetoyou,forinstance."

"Abrute!No,Graham:Ishouldneverhavepatientlyenduredbrutality."

"This, however, I do remember: quietLucySnowe tasted nothingofmygrace."

"Aslittleofyourcruelty."

"Why, had I been Nero himself, I could not have tormented a being

inoffensiveasashadow."

I smiled;but I alsohushedagroan.Oh!—I justwishedhewould letmealone—ceaseallusion tome.Theseepithets—theseattributes Iput fromme.His"quietLucySnowe,"his"inoffensiveshadow,"Igavehimback;notwithscorn,butwithextremeweariness:theirswasthecoldnessandthepressureoflead;lethimwhelmmewithnosuchweight.Happily,hewassoononanothertheme.

"Onwhat termswere 'littlePolly'andI?Unlessmyrecollectionsdeceiveme,wewerenotfoes—"

"You speak very vaguely. Do you think little Polly's memory, not moredefinite?"

"Oh!wedon't talk of 'littlePolly' now.Pray say,Miss deBassompierre;and,ofcourse,suchastatelypersonageremembersnothingofBretton.Lookatherlargeeyes,Lucy;cantheyreadawordinthepageofmemory?Aretheythe samewhich I used to direct to a horn-book? She does not know that Ipartlytaughthertoread."

"IntheBibleonSundaynights?"

"She has a calm, delicate, rather fine profile now: once what a littlerestless,anxiouscountenancewashers!Whatathingisachild'spreference—whatabubble!Wouldyoubelieveit?thatladywasfondofme!"

"Ithinkshewasinsomemeasurefondofyou,"saidI,moderately.

"Youdon'trememberthen?Ihadforgotten;butIremembernow.ShelikedmethebestofwhatevertherewasatBretton."

"Youthoughtso."

"Iquitewell recall it. IwishIcould tellherall I recall;or rather, Iwishsomeone,youforinstance,wouldgobehindandwhisperitallinherear,andI could have the delight—here, as I sit—of watching her look under theintelligence. Could you manage that, think you, Lucy, and make me evergrateful?"

"Could Imanage tomake you ever grateful?" said I. "No, I could not."And I felt my fingers work and my hands interlock: I felt, too, an inwardcourage,warmand resistant. In thismatter Iwasnotdisposed togratifyDr.John: not at all. With now welcome force, I realized his entiremisapprehensionofmycharacterandnature.Hewantedalwaystogivemearolenotmine.NatureandIopposedhim.HedidnotatallguesswhatIfelt:hedid not read my eyes, or face, or gestures; though, I doubt not, all spoke.Leaningtowardsmecoaxingly,hesaid,softly,"Docontentme,Lucy."

AndIwouldhavecontented,or,atleast,Iwouldclearlyhaveenlightenedhim, and taught himwell never again to expect ofme the part of officioussoubretteinalovedrama;when,followinghis,soft,eager,murmur,meetingalmosthispleading,mellow—"Docontentme,Lucy!"asharphisspiercedmyearontheotherside.

"Petitechatte,doucerette,coquette!"sibillatedthesuddenboa-constrictor;"vousavez l'airbien triste,soumis, rêveur,maisvousne l'êtespas:c'estmoiquivousledis:Sauvage!laflammeàl'âme,l'éclairauxyeux!"

"Oui; j'ai la flammeà l'âme,et jedois l'avoir!" retorted I, turning in justwrath:butProfessorEmanuelhadhissedhisinsultandwasgone.

Theworstofthematterwas,thatDr.Bretton,whoseears,asIhavesaid,were quick and fine, caught every word of this apostrophe; he put hishandkerchieftohisface,andlaughedtillheshook.

"Welldone,Lucy,"criedhe;"capital!petitechatte,petitecoquette!Oh, Imusttellmymother!Isittrue,Lucy,orhalf-true?Ibelieveitis:youreddentothecolourofMissFanshawe'sgown.Andreally,bymyword,nowIexaminehim,thatisthesamelittlemanwhowassosavagewithyouattheconcert:thevery same, and in his soul he is frantic at thismoment because he seesmelaughing.Oh!Imustteasehim."

And Graham, yielding to his bent for mischief, laughed, jested, andwhisperedontillIcouldbearnomore,andmyeyesfilled.

Suddenly he was sobered: a vacant space appeared near Miss deBassompierre; the circle surrounding her seemed about to dissolve. Thismovementwas instantly caught byGraham's eye—ever-vigilant, evenwhilelaughing;herose,tookhiscourageinbothhands,crossedtheroom,andmadetheadvantagehisown.Dr.John,throughouthiswholelife,wasamanofluck—amanofsuccess.Andwhy?Becausehehadtheeyetoseehisopportunity,theheart toprompt towell-timedaction, thenerve to consummateaperfectwork. And no tyrant-passion dragged him back; no enthusiasms, no foiblesencumberedhisway.Howwellhelookedatthisverymoment!WhenPaulinalooked up as he reached her side, her glance mingled at once with anencountering glance, animated, yet modest; his colour, as he spoke to her,becamehalfablush,halfaglow.Hestoodinherpresencebraveandbashful:subduedandunobtrusive,yetdecidedinhispurposeanddevotedinhisardour.Igatheredallthisbyoneview.Ididnotprolongmyobservation—timefailedme,hadinclinationserved:thenightworelate;GinevraandIoughtalreadytohavebeenintheRueFossette.Irose,andbadegood-nighttomygodmotherandM.deBassompierre.

I know not whether Professor Emanuel had noticed my reluctant

acceptance of Dr. Bretton's badinage, or whether he perceived that I waspained,andthat,onthewhole,theeveninghadnotbeenoneflowofexultantenjoymentforthevolatile,pleasure-lovingMademoiselleLucie;but,asIwasleavingtheroom,hesteppedupandinquiredwhetherIhadanyonetoattendme to the Rue Fossette. The professor now spoke politely, and evendeferentially, and he looked apologetic and repentant; but I could notrecognisehiscivilityataword,normeethiscontritionwithcrude,prematureoblivion.NeverhithertohadIfeltseriouslydisposedtoresenthisbrusqueries,or freeze before his fierceness; what he had said to-night, however, Iconsidered unwarranted:my extreme disapprobation of the proceedingmustbemarked,howeverslightly.Imerelysaid:—"Iamprovidedwithattendance."

Whichwastrue,asGinevraandIweretobesenthomeinthecarriage;andIpassedhimwiththeslidingobeisancewithwhichhewaswonttobesalutedinclassebypupilscrossinghisestrade.

Having soughtmy shawl, I returned to the vestibule.M. Emanuel stoodthereasifwaiting.Heobservedthatthenightwasfine.

"Is it?" I said,witha toneandmannerwhoseconsummatecharinessandfrostiness Icouldnotbutapplaud. ItwassoseldomIcouldproperlyactoutmyownresolutiontobereservedandcoolwhereIhadbeengrievedorhurt,thatIfeltalmostproudofthisonesuccessfuleffort.That"Isit?"soundedjustlike themannerofotherpeople. Ihadheardhundredsof such littleminced,docked,dryphrases,fromthepursed-upcorallipsofascoreofself-possessed,self-sufficingmissesandmesdemoiselles.ThatM.PaulwouldnotstandanyprolongedexperienceofthissortofdialogueIknew;buthecertainlymeritedasampleofthecurtandarid.Ibelievehethoughtsohimself,forhetookthedosequietly.Helookedatmyshawlandobjectedtoitslightness.Idecidedlytold him itwas as heavy as Iwished.Receding aloof, and standing apart, Ileanedonthebanisterofthestairs,foldedmyshawlaboutme,andfixedmyeyesonadrearyreligiouspaintingdarkeningthewall.

Ginevrawas long in coming: tedious seemed her loitering.M. Paulwasstillthere;myearexpectedfromhislipsanangrytone.Hecamenearer."Nowforanotherhiss!"thoughtI:hadnottheactionbeentoouncivilIcouldhave,stoppedmyearswithmyfingersinterrorofthethrill.Nothinghappensasweexpect:listenforacoooramurmur;itisthenyouwillhearacryofpreyorpain. Await a piercing shriek, an angry threat, and welcome an amicablegreeting,alowkindwhisper.M.Paulspokegently:—"Friends,"saidhe,"donot quarrel for a word. Tell me, was it I or ce grand fat d'Anglais" (so heprofanelydenominatedDr.Bretton),"whomadeyoureyessohumid,andyourcheekssohotastheyareevennow?"

"Iamnotconsciousofyou,monsieur,orofanyotherhavingexcitedsuch

emotionasyouindicate,"wasmyanswer;andingivingit,Iagainsurpassedmyusualself,andachievedaneat,frostyfalsehood.

"ButwhatdidIsay?"hepursued;"tellme:Iwasangry:Ihaveforgottenmywords;whatwerethey?"

"Suchasitisbesttoforget!"saidI,stillquitecalmandchill.

"Then it was my words which wounded you? Consider them unsaid:permitmyretractation;accordmypardon."

"Iamnotangry,Monsieur."

"Thenyouareworsethanangry—grieved.Forgiveme,MissLucy."

"M.Emanuel,Idoforgiveyou."

"Letmehearyousay,inthevoicenaturaltoyou,andnotinthatalientone,'Monami,jevouspardonne.'"

He made me smile. Who could help smiling at his wistfulness, hissimplicity,hisearnestness?

"Bon!"hecried."Voilàquelejourvapoindre!Ditesdonc,monami."

"MonsieurPaul,jevouspardonne."

"Iwillhavenomonsieur:speaktheotherword,orIshallnotbelieveyousincere:anothereffort—monami,orelseinEnglish,—myfriend!"

Now, "my friend" had rather another sound and significancy than "monami;" it did not breathe the same sense of domestic and intimate affection;"mon ami" I could not say to M. Paul; "my friend," I could, and did saywithoutdifficulty.Thisdistinctionexistednot forhim,however,andhewasquitesatisfiedwiththeEnglishphrase.Hesmiled.Youshouldhaveseenhimsmile, reader; and you should have marked the difference between hiscountenancenow,andthatheworehalfanhourago.IcannotaffirmthatIhadeverwitnessedthesmileofpleasure,orcontent,orkindnessroundM.Paul'slips, or in his eyes before. The ironic, the sarcastic, the disdainful, thepassionately exultant, I hadhundredsof times seenhimexpress bywhat hecalledasmile,butanyilluminatedsignofmilderorwarmerfeelingsstruckmeaswhollynewinhisvisage.Itchangeditasfromamasktoaface:thedeeplines left his features; the very complexion seemed clearer and fresher; thatswart, sallow, southern darkness which spoke his Spanish blood, becamedisplacedbyalighterhue.IknownotthatIhaveeverseeninanyotherhumanface an equalmetamorphosis from a similar cause.He now tookme to thecarriage:atthesamemomentM.deBassompierrecameoutwithhisniece.

InaprettyhumourwasMistressFanshawe; shehad found theeveningagrand failure: completely upset as to temper, she gave way to the most

uncontrolled moroseness as soon as we were seated, and the carriage-doorclosed.HerinvectivesagainstDr.Brettonhadsomethingvenomousinthem.Having foundherself impotent either to charmor sting him, hatredwas heronly resource; and this hatred she expressed in terms so unmeasured andproportion so monstrous, that, after listening for a while with assumedstoicism,my outraged sense of justice at last and suddenly caught fire. Anexplosionensued: for I couldbepassionate, too; especiallywithmypresentfairbutfaultyassociate,whoneverfailedtostirtheworstdregsofme.Itwaswell that the carriage-wheels made a tremendous rattle over the flintyChosevillepavement,forIcanassurethereadertherewasneitherdeadsilencenor calm discussion within the vehicle. Half in earnest, half in seeming, ImadeitmybusinesstostormdownGinevra.ShehadsetoutrampantfromtheRueCrécy;itwasnecessarytotameherbeforewereachedtheRueFossette:tothisenditwasindispensabletoshowuphersterlingvalueandhighdeserts;andthismustbedoneinlanguageofwhichthefidelityandhomelinessmightchallengecomparisonwiththecomplimentsofaJohnKnoxtoaMaryStuart.Thiswas the right discipline forGinevra; it suited her. I am quite sure shewenttobedthatnightall thebetterandmoresettledinmindandmood,andsleptallthemoresweetlyforhavingundergoneasoundmoraldrubbing.

CHAPTERXXVIII.

THEWATCHGUARD.

M. Paul Emanuel owned an acute sensitiveness to the annoyance ofinterruption, from whatsoever cause occurring, during his lessons: to passthrough the classeunder suchcircumstanceswas consideredby the teachersand pupils of the school, individually and collectively, to be as much as awoman'sorgirl'slifewasworth.

MadameBeckherself,ifforcedtotheenterprise,would"skurry"through,retrenching her skirts, and carefully coasting the formidable estrade, like ashipdreadingbreakers.AstoRosine,theportress—onwhom,everyhalf-hour,devolved the fearful duty of fetching pupils out of the very heart of one orotherof thedivisions to take theirmusic-lessons in theoratory, thegreat orlittle saloon, the salle-à-manger, or some other piano-station—she would,uponhersecondorthirdattempt,frequentlybecomealmosttongue-tiedfromexcess of consternation—a sentiment inspired by the unspeakable lookslevelledatherthroughapairofdart-dealingspectacles.

OnemorningIwassittinginthecarré,atworkuponapieceofembroiderywhichoneofthepupilshadcommencedbutdelayedtofinish,andwhilemy

fingerswroughtattheframe,myearsregaledthemselveswithlisteningtothecrescendosandcadencesofavoiceharanguingintheneighbouringclasse,intones thatwaxedmomentarilymore unquiet,more ominously varied. Therewasagoodstrongpartition-wallbetweenmeandthegatheringstorm,aswellasafacilemeansofflightthroughtheglass-doortothecourt,incaseitsweptthis way; so I am afraid I derived more amusement than alarm from thesethickening symptoms. Poor Rosine was not safe: four times that blessedmorning had she made the passage of peril; and now, for the fifth time, itbecameherdangerousdutytosnatch,asitwere,abrandfromtheburning—apupilfromunderM.Paul'snose.

"MonDieu!MonDieu!"criedshe."Quevais-jedevenir?Monsieurvametuer,jesuissûre;carilestd'unecolère!"

Nervedbythecourageofdesperation,sheopenedthedoor.

"MademoiselleLaMalleaupiano!"washercry.

Ere she couldmake good her retreat, or quite close the door, this voiceuttereditself:—

"Dès cemoment!—la classe est défendue. La première qui ouvrira cetteporte,oupasseraparcettedivision, serapendue—fut-ceMadameBeckelle-même!"

Ten minutes had not succeeded the promulgation of this decree whenRosine'sFrenchpantoufleswereagainheardshufflingalongthecorridor.

"Mademoiselle,"saidshe,"Iwouldnotforafive-francpiecegointothatclasse again just now:Monsieur's lunettes are really terrible; and here is acommissionairecomewithamessagefromtheAthénée.IhavetoldMadameBeckIdarenotdeliverit,andshesaysIamtochargeyouwithit."

"Me?No,thatisrathertoobad!Itisnotinmylineofduty.Come,come,Rosine!bearyourownburden.Bebrave—chargeoncemore!"

"I,Mademoiselle?—impossible! Five times I have crossed him this day.Madamemustreallyhireagendarmeforthisservice.Ouf!Jen'enpuisplus!"

"Bah!youareonlyacoward.Whatisthemessage?"

"Preciselyof thekindwithwhichMonsieur least likes tobepestered:anurgentsummonstogodirectlytotheAthénée,asthereisanofficialvisitor—inspector—I know not what—arrived, and Monsieur must meet him: youknowhowhehatesamust."

Yes, I knew well enough. The restive little man detested spur or curb:againstwhateverwasurgentorobligatory,hewassure torevolt.However, Iaccepted the responsibility—not, certainly, without fear, but fear blent with

other sentiments, curiosity, amongst them. I opened the door, I entered, Iclosed it behindmeasquickly andquietly as a rather unsteadyhandwouldpermit;fortobesloworbustling,torattlealatch,orleaveadoorgapingwide,wereaggravationsofcrimeoftenmoredisastrousinresultthanthemaincrimeitself. There I stood then, and there he sat; his humour was visibly bad—almost at itsworst; he had been giving a lesson in arithmetic—for he gavelessonsonanyandeverysubjectthatstruckhisfancy—andarithmeticbeingadrysubject,invariablydisagreedwithhim:notapupilbuttrembledwhenhespokeof figures.Hesat,bentabovehisdesk: to lookupat the soundofanentrance,attheoccurrenceofadirectbreachofhiswillandlaw,wasanefforthecouldnotforthemomentbringhimselftomake.Itwasquiteaswell:Ithusgainedtimetowalkupthelongclasse;anditsuitedmyidiosyncracyfarbetterto encounter the near burst of anger like his, than to bear its menace at adistance.

At his estrade I paused, just in front; of course I was not worthy ofimmediateattention:heproceededwithhis lesson.Disdainwouldnotdo:hemusthearandhemustanswermymessage.

Notbeingquitetallenoughtoliftmyheadoverhisdesk,elevatedupontheestrade,andthussufferingeclipseinmypresentposition,Iventuredtopeepround,with the design, at first, ofmerely getting a better view of his face,which had struck me when I entered as bearing a close and picturesqueresemblance to thatof ablackand sallow tiger.Twicedid I enjoy this side-viewwithimpunity,advancingandrecedingunseen;thethirdtimemyeyehadscarce dawned beyond the obscuration of the desk,when itwas caught andtransfixed through its very pupil—transfixed by the "lunettes." Rosine wasright; these utensils had in them a blank and immutable terror, beyond themobilewrathofthewearer'sownunglazedeyes.

I now found the advantage of proximity: these short-sighted "lunettes"were useless for the inspection of a criminal under Monsieur's nose;accordingly,hedoffedthem,andheandIstoodonmoreequalterms.

IamgladIwasnotreallymuchafraidofhim—that, indeed,close inhispresence, I felt no terror at all; for upon his demanding cord and gibbet toexecute the sentence recently pronounced, Iwas able to furnish himwith aneedlefulofembroidering threadwith suchaccommodatingcivilityascouldnotbutallaysomeportionatleastofhissurplusirritation.OfcourseIdidnotparadethiscourtesybeforepublicview:Imerelyhandedthethreadroundtheangle of the desk, and attached it, ready noosed, to the barred back of theProfessor'schair.

"Quemevoulez-vous?"saidheinagrowlofwhichthemusicwaswhollyconfined tohis chest and throat, for hekept his teeth clenched; and seemed

registering tohimselfan inwardvowthatnothingearthlyshouldwringfromhimasmile.

My answer commenced uncompromisingly: "Monsieur," I said, "je veuxl'impossible,deschosesinouïes;"andthinkingitbestnottomincematters,buttoadministerthe"douche"withdecision,inalowbutquickvoice,IdeliveredtheAthenianmessage,floridlyexaggeratingitsurgency.

Ofcourse,hewouldnothearawordofit."Hewouldnotgo;hewouldnotleavehispresentclass,letalltheofficialsofVillettesendforhim.Hewouldnot put himself an inch out of hisway at the bidding of king, cabinet, andchamberstogether."

Iknew,however,thathemustgo;that,talkashewould,bothhisdutyandinterestcommandedanimmediateandliteralcompliancewiththesummons:Istood,therefore,waitinginsilence,asifhehadnotyetspoken.HeaskedwhatmoreIwanted.

"OnlyMonsieur'sanswertodelivertothecommissionaire."

Hewavedanimpatientnegative.

Iventuredtostretchmyhandtothebonnet-grecwhichlayingrimreposeonthewindow-sill.Hefollowedthisdaringmovementwithhiseye,nodoubtinmixedpityandamazementatitspresumption.

"Ah!" he muttered, "if it came to that—ifMiss Lucy meddled with hisbonnet-grec—shemightjustputitonherself,turngarçonfortheoccasion,andbenevolentlygototheAthénéeinhisstead."

Withgreatrespect,Ilaidthebonnetonthedesk,whereitstasselseemedtogivemeanawfulnod.

"I'llwriteanoteofapology—thatwilldo!"saidhe,stillbentonevasion.

Knowing well it would not do, I gently pushed the bonnet towards hishand. Thus impelled, it slid down the polished slope of the varnished andunbaizeddesk,carriedbeforeit thelightsteel-framed"lunettes,"and,fearfultorelate,theyfelltotheestrade.AscoreoftimeserenowhadIseenthemfallandreceivenodamage—thistime,asLucySnowe'shaplessluckwouldhaveit,theysofellthateachclearpebblebecameashiveredandshapelessstar.

Now, indeed,dismayseizedme—dismayandregret. Iknew thevalueofthese "lunettes": M. Paul's sight was peculiar, not easily fitted, and theseglassessuitedhim.Ihadheardhimcall themhistreasures:asIpickedthemup, cracked and worthless, my hand trembled. Frightened through all mynervesIwastoseethemischiefIhaddone,butIthinkIwasevenmoresorrythanafraid.ForsomesecondsIdarednotlookthebereavedProfessorintheface;hewasthefirsttospeak.

"Là!"saidhe:"mevoilàveufdemeslunettes!IthinkMademoiselleLucywillnowconfessthatthecordandgallowsareamplyearned;shetremblesinanticipationofherdoom.Ah,traitress!traitress!Youareresolvedtohavemequiteblindandhelplessinyourhands!"

I liftedmyeyes:his face, insteadofbeing irate, lowering,and furrowed,was overflowing with the smile, coloured with the bloom I had seenbrightening it that evening at theHotelCrécy.Hewas not angry—not evengrieved.Fortherealinjuryheshowedhimselffullofclemency;undertherealprovocation,patientasasaint.Thisevent,whichseemedsountoward—whichIthoughthadruinedatoncemychanceofsuccessfulpersuasion—provedmybest help.Difficult ofmanagement so long as I had done him no harm, hebecamegraciouslypliant as soonas I stood inhispresencea consciousandcontriteoffender.

Stillgentlyrailingatmeas"unefortefemme—uneAnglaiseterrible—unepetitecasse-tout"—hedeclaredthathedarednotbutobeyonewhohadgivensuchan instanceofherdangerousprowess; itwasabsolutely like the"grandEmpereursmashingthevasetoinspiredismay."So,atlast,crowninghimselfwith his bonnet-grec, and taking his ruined "lunettes" frommy handwith aclaspofkindpardonandencouragement,hemadehisbow,andwentofftotheAthénéeinfirst-ratehumourandspirits.

**

Afterallthisamiability,thereaderwillbesorryformysaketohearthatIwasquarrellingwithM.Paulagainbeforenight;yetsoitwas,andIcouldnothelpit.

Itwashisoccasionalcustom—andaverylaudable,acceptablecustom,too—toarriveofanevening,alwaysàl'improviste,unannounced,burstinonthesilenthourofstudy,establishasuddendespotismoverusandouroccupations,causebookstobeputaway,work-bagstobebroughtout,and,drawingforthasingle thick volume, or a handful of pamphlets, substitute for the besotted"lecture pieuse," drawled by a sleepy pupil, some tragedy made grand bygrand reading, ardent by fiery action—some drama,whereof, formy part, Irarely studied the intrinsic merit; for M. Emanuel made it a vessel for anoutpouring, and filled itwithhis nativeverve andpassion like a cupwith avitalbrewage.Orelsehewouldflashthroughourconventualdarknessareflexofabrighterworld,showusaglimpseofthecurrentliteratureoftheday,readuspassagesfromsomeenchantingtale,orthelastwittyfeuilletonwhichhadawakenedlaughterinthesaloonsofParis;takingcarealwaystoexpunge,withtheseveresthand,whetherfromtragedy,melodrama,tale,oressay,whateverpassage,phrase,orword,couldbedeemedunsuitedtoanaudienceof"jeunesfilles." Inoticedmore thanonce, thatwhere retrenchmentwithout substitute

would have left unmeaning vacancy, or introducedweakness, he could, anddid, improvise whole paragraphs, no less vigorous than irreproachable; thedialogue—the description—he engrafted was often far better than that heprunedaway.

Well, on the evening in question, we were sitting silent as nuns in a"retreat," thepupils studying, the teachersworking. I remembermywork; itwasaslightmatteroffancy,anditratherinterestedme;ithadapurpose;Iwasnot doing itmerely to kill time; Imeant itwhen finished as a gift; and theoccasionofpresentationbeingnear,hastewasrequisite,andmyfingerswerebusy.

We heard the sharp bell-peal which we all knew; then the rapid stepfamiliar to each ear: the words "Voilà Monsieur!" had scarcely brokensimultaneously from every lip, when the two-leaved door split (as split italways did for his admission—such a slowword as "open" is inefficient todescribehismovements),andhestoodinthemidstofus.

Thereweretwostudytables,bothlongandflankedwithbenches;overthecentreofeachhunga lamp;beneaththis lamp,oneithersidethetable,satateacher; thegirlswerearranged to therighthandand the left; theeldestandmost studiousnearest the lampsor tropics; the idlersand littleones towardsthe north and south poles.Monsieur's habit was politely to hand a chair tosometeacher,generallyZélieSt.Pierre, theseniormistress; then to takehervacatedseat;andthusavailhimselfofthefullbeamofCancerorCapricorn,which,owingtohisnearsight,heneeded.

As usual, Zélie rose with alacrity, smiling to the whole extent of hermouth,andthefulldisplayofherupperandunderrowsofteeth—thatstrangesmilewhichpassesfromeartoear,andismarkedonlybyasharpthincurve,whichfailstospreadoverthecountenance,andneitherdimplesthecheeknorlightstheeye.IsupposeMonsieurdidnotseeher,orhehadtakenawhimthathewouldnotnoticeher,forhewasascapriciousaswomenaresaidtobe;thenhis"lunettes"(hehadgotanotherpair)servedhimasanexcuseforallsortsoflittleoversightsandshortcomings.Whatevermightbehisreason,hepassedbyZélie,cametotheothersideofthetable,andbeforeIcouldstartuptocleartheway,whispered,"Nebougezpas,"andestablishedhimselfbetweenmeandMissFanshawe,whoalwayswouldbemyneighbour,andhaveherelbowinmy side, however often I declared to her, "Ginevra, I wish you were atJericho."

Itwaseasytosay,"Nebougezpas;"buthowcouldIhelpit?Imustmakehimroom,andImustrequestthepupilstorecedethatImightrecede.Itwasverywell forGinevra tobegummed tome, "keepingherselfwarm," as shesaid,onthewinterevenings,andharassingmyveryheartwithherfidgetings

andpokings,obligingme,indeed,sometimestoputanartfulpininmygirdlebywayofprotectionagainstherelbow;butIsupposeM.Emanuelwasnottobe subjected to the same kind of treatment, so I swept away my workingmaterials,toclearspaceforhisbook,andwithdrewmyselftomakeroomforhisperson;not,however, leavingmorethanayardofinterval, justwhatanyreasonablemanwouldhaveregardedasaconvenient,respectfulallowanceofbench.ButM.Emanuelneverwasreasonable;flintandtinderthathewas!hestruckandtookfiredirectly.

"Vousnevoulezpasdemoipourvoisin,"hegrowled:"vousvousdonnezdesairsdecaste;vousmetraitezenparia;"hescowled."Soit!jevaisarrangerlachose!"Andhesettowork.

"Levezvoustoutes,Mesdemoiselles!"criedhe.

Thegirlsrose.Hemadethemallfileofftotheothertable.Hethenplacedmeatoneextremityofthelongbench,andhavingdulyandcarefullybroughtmemywork-basket,silk,scissors,allmyimplements,hefixedhimselfquiteattheotherend.

Atthisarrangement,highlyabsurdasitwas,notasoulintheroomdaredtolaugh;lucklessforthegigglerwouldhavebeenthegiggle.Asforme,Itookit with entire coolness. There I sat, isolated and cut off from humanintercourse;Isatandmindedmywork,andwasquiet,andnotatallunhappy.

"Estceassezdedistance?"hedemanded.

"Monsieurenestl'arbitre,"saidI.

"Voussavezbienquenon.C'estvousquiavezcréecevideimmense:moijen'yaipasmislamain."

Andwiththisassertionhecommencedthereading.

For hismisfortune he had chosen a French translation ofwhat he called"undramedeWilliamsShackspire; le fauxdieu,"he furtherannounced, "decessotspaïens,lesAnglais."Howfarotherwisehewouldhavecharacterizedhimhadhistempernotbeenupset,Iscarcelyneedintimate.

Of course, the translation being French, was very inefficient; nor did Imakeanyparticulareffort toconceal thecontemptwhichsomeofitsforlornlapseswerecalculated toexcite.Not that itbehovedorbeseemedme to sayanything:butonecanoccasionallylooktheopinionitisforbiddentoembodyinwords.Monsieur's lunettes being on the alert, he gleaned up every straylook;Idon'tthinkhelostone:theconsequencewas,hiseyessoondiscardedascreen, that their blazemight sparkle free, and hewaxedhotter at the northpoletowhichhehadvoluntarilyexiledhimself,than,consideringthegeneraltemperatureoftheroom,itwouldhavebeenreasonabletobecomeunderthe

verticalrayofCanceritself.

The readingover, it appearedproblematicwhether hewoulddepartwithhisangerunexpressed,orwhetherhewouldgiveitvent.Suppressionwasnotmuch in his habits; but still,what had been done to him definite enough toaffordmatterforovertreproof?Ihadnotutteredasound,andcouldnotjustlybedeemedamenable to reprimandorpenalty forhavingpermittedaslightlyfreeractionthanusualtothemusclesaboutmyeyesandmouth.

The supper, consisting of bread, andmilk diluted with tepid water, wasbrought in. In respectful consideration of the Professor's presence, the rollsandglasseswereallowedtostandinsteadofbeingimmediatelyhandedround.

"Take your supper, ladies," said he, seeming to be occupied in makingmarginalnotes tohis "WilliamsShackspire."They took it. I alsoacceptedarollandglass,butbeingnowmorethaneverinterestedinmywork,Ikeptmyseatofpunishment, andwroughtwhile Imunchedmybread and sippedmybeverage, the whole with easy sang-froid; with a certain snugness ofcomposure,indeed,scarcelyinmyhabits,andpleasantlynoveltomyfeelings.Itseemedasifthepresenceofanaturesorestless,chafing,thornyasthatofM.Paulabsorbedallfeverishandunsettlinginfluenceslikeamagnet,andleftmenonebutsuchaswereplacidandharmonious.

Herose."Willhegoawaywithoutsayinganotherword?"Yes;heturnedtothedoor.

No: he re-turned on his steps; but only, perhaps, to take his pencil-case,whichhadbeenleftonthetable.

Hetookit—shutthepencilinandout,brokeitspointagainstthewood,re-cutandpocketedit,and...walkedpromptlyuptome.

Thegirlsandteachers,gatheredroundtheothertable,weretalkingprettyfreely: theyalwaystalkedatmeals;and,fromtheconstanthabitofspeakingfastandloudatsuchtimes,didnotnowsubduetheirvoicesmuch.

M.Paulcameandstoodbehindme.HeaskedatwhatIwasworking;andIsaidIwasmakingawatchguard.

He asked, "Forwhom?"And I answered, "For a gentleman—one ofmyfriends."

M.Paul stoopeddownandproceeded—asnovel-writers say,and,aswasliterallytrueinhiscase—to"hiss"intomyearsomepoignantwords.

He said that, of all thewomenhe knew, Iwas the onewho couldmakeherselfthemostconsummatelyunpleasant:Iwasshewithwhomitwasleastpossibletoliveonfriendlyterms.Ihada"caractèreintraitable,"andperversetoamiracle.HowImanagedit,orwhatpossessedme,he,forhispart,didnot

know;butwithwhateverpacificandamicableintentionsapersonaccostedme—crac!Iturnedconcordtodiscord,good-willtoenmity.Hewassure,he—M.Paul—wishedmewellenough;hehadneverdonemeanyharmthatheknewof;hemight, at least,he supposed,claima right tobe regardedasaneutralacquaintance,guiltlessofhostilesentiments:yet,howIbehavedtohim!Withwhat pungent vivacities—what an impetus of mutiny—what a "fougue" ofinjustice!

HereIcouldnotavoidopeningmyeyessomewhatwide,andevenslippingin a slight interjectional observation: "Vivacities? Impetus?Fougue? I didn'tknow…."

"Chut! à l'instant!There! there Iwent—vivecomme lapoudre!"Hewassorry—hewasverysorry:formysakehegrievedoverthehaplesspeculiarity.This "emportement," this "chaleur"—generous, perhaps, but excessive—wouldyet,hefeared,domeamischief.Itwasapity:Iwasnot—hebelieved,inhissoul—whollywithoutgoodqualities:andwouldIbuthearreason,andbemoresedate,moresober,less"enl'air,"less"coquette,"lesstakenbyshow,lesspronetosetanunduevalueonoutsideexcellence—tomakemuchoftheattentions of people remarkable chiefly for so many feet of stature, "descouleurs de poupée," "un nez plus ou moins bien fait," and an enormousamount of fatuity—I might yet prove an useful, perhaps an exemplarycharacter.But, as itwas—Andhere, the littleman's voicewas for aminutechoked.

Iwouldhave lookedup at him,or heldoutmyhand, or said a soothingword;butIwasafraid,ifIstirred,Ishouldeitherlaughorcry;soodd,inallthis,wasthemixtureofthetouchingandtheabsurd.

Ithoughthehadnearlydone:butno;hesatdownthathemightgoonathisease.

"Whilehe,M.Paul,wasonthesepainfultopics,hewoulddaremyangerforthesakeofmygood,andwouldventuretorefertoachangehehadnoticedinmydress.Hewas free toconfess thatwhenhe firstknewme—or, rather,was in the habit of catching a passing glimpse ofme from time to time—Isatisfiedhimonthispoint: thegravity, theausteresimplicity,obviousinthisparticular, were such as to inspire the highest hopes for my best interests.What fatal influence had impelledme lately to introduce flowers under thebrim of my bonnet, to wear 'des cols brodés,' and even to appear on oneoccasioninascarletgown—hemightindeedconjecture,but,forthepresent,wouldnotopenlydeclare."

AgainIinterrupted,andthistimenotwithoutanaccentatonceindignantandhorror-struck.

"Scarlet,MonsieurPaul?Itwasnotscarlet!Itwaspink,andpalepinkto:andfurthersubduedbyblacklace."

"Pinkorscarlet,yelloworcrimson,pea-greenorsky-blue,itwasallone:thesewereallflaunting,giddycolours;andastothelaceItalkedof,thatwasbuta'colifichetdeplus.'"Andhesighedovermydegeneracy."Hecouldnot,he was sorry to say, be so particular on this theme as he could wish: notpossessingtheexactnamesofthese'babioles,'hemightrunintosmallverbalerrorswhichwould not fail to lay him open tomy sarcasm, and excitemyunhappilysuddenandpassionatedisposition.Hewouldmerelysay,ingeneralterms—andinthesegeneraltermsheknewhewascorrect—thatmycostumehadoflateassumed'desfaçonsmondaines,'whichitwoundedhimtosee."

What"façonsmondaines"hediscoveredinmypresentwintermerinoandplainwhitecollar,Iownitpuzzledmetoguess:andwhenIaskedhim,hesaiditwasallmadewith toomuchattention toeffect—andbesides,"hadInotabowofribbonatmyneck?"

"And if you condemn a bow of ribbon for a lady,Monsieur, youwouldnecessarilydisapproveofathinglikethisforagentleman?"—holdingupmybright littlechainletofsilkandgold.Hissole replywasagroan—Isupposeovermylevity.

After sitting some minutes in silence, and watching the progress of thechain, at which I now wrought more assiduously than ever, he inquired:"Whetherwhathehadjustsaidwouldhavetheeffectofmakingmeentirelydetesthim?"

IhardlyrememberwhatanswerImade,orhowitcameabout;Idon'tthinkI spoke at all, but I knowwemanaged to bidgood-night on friendly terms:and,evenafterM.Paulhadreachedthedoor,heturnedbackjusttoexplain,"that he would not be understood to speak in entire condemnation of thescarletdress"("Pink!pink!"Ithrewin);"thathehadnointentiontodenyitthemerit of looking rather well" (the fact was, M. Emanuel's taste in coloursdecidedlyleanedtothebrilliant);"onlyhewishedtocounselme,whenever,Iworeit,todosointhesamespiritasifitsmaterialwere'bure,'anditshue'grisdepoussière.'"

"And the flowers undermy bonnet,Monsieur?" I asked. "They are verylittleones—?"

"Keepthemlittle,then,"saidhe."Permitthemnottobecomefull-blown."

"Andthebow,Monsieur—thebitofribbon?"

"Vapourleruban!"wasthepropitiousanswer.

Andsowesettledit.

**

"Well done, Lucy Snowe!" cried I to myself; "you have come in for apretty lecture—brought on yourself a 'rude savant,' and all through yourwicked fondness for worldly vanities! Who would have thought it? Youdeemed yourself a melancholy sober-sides enough! Miss Fanshawe thereregardsyouasasecondDiogenes.M.deBassompierre,theotherday,politelyturned the conversation when it ran on the wild gifts of the actress Vashti,because, as he kindly said, 'Miss Snowe looked uncomfortable.' Dr. JohnBrettonknowsyouonlyas'quietLucy'—'acreatureinoffensiveasashadow;'hehassaid,andyouhaveheardhimsayit:'Lucy'sdisadvantagesspringfromover-gravityintastesandmanner—wantofcolourincharacterandcostume.'Suchareyourownandyourfriends'impressions;andbehold!therestartsupalittleman, differing diametrically from all these, roundly charging youwithbeing too airy and cheery—too volatile and versatile—too flowery andcoloury.Thisharshlittleman—thispitilesscensor—gathersupallyourpoorscatteredsinsofvanity,yourlucklesschiffonofrose-colour,yoursmallfringeofawreath,yoursmallscrapofribbon,yoursillybitoflace,andcallsyoutoaccountforthelot,andforeachitem.YouarewellhabituatedtobepassedbyasashadowinLife'ssunshine: it isanewthingtoseeonetestily liftinghishandtoscreenhiseyes,becauseyouteasehimwithanobtrusiveray."

CHAPTERXXIX.

MONSIEUR'SFÊTE.

Iwasupthenextmorninganhourbeforedaybreak,andfinishedmyguard,kneelingonthedormitoryfloorbesidethecentrestand,forthebenefitofsuchexpiringglimmerasthenight-lampaffordedinitslastwatch.

Allmymaterials—mywholestockofbeadsandsilk—wereusedupbeforethechainassumedthelengthandrichnessIwished;Ihadwroughtitdouble,as I knew, by the rule of contraries, that to, suit the particular taste whosegratificationwasinview,aneffectiveappearancewasquiteindispensable.Asafinishtotheornament,alittlegoldclaspwasneeded;fortunatelyIpossesseditinthefasteningofmysolenecklace;Idulydetachedandre-attachedit,thencoiled compactly the completedguard; and enclosed it in a small box I hadbought for its brilliancy, made of some tropic shell of the colour called"nacarat,"anddeckedwithalittlecoronalofsparklingbluestones.Withinthelidofthebox,Icarefullygravedwithmyscissors'pointcertaininitials.

**

Thereaderwill,perhaps,rememberthedescriptionofMadameBeck'sfête;norwillhehave forgotten that at eachanniversary, ahandsomepresentwassubscribed for and offered by the school.The observance of this daywas adistinction accorded to none but Madame, and, in a modified form, to herkinsman and counsellor, M. Emanuel. In the latter case it was an honourspontaneouslyawarded,notplottedandcontrivedbeforehand,andofferedanadditional proof, amongstmany others, of the estimation inwhich—despitehis partialities, prejudices, and irritabilities—the professor of literature washeldbyhispupils.Noarticleofvaluewasofferedtohim:hedistinctlygaveittobeunderstood,thathewouldacceptneitherplatenorjewellery.Yethelikedaslighttribute;thecost,themoney-value,didnottouchhim:adiamondring,agoldsnuff-box,presented,withpomp,wouldhavepleasedhim less thanaflower,oradrawing,offeredsimplyandwithsincere feelings.Suchwashisnature.Hewasaman,notwise inhisgeneration,yetcouldheclaimafilialsympathywith"thedayspringonhigh."

M.Paul's fête fellon the firstofMarchandaThursday. Itproveda finesunny day; and being likewise the morning on which it was customary toattend mass; being also otherwise distinguished by the half-holiday whichpermitted the privilege of walking out, shopping, or paying visits in theafternoon: these combined considerations induced a general smartness andfreshness of dress.Clean collarswere in vogue; the ordinary dingywoollenclasse-dresswas exchanged for something lighter and clearer.MademoiselleZélieSt.Pierre,on thisparticularThursday, evenassumeda "robede soie,"deemed in economical Labassecour an article of hazardous splendour andluxury;nay,itwasremarkedthatshesentfora"coiffeur"todressherhairthatmorning;therewerepupilsacuteenoughtodiscoverthatshehadbedewedherhandkerchiefandherhandswithanewandfashionableperfume.PoorZélie!Itwasmuchherwonttodeclareaboutthistime,thatshewastiredtodeathofa lifeofseclusionand labour; thatshe longedtohave themeansand leisureforrelaxation;tohavesomeonetoworkforher—ahusbandwhowouldpayherdebts(shewaswoefullyencumberedwithdebt),supplyherwardrobe,andleaveheratliberty,asshesaid,to"goûterunpeulesplaisirs."Ithadlongbeenrumoured, thathereyewasuponM.Emanuel.MonsieurEmanuel'seyewascertainlyoftenuponher.Hewouldsitandwatchherperseveringlyforminutestogether.Ihaveseenhimgiveheraquarter-of-an-hour'sgaze,whiletheclasswas silently composing, and he sat throned on his estrade, unoccupied.Conscious always of this basilisk attention, shewouldwrithe under it, half-flattered,half-puzzled,andMonsieurwouldfollowhersensations,sometimeslooking appallingly acute; for in some cases, he had the terrible unerringpenetrationofinstinct,andpiercedinitshiding-placethelastlurkingthoughtoftheheart,anddiscernedunderfloridveilingsthebare;barrenplacesofthespirit:yes,and itsperverted tendencies,and itshidden falsecurves—all that

men andwomenwould not have known—the twisted spine, themalformedlimbthatwasbornwith them,andfarworse, thestainordisfigurement theyhaveperhapsbroughtonthemselves.NocalamitysoaccursedbutM.Emanuelcould pity and forgive, if it were acknowledged candidly; but where hisquestioning eyesmet dishonest denial—where his ruthless researches founddeceitfulconcealment—oh,then,hecouldbecruel,andIthoughtwicked!hewouldexultantlysnatchthescreenfrompoorshrinkingwretches,passionatelyhurrythemtothesummitofthemountofexposure,andthereshowthemallnaked, all false—poor living lies—the spawn of that horrid Truth whichcannotbelookedonunveiled.Hethoughthedidjustice;formypartIdoubtwhethermanhasarighttodosuchjusticeonman:morethanonceinthesehisvisitations,Ihavefeltcompelledtogivetearstohisvictims,andnotsparedireandkeenreproachtohimself.Hedeservedit;butitwasdifficulttoshakehiminhisfirmconvictionthattheworkwasrighteousandneeded.

Breakfast being over and mass attended, the school-bell rang and therooms filled: a very pretty spectacle was presented in classe. Pupils andteacherssatneatlyarrayed,orderlyandexpectant,eachbearinginherhandthebouquetoffelicitation—theprettiestspring-flowersallfresh,andfillingtheairwiththeirfragrance:Ionlyhadnobouquet.Iliketoseeflowersgrowing,butwhentheyaregathered,theyceasetoplease.Ilookonthemasthingsrootlessand perishable; their likeness to lifemakesme sad. I never offer flowers tothose I love; I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me.MademoiselleSt.Pierremarkedmyemptyhands—shecouldnotbelieveIhadbeensoremiss;withavidityhereyerovedoverandroundme:surelyImusthave some solitary symbolic flower somewhere: some small knotofviolets,something to winmyself praise for taste, commendation for ingenuity. Theunimaginative "Anglaise" proved better than the Parisienne's fears: she satliterally unprovided, as bare of bloom or leaf as the winter tree. Thisascertained,Zéliesmiled,wellpleased.

"Howwiselyyouhaveacted tokeepyourmoney,MissLucie,"shesaid:"silly I have gone and thrown away two francs on a bouquet of hot-houseflowers!"

Andsheshowedwithpridehersplendidnosegay.

But hush! a step: the step. It came prompt, as usual, but with apromptitude,we felt disposed to flatter ourselves, inspired by other feelingsthan mere excitability of nerve and vehemence of intent. We thought ourProfessor's"foot-fall"(tospeakromantically)hadinitafriendlypromisethismorning;andsoithad.

Heenteredinamoodwhichmadehimasgoodasanewsunbeamtothealreadywell-litfirstclasse.Themorninglightplayingamongstourplantsand

laughing on ourwalls, caught an added lustre fromM. Paul's all-benignantsalute.LikeatrueFrenchman(thoughIdon'tknowwhyIshouldsayso,forhewas of strain neither French nor Labassecourien), he had dressed for the"situation"andtheoccasion.Notbythevaguefolds,sinisterandconspirator-like,ofhissoot-darkpaletôtweretheoutlinesofhispersonobscured;onthecontrary,his figure (suchas itwas, Idon'tboastof it)waswell setoffbyacivilizedcoatandasilkenvestquiteprettytobehold.Thedefiantandpaganbonnet-grechadvanished:bare-headed,hecameuponus,carryingaChristianhat in his gloved hand. The little man looked well, very well; there was aclearness of amity in his blue eye, and a glow of good feeling on his darkcomplexion,whichpassedperfectlyintheplaceofbeauty:onereallydidnotcare to observe that his nose, though far from small, was of no particularshape,hischeekthin,hisbrowmarkedandsquare,hismouthnorose-bud:oneaccepted him as he was, and felt his presence the reverse of damping orinsignificant.

Hepassedtohisdesk;heplacedonthesamehishatandgloves."Bonjour,mesamies,"saidhe,inatonethatsomehowmadeamendstosomeamongstusformanyasharpsnapandsavagesnarl:notajocund,good-fellowtone,stilllessanunctuouspriestly,accent,butavoicehehadbelongingtohimself—avoiceusedwhenhisheartpassed thewords tohis lips.That sameheartdidspeaksometimes;thoughanirritable,itwasnotanossifiedorgan:initscorewasaplace, tenderbeyondaman's tenderness;aplace thathumbledhim tolittlechildren,thatboundhimtogirlsandwomentowhom,rebelashewould,he could not disown his affinity, nor quite deny that, on thewhole, hewasbetterwiththemthanwithhisownsex.

"WeallwishMonsieuragoodday,andpresenttohimourcongratulationson theanniversaryofhis fête,"saidMademoiselleZélie,constitutingherselfspokeswoman of the assembly; and advancing with no more twists ofaffectationthanwerewithherindispensabletotheachievementofmotion,shelaidhercostlybouquetbeforehim.Hebowedoverit.

Thelongtrainofofferingsfollowed:allthepupils,sweepingpastwiththeglidingstepforeignerspractise,lefttheirtributesastheywentby.Eachgirlsodexterouslyadjustedherseparategift,thatwhenthelastbouquetwaslaidonthe desk, it formed the apex to a blooming pyramid—a pyramid blooming,spreading, and toweringwith such exuberance as, in the end, to eclipse theherobehind it.Thisceremonyover, seatswere resumed,andwesat indeadsilence,expectantofaspeech.

I suppose five minutes might have elapsed, and the hush remainedunbroken;ten—andtherewasnosound.

Manypresent began, doubtless, towonder forwhatMonsieurwaited; as

well they might. Voiceless and viewless, stirless and wordless, he kept hisstationbehindthepileofflowers.

Atlastthereissuedforthavoice,ratherdeep,asifitspokeoutofahollow:—

"Est-celàtout?"

MademoiselleZélielookedround.

"Youhaveallpresentedyourbouquets?"inquiredsheofthepupils.

Yes; they had all given their nosegays, from the eldest to the youngest,fromthetallesttothemostdiminutive.Theseniormistresssignifiedasmuch.

"Est-ce là tout?"was reiterated in an intonationwhich, deep before, hadnowdescendedsomenoteslower.

"Monsieur," saidMademoiselle St. Pierre, rising, and this time speakingwithherown sweet smile, "Ihave thehonour to tellyou that,witha singleexception,everyperson inclassehasofferedherbouquet.ForMeessLucie,Monsieur will kindly make allowance; as a foreigner she probably did notknowourcustoms,ordidnotappreciate their significance.MeessLuciehasregardedthisceremonyastoofrivoloustobehonouredbyherobservance."

"Famous!" Imutteredbetweenmy teeth: "youarenobad speaker,Zélie,whenyoubegin."

The answer vouchsafed toMademoiselle St Pierre from the estradewasgiven in the gesticulation of a hand from behind the pyramid. Thismanualactionseemedtodeprecatewords,toenjoinsilence.

Aform,erelong,followedthehand.Monsieuremergedfromhiseclipse;and producing himself on the front of his estrade, and gazing straight andfixedly before him at a vast "mappe-monde" covering thewall opposite, hedemandedathirdtime,andnowinreallytragictones—

"Est-celàtout?"

Imightyethavemadeallright,bysteppingforwardsandslippingintohishandtheruddylittleshell-boxIatthatmomentheldtightinmyown.Itwaswhat I had fully purposed to do; but, first, the comic side of Monsieur'sbehaviour had tempted me to delay, and now, Mademoiselle St. Pierre'saffected interference provoked contumacity. The reader not having hithertohad any cause to ascribe to Miss Snowe's character the most distantpretensions toperfection,willbe scarcelysurprised to learn that she felt tooperversetodefendherselffromanyimputationtheParisiennemightchoosetoinsinuate and besides, M. Paul was so tragic, and took my defection soseriously, he deserved to be vexed. I kept, then, both my box and my

countenance,andsatinsensateasanystone.

"Itiswell!"droppedatlengthfromthelipsofM.Paul;andhavingutteredthisphrase, the shadowof somegreatparoxysm—theswellofwrath, scorn,resolve—passedoverhisbrow,rippledhislips,andlinedhischeeks.Gulpingdownallfurthercomment,helaunchedintohiscustomary"discours."

Ican'tatallrememberwhatthis"discours"was;Ididnotlistentoit: thegulping-down process, the abrupt dismissal of hismortification or vexation,hadgivenmeasensationwhichhalf-counteracted the ludicrouseffectof thereiterated"Est-celàtout?"

Towards the close of the speech there came a pleasing diversion myattentionwasagainamusinglyarrested.

Owingtosomelittleaccidentalmovement—IthinkIdroppedmythimbleonthefloor,andinstoopingtoregainit,hitthecrownofmyheadagainstthesharpcornerofmydesk;whichcasualties(exasperatingtome,byrights,iftoanybody) naturally made a slight bustle—M. Paul became irritated, anddismissing his forced equanimity, and casting to thewinds that dignity andself-control withwhich he never cared long to encumber himself, he brokeforthintothestrainbestcalculatedtogivehimease.

I don't know how, in the progress of his "discours," he had contrived tocross theChanneland landonBritishground;but there I foundhimwhen Ibegantolisten.

Castingaquick,cynicalglanceroundtheroom—aglancewhichscathed,or was intended to scathe, as it crossed me—he fell with fury upon "lesAnglaises."

Never have I heard English women handled as M. Paul that morninghandled them:he sparednothing—neither theirminds,morals,manners,norpersonalappearance.Ispeciallyrememberhisabuseoftheirtallstature,theirlongnecks,theirthinarms,theirslovenlydress,theirpedanticeducation,theirimpious scepticism(!), their insufferable pride, their pretentious virtue: overwhich he ground his teeth malignantly, and looked as if, had he dared, hewouldhavesaidsingularthings.Oh!hewasspiteful,acrid,savage;and,asanaturalconsequence,detestablyugly.

"Littlewicked venomousman!" thought I; "am I going to harassmyselfwithfearsofdispleasingyou,orhurtingyourfeelings?No,indeed;youshallbeindifferenttome,astheshabbiestbouquetinyourpyramid."

IgrievetosayIcouldnotquitecarryoutthisresolution.Forsometimetheabuse of England and the English found and left me stolid: I bore it somefifteenminutesstoicallyenough;butthishissingcockatricewasdeterminedto

sting,andhesaidsuchthingsatlast—fasteningnotonlyuponourwomen,butuponourgreatestnamesandbestmen;sullying, theshieldofBritannia,anddabbling the union jack in mud—that I was stung. With vicious relish hebrought up the most spicy current continental historical falsehoods—thanwhichnothing canbe conceivedmoreoffensive.Zélie, and thewhole class,becameonegrinofvindictivedelight;foritiscurioustodiscoverhowtheseclownsofLabassecoursecretlyhateEngland.At last, Istruckasharpstrokeonmydesk,openedmylips,andletloosethiscry:—

"Vivel'Angleterre,l'HistoireetlesHéros!AbaslaFrance,laFictionetlesFaquins!"

The class was struck of a heap. I suppose they thought me mad. TheProfessorputuphishandkerchief,andfiendishlysmiled into its folds.Littlemonsterofmalice!Henowthoughthehadgotthevictory,sincehehadmademe angry. In a second he became good-humoured.With great blandness heresumedthesubjectofhisflowers;talkedpoeticallyandsymbolicallyoftheirsweetness, perfume, purity, etcetera;madeFrenchified comparisons betweenthe"jeunesfilles"andthesweetblossomsbeforehim;paidMademoiselleSt.Pierre a very full-blown compliment on the superiority of her bouquet; andended by announcing that the first really fine, mild, and balmymorning inspring, he intended to take the whole class out to breakfast in the country."Such of the class, at least," he added, with emphasis, "as he could countamongstthenumberofhisfriends."

"Doncjen'yseraipas,"declaredI,involuntarily.

"Soit!"washisresponse;and,gatheringhisflowersinhisarms,heflashedout of classe; while I, consigning my work, scissors, thimble, and theneglectedlittlebox,tomydesk,sweptup-stairs.Idon'tknowwhetherhefelthotandangry,butIamfreetoconfessthatIdid.

Yetwithastrangeevanescentanger,Ihadnotsatanhourontheedgeofmybed,picturingandrepicturinghislook,manner,wordsereIsmiledatthewhole scene. A little pang of regret I underwent that the box had not beenoffered.Ihadmeanttogratifyhim.Fatewouldnothaveitso.

In thecourseof theafternoon, remembering thatdesks inclassewerebynomeansinviolaterepositories,andthinkingthatitwasaswelltosecurethebox,onaccountoftheinitialsinthelid,P.C.D.E.,forPaulCarl(orCarlos)DavidEmanuel—suchwashisfullname—theseforeignersmustalwayshaveastringofbaptismals—Idescendedtotheschoolroom.

Itsleptinholidayrepose.Thedaypupilswereallgonehome,theboarderswereoutwalking, the teachers, except the surveillante of theweek,were intown, visiting or shopping; the suite of divisions was vacant; so was the

grande salle, with its huge solemn globe hanging in the midst, its pair ofmany-branched chandeliers, and its horizontal grand piano closed, silent,enjoyingitsmid-weekSabbath.Iratherwonderedtofindthefirstclassedoorajar;thisroombeingusuallylockedwhenempty,andbeingtheninaccessibleto any save Madame Beck and myself, who possessed a duplicate key. Iwonderedstillmore,onapproaching,tohearavaguemovementasoflife—astep,achairstirred,asoundliketheopeningofadesk.

"It is only Madame Beck doing inspection duty," was the conclusionfollowingamoment's reflection.Thepartially-openeddoorgaveopportunityfor assurance on this point. I looked. Behold! not the inspecting garb ofMadame Beck—the shawl and the clean cap—but the coat, and the close-shorn,darkheadofaman.Thispersonoccupiedmychair;hisolivehandheldmydeskopen, his nosewas lost toviewamongstmypapers.Hisbackwastowards me, but there could not be a moment's question about identity.Alreadywas the attireof ceremonydiscarded: the cherishedand ink-stainedpaletôt was resumed; the perverse bonnet-grec lay on the floor, as if justdroppedfromthehand,culpablybusy.

NowIknew,andIhadlongknown,thatthathandofM.Emanuel'swasonthe most intimate terms with my desk; that it raised and lowered the lid,ransackedandarrangedthecontents,almostasfamiliarlyasmyown.Thefactwasnotdubious,nordidhewishittobeso:heleftsignsofeachvisitpalpableandunmistakable;hitherto,however,Ihadnevercaughthimintheact:watchasIwould,Icouldnotdetectthehoursandmomentsofhiscoming.Isawthebrownie's work in exercises left overnight full of faults, and found nextmorning carefully corrected: I profited by his capricious good-will in loansfull welcome and refreshing. Between a sallow dictionary and worn-outgrammar would magically grow a fresh interesting new work, or a classic,mellow and sweet in its ripe age.Out ofmywork-basketwould laughinglypeeparomance,underitwouldlurkthepamphlet,themagazine,whencelastevening'sreadinghadbeenextracted.Impossibletodoubtthesourcewhencethese treasures flowed: had there been no other indication, one condemningandtraitorpeculiarity,commontothemall,settledthequestion—theysmeltofcigars.Thiswas very shocking, of course: I thought so at first, and used toopenthewindowwithsomebustle,toairmydesk,andwithfastidiousfingerandthumb,toholdthepeccantbrochuresforthtothepurifyingbreeze.Iwascuredofthatformalitysuddenly.Monsieurcaughtmeatitoneday,understoodthe inference, instantly relieved my hand of its burden, and, in anothermoment,wouldhavethrustthesameintotheglowingstove.Itchancedtobeabook,ontheperusalofwhichIwasbent;soforonceIprovedasdecidedandquickerthanhimself;recapturedthespoil,and—havingsavedthisvolume—neverhazardedasecond.Withall this,Ihadneveryetbeenabletoarrest inhisvisitsthefreakish,friendly,cigar-lovingphantom.

Butnowat last I hadhim: therehewas—theverybrowniehimself; andthere,curlingfromhislips,wasthepalebluebreathofhisIndiandarling:hewas smoking into my desk: it might well betray him. Provoked at thisparticular, and yet pleased to surprise him—pleased, that is,with themixedfeelingofthehousewifewhodiscoversatlastherstrangeelfinallybusyinthedairy at the untimely churn—I softly stole forward, stood behind him, bentwithprecautionoverhisshoulder.

My heart smote me to see that—after this morning's hostility, after myseeming remissness, after the puncture experienced by his feelings, and theruffling undergone by his temper—he, allwilling to forget and forgive, hadbroughtmeacoupleofhandsomevolumes,ofwhichthetitleandauthorshipwereguarantees for interest.Now,ashesatbendingabove thedesk,hewasstirringupitscontents;butwithgentleandcarefulhand;disarrangingindeed,but not harming. My heart smote me: as I bent over him, as he satunconscious,doingmewhatgoodhecould,andIdaresaynotfeelingtowardsme unkindly, my morning's anger quite melted: I did not dislike ProfessorEmanuel.

I think he heard me breathe. He turned suddenly: his temperament wasnervous, yet he never started, and seldom changed colour: there wassomethinghardyabouthim.

"I thought you were gone into town with the other teachers," said he,takingagrimgripeofhisself-possession,whichhalf-escapedhim—"It isaswellyouarenot.DoyouthinkIcareforbeingcaught?NotI.Ioftenvisityourdesk."

"Monsieur,Iknowit."

"You find a brochure or tome now and then; but you don't read them,becausetheyhavepassedunderthis?"—touchinghiscigar.

"Theyhave,andarenobetterfortheprocess;butIreadthem."

"Withoutpleasure?"

"Monsieurmustnotbecontradicted."

"Doyoulikethem,oranyofthem?—aretheyacceptable?""Monsieurhasseen me reading them a hundred times, and knows I have not so manyrecreationsastoundervaluethoseheprovides."

"I mean well; and, if you see that I mean well, and derive some littleamusementfrommyefforts,whycanwenotbefriends?"

"Afatalistwouldsay—becausewecannot."

"Thismorning,"hecontinued,"Iawoke inabrightmood,andcame into

classehappy;youspoiledmyday."

"No,Monsieur,onlyanhourortwoofit,andthatunintentionally."

"Unintentionally!No.Itwasmyfête-day;everybodywishedmehappinessbutyou.Thelittlechildrenofthethirddivisiongaveeachherknotofviolets,lispedeachhercongratulation:—you—nothing.Notabud,leaf,whisper—notaglance.Wasthisunintentional?"

"Imeantnoharm."

"Then you really did not know our custom?Youwere unprepared?Youwouldwillinglyhavelaidoutafewcentimesonaflowertogivemepleasure,hadyoubeenawarethatitwasexpected?Sayso,andallisforgotten,andthepainsoothed."

"Ididknowthatitwasexpected:Iwasprepared;yetIlaidoutnocentimesonflowers."

"Itiswell—youdorighttobehonest.Ishouldalmosthavehatedyouhadyou flattered and lied. Better declare at once 'Paul Carl Emanuel—je tedéteste,mongarçon!'—thansmileaninterest, lookanaffection,andbefalseandcoldatheart.FalseandcoldIdon't thinkyouare;butyouhavemadeagreatmistakeinlife,thatIbelieve;Ithinkyourjudgmentiswarped—thatyouare indifferent where you ought to be grateful—and perhaps devoted andinfatuated, where you ought to be cool as your name. Don't suppose that Iwishyoutohaveapassionforme,Mademoiselle;Dieuvousengarde!Whatdoyoustartfor?BecauseIsaidpassion?Well,Isayitagain.Thereissuchaword,andthereissuchathing—thoughnotwithinthesewalls,thankheaven!Youarenochildthatoneshouldnotspeakofwhatexists;butIonlyutteredtheword—thething,Iassureyou,isalientomywholelifeandviews.Itdiedinthepast—inthepresentitliesburied—itsgraveisdeep-dug,well-heaped,andmanywintersold:inthefuturetherewillbearesurrection,asIbelievetomy souls consolation; but all will then be changed—form and feeling: themortalwillhaveputonimmortality—itwillrise,notforearth,butheaven.AllI say to you,Miss Lucy Snowe, is—that you ought to treat Professor PaulEmanueldecently."

Icouldnot,anddidnotcontradictsuchasentiment.

"Tellme,"hepursued, "when it isyour fête-day, and Iwillnotgrudgeafewcentimesforasmalloffering."

"Youwillbelikeme,Monsieur:thiscostmorethanafewcentimes,andIdidnotgrudgeitsprice."

Andtakingfromtheopendeskthelittlebox,Iputitintohishand.

"It lay ready inmy lap thismorning," Icontinued;"and ifMonsieurhad

been rather more patient, and Mademoiselle St. Pierre less interfering—perhapsIshouldsay,too,ifIhadbeencalmerandwiser—Ishouldhavegivenitthen."

He looked at the box: I saw its clearwarm tint and bright azure circlet,pleasedhiseyes.Itoldhimtoopenit.

"Myinitials!"saidhe,indicatingthelettersinthelid."WhotoldyouIwascalledCarlDavid?"

"Alittlebird,Monsieur."

"Does it fly fromme toyou?Thenonecan tieamessageunder itswingwhenneedful."

Hetookoutthechain—atrifleindeedastovalue,butglossywithsilkandsparklingwithbeads.Helikedthattoo—admireditartlessly,likeachild.

"Forme?"

"Yes,foryou."

"Thisisthethingyouwereworkingatlastnight?"

"Thesame."

"Youfinisheditthismorning?"

"Idid."

"Youcommenceditwiththeintentionthatitshouldbemine?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Andofferedonmyfête-day?"

"Yes."

"Thispurposecontinuedasyouwoveit?"

AgainIassented.

"Then it is not necessary that I should cut out any portion—saying, thispart is not mine: it was plaited under the idea and for the adornment ofanother?"

"Bynomeans.Itisneithernecessary,norwoulditbejust."

"Thisobjectisallmine?"

"Thatobjectisyoursentirely."

StraightwayMonsieur opened his paletôt, arranged the guard splendidlyacrosshischest,displayingasmuchandsuppressingaslittleashecould:forhehadnonotionofconcealingwhatheadmiredandthoughtdecorative.Asto

thebox,hepronounceditasuperbbonbonnière—hewasfondofbonbons,bytheway—andashealwayslikedtosharewithotherswhatpleasedhimself,hewould give his "dragées" as freely as he lent his books. Amongst the kindbrownie's gifts left in my desk, I forgot to enumerate many a paper ofchocolate comfits. His tastes in these matters were southern, and what wethinkinfantine.Hissimplelunchconsistedfrequentlyofa"brioche,"which,asoftenasnot,hesharedwithsomechildofthethirddivision.

"Aprésentc'estunfaitaccompli,"saidhe,re-adjustinghispaletôt;andwehadnomorewordsonthesubject.Afterlookingoverthetwovolumeshehadbrought,andcuttingawaysomepageswithhispenknife(hegenerallyprunedbeforelendinghisbooks,especiallyiftheywerenovels,andsometimesIwasa little provoked at the severity of his censorship, the retrenchmentsinterruptingthenarrative),herose,politelytouchedhisbonnet-grec,andbademeacivilgood-day.

"Wearefriendsnow,"thoughtI,"tillthenexttimewequarrel."

Wemighthavequarrelledagainthatverysameevening,but,wonderfultorelate,failed,foronce,tomakethemostofouropportunity.

Contrarytoallexpectation,M.Paularrivedatthestudy-hour.Havingseensomuchofhiminthemorning,wedidnotlookforhispresenceatnight.Nosoonerwereweseatedatlessons,however,thanheappeared.IownIwasgladtoseehim,sogladthatIcouldnothelpgreetinghisarrivalwithasmile;andwhen he made his way to the same seat about which so serious amisunderstandinghadformerlyarisen,Itookgoodcarenottomaketoomuchroom for him; he watched with a jealous, side-long look, to see whether Ishrankaway,butIdidnot,thoughthebenchwasalittlecrowded.IwaslosingtheearlyimpulsetorecoilfromM.Paul.Habituatedtothepaletôtandbonnet-grec,theneighbourhoodofthesegarmentsseemednolongeruncomfortableorveryformidable.Ididnotnowsitrestrained,"asphyxiée"(asheusedtosay)athisside;IstirredwhenIwishedtostir,coughedwhenitwasnecessary,evenyawnedwhenIwastired—did, inshort,whatIpleased,blindlyreliantuponhis indulgence. Nor did my temerity, this evening at least, meet thepunishmentitperhapsmerited;hewasbothindulgentandgood-natured;notacross glance shot fromhis eyes, not a hastyword left his lips.Till the verycloseoftheevening,hedidnotindeedaddressmeatall,yetIfelt,somehow,that he was full of friendliness. Silence is of different kinds, and breathesdifferentmeanings; nowords could inspire a pleasanter content thandidM.Paul'sworldless presence.When the tray came in, and the bustle of suppercommenced, he just said, ashe retired, that hewishedmeagoodnight andsweetdreams;andagoodnightandsweetdreamsIhad.

CHAPTERXXX.

M.PAUL.

Yetthereaderisadvisednottobeinanyhurrywithhiskindlyconclusions,ortosuppose,withanover-hastycharity,thatfromthatdayM.Paulbecameachangedcharacter—easy to livewith, andno longer apt to flashdanger anddiscomfortroundhim.

No; he was naturally a little man of unreasonable moods. When over-wrought,which he oftenwas, he became acutely irritable; and, besides, hisveinsweredarkwithalividbelladonnatincture,theessenceofjealousy.Idonotmeanmerely the tender jealousy of the heart, but that sterner, narrowersentimentwhoseseatisinthehead.

Iusedtothink,asISatlookingatM.Paul,whilehewasknittinghisbroworprotrudinghislipoversomeexerciseofmine,whichhadnotasmanyfaultsashewished(forhelikedmetocommitfaults:aknotofblunderswassweetto him as a cluster of nuts), that he had points of resemblance toNapoleonBonaparte.Ithinksostill.

Inashamelessdisregardofmagnanimity,heresembledthegreatEmperor.M. Paul would have quarrelled with twenty learned women, would haveunblushinglycarriedonasystemofpettybickeringandrecriminationwithawholecapitalofcoteries,nevertroublinghimselfaboutlossorlackofdignity.HewouldhaveexiledfiftyMadamedeStaëls,if,theyhadannoyed,offended,outrivalled,oropposedhim.

IwellrememberahotepisodeofhiswithacertainMadamePanache—alady temporarily employedbyMadameBeck togive lessons inhistory.Shewasclever—thatis,sheknewagooddeal;and,besides,thoroughlypossessedthe art ofmaking themost ofwhat she knew; ofwords and confidence sheheldunlimitedcommand.Herpersonal appearancewas far fromdestituteofadvantages; I believe many people would have pronounced her "a finewoman;"andyettherewerepointsinherrobustandampleattractions,aswellasinherbustlinganddemonstrativepresence,which,itappeared,theniceandcapricious tastes ofM. Paul could not away with. The sound of her voice,echoingthroughthecarré,wouldputhimintoastrangetaking;herlongfreestep—almoststride—alongthecorridor,wouldoftenmakehimsnatchuphispapersanddecampontheinstant.

With malicious intent he bethought himself, one day, to intrude on herclass;asquickas lightninghegatheredhermethodof instruction; itdifferedfromapetplanofhisown.Withlittleceremony,andlesscourtesy,hepointed

outwhathetermedhererrors.Whetherheexpectedsubmissionandattention,Iknownot;hemetanacridopposition,accompaniedbyaroundreprimandforhiscertainlyunjustifiableinterference.

Insteadofwithdrawingwithdignity,ashemightstillhavedone,hethrewdown thegauntlet of defiance.MadamePanache, bellicose as aPenthesilea,picked itup inaminute.Shesnappedher fingers in the intermeddler's face;she rusheduponhimwitha stormofwords.M.Emanuelwaseloquent;butMadamePanachewasvoluble.Asystemoffierceantagonismensued.Insteadof laughing in his sleeve at his fair foe,with all her sore amour-propre andloudself-assertion,M.Pauldetestedherwithintenseseriousness;hehonouredherwithhisearnestfury;hepursuedhervindictivelyandimplacably,refusingto rest peaceably in his bed, to derive due benefit from his meals, or evenserenelytorelishhiscigar,tillshewasfairlyrootedoutoftheestablishment.The Professor conquered, but I cannot say that the laurels of this victoryshadowed gracefully his temples. Once I ventured to hint as much. To mygreatsurpriseheallowedthatImightberight,butaverredthatwhenbroughtintocontactwitheithermenorwomenofthecoarse,self-complacentquality,whereofMadamePanachewas a specimen, he had no control over his ownpassions; an unspeakable and active aversion impelled him to a war ofextermination.

Three months afterwards, hearing that his vanquished foe hadmet withreverses, andwas likely to be really distressed forwant of employment, heforgothishatred,andalikeactiveingoodandevil,hemovedheavenandearthtillhefoundheraplace.Uponhercomingtomakeupformerdifferences,andthankhimforhisrecentkindness,theoldvoice—alittleloud—theoldmanner—a little forward—soacteduponhim that in tenminuteshe startedup andbowed her, or rather himself, out of the room, in a transport of nervousirritation.

Topursueasomewhataudaciousparallel, inaloveofpower,inaneagergrasp after supremacy,M. Emanuelwas likeBonaparte.Hewas aman notalwaystobesubmittedto.Sometimesitwasneedfultoresist;itwasrighttostand still, to look up into his eyes and tell him that his requirementswentbeyondreason—thathisabsolutismvergedontyranny.

Thedawnings, the first developments of peculiar talent appearingwithinhis range, and under his rule, curiously excited, even disturbed him. Hewatched its struggle into lifewith a scowl; he held back his hand—perhapssaid,"Comeonifyouhavestrength,"butwouldnotaidthebirth.

Whenthepangandperilofthefirstconflictwereover,whenthebreathoflifewasdrawn,whenhesawthelungsexpandandcontract,whenhefelttheheartbeatanddiscoveredlifeintheeye,hedidnotyetoffertofoster.

"Prove yourself true ere I cherish you," was his ordinance; and howdifficulthemadethatproof!Whatthornsandbriers,whatflints,hestrewedinthepathoffeetnotinuredtoroughtravel!Hewatchedtearlessly—ordealsthatheexactedshouldbepassedthrough—fearlessly.Hefollowedfootprintsthat,as they approached thebourne,were sometimesmarked inblood—followedthemgrimly,holdingtheausterestpolice-watchoverthepain-pressedpilgrim.Andwhenatlastheallowedarest,beforeslumbermightclosetheeyelids,heopenedthosesamelidswide,withpitilessfingerandthumb,andgazeddeepthroughthepupilandtheiridsintothebrain,intotheheart,tosearchifVanity,orPride, or Falsehood, in any of its subtlest forms,was discoverable in thefurthestrecessofexistence.If,at last,helet theneophytesleep,itwasbutamoment;hewokehimsuddenlyuptoapplynewtests:hesenthimonirksomeerrandswhenhewasstaggeringwithweariness;hetriedthetemper,thesense,andthehealth;anditwasonlywheneveryseveresttesthadbeenappliedandendured, when the most corrosive aquafortis had been used, and failed totarnish the ore, that he admitted it genuine, and, still in clouded silence,stampeditwithhisdeepbrandofapproval.

Ispeaknotignorantoftheseevils.

Till the date at which the last chapter closes,M. Paul had not beenmyprofessor—he had not given me lessons, but about that time, accidentallyhearingmeonedayacknowledgeanignoranceofsomebranchofeducation(Ithinkitwasarithmetic),whichwouldhavedisgracedacharity-schoolboy,ashevery truly remarked,he tookme inhand,examinedmefirst, foundme, Ineed not say, abundantly deficient, gaveme some books and appointedmesometasks.

He did this at first with pleasure, indeed with unconcealed exultation,condescending to say that he believed Iwas "bonne et pas trop faible" (i.e.well enough disposed, and not wholly destitute of parts), but, owing hesupposedtoadversecircumstances,"asyetinastateofwretchedlyimperfectmentaldevelopment."

The beginning of all effort has indeed with me been marked by apreternatural imbecility. I never could, even in forming a commonacquaintance,assertorproveaclaimtoaveragequickness.AdepressinganddifficultpassagehasprefacedeverynewpageIhaveturnedinlife.

So long as this passage lasted,M. Paul was very kind, very good, veryforbearing; he saw the sharppain inflicted, and felt theweightyhumiliationimposedbymyownsenseof incapacity;andwordscanhardlydo justice tohis tenderness and helpfulness.His own eyeswouldmoisten,when tears ofshameandeffortcloudedmine;burdenedashewaswithwork,hewouldstealhalfhisbriefspaceofrecreationtogivetome.

But, strange grief! when that heavy and overcast dawn began at last toyield to day;whenmy faculties began to struggle themselves, free, andmytime of energy and fulfilment came; when I voluntarily doubled, trebled,quadrupled the tasksheset, topleasehimas I thought,hiskindnessbecamesternness;thelightchangedinhiseyesfromabeamtoaspark;hefretted,heopposed,hecurbedmeimperiously;themoreIdid,theharderIworked,thelessheseemedcontent.Sarcasmsofwhich theseverityamazedandpuzzledme, harassed my ears; then flowed out the bitterest inuendoes against the"prideofintellect."IwasvaguelythreatenedwithIknownotwhatdoom,ifIever trespassed the limits proper to my sex, and conceived a contrabandappetite for unfeminine knowledge. Alas! I had no such appetite. What Iloved,itjoyedmebyanyefforttocontent;butthenoblehungerforscienceintheabstract—thegodlikethirstafterdiscovery—thesefeelingswereknowntomebutbybriefestflashes.

Yet,whenM.Paulsneeredatme,Iwantedtopossessthemmorefully;hisinjustice stirred in me ambitious wishes—it imparted a strong stimulus—itgavewingstoaspiration.

Inthebeginning,beforeIhadpenetratedtomotives,thatuncomprehendedsneerofhismademyheartache,butby-and-byitonlywarmedthebloodinmy veins, and sent added action to my pulses. Whatever my powers—feminine or the contrary—God had given them, and I felt resolute to beashamedofnofacultyofhisbestowal.

The combatwas very sharp for a time. I seemed to have lostM. Paul'saffection; he treated me strangely. In his most unjust moments he wouldinsinuatethatIhaddeceivedhimwhenIappeared,whathecalled"faible"—thatisincompetent;hesaidIhadfeignedafalseincapacity.Again,hewouldturn suddenly round and accuse me of the most far-fetched imitations andimpossibleplagiarisms,asserting that Ihadextracted thepithoutofbooks Ihadnotsomuchasheardof—andovertheperusalofwhichIshouldinfalliblyhavefallendowninasleepasdeepasthatofEutychus.

Once,uponhispreferringsuchanaccusation, I turneduponhim—Iroseagainst him. Gathering an armful of his books out ofmy desk, I filledmyapronandpouredtheminaheapuponhisestrade,athisfeet.

"Takethemaway,M.Paul,"Isaid,"andteachmenomore.Ineveraskedtobemadelearned,andyoucompelmetofeelveryprofoundlythatlearningisnothappiness."

Andreturningtomydesk,Ilaidmyheadonmyarms,norwouldIspeaktohimfortwodaysafterwards.Hepainedandchagrinedme.Hisaffectionhadbeen very sweet and dear—apleasure new and incomparable: now that thisseemedwithdrawn,Icarednotforhislessons.

The books, however, were not taken away; they were all restored withcarefulhandto theirplaces,andhecameasusual to teachme.Hemadehispeace somehow—too readily, perhaps: I ought tohave stoodout longer, butwhen he looked kind and good, and held out his handwith amity,memoryrefused to reproduce with due force his oppressive moments. And then,reconcilementisalwayssweet!

Onacertainmorningamessagecamefrommygodmother,invitingmetoattendsomenotable lecture tobedelivered in thesamepublic roomsbeforedescribed.Dr.Johnhadbroughtthemessagehimself,anddelivereditverballyto Rosine, who had not scrupled to follow the steps of M. Emanuel, thenpassing to thefirstclasse,and, inhispresence,stand"carrément"beforemydesk, hand in apron-pocket, and rehearse the same, saucily and aloud,concludingwiththewords,"Qu'ilestvraimentbeau,Mademoiselle,cejeunedocteur!Quelsyeux—quelregard!Tenez!J'enailecoeurtoutému!"

Whenshewasgone,myprofessordemandedofmewhyIsuffered"cettefilleeffrontée,cettecréaturesanspudeur,"toaddressmeinsuchterms.

Ihadnopacifyinganswertogive.ThetermswerepreciselysuchasRosine—ayounglady inwhoseskull theorgansofreverenceandreservewerenotlargelydeveloped—wasintheconstanthabitofusing.Besides,whatshesaidabouttheyoungdoctorwastrueenough.Grahamwashandsome;hehadfineeyesandathrillingglance.Anobservationtothateffectactuallyformeditselfintosoundonmylips.

"Elleneditquelavérité,"Isaid.

"Ah!voustrouvez?"

"Mais,sansdoute."

Thelessontowhichwehadthatdaytosubmitwassuchastomakeusveryglad when it terminated. At its close, the released, pupils rushed out, half-trembling,half-exultant.I,too,wasgoing.Amandatetoremainarrestedme.Imuttered that I wanted some fresh air sadly—the stove was in a glow, theclasseover-heated.Aninexorablevoicemerelyrecommendedsilence;andthissalamander—forwhomnoroomeverseemedtoohot—sittingdownbetweenmydeskandthestove—asituationinwhichheoughttohavefeltbroiled,butdidnot—proceededtoconfrontmewith—aGreekquotation!

InM.Emanuel'ssoulrankledachronicsuspicionthatIknewbothGreekandLatin.Asmonkeysaresaidtohavethepowerofspeechiftheywouldbutuse it, and are reported to conceal this faculty in fear of its being turned totheir detriment, so to me was ascribed a fund of knowledge which I wassupposed criminally and craftily to conceal. The privileges of a "classicaleducation," itwas insinuated, hadbeenmine;on flowersofHymettus I had

revelled;agoldenstore,hivedinmemory,nowsilentlysustainedmyefforts,andprivilynurturedmywits.

A hundred expedients did M. Paul employ to surprise my secret—towheedle, to threaten, tostartle itoutofme.SometimesheplacedGreekandLatinbooksinmyway,andthenwatchedme,asJoanofArc'sjailorstemptedherwith thewarrior'saccoutrements,and lay inwait for the issue.AgainhequotedIknownotwhatauthorsandpassages,andwhilerollingouttheirsweetandsoundinglines(theclassictonesfellmusicallyfromhislips—forhehadagoodvoice—remarkableforcompass,modulation,andmatchlessexpression),he would fix on me a vigilant, piercing, and often malicious eye. It wasevident he sometimes expected great demonstrations; they never occurred,however; not comprehending, of course I could neither be charmed norannoyed.

Baffled—almostangry—hestillclungtohisfixedidea;mysusceptibilitieswerepronouncedmarble—myfaceamask.Itappearedasifhecouldnotbebrought to accept the homely truth, and takeme for what I was:men, andwomentoo,musthavedelusionofsomesort;ifnotmadereadytotheirhand,theywillinventexaggerationforthemselves.

AtmomentsIdidwishthathissuspicionshadbeenbetterfounded.ThereweretimeswhenIwouldhavegivenmyrighthandtopossessthetreasuresheascribed to me. He deserved condign punishment for his testy crotchets. Icould have gloried in bringing home to him his worst apprehensionsastoundinglyrealized.Icouldhaveexultedtoburstonhisvision,confrontandconfound his "lunettes," one blaze of acquirements. Oh! why did nobodyundertaketomakemecleverwhileIwasyoungenoughtolearn,thatImight,by one grand, sudden, inhuman revelation—one cold, cruel, overwhelmingtriumph—have for ever crushed the mocking spirit out of Paul Carl DavidEmanuel!

Alas!nosuchfeatwas inmypower.To-day,asusual,hisquotationsfellineffectual:hesoonshiftedhisground.

"Womenofintellect"washisnexttheme:herehewasathome.A"womanofintellect,"itappeared,wasasortof"lususnaturae,"alucklessaccident,athingforwhichtherewasneitherplacenoruseincreation,wantedneitheraswifenorworker.Beautyanticipatedherinthefirstoffice.Hebelievedinhissoulthatlovely,placid,andpassivefemininemediocritywastheonlypillowonwhichmanlythoughtandsensecouldfindrestforitsachingtemples;andastowork,malemindalonecouldworktoanygoodpracticalresult—hein?

This "hein?" was a note of interrogation intended to draw from mecontradictionorobjection.However,Ionlysaid—"Celanemeregardepas:jenem'ensouciepas;"andpresentlyadded—"MayIgo,Monsieur?Theyhave

rungthebellfortheseconddéjeuner"(i.e.luncheon).

"Whatofthat?Youarenothungry?"

"Indeed Iwas," I said; "I had had nothing since breakfast, at seven, andshouldhavenothingtilldinner,atfive,ifImissedthisbell."

"Well,hewasinthesameplight,butImightsharewithhim."

Andhebrokeintwothe"brioche"intendedforhisownrefreshment,andgavemehalf.Trulyhisbarkwasworsethanhisbite;butthereallyformidableattackwasyettocome.Whileeatinghiscake,IcouldnotforbearexpressingmysecretwishthatIreallyknewallofwhichheaccusedme.

"DidIsincerelyfeelmyselftobeanignoramus?"heasked,inasoftenedtone.

If Ihadrepliedmeeklybyanunqualifiedaffirmative, Ibelievehewouldhavestretchedouthishand,andweshouldhavebeenfriendsonthespot,butIanswered—

"Notexactly.Iamignorant,Monsieur,intheknowledgeyouascribetome,butIsometimes,notalways,feelaknowledgeofmyown."

"WhatdidImean?"heinquired,sharply.

Unable to answer this question in a breath, I evaded it by change ofsubject.He had now finished his half of the brioche feeling sure that on sotriflingafragmenthecouldnothavesatisfiedhisappetite,asindeedIhadnotappeased mine, and inhaling the fragrance of baked apples afar from therefectory,Iventuredtoinquirewhetherhedidnotalsoperceivethatagreeableodour.Heconfessedthathedid.Isaidifhewouldletmeoutbythegarden-door,andpermitmejusttorunacrossthecourt,Iwouldfetchhimaplateful;and added that I believed they were excellent, as Goton had a very goodmethodofbaking,orratherstewingfruit,puttinginalittlespice,sugar,andaglassortwoofvinblanc—mightIgo?

"Petite gourmande!" said he, smiling, "I have not forgotten how pleasedyouwerewiththepâtéâlacrêmeIoncegaveyou,andyouknowverywell,atthismoment,thattofetchtheapplesformewillbethesameasgettingthemforyourself.Go,then,butcomebackquickly."

Andatlastheliberatedmeonparole.Myownplanwastogoandreturnwithspeedandgoodfaith, toput theplate inat thedoor,andthentovanishincontinent,leavingallconsequencesforfuturesettlement.

That intolerably keen instinct of his seemed to have anticipated myscheme:hemetmeatthethreshold,hurriedmeintotheroom,andfixedmeinaminuteinmyformerseat.Takingtheplateoffruitfrommyhand,hedivided

the portion intended only for himself, and ordered me to eat my share. Icomplied with no good grace, and vexed, I suppose, by my reluctance, heopenedamaskedanddangerousbattery.Allhehadyetsaid,Icouldcountasmeresoundandfury,signifyingnothing:notsoofthepresentattack.

It consisted in an unreasonable proposition with which he had beforeafflictedme:namely,thatonthenextpublicexamination-dayIshouldengage—foreignerasIwas—totakemyplaceonthefirstformoffirst-classpupils,and with them improvise a composition in French, on any subject anyspectatormightdictate,withoutbenefitofgrammarorlexicon.

Iknewwhattheresultofsuchanexperimentwouldbe.I,towhomnaturehad denied the impromptu faculty;who, in public,was by nature a cypher;whose timeofmentalactivity,evenwhenalone,wasnotunder themeridiansun;whoneededthefreshsilenceofmorning,orthereclusepeaceofevening,towinfromtheCreativeImpulseoneevidenceofhispresence,oneproofofhis force; I, with whom that Impulse was the most intractable, the mostcapricious, themostmaddeningofmasters(himbeforemealwaysexcepted)—a deity which sometimes, under circumstances—apparently propitious,wouldnot speakwhenquestioned,wouldnothearwhenappealed to,wouldnot,whensought,befound;butwouldstand,allcold,allindurated,allgranite,adarkBaalwithcarvenlipsandblankeye-balls,andbreastlikethestonefaceof a tomb; and again, suddenly, at some turn, some sound, some long-trembling sob of the wind, at some rushing past of an unseen stream ofelectricity, the irrationaldemonwouldwakeunsolicited,wouldstirstrangelyalive,wouldrushfromitspedestallikeaperturbedDagon,callingtoitsvotaryfor a sacrifice, whatever the hour—to its victim for some blood, or somebreath,whatever thecircumstanceorscene—rousing itspriest, treacherouslypromising vaticination, perhaps filling its temple with a strange hum oforacles,butsuretogivehalfthesignificancetofatefulwinds,andgrudgingtothe desperate listener even a miserable remnant—yielding it sordidly, asthougheachwordhadbeenadropofthedeathlessichorofitsowndarkveins.AndthistyrantIwastocompelintobondage,andmakeitimproviseatheme,on a school estrade, between aMathilde and a Coralie, under the eye of aMadame Beck, for the pleasure, and to the inspiration of a bourgeois ofLabassecour!

Upon this argument M. Paul and I did battle more than once—strongbattle,withconfusednoiseofdemandandrejection,exactionandrepulse.

On this particular day Iwas soundly rated. "The obstinacy ofmywholesex,"itseems,wasconcentratedinme;Ihadan"orgueildediable."Ifearedtofail, forsooth!What did itmatterwhether I failed or not?Whowas I that Ishouldnotfail,likemybetters?Itwoulddomegoodtofail.Hewantedtoseemeworsted(Iknewhedid),andoneminutehepausedtotakebreath.

"WouldIspeaknow,andbetractable?"

"Neverwould I be tractable in thismatter.Law itself shouldnot compelme. Iwouldpaya fine,orundergoan imprisonment, rather thanwrite forashowandtoorder,percheduponaplatform."

"Couldsoftermotivesinfluenceme?WouldIyieldforfriendship'ssake?"

"Notawhit,notahair-breadth.Noformoffriendshipunderthesunhadarighttoexactsuchaconcession.Notruefriendshipwouldharassmethus."

Hesupposed then(withasneer—M.Paulcouldsneersupremely,curlinghis lip,openinghisnostrils,contractinghiseyelids)—hesupposed therewasbutoneformofappealtowhichIwouldlisten,andofthatformitwasnotforhimtomakeuse.

"Undercertainpersuasions,fromcertainquarters,jevousvoisd'ici,"saidhe,"eagerlysubscribingtothesacrifice,passionatelyarmingfortheeffort."

"Making a simpleton, a warning, and an example of myself, before ahundredandfiftyofthe'papas'and'mammas'ofVillette."

Andhere,losingpatience,IbrokeoutafreshwithacrythatIwantedtobeliberated—togetoutintotheair—Iwasalmostinafever.

"Chut!"saidtheinexorable,"thiswasamerepretexttorunaway;hewasnot hot, with the stove close at his back; how could I suffer, thoroughlyscreenedbyhisperson?"

"Ididnotunderstandhisconstitution.Iknewnothingofthenaturalhistoryofsalamanders.Formyownpart,Iwasaphlegmaticislander,andsittinginanovendidnotagreewithme;atleast,mightIsteptothewell,andgetaglassofwater—thesweetappleshadmademethirsty?"

"Ifthatwasall,hewoulddomyerrand."

Hewenttofetchthewater.Ofcourse,withadooronlyonthelatchbehindme, I lost not my opportunity. Ere his return, his half-worried prey hadescaped.

CHAPTERXXXI.

THEDRYAD.

The spring was advancing, and the weather had turned suddenly warm.This change of temperature brought with it for me, as probably for manyothers, temporary decrease of strength. Slight exertion at this time left me

overcomewithfatigue—sleeplessnightsentailedlanguiddays.

OneSundayafternoon,havingwalkedthedistanceofhalfaleaguetotheProtestantchurch,Icamebackwearyandexhausted;andtakingrefugeinmysolitarysanctuary,thefirstclasse,Iwasgladtositdown,andtomakeofmydeskapillowformyarmsandhead.

Awhile I listened to the lullaby of bees humming in the berceau, andwatched,throughtheglassdoorandthetender, lightly-strewnspringfoliage,MadameBeckandagaypartyoffriends,whomshehadentertainedthatdayat dinner after morning mass, walking in the centre-alley under orchardboughsdressedatthisseasoninblossom,andwearingacolouringaspureandwarmasmountain-snowatsun-rise.

My principal attraction towards this group of guests lay, I remember, inonefigure—thatofahandsomeyounggirlwhomIhadseenbeforeasavisitorat Madame Beck's, and of whom I had been vaguely told that she was a"filleule,"orgod-daughter,ofM.Emanuel's,andthatbetweenhermother,oraunt,orsomeotherfemalerelationofhers,andtheProfessor,hadexistedofoldaspecialfriendship.M.Paulwasnotoftheholidaybandto-day,butIhadseenthisyounggirlwithhimerenow,andasfarasdistantobservationcouldenableme to judge, she seemed toenjoyhimwith the frankeaseof awardwithanindulgentguardian.Ihadseenherrunuptohim,putherarmthroughhis,andhanguponhim.Once,whenshedidso,acurioussensationhadstruckthrough me—a disagreeable anticipatory sensation—one of the family ofpresentiments, I suppose—but I refused to analyze or dwell upon it.Whilewatching thisgirl,MademoiselleSauveurbyname,andfollowing thegleamofherbrightsilkrobe(shewasalwaysrichlydressed,forshewassaidtobewealthy) through the flowers and theglancing leavesof tender emerald,myeyesbecamedazzled—theyclosed;my lassitude, thewarmthof theday, thehumofbeesandbirds,alllulledme,andatlastIslept.

Two hours stole overme. Ere Iwoke, the sun had declined out of sightbehindthetoweringhouses,thegardenandtheroomweregrey,beeshadgonehomeward, and the flowers were closing; the party of guests, too, hadvanished;eachalleywasvoid.

Onwaking, I feltmuch at ease—not chill, as I ought to have been aftersittingsostillforatleasttwohours;mycheekandarmswerenotbenumbedby pressure against the hard desk.Nowonder. Instead of the barewood onwhichIhadlaidthem,Ifoundathickshawl,carefullyfolded,substitutedforsupport, and another shawl (both taken from the corridorwhere such thingshung)wrappedwarmlyroundme.

Whohaddonethis?Whowasmyfriend?Whichoftheteachers?Whichofthepupils?None,exceptSt.Pierre,wasinimicaltome;butwhichofthemhad

theart,thethought,thehabit,ofbenefitingthustenderly?Whichofthemhadastepsoquiet,ahandsogentle,butIshouldhaveheardorfelther,ifshehadapproachedortouchedmeinaday-sleep?

AstoGinevraFanshawe,thatbrightyoungcreaturewasnotgentleatall,andwouldcertainlyhavepulledmeoutofmychair,ifshehadmeddledinthematter. I saidat last: "It isMadameBeck'sdoing;shehascome in, seenmeasleep, and thought I might take cold. She considers me a useful machine,answering well the purpose for which it was hired; so would not have meneedlessly injured. And now," methought, "I'll take a walk; the evening isfresh,andnotverychill."

SoIopenedtheglassdoorandsteppedintotheberceau.

I went to my own alley: had it been dark, or even dusk, I should havehardlyventuredthere,forIhadnotyetforgottenthecuriousillusionofvision(if illusion itwere)experienced in thatplacesomemonthsago.ButarayofthesettingsunburnishedstillthegreycrownofJeanBaptiste;norhadallthebirdsofthegardenyetvanishedintotheirnestsamongstthetuftedshrubsandthickwall-ivy.Ipacedupanddown,thinkingalmostthesamethoughtsIhadpondered that night when I buriedmy glass jar—how I shouldmake someadvance in life, take another step towards an independent position; for thistrain of reflection, though not lately pursued, had never byme beenwhollyabandoned; andwhenever a certain eyewas averted fromme, and a certaincountenance grew dark with unkindness and injustice, into that track ofspeculationdidIatoncestrike;sothat,littlebylittle,Ihadlaidhalfaplan.

"Livingcostslittle,"saidItomyself,"inthiseconomicaltownofVillette,wherepeoplearemoresensiblethanIunderstandtheyareindearoldEngland—infinitely less worried about appearance, and less emulous of display—wherenobodyisintheleastashamedtobequiteashomelyandsavingashefinds convenient. House-rent, in a prudently chosen situation, need not behigh.WhenIshallhavesavedonethousandfrancs,Iwilltakeatenementwithone large room, and two or three smaller ones, furnish the firstwith a fewbenchesanddesks,ablacktableau,anestradeformyself;uponitachairandtable,withaspongeandsomewhitechalks;beginwithtakingday-pupils,andsoworkmyway upwards.MadameBeck's commencementwas—as I haveoftenheardhersay—fromnohigherstarting-point,andwhereisshenow?Allthese premises and this garden are hers, bought with hermoney; she has acompetencyalreadysecuredforoldage,andaflourishingestablishmentunderherdirection,whichwillfurnishacareerforherchildren.

"Courage, Lucy Snowe!With self-denial and economy now, and steadyexertionby-and-by,anobjectinlifeneednotfailyou.Venturenottocomplainthatsuchanobjectistooselfish,toolimited,andlacksinterest;becontentto

labour for independence until you have proved, bywinning that prize, yourrighttolookhigher.Butafterwards,istherenothingmoreformeinlife—notrue home—nothing to be dearer to me than myself, and by its paramountpreciousness, todrawfrommebetter thingsthanIcaretocultureformyselfonly?Nothing, atwhose feet I canwillingly lay down thewhole burden ofhuman egotism, and gloriously take up the nobler charge of labouring andlivingforothers?Isuppose,LucySnowe,theorbofyourlifeisnottobesorounded: for you, the crescent-phasemust suffice. Very good. I see a hugemassofmyfellow-creaturesinnobettercircumstances.Iseethatagreatmanymen, andmore women, hold their span of life on conditions of denial andprivation.I findnoreasonwhyIshouldbeof thefewfavoured.Ibelieveinsomeblendingofhopeandsunshinesweeteningtheworstlots.Ibelievethatthislifeisnotall;neitherthebeginningnortheend.IbelievewhileItremble;ItrustwhileIweep."

Sothissubjectisdonewith.Itisrighttolookourlife-accountsbravelyinthefacenowandthen,andsettlethemhonestly.Andheisapoorself-swindlerwholiestohimselfwhilehereckonstheitems,andsetsdownunderthehead—happiness that which is misery. Call anguish—anguish, and despair—despair;writebothdowninstrongcharacterswitharesolutepen:youwillthebetter pay your debt to Doom. Falsify: insert "privilege" where you shouldhavewritten "pain;" and see if yourmighty creditorwill allow the fraud topass, or accept the coin with which you would cheat him. Offer to thestrongest—ifthedarkestangelofGod'shost—water,whenhehasaskedblood—will he take it? Not a whole pale sea for one red drop. I settled anotheraccount.

Pausing beforeMethusaleh—the giant and patriarch of the garden—andleaningmybrowagainsthisknottytrunk,myfootrestedonthestonesealingthe small sepulchre at his root; and I recalled the passage of feeling thereinburied; I recalled Dr. John; my warm affection for him; my faith in hisexcellence;my delight in his grace.Whatwas become of that curious one-sidedfriendshipwhichwashalfmarbleandhalflife;onlyononehandtruth,andontheotherperhapsajest?

Was this feeling dead? I do not know, but it was buried. Sometimes Ithought the tomb unquiet, and dreamed strangely of disturbed earth, and ofhair,stillgolden,andliving,obtrudedthroughcoffin-chinks.

HadIbeentoohasty?Iusedtoaskmyself;andthisquestionwouldoccurwithacruelsharpnessaftersomebriefchanceinterviewwithDr.John.Hehadstillsuchkindlooks,suchawarmhand;hisvoicestillkeptsopleasantatoneformyname;Ineverliked"Lucy"sowellaswhenheutteredit.ButIlearnedintimethatthisbenignity,thiscordiality,thismusic,belongedinnoshapetome:itwasapartofhimself;itwasthehoneyofhistemper;itwasthebalmof

hismellowmood;heimpartedit,astheripefruitrewardswithsweetnesstheriflingbee;hediffuseditabouthim,assweetplantsshedtheirperfume.Doesthenectarineloveeitherthebeeorbirditfeeds?Isthesweetbriarenamouredoftheair?

"Good-night,Dr. John; you are good, you are beautiful; but you are notmine.Good-night,andGodblessyou!"

ThusIclosedmymusings."Good-night"leftmylipsinsound;Iheardthewordsspoken,andthenIheardanecho—quiteclose.

"Good-night, Mademoiselle; or, rather, good-evening—the sun is scarceset;Ihopeyousleptwell?"

I started, but was only discomposed a moment; I knew the voice andspeaker.

"Slept,Monsieur!When?where?"

"Youmaywellinquirewhen—where.Itseemsyouturndayintonight,andchooseadeskforapillow;ratherhardlodging—?"

"Itwassoftenedforme,Monsieur,whileIslept.Thatunseen,gift-bringingthingwhichhauntsmydesk,rememberedme.NomatterhowIfellasleep;Iawokepillowedandcovered."

"Didtheshawlskeepyouwarm?"

"Verywarm.Doyouaskthanksforthem?"

"No.Youlookedpaleinyourslumbers:areyouhome-sick?"

"Tobehome-sick,onemusthaveahome;whichIhavenot."

"Thenyouhavemoreneedof acareful friend. I scarcelyknowanyone,Miss Lucy, who needs a friend more absolutely than you; your very faultsimperativelyrequire it.Youwantsomuchchecking,regulating,andkeepingdown."

This ideaof"keepingdown"never leftM.Paul'shead; themosthabitualsubjugationwould, inmy case, have failed to relieve him of it. Nomatter;what did it signify? I listened to him, and did not troublemyself to be toosubmissive; his occupationwould have been gone had I left himnothing to"keepdown."

"Youneedwatching, andwatchingover," he pursued; "and it iswell foryouthatIseethis,anddomybesttodischargebothduties.Iwatchyouandothers pretty closely, pretty constantly, nearer and oftener than you or theythink.Doyouseethatwindowwithalightinit?"

Hepointedtoalatticeinoneofthecollegeboarding-houses.

"That,"saidhe,"isaroomIhavehired,nominallyforastudy—virtuallyforapostofobservation.ThereIsitandreadforhourstogether:itismyway—my taste.My book is this garden; its contents are human nature—femalehumannature.Iknowyouallbyheart.Ah!Iknowyouwell—St.Pierre,theParisienne—cettemaîtresse-femme,mycousinBeckherself."

"Itisnotright,Monsieur."

"Comment?itisnotright?Bywhosecreed?DoessomedogmaofCalvinorLuthercondemnit?Whatisthattome?IamnoProtestant.Myrichfather(for, thoughIhaveknownpoverty,andoncestarvedforayearinagarret inRome—starvedwretchedly,oftenonamealaday,andsometimesnotthat—yetIwasborntowealth)—myrichfatherwasagoodCatholic;andhegavemeapriestandaJesuitforatutor.Iretainhislessons;andtowhatdiscoveries,grandDieu!havetheynotaidedme!"

"Discoveriesmadebystealthseemtomedishonourablediscoveries."

"Puritaine!Idoubtitnot.YetseehowmyJesuit'ssystemworks.YouknowtheSt.Pierre?"

"Partially."

He laughed. "You say right—'partially'; whereas I know her thoroughly;thereisthedifference.Sheplayedbeforemetheamiable;offeredmepattedevelours;caressed,flattered,fawnedonme.Now,Iamaccessibletoawoman'sflattery—accessibleagainstmyreason.Thoughneverpretty,shewas—whenIfirst knew her—young, or knew how to look young. Like all hercountrywomen, she had the art of dressing—she had a certain cool, easy,socialassurance,whichsparedmethepainofembarrassment—"

"Monsieur,thatmusthavebeenunnecessary.Ineversawyouembarrassedinmylife."

"Mademoiselle, you know little ofme; I can be embarrassed as a petitepensionnaire;thereisafundofmodestyanddiffidenceinmynature—"

"Monsieur,Ineversawit."

"Mademoiselle,itisthere.Yououghttohaveseenit."

"Monsieur, I have observed you in public—on platforms, in tribunes,beforetitlesandcrownedheads—andyouwereaseasyasyouareinthethirddivision."

"Mademoiselle,neither titlesnor crownedheadsexcitemymodesty; andpublicityisverymuchmyelement.Ilikeitwell,andbreatheinitquitefreely;—but—but, in short, here is the sentiment brought into action, at this verymoment; however, I disdain to beworstedby it. If,Mademoiselle, Iwere a

marryingman(whichIamnot;andyoumayspareyourselfthetroubleofanysneeryoumaybecontemplatingatthethought),andfounditnecessarytoaskaladywhethershecouldlookuponmeinthelightofafuturehusband,thenwoulditbeprovedthatIamasIsay—modest."

I quite believed him now; and, in believing, I honoured him with asincerityofesteemwhichmademyheartache.

"As to theSt. Pierre," hewent on, recovering himself, for his voice hadalteredalittle,"sheonceintendedtobeMadameEmanuel;andIdon'tknowwhitherImighthavebeenled,butforyonderlittlelatticewiththelight.Ah,magiclattice!whatmiraclesofdiscoveryhastthouwrought!Yes,"hepursued,"I have seen her rancours, her vanities, her levities—not only here, butelsewhere: Ihavewitnessedwhatbucklersmeagainstallherarts: IamsafefrompoorZélie."

"Andmypupils,"hepresentlyrecommenced,"thoseblondesjeunesfilles—so mild and meek—I have seen the most reserved—romp like boys, thedemurest—snatchgrapesfromthewalls,shakepearsfromthetrees.WhentheEnglish teacher came, I saw her,marked her early preference for this alley,noticedhertasteforseclusion,watchedherwell,longbeforesheandIcametospeakingterms;doyourecollectmyoncecomingsilentlyandofferingyoualittleknotofwhitevioletswhenwewerestrangers?"

"Irecollectit.Idriedtheviolets,keptthem,andhavethemstill."

"It pleased me when you took them peacefully and promptly, withoutprudery—that sentimentwhich I everdread to excite, andwhich,when it isrevealed in eye or gesture, I vindictively detest. To return. Not only did Iwatch you; but often—especially at eventide—another guardian angel wasnoiselesslyhoveringnear:nightafternightmycousinBeckhasstolendownyonder steps, and glidingly pursued yourmovementswhen you did not seeher."

"But,Monsieur,youcouldnotfromthedistanceofthatwindowseewhatpassedinthisgardenatnight?"

"By moonlight I possibly might with a glass—I use a glass—but thegardenitselfisopentome.Intheshed,atthebottom,thereisadoorleadingintoacourt,whichcommunicateswiththecollege;ofthatdoorIpossessthekey,andthuscomeandgoatpleasure.ThisafternoonIcamethroughit,andfound you asleep in classe; again this evening I have availedmyself of thesameentrance."

I could not help saying, "If you were a wicked, designing man, howterriblewouldallthisbe!"

His attention seemed incapable of being arrested by this view of thesubject: he lit his cigar, and while he puffed it, leaning against a tree, andlookingatmeinacool,amusedwayhehadwhenhishumourwastranquil,Ithoughtproper togoon sermonizinghim:heoften lecturedmeby thehourtogether—IdidnotseewhyIshouldnotspeakmymindforonce.SoI toldhimmyimpressionsconcerninghisJesuit-system.

"Theknowledge it bringsyou isbought toodear,Monsieur; this comingandgoingbystealthdegradesyourowndignity."

"Mydignity!"hecried, laughing;"whendidyoueverseemetroublemyheadaboutmydignity? It isyou,MissLucy,whoare 'digne.'Howoften, inyour high insular presence, have I taken a pleasure in tramplingupon,whatyou are pleased to call,my dignity; tearing it, scattering it to thewinds, inthosemad transports youwitnesswith such hauteur, andwhich I knowyouthinkveryliketheravingsofathird-rateLondonactor."

"Monsieur, I tell you every glance you cast from that lattice is awrongdonetothebestpartofyourownnature.Tostudythehumanheartthus,istobanquet secretly and sacrilegiously on Eve's apples. I wish you were aProtestant."

Indifferent to the wish, he smoked on. After a space of smiling yetthoughtfulsilence,hesaid,rathersuddenly—"Ihaveseenotherthings."

"Whatotherthings?"

Takingtheweedfromhis lips,he threwtheremnantamongst theshrubs,where,foramoment,itlayglowinginthegloom.

"Look,atit,"saidhe:"isnotthatsparklikeaneyewatchingyouandme?"

Hetooka turndownthewalk;presentlyreturning,hewenton:—"Ihaveseen,Miss Lucy, things tome unaccountable, that havemademewatch allnightforasolution,andIhavenotyetfoundit."

Thetonewaspeculiar;myveinsthrilled;hesawmeshiver.

"Are you afraid?Whether is it ofmywords or that red jealous eye justwinkingitselfout?"

"Iamcold;thenightgrowsdarkandlate,andtheairischanged;itistimetogoin."

"It is little past eight, but you shall go in soon. Answer me only thisquestion."

Yethepausedereheputit.Thegardenwastrulygrowingdark;duskhadcome onwith clouds, and drops of rain began to patter through the trees. Ihopedhewouldfeelthis,but,forthemoment,heseemedtoomuchabsorbed

tobesensibleofthechange.

"Mademoiselle,doyouProtestantsbelieveinthesupernatural?"

"There is a difference of theory and belief on this point amongstProtestantsasamongstothersects,"Ianswered."Why,Monsieur,doyouasksuchaquestion?"

"Whydoyoushrinkandspeaksofaintly?Areyousuperstitious?"

"Iamconstitutionallynervous.Idislikethediscussionofsuchsubjects.Idislikeitthemorebecause—"

"Youbelieve?"

"No:butithashappenedtometoexperienceimpressions—"

"Sinceyoucamehere?"

"Yes;notmanymonthsago."

"Here?—inthishouse?"

"Yes."

"Bon! I am glad of it. I knew it, somehow; before you told me. I wasconscious of rapport between you and myself. You are patient, and I amcholeric; youarequiet andpale, and I am tannedand fiery; youare a strictProtestant, and I am a sort of lay Jesuit: butwe are alike—there is affinitybetweenus.Doyouseeit,Mademoiselle,whenyoulookintheglass?Doyouobserve that your forehead is shaped likemine—that your eyes are cut likemine?Doyouhear thatyouhavesomeofmytonesofvoice?Doyouknowthatyouhavemanyofmylooks?Iperceiveallthis,andbelievethatyouwereborn undermy star.Yes, youwere born undermy star!Tremble! forwherethat is the case with mortals, the threads of their destinies are difficult todisentangle; knottings and catchings occur—sudden breaks leave damage intheweb.Butthese'impressions,'asyousay,withEnglishcaution.I,too,havehadmy'impressions.'"

"Monsieur,tellmethem."

"Idesirenobetter,andintendnoless.Youknowthelegendofthishouseandgarden?"

"Iknowit.Yes.Theysaythathundredsofyearsagoanunwasburiedherealiveatthefootofthisverytree,beneaththegroundwhichnowbearsus."

"Andthatinformerdaysanun'sghostusedtocomeandgohere."

"Monsieur,whatifitcomesandgoesherestill?"

"Somethingcomesandgoeshere: there isashapefrequenting thishouse

by night, different to any forms that show themselves by day. I haveindisputably seen a something, more than once; and to me its conventualweedswereastrangesight,sayingmorethantheycandotoanyotherlivingbeing.Anun!"

"Monsieur,I,too,haveseenit."

"Ianticipatedthat.Whetherthisnunbefleshandblood,orsomethingthatremainswhenbloodisdried,andfleshiswasted,herbusinessisasmuchwithyouaswithme,probably.Well,Imeantomakeitout;ithasbaffledmesofar,butImeantofollowupthemystery.Imean—"

Insteadoftellingwhathemeant,heraisedhisheadsuddenly;Imadethesamemovement in the same instant;weboth looked toonepoint—thehightreeshadowingthegreatberceau,andrestingsomeofitsboughsontheroofofthe first classe. There had been a strange and inexplicable sound from thatquarter, as if the arms of that tree had swayed of their ownmotion, and itsweightoffoliagehadrushedandcrushedagainstthemassivetrunk.Yes;therescarcestirredabreeze,andthatheavytreewasconvulsed,whilstthefeatheryshrubsstoodstill.Forsomeminutesamongstthewoodandleafagearendingandheavingwent on.Dark as itwas, it seemed tome that somethingmoresolidthaneithernight-shadow,orbranch-shadow,blackenedoutoftheboles.Atlastthestruggleceased.Whatbirthsucceededthistravail?WhatDryadwasbornofthesethroes?Wewatchedfixedly.Asuddenbellranginthehouse—the prayer-bell. Instantly into our alley there came, out of the berceau, anapparition,allblackandwhite.Withasortofangryrush-close,closepastourfaces—sweptswiftly theveryNUNherself!NeverhadIseenhersoclearly.She looked tallof stature, and fierceofgesture.As shewent, thewind rosesobbing;therainpouredwildandcold;thewholenightseemedtofeelher.

CHAPTERXXXII.

THEFIRSTLETTER.

Where, it becomes time to inquire, was Paulina Mary? How fared myintercourse with the sumptuous Hôtel Crécy? That intercourse had, for aninterval,beensuspendedbyabsence;M.andMissdeBassompierrehadbeentravelling,dividingsomeweeksbetweentheprovincesandcapitalofFrance.Chanceapprisedmeoftheirreturnveryshortlyafterittookplace.

Iwaswalkingonemildafternoononaquietboulevard,wanderingslowlyon,enjoyingthebenignAprilsun,andsomethoughtsnotunpleasing,whenIsawbeforemeagroupofriders,stoppingasiftheyhadjustencountered,and

exchanginggreetingsinthemidstofthebroad,smooth,linden-borderedpath;ononesideamiddle-agedgentlemanandyounglady,ontheother—ayoungand handsome man. Very graceful was the lady's mien, choice herappointments, delicate and stately herwhole aspect. Still, as I looked, I felttheywereknowntome,and,drawinga littlenearer, I fullyrecognisedthemall:theCountHomedeBassompierre,hisdaughter,andDr.GrahamBretton.

HowanimatedwasGraham'sface!Howtrue,howwarm,yethowretiringthe joy it expressed! This was the state of things, this the combination ofcircumstances,atonce toattractandenchain, tosubdueandexciteDr.John.Thepearlheadmiredwasinitselfofgreatpriceandtruestpurity,buthewasnotthemanwho,inappreciatingthegem,couldforgetitssetting.HadheseenPaulinawiththesameyouth,beauty,andgrace,butonfoot,alone,unguarded,and in simple attire, a dependent worker, a demi-grisette, he would havethought her a pretty little creature, and would have loved with his eye hermovementsandhermien,butitrequiredotherthanthistoconquerhimashewasnowvanquished,tobringhimsafeunderdominionasnow,withoutloss,andevenwithgain tohismanlyhonour,onesawthathewasreduced; therewasaboutDr.Johnallthemanoftheworld;tosatisfyhimselfdidnotsuffice;societymustapprove—theworldmustadmirewhathedid,orhecountedhismeasuresfalseandfutile.Inhisvictrixherequiredallthatwasherevisible—theimprintofhighcultivation,theconsecrationofacarefulandauthoritativeprotection, the adjuncts that Fashion decrees, Wealth purchases, and Tasteadjusts;fortheseconditionshisspiritstipulatedereitsurrendered:theywereheretotheutmostfulfilled;andnow,proud,impassioned,yetfearing,hedidhomage to Paulina as his sovereign.As for her, the smile of feeling, ratherthanofconsciouspower,sleptsoftinhereyes.

Theyparted.Hepassedmeatspeed,hardlyfeelingtheearthheskimmed,and seeing nothing on either hand. He looked very handsome; mettle andpurposewererousedinhimfully.

"Papa,thereisLucy!"criedamusical,friendlyvoice."Lucy,dear

Lucy—docomehere!"

Ihastenedtoher.Shethrewbackherveil,andstoopedfromhersaddletokissme.

"Iwascomingtoseeyouto-morrow,"saidshe;"butnowto-morrowyouwillcomeandseeme."

Shenamedthehour,andIpromisedcompliance.

Themorrow's evening foundmewith her—she and I shut into her ownroom. I had not seen her since that occasionwhenher claimswere broughtinto comparison with those of Ginevra Fanshawe, and had so signally

prevailed; she had much to tell me of her travels in the interval. A mostanimated,rapidspeakerwassheinsuchatête-à-tête,amostlivelydescriber;yetwithherartlessdictionandclearsoftvoice,sheneverseemedtospeaktoofast or to say too much. My own attention I think would not soon haveflagged, but by-and-by, she herself seemed to need some changeof subject;shehastenedtowinduphernarrativebriefly.Yetwhysheterminatedwithsoconcise an abridgment did not immediately appear; silence followed—arestlesssilence,notwithoutsymptomsofabstraction.Then,turningtome,inadiffident,half-appealingvoice—"Lucy—"

"Well,Iamatyourside."

"IsmycousinGinevrastillatMadameBeck's?"

"Yourcousinisstillthere;youmustbelongingtoseeher."

"No—notmuch."

"Youwanttoinvitehertospendanotherevening?"

"No…Isupposeshestilltalksaboutbeingmarried?"

"Nottoanyoneyoucarefor."

"ButofcourseshestillthinksofDr.Bretton?Shecannothavechangedhermindonthatpoint,becauseitwassofixedtwomonthsago."

"Why, you know, it does not matter. You saw the terms on which theystood."

"Therewasalittlemisunderstandingthatevening,certainly;doessheseemunhappy?"

"Not she. To change the subject.Have you heard or seen nothing of, orfrom,Grahamduringyourabsence?"

"Papa had letters from him once or twice about business, I think. Heundertookthemanagementofsomeaffairwhichrequiredattentionwhilewewereaway.Dr.Brettonseemstorespectpapa,andtohavepleasureinobliginghim."

"Yes:youmethimyesterdayontheboulevard;youwouldbeabletojudgefrom his aspect that his friends need not be painfully anxious about hishealth?"

"Papaseemstohavethoughtwithyou.Icouldnothelpsmiling.Heisnotparticularlyobservant,youknow,becauseheisoftenthinkingofotherthingsthanwhatpassbeforehiseyes;buthesaid,asDr.Brettonrodeaway,Reallyitdoesamangoodtoseethespiritandenergyofthatboy.'HecalledDr.Brettonaboy;Ibelievehealmostthinkshimso,justashethinksmealittlegirl;he

wasnotspeakingtome,butdroppedthatremarktohimself.Lucy…."

Againfelltheappealingaccent,andatthesameinstantsheleftherchair,andcameandsatonthestoolatmyfeet.

I liked her. It is not a declaration I have often made concerning myacquaintance,inthecourseofthisbook:thereaderwillbearwithitforonce.Intimate intercourse, close inspection, disclosed in Paulina only what wasdelicate, intelligent, and sincere; therefore my regard for her lay deep. Anadmiration more superficial might have been more demonstrative; mine,however,wasquiet.

"WhathaveyoutoaskofLucy?"saidI;"bebrave,andspeakout."

Buttherewasnocourageinhereye;asitmetmine,itfell;andtherewasno coolness on her cheek—not a transient surface-blush, but a gatheringinwardexcitementraiseditstintanditstemperature.

"Lucy, I dowish to knowyour thoughts ofDr.Bretton.Do, do givemeyourrealopinionofhischaracter,hisdisposition."

"Hischaracterstandshigh,anddeservedlyhigh."

"Andhisdisposition?Tellmeabouthisdisposition,"sheurged;"youknowhimwell."

"Iknowhimprettywell."

"Youknowhishome-side.Youhave seenhimwithhismother; speakofhimasason."

"He is a fine-hearted son; hismother's comfort and hope, her pride andpleasure."

She heldmy hand between hers, and at each favourable word gave it alittlecaressingstroke.

"Inwhatotherwayishegood,Lucy?"

"Dr.Bretton is benevolent—humanely disposed towards all his race,Dr.Brettonwouldhavebenignityforthelowestsavage,ortheworstcriminal."

"Iheardsomegentlemen,someofpapa'sfriends,whoweretalkingabouthim,say thesame.Theysaymanyof thepoorpatientsat thehospitals,whotremblebeforesomepitilessandselfishsurgeons,welcomehim."

"They are right; I have witnessed as much. He once took me over ahospital;Isawhowhewasreceived:yourfather'sfriendsareright."

Thesoftestgratitudeanimatedhereyeasshelifteditamoment.Shehadyet more to say, but seemed hesitating about time and place. Dusk was

beginningtoreign;herparlourfirealreadyglowedwithtwilightruddiness;butIthoughtshewishedtheroomdimmer,thehourlater.

"Howquietandsecludedwefeelhere!"Iremarked,toreassureher.

"Dowe?Yes; it is a still evening, and I shall notbe calleddown to tea;papaisdiningout."

Stillholdingmyhand,sheplayedwiththefingersunconsciously,dressedthem, now in her own rings, and now circled them with a twine of herbeautifulhair; shepatted thepalmagainstherhotcheek,andat last,havingclearedavoicethatwasnaturallyliquidasalark's,shesaid:—

"YoumustthinkitratherstrangethatIshouldtalksomuchaboutDr.

Bretton,asksomanyquestions,takesuchaninterest,but—".

"Notatallstrange;perfectlynatural;youlikehim."

"AndifIdid,"saidshe,withslightquickness,"isthatareasonwhy

Ishouldtalk?Isupposeyouthinkmeweak,likemycousinGinevra?"

"If I thought you one whit like Madame Ginevra, I would not sit herewaitingforyourcommunications.Iwouldgetup,walkatmyeaseabouttheroom,andanticipateallyouhadtosaybyaroundlecture.Goon."

"Imeantogoon,"retortedshe;"whatelsedoyousupposeImeantodo?"

Andshelookedandspoke—thelittlePollyofBretton—petulant,sensitive.

"If,"saidshe,emphatically,"ifIlikedDr.JohntillIwasfittodieforlikinghim,thatalonecouldnotlicensemetobeotherwisethandumb—dumbasthegrave—dumbasyou,LucySnowe—youknowit—andyouknowyouwoulddespisemeifIfailedinself-control,andwhinedaboutsomericketylikingthatwasallonmyside."

"It is true I little respect women or girls who are loquacious either inboastingthetriumphs,orbemoaningthemortifications,offeelings.Butastoyou,Paulina,speak, forIearnestlywish tohearyou.Tellmeall itwillgiveyoupleasureorrelieftotell:Iasknomore."

"Doyoucareforme,Lucy?"

"Yes,Ido,Paulina."

"AndIloveyou.IhadanoddcontentinbeingwithyouevenwhenIwasalittle, troublesome,disobedientgirl; itwascharming tome then to lavishonyoumynaughtinessandwhims.Nowyouareacceptabletome,andIliketotalkwithandtrustyou.Solisten,Lucy."

And she settledherself, resting againstmyarm—restinggently, notwith

honestMistressFanshawe'sfatiguingandselfishweight.

"AfewminutessinceyouaskedwhetherwehadnotheardfromGrahamduringourabsence,andIsaidthereweretwolettersforpapaonbusiness;thiswastrue,butIdidnottellyouall."

"Youevaded?"

"Ishuffledandequivocated,youknow.However,Iamgoingtospeakthetruthnow; it isgettingdarker;onecan talkatone'sease.Papaoften letsmeopen the letter-bagandgivehimout thecontents.Onemorning,about threeweeks ago, you don't know how surprised I was to find, amongst a dozenletters forM.deBassompierre,anoteaddressed toMissdeBassompierre. Ispied it at once, amidst all the rest; the handwriting was not strange; itattractedmedirectly.Iwasgoingtosay,'Papa,hereisanotherletterfromDr.Bretton;'butthe'Miss'struckmemute.Iactuallyneverreceivedaletterfromagentlemanbefore.OughtItohaveshownittopapa,andlethimopenitandreaditfirst?Icouldnotformylife,Lucy.Iknowsowellpapa'sideasaboutme:heforgetsmyage;hethinksIamamereschool-girl;heisnotawarethatotherpeopleseeIamgrownupastallasIshallbe;so,withacuriousmixtureoffeelings,someofthemself-reproachful,andsomesoflutteringandstrong,Icannotdescribethem,Igavepapahistwelveletters—hisherdofpossessions—and kept backmy one, my ewe-lamb. It lay in my lap during breakfast,lookingupatmewithaninexplicablemeaning,makingmefeelmyselfathingdouble-existent—a child to that dear papa, but no more a child to myself.After breakfast I carried my letter up-stairs, and having secured myself byturningthekeyinthedoor,Ibegantostudytheoutsideofmytreasure:itwassomeminutesbeforeIcouldgetoverthedirectionandpenetratetheseal;onedoes not take a strong place of this kind by instant storm—one sits downawhilebefore it,asbeleaguerssay.Graham'shandis likehimself,Lucy,andsoishisseal—allclear,firm,androunded—noslovenlysplashofwax—afull,solid, steadydrop—adistinct impress; nopointed turns harshlypricking theopticnerve,butaclean,mellow,pleasantmanuscript,thatsoothesyouasyouread.It is likehisface—just like thechisellingofhisfeatures:doyouknowhisautograph?"

"Ihaveseenit:goon."

"Thesealwastoobeautifultobebroken,soIcutitroundwithmyscissors.Onthepointofreadingtheletteratlast,Ioncemoredrewbackvoluntarily;itwastoosoonyettodrinkthatdraught—thesparkleinthecupwassobeautiful—Iwouldwatchityetaminute.ThenIrememberedallatoncethatIhadnotsaidmyprayersthatmorning.Havingheardpapagodowntobreakfastalittleearlierthanusual,Ihadbeenafraidofkeepinghimwaiting,andhadhastenedto join him as soon as dressed, thinking no harm to put off prayers till

afterwards.SomepeoplewouldsayIoughttohaveservedGodfirstandthenman;butIdon'tthinkheavencouldbejealousofanythingImightdoforpapa.IbelieveIamsuperstitious.Avoiceseemednowtosay thatanother feelingthanfilialaffectionwasinquestion—tourgemetopraybeforeIdaredtoreadwhatIsolongedtoread—todenymyselfyetamoment,andrememberfirstagreat duty. I have had these impulses ever since I can remember. I put theletter down and said my prayers, adding, at the end, a strong entreaty thatwhateverhappened,Imightnotbetemptedorledtocausepapaanysorrow,andmightnever,incaringforothers,neglecthim.Theverythoughtofsuchapossibility,sopiercedmyheartthatitmademecry.Butstill,Lucy,Ifeltthatintimepapawouldhavetobetaughtthetruth,managed,andinducedtohearreason.

"I read the letter. Lucy, life is said to be all disappointment. I was notdisappointed.EreI read,andwhile I read,myheartdidmore than throb—ittrembled fast—every quiver seemed like the pant of an animal athirst, laiddownatawellanddrinking;andthewellprovedquitefull,gloriouslyclear;itroseupmunificentlyof itsownimpulse;Isawthesunthroughitsgush,andnot amote, Lucy, nomoss, no insect, no atom in the thrice-refined goldengurgle.

"Life," she went on, "is said to be full of pain to some. I have readbiographies where the wayfarer seemed to journey on from suffering tosuffering; where Hope flew before him fast, never alighting so near, orlingeringsolong,astogivehishandachanceofonerealizinggrasp.Ihavereadofthosewhosowedintears,andwhoseharvest,sofarfrombeingreapedin joy, perished by untimely blight, orwas borne off by suddenwhirlwind;and,alas!someofthesemetthewinterwithemptygarners,anddiedofutterwantinthedarkestandcoldestoftheyear."

"Wasittheirfault,Paulina,thattheyofwhomyouspeakthusdied?"

"Notalways their fault.Someof themweregoodendeavouringpeople. Iamnot endeavouring,nor activelygood,yetGodhas causedme togrow insun,duemoisture,andsafeprotection,sheltered,fostered,taught,bymydearfather;andnow—now—anothercomes.Grahamlovesme."

Forsomeminuteswebothpausedonthisclimax.

"Doesyourfatherknow?"Iinquired,inalowvoice.

"Graham spokewithdeep respect of papa, but implied that he darednotapproach thatquarterasyet;hemust firstprovehisworth:headded thathemusthavesomelightrespectingmyselfandmyownfeelingsereheventuredtoriskastepinthematterelsewhere."

"Howdidyoureply?"

"Irepliedbriefly,butIdidnotrepulsehim.YetIalmosttrembledforfearofmakingtheanswertoocordial:Graham'stastesaresofastidious.Iwroteitthree times—chastening and subduing the phrases at every rescript; at last,havingconfectedittillitseemedtometoresembleamorseloficeflavouredwitheversoslightazestoffruitorsugar,Iventuredtosealanddespatchit."

"Excellent,Paulina!Yourinstinctisfine;youunderstandDr.Bretton."

"ButhowmustImanageaboutpapa?ThereIamstillinpain."

"Donotmanageatall.Waitnow.Onlymaintainnofurthercorrespondencetillyourfatherknowsall,andgiveshissanction."

"Willheevergiveit?"

"Timewillshow.Wait."

"Dr.Brettonwroteoneotherletter,deeplygratefulformycalm,briefnote;butIanticipatedyouradvice,bysaying, thatwhilemysentimentscontinuedthesame,Icouldnot,withoutmyfather'sknowledge,writeagain."

"You acted as you ought to have done; so Dr. Bretton will feel: it willincrease his pride in you, his love for you, if either be capable of increase.Paulina,thatgentlehoar-frostofyours,surroundingsomuchpure,fineflame,isapricelessprivilegeofnature."

"YouseeIfeelGraham'sdisposition,"saidshe."Ifeelthatnodelicacycanbetooexquisiteforhistreatment."

"It isperfectlyprovedthatyoucomprehendhim,andthen—whateverDr.Bretton'sdisposition,wereheonewhoexpectedtobemorenearlymet—youwouldstillacttruthfully,openly,tenderly,withyourfather."

"Lucy,ItrustIshallthusactalways.Oh,itwillbepaintowakepapafromhisdream,andtellhimIamnomorealittlegirl!"

"Beinnohurrytodoso,Paulina.LeavetherevelationtoTimeandyourkindFate. Ialsohavenoticed thegentlenessofhercares foryou:doubtnotshewillbenignantlyorderthecircumstances,andfitlyappointthehour.Yes:Ihave thoughtoveryour life justasyouhaveyourself thought itover; Ihavemadecomparisonslikethosetowhichyouadverted.Weknownotthefuture,butthepasthasbeenpropitious.

"As a child I feared for you; nothing that has life was ever moresusceptible than your nature in infancy: under harshness or neglect, neitheryouroutwardnoryourinwardselfwouldhaveripenedtowhattheynoware.Muchpain,muchfear,muchstruggle,wouldhave troubled thevery linesofyour features, broken their regularity,would have harassed your nerves intothefeverofhabitualirritation;youwouldhavelostinhealthandcheerfulness,

ingraceandsweetness.Providencehasprotectedandculturedyou,notonlyforyourownsake,butIbelieveforGraham's.Hisstar,too,wasfortunate:todevelopfullythebestofhisnature,acompanionlikeyouwasneeded:thereyouare,ready.Youmustbeunited.IknewitthefirstdayIsawyoutogetheratLaTerrasse.InallthatmutuallyconcernsyouandGrahamthereseemstomepromise,plan,harmony.Idonotthinkthesunnyyouthofeitherwillprovetheforerunnerofstormyage.Ithinkitisdeemedgoodthatyoutwoshouldliveinpeace and be happy—not as angels, but as few are happy amongstmortals.Some lives are thus blessed: it is God's will: it is the attesting trace andlingering evidence of Eden. Other lives run from the first another course.Othertravellersencounterweatherfitfulandgusty,wildandvariable—breastadversewinds, are belated and overtaken by the early closingwinter night.NeithercanthishappenwithoutthesanctionofGod;andIknowthat,amidstHisboundlessworks,issomewherestoredthesecretofthislastfate'sjustice:IknowthatHistreasurescontaintheproofasthepromiseofitsmercy."

CHAPTERXXXIII.

M.PAULKEEPSHISPROMISE.

On the first of May, we had all—i.e. the twenty boarders and the fourteachers—noticetoriseatfiveo'clockofthemorning,tobedressedandreadybysix,toputourselvesunderthecommandofM.leProfesseurEmanuel,whowastoheadourmarchforthfromVillette,foritwasonthisdayheproposedtofulfilhispromiseoftakingustobreakfastinthecountry.I,indeed,asthereadermayperhapsremember,hadnothadthehonourofaninvitationwhenthisexcursionwasfirstprojected—ratherthecontrary;butonmynowmakingallusiontothisfact,andwishingtoknowhowitwastobe,myearreceivedapull,ofwhichIdidnotventuretochallengetherepetitionbyraising,furtherdifficulties.

"Je vous conseille de vous faire prier," said M. Emanuel, imperiallymenacing theother ear.OneNapoleonic compliment,however,wasenough,soImadeupmymindtobeoftheparty.

Themorningbrokecalmassummer,withsingingofbirds in thegarden,andalightdew-mistthatpromisedheat.Weallsaiditwouldbewarm,andweall felt pleasure in folding awayheavygarments, and in assuming the attiresuitingasunnyseason.Thecleanfreshprintdress,andthelightstrawbonnet,eachmadeandtrimmedastheFrenchworkwomanalonecanmakeandtrim,so as tounite theutterlyunpretendingwith theperfectlybecoming,was theruleofcostume.Nobodyflaunted in fadedsilk;nobodyworeasecond-hand

bestarticle.

Atsixthebellrangmerrily,andwepoureddownthestaircase,throughthecarré, along the corridor, into the vestibule. There stood our Professor,wearing,nothissavage-lookingpaletôtandseverebonnet-grec,butayoung-looking belted blouse and cheerful straw hat. He had for us all the kindestgood-morrow, and most of us for him had a thanksgiving smile. We weremarshalledinorderandsoonstarted.

Thestreetswereyetquiet,andtheboulevardswerefreshandpeacefulasfields. Ibelievewewereveryhappyaswewalkedalong.Thischiefofourshadthesecretofgivingacertainimpetustohappinesswhenhewould;justas,inanoppositemood,hecouldgiveathrilltofear.

Hedidnotleadnorfollowus,butwalkedalongtheline,givingawordtoevery one, talking much to his favourites, and not wholly neglecting eventhosehedisliked. Itwas rathermywish, fora reasonIhad, tokeepslightlyaloof fromnotice, and being pairedwithGinevraFanshawe, bearing onmyarmthedearpressureofthatangel'snotunsubstantiallimb—(shecontinuedinexcellentcase,andIcanassure thereader itwasno triflingbusiness tobearthe burden of her loveliness;many a time in the course of thatwarmday Iwished to goodness there had been less of the charming commodity)—however,havingher, as I said, I tried tomakeherusefulby interposingheralwaysbetweenmyselfandM.Paul,shiftingmyplace,accordingasIheardhim coming up to the right hand or the left. My private motive for thismanoeuvremightbetracedtothecircumstanceofthenewprintdressIwore,beingpinkincolour—afactwhich,underourpresentconvoy,mademefeelsomethingasIhavefelt,when,cladinashawlwitharedborder,necessitatedtotraverseameadowwherepasturedabull.

For awhile, the shifting system, togetherwith somemodifications in thearrangement of a black silk scarf, answeredmy purpose; but, by-and-by, hefoundout,thatwhetherhecametothissideortothat,MissFanshawewasstillhisneighbour.ThecourseofacquaintancebetweenGinevraandhimhadneverrun so smooth that his temper did not undergo a certain crisping processwheneverheheardherEnglishaccent:nothingintheirdispositionsfitted;theyjarrediftheycameincontact;heheldheremptyandaffected;shedeemedhimbearish,meddling,repellent.

At last,whenhe had changedhis place for about the sixth time, findingstillthesameuntowardresulttotheexperiment—hethrusthisheadforward,settledhiseyesonmine,anddemandedwithimpatience,"Qu'est-cequec'est?Vousmejouezdestours?"

Thewordswerehardlyoutofhismouth,however,ere,withhiscustomaryquickness,heseizedtherootofthisproceeding:invainIshookoutthelong

fringe,andspreadforththebroadendofmyscarf."A-h-h!c'estlaroberose!"brokefromhislips,affectingmeverymuchlikethesuddenandiratelowofsomelordofthemeadow.

"It is only cotton," I alleged, hurriedly; "and cheaper, andwashes betterthananyothercolour."

"EtMademoiselleLucyestcoquettecommedixParisiennes,"heanswered."A-t-onjamaisvuuneAnglaisepareille.Regardezplutôtsonchapeau,etsesgants, et ses brodequins!" These articles of dress were just like what mycompanionswore;certainlynotonewhitsmarter—perhapsratherplainerthanmost—butMonsieurhadnowgotholdofhistext,andIbegantochafeundertheexpectedsermon.Itwentoff,however,asmildlyasthemenaceofastormsometimespassesonasummerday. Igotbutoneflashofsheet lightning inthe shape of a single bantering smile from his eyes; and then he said,"Courage!—à vrai dire je ne suis pas fâché, peut-êtremême suis je contentqu'ons'estfaitsibellepourmapetitefête."

"Maismaroben'estpasbelle,Monsieur—ellen'estquepropre."

"J'aimelapropreté,"saidhe.Inshort,hewasnottobedissatisfied;thesunof good humour was to triumph on this auspicious morning; it consumedscuddingcloudseretheysullieditsdisk.

Andnowwewereinthecountry,amongstwhattheycalled"lesboisetlespetitssentiers."Thesewoodsandlanesamonthlaterwouldofferbutadustyand doubtful seclusion: now, however, in theirMay greenness andmorningrepose,theylookedverypleasant.

Wereachedacertainwell,plantedround,inthetasteofLabassecour,withanorderly circleof lime-trees:here ahaltwas called;on thegreen swellofgroundsurroundingthiswell,wewereorderedtobeseated,Monsieurtakinghisplaceinourmidst,andsufferingustogatherinaknotroundhim.Thosewholikedhimmorethantheyfeared,cameclose,andthesewerechieflylittleones; thosewho fearedmore than they liked,kept somewhat aloof; those inwhommuchaffectionhadgiven,eventowhatremainedoffear,apleasurablezest,observedthegreatestdistance.

He began to tell us a story.Well could he narrate: in such a diction aschildren love,and learnedmenemulate;adictionsimple in its strength,andstrong in itssimplicity.Therewerebeautiful touches in that little tale;sweetglimpsesoffeelingandhuesofdescriptionthat,whileIlistened,sunkintomymind, and since have never faded. He tinted a twilight scene—I hold it inmemorystill—suchapictureIhaveneverlookedonfromartist'spencil.

Ihavesaid,that,formyself,Ihadnoimpromptufaculty;andperhapsthatvery deficiency made me marvel the more at one who possessed it in

perfection.M.Emanuelwasnotamantowritebooks;butIhaveheardhimlavish, with careless, unconscious prodigality, such mental wealth as booksseldomboast;hismindwasindeedmylibrary,andwheneveritwasopenedtome,Ienteredbliss.IntellectuallyimperfectasIwas,Icouldreadlittle;therewerefewboundandprintedvolumes thatdidnotwearyme—whoseperusaldidnotfagandblind—buthistomesofthoughtwerecollyriumtothespirit'seyes;over theircontents, inwardsightgrewclearandstrong.Iused to thinkwhatadelightitwouldbeforonewholovedhimbetterthanhelovedhimself,to gather and store up those handfuls of gold-dust, so recklessly flung toheaven'srecklesswinds.

His story done, he approached the little knoll where I and Ginevra satapart.Inhisusualmodeofdemandinganopinion(hehadnotreticencetowaittillitwasvoluntarilyoffered)heasked,"Wereyouinterested?"

According to my wonted undemonstrative fashion, I simply answered—"Yes."

"Wasitgood?"

"Verygood."

"YetIcouldnotwritethatdown,"saidhe.

"Whynot,Monsieur?"

"Ihatethemechanicallabour;Ihatetostoopandsitstill.Icoulddictateit,though,withpleasure,toanamanuensiswhosuitedme.WouldMademoiselleLucywriteformeifIaskedher?"

"Monsieurwouldbetooquick;hewouldurgeme,andbeangryifmypendidnotkeeppacewithhislips."

"Try some day; let us see the monster I can make of myself under thecircumstances.Butjustnow,thereisnoquestionofdictation;Imeantomakeyouusefulinanotheroffice.Doyouseeyonderfarm-house?"

"Surroundedwithtrees?Yes.".

"Therewearetobreakfast;andwhilethegoodfermièremakesthecaféaulait in a caldron, you and five others,whom I shall select,will spreadwithbutterhalfahundredrolls."

Havingformedhistroopintolineoncemore,hemarchedusstraightonthefarm,which,onseeingourforce,surrenderedwithoutcapitulation.

Cleanknivesandplates,and freshbutterbeingprovided,half-a-dozenofus, chosenbyourProfessor, set toworkunderhisdirections, toprepare forbreakfast a huge basket of rolls, withwhich the baker had been ordered toprovisionthefarm,inanticipationofourcoming.Coffeeandchocolatewere

alreadymadehot; creamandnew-laideggswereadded to the treat, andM.Emanuel,alwaysgenerous,wouldhavegivenalargeorderfor"jambon"and"confitures"inaddition,butthatsomeofus,whopresumedperhapsuponourinfluence,insistedthatitwouldbeamostrecklesswasteofvictual.Herailedatus forourpains, termingus "desménagèresavares;"butwe lethim talk,andmanagedtheeconomyoftherepastourownway.

With what a pleasant countenance he stood on the farm-kitchen hearthlookingon!Hewasamanwhomitmadehappytoseeothershappy;helikedtohavemovement,animation,abundanceandenjoymentroundhim.Weaskedwherehewouldsit.He toldus,weknewwellhewasourslave,andwehistyrants,andthathedarednotsomuchaschooseachairwithoutourleave;sowesethimthefarmer'sgreatchairattheheadofthelongtable,andputhimintoit.

Well might we like him, with all his passions and hurricanes, when hecouldbesobenignantanddocileattimes,ashewasjustnow.Indeed,attheworst, it was only his nerves that were irritable, not his temper that wasradicallybad;soothe,comprehend,comforthim,andhewasalamb;hewouldnotharmafly.Onlytotheverystupid,perverse,orunsympathizing,washeintheslightestdegreedangerous.

Mindful always of his religion, hemade the youngest of the party say alittle prayer before we began breakfast, crossing himself as devotedly as awoman.Ihadneverseenhimpraybefore,ormakethatpioussign;hediditsosimply,with such child-like faith, I could not help smiling pleasurably as Iwatched;hiseyesmetmysmile;he juststretchedouthiskindhand,saying,"Donnez-moi la main! I see we worship the same God, in the same spirit,thoughbydifferentrites."

MostofM.Emanuel'sbrotherProfessorswereemancipatedfree-thinkers,infidels,atheists;andmanyofthemmenwhoseliveswouldnotbearscrutiny;hewasmore likeaknightofold, religious inhisway,andofspotlessfame.Innocent childhood, beautiful youth were safe at his side. He had vividpassions, keen feelings, but his pure honour and his artless piety were thestrongcharmthatkeptthelionscouchant.

Thatbreakfastwasamerrymeal,andthemerrimentwasnotmerevacantclatter:M.Pauloriginated,led,controlledandheightenedit;hissocial,livelytemper played unfettered and unclouded; surrounded only by women andchildrentherewasnothingtocrossandthwarthim;hehadhisownway,andapleasantwayitwas.

Themealover,thepartywerefreetorunandplayinthemeadows;afewstayedtohelpthefarmer'swifetoputawayherearthenware.M.Paulcalledmefromamongthesetocomeoutandsitnearhimunderatree—whencehe

couldviewthetroopgambolling,overawidepasture—andreadtohimwhilsthetookhiscigar.Hesatonarusticbench,andIatthetree-root.WhileIread(a pocket-classic—aCorneille—I did not like it, but he did, finding thereinbeautiesInevercouldbebroughttoperceive),helistenedwithasweetnessofcalm the more impressive from the impetuosity of his general nature; thedeepesthappinessfilledhisblueeyeandsmoothedhisbroadforehead.I,too,was happy—happywith the bright day, happier with his presence, happiestwithhiskindness.

Heasked,by-and-by,ifIwouldnotratherruntomycompanionsthansitthere?Isaid,no;Ifeltcontenttobewherehewas.Heaskedwhether,ifIwerehissister,Ishouldalwaysbecontenttostaywithabrothersuchashe.Isaid,IbelievedIshould;andIfeltit.Again,heinquiredwhether,ifheweretoleaveVillette,andgofaraway,Ishouldbesorry;andIdroppedCorneille,andmadenoreply.

"Petite soeur," said he; "how long could you remember me if we wereseparated?"

"That,Monsieur,Icannevertell,becauseIdonotknowhowlongitwillbebeforeIshallceasetoremembereverythingearthly."

"If I were to go beyond seas for two—three—five years, should youwelcomemeonmyreturn?"

"Monsieur,howcouldIliveintheinterval?"

"Pourtantj'aiétépourvousbiendur,bienexigeant."

Ihidmyfacewiththebook,foritwascoveredwithtears.Iaskedhimwhyhetalkedso;andhesaidhewouldtalksonomore,andcheeredmeagainwiththe kindest encouragement. Still, the gentleness with which he treated meduringtherestoftheday,wentsomehowtomyheart.Itwastootender.Itwasmournful.Iwouldratherhehadbeenabrupt,whimsical,andirateaswashiswont.

When hot noon arrived—for the day turned out as we had anticipated,glowing as June—our shepherd collected his sheep from the pasture, andproceededtoleadusallsoftlyhome.Butwehadawholeleaguetowalk,thusfar from Villette was the farm where he had breakfasted; the children,especially,weretiredwiththeirplay;thespiritsofmostflaggedattheprospectof thismid-daywalk over chaussées flinty, glaring, and dusty. This state ofthings hadbeen foreseen andprovided for. Just beyond theboundaryof thefarmwemettwospaciousvehiclescomingtofetchus—suchconveyancesasare hired out purposely for the accommodation of school-parties; here,withgoodmanagement,roomwasfoundforall,andinanotherhourM.PaulmadesafeconsignmentofhischargeattheRueFossette.Ithadbeenapleasantday:

it would have been perfect, but for the breathing ofmelancholywhich haddimmeditssunshineamoment.

Thattarnishwasrenewedthesameevening.

Just about sunset, I saw M. Emanuel come out of the front-door,accompanied by Madame Beck. They paced the centre-alley for nearly anhour, talking earnestly: he—looking grave, yet restless; she—wearing anamazed,expostulatory,dissuasiveair.

I wondered what was under discussion; and when Madame Beck re-enteredthehouseasitdarkened,leavingherkinsmanPaulyetlingeringinthegarden,Isaidtomyself—"Hecalledme'petitesoeur'thismorning.Ifhewerereallymybrother,howIshouldliketogotohimjustnow,andaskwhatitisthat presses on hismind. See how he leans against that tree,with his armscrossedandhisbrowbent.Hewantsconsolation, Iknow:Madamedoesnotconsole:sheonlyremonstrates.Whatnow——?"

Startingfromquiescencetoaction,M.Paulcamestridingerectandquickdownthegarden.Thecarrédoorswereyetopen: I thoughthewasprobablygoing towater the orange-trees in the tubs, after his occasional custom; onreachingthecourt,however,hetookanabruptturnandmadefortheberceauand the first-classeglassdoor.There, in that first classe Iwas, thence I hadbeenwatchinghim;butthereIcouldnotfindcouragetoawaithisapproach.Hehadturnedsosuddenly,hestrodesofast,helookedsostrange;thecowardwithinmegrewpale,shrankand—notwaitingtolistentoreason,andhearingtheshrubscrushandthegravelcrunchtohisadvance—shewasgoneonthewingsofpanic.

Nor did I pause till I had taken sanctuary in the oratory, now empty.Listening there with beating pulses, and an unaccountable, undefinedapprehension, I heard him pass through all the schoolrooms, clashing thedoors impatiently as he went; I heard him invade the refectory which the"lecture pieuse" was now holding under hallowed constraint; I heard himpronouncethesewords—"OùestMademoiselleLucie?"

Andjustas,summoningmycourage,Iwaspreparingtogodownanddowhat, after all, Imostwished todo in theworld—viz.,meethim—thewiryvoiceofSt.Pierrerepliedgliblyandfalsely,"Elleestaulit."Andhepassed,with the stamp of vexation, into the corridor. There Madame Beck met,captured,chid,convoyedtothestreet-door,andfinallydismissedhim.

As that street-door closed, a sudden amazement at my own perverseproceeding struck like a blow upon me. I felt from the first it was me hewanted—mehewasseeking—andhadnotIwantedhimtoo?What,then,hadcarriedmeaway?Whathadraptmebeyondhisreach?Hehadsomethingto

tell:hewasgoingtotellmethatsomething:myearstraineditsnervetohearit,andIhadmadetheconfidenceimpossible.Yearningtolistenandconsole,while I thought audience and solace beyond hope's reach—no sooner didopportunitysuddenlyandfullyarrive,thanIevadeditasIwouldhaveevadedthelevelledshaftofmortality.

Well,myinsane inconsistencyhadits reward.Insteadof thecomfort, thecertain satisfaction, Imight havewon—could I but have put choking panicdown, and stood firm two minutes—here was dead blank, dark doubt, anddrearsuspense.

Itookmywagestomypillow,andpassedthenightcountingthem.

CHAPTERXXXIV.

MALEVOLA.

MadameBeckcalledmeonThursdayafternoon,andaskedwhetherIhadanyoccupation tohindermefromgoinginto townandexecutingsomelittlecommissionsforherattheshops.

Being disengaged, and placing myself at her service, I was presentlyfurnishedwithalistofthewools,silks,embroideringthread,etcetera,wantedin the pupils' work, and having equipped myself in a manner suiting thethreateningaspectofacloudyandsultryday, Iwas justdrawing thespring-bolt of the street-door, in act to issue forth, when Madame's voice againsummonedmetothesalle-à-manger.

"Pardon,MeessLucie!"criedshe, in the seeminghasteofan impromptuthought,"Ihavejustrecollectedonemoreerrandforyou,ifyourgood-naturewillnotdeemitselfover-burdened?"

Of course I "confounded myself" in asseverations to the contrary; andMadame, running into the little salon, brought thence a pretty basket, filledwith fine hothouse fruit, rosy, perfect, and tempting, reposing amongst thedarkgreen,wax-likeleaves,andpaleyellowstarsof,Iknownotwhat,exoticplant.

"There,"shesaid,"itisnotheavy,andwillnotshameyourneattoilette,asifitwereahousehold,servant-likedetail.Domethefavourtoleavethislittlebasketat thehouseofMadameWalravens,withmyfelicitationsonher fête.Shelivesdownintheoldtown,Numéro3,RuedesMages.Ifearyouwillfindthewalkratherlong,butyouhavethewholeafternoonbeforeyou,anddonothurry;ifyouarenotbackintimefordinner,Iwillorderaportiontobesaved,

orGoton, withwhom you are a favourite, will have pleasure in tossing upsome trifle, for your especial benefit.You shall not be forgotten,ma bonneMeess.And oh! please!" (callingme back oncemore) "be sure to insist onseeingMadameWalravensherself,andgivingthebasketintoherownhands,inorderthattheremaybenomistake,forsheisratherapunctiliouspersonage.Adieu!Aurevoir!"

AndatlastIgotaway.Theshopcommissionstooksometimetoexecute,that choosing and matching of silks and wools being always a tediousbusiness, but at last I got throughmy list. The patterns for the slippers, thebell-ropes, the cabas were selected—the slides and tassels for the purseschosen—the whole "tripotage," in short, was off mymind; nothing but thefruitandthefelicitationsremainedtobeattendedto.

I rather liked the prospect of a long walk, deep into the old and grimBasse-Ville;andIlikeditnoworsebecausetheeveningsky,overthecity,wassettling into a mass of black-blue metal, heated at the rim, and inflamingslowlytoaheavyred.

I fear a highwind, because stormdemands that exertion of strength anduse of action I always yield with pain; but the sullen down-fall, the thicksnow-descent, or dark rush of rain, ask only resignation—the quietabandonmentofgarmentsandperson tobe,drenched. In return, it sweepsagreatcapitalcleanbeforeyou;itmakesyouaquietpaththroughbroad,grandstreets; itpetrifiesa livingcityas ifbyeasternenchantment; it transformsaVilletteintoaTadmor.Let,then,therainsfall,andthefloodsdescend—onlyImustfirstgetridofthisbasketoffruit.

Anunknownclockfromanunknowntower(JeanBaptiste'svoicewasnowtoodistanttobeaudible)wastollingthethirdquarterpastfive,whenIreachedthatstreetandhousewhereofMadameBeckhadgivenmetheaddress.Itwasnostreetatall;itseemedrathertobepartofasquare:itwasquiet,grassgrewbetween the broad grey flags, the houseswere large and looked very old—behind them rose the appearance of trees, indicating gardens at the back.Antiquitybroodedabovethisregion,businesswasbanishedthence.Richmenhadoncepossessed this quarter, andoncegrandeur hadmadeher seat here.Thatchurch,whosedark,half-ruinousturretsoverlookedthesquare,wasthevenerableandformerlyopulentshrineoftheMagi.Butwealthandgreatnesshadlongsincestretchedtheirgildedpinionsandfledhence,leavingthesetheirancientnests,perhapstohousePenuryforatime,orperhapstostandcoldandempty,moulderinguntenantedinthecourseofwinters.

As I crossed this deserted "place," on whose pavement drops almost aslarge as a five-franc piece were now slowly darkening, I saw, in its wholeexpanse,nosymptomorevidenceoflife,exceptwhatwasgiveninthefigure

ofan infirmoldpriest,whowentpast,bendingandproppedona staff—thetypeofeldanddecay.

Hehad issued from theveryhouse towhich Iwasdirected; andwhen Ipausedbefore thedoor just closedafterhim,and rang thebell, he turned tolookatme.Nordidhesoonaverthisgaze;perhapshethoughtme,withmybasketofsummerfruit,andmylackofthedignityageconfers,anincongruousfigure in such a scene. I know, had a young ruddy-faced bonne opened thedoortoadmitme,Ishouldhavethoughtsuchaonelittleinharmonywithherdwelling;but,whenIfoundmyselfconfrontedbyaveryoldwoman,wearingaveryantiquepeasantcostume,acapalikehideousandcostly,withlongflapsofnativelace,apetticoatandjacketofcloth,andsabotsmorelikelittleboatsthanshoes,itseemedallright,andsoothinglyincharacter.

The expression of her face was not quite so soothing as the cut of hercostume;anythingmorecantankerousIhaveseldomseen;shewouldscarcelyreply to my inquiry after Madame Walravens; I believe she would havesnatchedthebasketoffruitfrommyhand,hadnottheoldpriest,hobblingup,checkedher,andhimselflentaneartothemessagewithwhichIwascharged.

His apparent deafness rendered it a little difficult to make him fullyunderstandthatImustseeMadameWalravens,andconsignthefruitintoherown hands. At last, however, he comprehended the fact that suchweremyorders, and that duty enjoined their literal fulfilment. Addressing the agedbonne, not in French, but in the aboriginal tongue of Labassecour, hepersuadedher,at last, to letmecross the inhospitable threshold,andhimselfescortingmeup-stairs,Iwasusheredintoasortofsalon,andthereleft.

The roomwas large, and had a fine old ceiling, and almost church-likewindowsofcoloured-glass;butitwasdesolate,andintheshadowofacomingstorm, looked strangely lowering. Within—opened a smaller room; there,however,theblindofthesinglecasementwasclosed;throughthedeepgloomfewdetailsoffurniturewereapparent.ThesefewIamusedmyselfbypuzzlingtomakeout;and, inparticular, Iwasattractedby theoutlineofapictureonthewall.

By-and-bythepictureseemedtogiveway:tomybewilderment,itshook,it sunk, it rolled back into nothing; its vanishing left an opening arched,leadingintoanarchedpassage,withamysticwindingstair;bothpassageandstair were of cold stone, uncarpeted and unpainted. Down this donjon stairdescendeda tap, tap, likea stick; soon there fellon thestepsa shadow,andlastofall,Iwasawareofasubstance.

Yet, was it actual substance, this appearance approaching me? thisobstruction,partiallydarkeningthearch?

Itdrewnear,andIsawitwell.IbegantocomprehendwhereIwas.Wellmight this old square be named quarter of theMagi—well might the threetowers, overlooking it, own for godfathers threemystic sages of a dead anddarkart.Hoarenchantmenthereprevailed;aspellhadopenedformeelf-land—thatcell-likeroom,thatvanishingpicture,thatarchandpassage,andstairofstone,wereallpartsof a fairy tale.Distincter even than these scenicdetailsstood the chief figure—Cunegonde, the sorceress! Malevola, the evil fairy.Howwasshe?

Shemightbethreefeethigh,butshehadnoshape;herskinnyhandsresteduponeachother,andpressedthegoldknobofawand-likeivorystaff.Herfacewas large, set, not uponher shoulders, but before her breast; she seemed tohavenoneck;Ishouldhavesaid therewereahundredyears inherfeatures,andmoreperhaps inher eyes—hermalign, unfriendly eyes,with thickgreybrowsabove,and livid lidsall round.Howseverely theyviewedme,withasortofdulldispleasure!

This beingwore a gown of brocade, dyed bright blue, full-tinted as thegentianellaflower,andcoveredwithsatinfoliageinalargepattern;overthegownacostlyshawl,gorgeouslybordered,andsolargeforher,thatitsmany-colouredfringesweptthefloor.Butherchiefpointswereherjewels:shehadlong, clear earrings, blazing with a lustre which could not be borrowed orfalse;shehadringsonherskeletonhands,withthickgoldhoops,andstones—purple, green, and blood-red. Hunchbacked, dwarfish, and doting, she wasadornedlikeabarbarianqueen.

"Quemevoulez-vous?" said she, hoarsely,with thevoice rather ofmalethanoffemaleoldage;and,indeed,asilverbeardbristledherchin.

Ideliveredmybasketandmymessage.

"Isthatall?"shedemanded.

"Itisall,"saidI.

"Truly,itwaswellworthwhile,"sheanswered."ReturntoMadameBeck,andtellherIcanbuyfruitwhenIwantit,etquantàsesfélicitations,jem'enmoque!"Andthiscourteousdameturnedherback.

Justassheturned,apealofthunderbroke,andaflashoflightningblazedbroadoversalonandboudoir.Thetaleofmagicseemedtoproceedwithdueaccompaniment of the elements. The wanderer, decoyed into the enchantedcastle,heardrising,outside,thespell-wakenedtempest.

What, in all this, was I to think of Madame Beck? She owned strangeacquaintance; she offered messages and gifts at an unique shrine, andinauspiciousseemedthebearingof theuncouth thingsheworshipped.There

wentthatsullenSidonia,totteringandtremblinglikepalsyincarnate,tappingher ivory staff on the mosaic parquet, and muttering venomously as shevanished.

Downwashedtherain,deeploweredthewelkin;theclouds,ruddyawhileago,hadnow, throughall theirblackness, turneddeadlypale, as if in terror.Notwithstandingmylateboastaboutnotfearingashower,Ihardlylikedtogooutunderthiswaterspout.Thenthegleamsoflightningwereveryfierce,thethundercrashedverynear;thisstormhadgatheredimmediatelyaboveVillette;itseemedtohaveburstat thezenith; itrusheddownprone; theforked,slantbolts pierced athwart vertical torrents; red zigzags interlaced a descentblanchedaswhitemetal:andallbrokefromaskyheavilyblackinitsswollenabundance.

Leaving MadameWalravens' inhospitable salon, I betook myself to hercold staircase; there was a seat on the landing—there I waited. Somebodycameglidingalongthegalleryjustabove;itwastheoldpriest.

"IndeedMademoiselle shall not sit there," said he. "Itwould displeasureourbenefactorifheknewastrangerwassotreatedinthishouse."

And he begged me so earnestly to return to the salon, that, withoutdiscourtesy, I could not but comply. The smaller roomwas better furnishedand more habitable than the larger; thither he introduced me. Partiallywithdrawingtheblind,hedisclosedwhatseemedmorelikeanoratorythanaboudoir, a very solemn little chamber, looking as if it were a place ratherdedicated to relics and remembrance, than designed for present use andcomfort.

The good father sat down, as if to keep me company; but instead ofconversing,hetookoutabook,fastenedonthepagehiseyes,andemployedhislipsinwhispering—whatsoundedlikeaprayerorlitany.Ayellowelectriclight from the skygildedhisbaldhead;his figure remained in shade—deepandpurple;hesatstillassculpture;heseemedtoforgetmeforhisprayers;heonlylookedupwhenafiercerbolt,oraharsher,closerrattle toldofnearingdanger;eventhen,itwasnotinfear,butinseemingawe,heraisedhiseyes.Itoowasawe-struck;being,however,undernopressureof slavish terror,mythoughtsandobservationswerefree.

Tospeaktruth,IwasbeginningtofancythattheoldpriestresembledthatPèreSilas, beforewhom Ihadkneeled in the churchof theBéguinage.Theideawasvague,forIhadseenmyconfessoronlyinduskandinprofile,yetstillIseemedtotracealikeness:IthoughtalsoIrecognizedthevoice.WhileIwatchedhim,hebetrayed,byoneliftedlook,thathefeltmyscrutiny;Iturnedtonotetheroom;thattoohaditshalfmysticinterest.

Besideacrossofcuriouslycarvedoldivory,yellowwithtime,andslopedaboveadark-redprie-dieu,furnishedduly,withrichmissalandebonrosary—hung the picturewhose dimoutline haddrawnmy eyes before—thepicturewhichmoved,fellawaywiththewallandletinphantoms.Imperfectlyseen,Ihad taken it for a Madonna; revealed by clearer light, it proved to be awoman'sportraitinanun'sdress.Theface,thoughnotbeautiful,waspleasing;pale,young,andshadedwiththedejectionofgrieforillhealth.Isayagainitwas not beautiful; it was not even intellectual; its very amiability was theamiabilityofaweakframe,inactivepassions,acquiescenthabits:yetIlookedlongatthatpicture,andcouldnotchoosebutlook.

Theoldpriest,whoatfirsthadseemedtomesodeafandinfirm,mustyethaveretainedhisfacultiesintolerablepreservation;absorbedinhisbookasheappeared,withoutonceliftinghishead,or,asfarasIknew,turninghiseyes,heperceivedthepointtowardswhichmyattentionwasdrawn,and,inaslowdistinctvoice,dropped,concerningit,thesefourobservations:—

"Shewasmuchbeloved.

"ShegaveherselftoGod.

"Shediedyoung.

"Sheisstillremembered,stillwept."

"By that aged lady,MadameWalravens?" I inquired, fancying that I haddiscovered in the incurable grief of bereavement, a key to that same agedlady'sdesperateill-humour.

Thefathershookhisheadwithhalfasmile.

"No,no,"saidhe;"agrand-dame'saffectionforherchildren'schildrenmaybegreat,andhersorrowfortheirloss,lively;butitisonlytheaffiancedlover,towhomFate, Faith, andDeath have trebly denied the bliss of union,whomournswhathehaslost,asJustineMarieisstillmourned."

Ithoughtthefatherratherwishedtobequestioned,andthereforeIinquiredwhohad lost andwho stillmourned "JustineMarie." I got, in reply, quite alittleromanticnarrative, toldnotunimpressively,with theaccompanimentofthenowsubsiding storm. I ambound to say itmighthavebeenmademuchmore truly impressive, if there had been less French, Rousseau-likesentimentalizingandwire-drawing;andrathermorehealthfulcarelessnessofeffect. But the worthy father was obviously a Frenchman born and bred (Ibecamemore andmorepersuadedof his resemblance tomyconfessor)—hewasatruesonofRome;whenhedidlifthiseyes,helookedatmeoutoftheircorners,withmoreandsharpersubtletythan,onewouldhavethought,couldsurvivethewearandtearofseventyyears.Yet,Ibelieve,hewasagoodold

man.

Theheroofhistalewassomeformerpupilofhis,whomhenowcalledhisbenefactor, and who, it appears, had loved this pale Justine Marie, thedaughterofrichparents,atatimewhenhisownworldlyprospectsweresuchas to justifyhisaspiring toawell-doweredhand.Thepupil's father—oncearichbanker—hadfailed,died,andleftbehindhimonlydebtsanddestitution.Thesonwas thenforbidden to thinkofMarie;especially thatoldwitchofagrand-dame Ihad seen,MadameWalravens,opposed thematchwith all theviolence of a temperwhich deformitymade sometimes demoniac.ThemildMariehadneitherthetreacherytobefalse,northeforcetobequitestaunchtoherlover;shegaveupherfirstsuitor,but,refusingtoacceptasecondwithaheavierpurse,withdrewtoaconvent,andtherediedinhernoviciate.

Lastinganguish,itseems,hadtakenpossessionofthefaithfulheartwhichworshipped her, and the truth of that love and grief had been shown in amannerwhichtouchedevenme,asIlistened.

Someyears after JustineMarie's death, ruinhad comeonherhouse too:herfather,bynominalcallingajeweller,butwhoalsodealtagooddealontheBourse, had been concerned in some financial transactions which entailedexposure and ruinous fines.Hediedofgrief for the loss, and shame for theinfamy. His old hunchbacked mother and his bereaved wife were leftpenniless, and might have died too of want; but their lost daughter's once-despised,yetmosttrue-heartedsuitor,hearingoftheconditionoftheseladies,camewithsingulardevotednesstotherescue.Hetookontheirinsolentpridetherevengeofthepurestcharity—housing,caringfor,befriendingthem,soasnosoncouldhavedoneitmoretenderlyandefficiently.Themother—onthewhole a good woman—died blessing him; the strange, godless, loveless,misanthropegrandmotherlivedstill,entirelysupportedbythisself-sacrificingman.Her,whohadbeenthebaneofhislife,blightinghishope,andawardinghim,for loveanddomestichappiness, longmourningandcheerlesssolitude,he treated with the respect a good son might offer a kind mother. He hadbroughthertothishouse,"and,"continuedthepriest,whilegenuinetearsroseto his eyes, "here, too, he shelters me, his old tutor, and Agnes, asuperannuated servantofhis father's family.Toour sustenance, and toothercharities,Iknowhedevotesthree-partsofhisincome,keepingonlythefourthtoprovidehimselfwithbreadandthemostmodestaccommodations.Bythisarrangement he has rendered it impossible to himself ever tomarry: he hasgivenhimselftoGodandtohisangel-brideasmuchasifhewereapriest,likeme."

Thefatherhadwipedawayhistearsbeforeheutteredtheselastwords,andinpronouncingthem,heforoneinstantraisedhiseyestomine.Icaughtthisglance, despite its veiled character; the momentary gleam shot a meaning

whichstruckme.

TheseRomanistsarestrangebeings.Suchaoneamongthem—whomyouknow no more than the last Inca of Peru, or the first Emperor of China—knowsyouandallyourconcerns;andhashisreasonsforsayingtoyousoandso,whenyousimplythoughtthecommunicationsprangimpromptufromtheinstant's impulse:hisplaninbringingitaboutthatyoushallcomeonsuchaday, to such a place, under such and such circumstances, when the wholearrangementseemstoyourcrudeapprehensiontheordinanceofchance,orthesequelofexigency.MadameBeck'ssuddenly-recollectedmessageandpresent,my artless embassy to the Place of the Magi, the old priest accidentallydescending the stepsandcrossing the square,his interpositiononmybehalfwith the bonne who would have sent me away, his reappearance on thestaircase,my introduction to this room, the portrait, the narrative so affablyvolunteered—all these little incidents, taken as they fell out, seemed eachindependentofitssuccessor;ahandfulofloosebeads:butthreadedthroughbythat quick-shot and crafty glance of a Jesuit-eye, they droppedpendent in alongstring, like that rosaryon theprie-dieu.Where lay the linkof junction,wherethelittleclaspofthismonasticnecklace?Isaworfeltunion,butcouldnotyetfindthespot,ordetectthemeansofconnection.

Perhaps the musing-fit into which I had by this time fallen, appearedsomewhatsuspiciousinitsabstraction;hegentlyinterrupted:"Mademoiselle,"saidhe,"Itrustyouhavenotfartogothroughtheseinundatedstreets?"

"Morethanhalfaleague."

"Youlive——?"

"IntheRueFossette."

"Not"(withanimation),"notatthepensionnatofMadameBeck?"

"Thesame."

"Donc" (clapping his hands), "donc, vous devez connaître mon nobleélève,monPaul?"

"MonsieurPaulEmanuel,ProfessorofLiterature?"

"Heandnoneother."

A brief silence fell. The spring of junction seemed suddenly to havebecomepalpable;Ifeltityieldtopressure.

"WasitofM.Paulyouhavebeenspeaking?"Ipresentlyinquired."WasheyourpupilandthebenefactorofMadameWalravens?"

"Yes, and of Agnes, the old servant: and moreover, (with a certainemphasis),hewasandisthelover,true,constantandeternal,ofthatsaintin

heaven—JustineMarie."

"And who, father, are you?" I continued; and though I accentuated thequestion,itsutterancewaswellnighsuperfluous;Iwaserethisquitepreparedfortheanswerwhichactuallycame.

"I,daughter,amPèreSilas;thatunworthysonofHolyChurchwhomyouoncehonouredwithanobleandtouchingconfidence,showingmethecoreofaheart,andtheinnershrineofamindwhereof,insolemntruth,Icovetedthedirection,inbehalfoftheonlytruefaith.NorhaveIforadaylostsightofyou,nor for an hour failed to take in you a rooted interest. Passed under thedisciplineofRome,mouldedbyherhightraining,inoculatedwithhersalutarydoctrines, inspiredbythezealshealonegives—Irealizewhatthenmightbeyourspiritualrank,yourpracticalvalue;andIenvyHeresyherprey."

Thisstruckmeasaspecialstateof things—Ihalf-realizedmyself in thatconditionalso;passedunderdiscipline,moulded, trained, inoculated, and soon."Notso,"thoughtI,butIrestraineddeprecation,andsatquietlyenough.

"IsupposeM.Pauldoesnotlivehere?"Iresumed,pursuingathemewhichIthoughtmoretothepurposethananywildrenegadedreams.

"No;heonlycomesoccasionallytoworshiphisbelovedsaint,tomakehisconfessiontome,andtopayhisrespectstoherhecallshismother.Hisownlodgingconsistsbutoftworooms:hehasnoservant,andyethewillnotsufferMadameWalravens to dispose of those splendid jewelswithwhich you seeher adorned, and inwhich she takes apuerilepride as theornamentsofheryouth,andthelastrelicsofhersonthejeweller'swealth."

"How often," murmured I to myself, "has this man, this M. Emanuel,seemed to me to lack magnanimity in trifles, yet how great he is in greatthings!"

IownIdidnotreckonamongsttheproofsofhisgreatness,eithertheactofconfession,orthesaint-worship.

"Howlongisitsincethatladydied?"Iinquired,lookingatJustineMarie.

"Twenty years. Shewas somewhat older thanM. Emanuel; hewas thenveryyoung,forheisnotmuchbeyondforty."

"Doesheyetweepher?"

"His heart will weep her always: the essence of Emanuel's nature is—constancy."

Thiswassaidwithmarkedemphasis.

Andnowthesunbrokeoutpallidandwaterish;therainyetfell,buttherewas no more tempest: that hot firmament had cloven and poured out its

lightnings.Alongerdelaywouldscarceleavedaylightformyreturn,soIrose,thanked the father forhishospitalityandhis tale,wasbenignantlyansweredby a "pax vobiscum," which I made kindly welcome, because it seemeduttered with a true benevolence; but I liked less the mystic phraseaccompanyingit.

"Daughter,youshallbewhatyoushallbe!"anoraclethatmademeshrugmyshouldersassoonasIhadgotoutsidethedoor.Fewofusknowwhatwearetocometocertainly,butforallthathadhappenedyet,Ihadgoodhopesofliving and dying a sober-minded Protestant: therewas a hollownesswithin,and a flourish around "Holy Church" which tempted me but moderately. Iwentonmywayponderingmanythings.WhateverRomanismmaybe,thereare good Romanists: this man, Emanuel, seemed of the best; touched withsuperstition, influencedbypriestcraft,yetwondrous for fond faith, forpiousdevotion,forsacrificeofself,forcharityunbounded.ItremainedtoseehowRome,byheragents,handledsuchqualities;whethershecherishedthemfortheirownsakeandforGod's,orputthemouttousuryandmadebootyoftheinterest.

BythetimeIreachedhome,itwassundown.Gotonhadkindlysavedmeaportionofdinner,whichindeedIneeded.Shecalledmeintothelittlecabinettopartakeofit,andthereMadameBecksoonmadeherappearance,bringingmeaglassofwine.

"Well,"beganshe, chuckling, "andwhat sortof a receptiondidMadameWalravensgiveyou?Elleestdrôle,n'est-cepas?"

Itoldherwhathadpassed,deliveringverbatimthecourteousmessagewithwhichIhadbeencharged.

"Ohlasingulièrepetitebossue!"laughedshe."Etfigurez-vousqu'ellemedéteste, parcequ'elleme croit amoureusedemoncousinPaul; cepetit dévotquin'osepasbouger,àmoinsquesonconfesseurneluidonnelapermission!Aureste"(shewenton),"ifhewantedtomarryeversomuch—soitmoi,soituneautre—hecouldnotdoit;hehastoolargeafamilyalreadyonhishands:Mère Walravens, Père Silas, Dame Agnes, and a whole troop of namelesspaupers.Thereneverwasamanlikehimforlayingonhimselfburdensgreaterthan he can bear, voluntarily incurring needless responsibilities. Besides, heharbours a romantic idea about some pale-facedMarie Justine—personnageassezniaiseàcequejepense"(suchwasMadame'sirreverentremark),"whohasbeenanangelinheaven,orelsewhere,thisscoreofyears,andtowhomhemeanstogo,freefromallearthlyties,purecommeunlis,àcequ'ildit.Oh,you would laugh could you but know half M. Emanuel's crotchets andeccentricities! But I hinder you from taking refreshment, ma bonneMeess,whichyoumustneed;eatyoursupper,drinkyourwine,oubliezlesanges,les

bossues,etsurtout,lesProfesseurs—etbonsoir!"

CHAPTERXXXV

FRATERNITY.

"Oubliez les Professeurs." So saidMadame Beck.Madame Beck was awisewoman, but she should not have uttered thosewords. To do sowas amistake.Thatnightsheshouldhaveleftmecalm—notexcited,indifferent,notinterested, isolated inmyownestimationand thatofothers—notconnected,eveninidea,withthissecondpersonwhomIwastoforget.

Forget him? Ah! they took a sage plan to make me forget him—thewiseheads!They showedmehowgoodhewas; theymadeofmydear littleman a stainless little hero. And then they had prated about his manner ofloving.WhatmeanshadI,beforethisday,ofbeingcertainwhetherhecouldloveatallornot?

I had known him jealous, suspicious; I had seen about him certaintendernesses,fitfulnesses—asoftnesswhichcamelikeawarmair,andaruthwhichpassedlikeearlydew,driedintheheatofhisirritabilities:thiswasallIhad seen. And they, Père Silas and Modeste Maria Beck (that these twowrought in concert I could not doubt) opened up the adytumof his heart—showedmeonegrandlove,thechildofthissouthernnature'syouth,bornsostrong and perfect, that it had laughed atDeath himself, despised hismeanrapeofmatter,clungtoimmortalspirit,andinvictoryandfaith,hadwatchedbesideatombtwentyyears.

Thishadbeendone—not idly: thiswasnotamerehollow indulgenceofsentiment;hehadprovenhisfidelitybytheconsecrationofhisbestenergiesto an unselfish purpose, and attested it by limitless personal sacrifices: forthoseoncedeartoherheprized—hehadlaiddownvengeance,andtakenupacross.

Now,asforJustineMarie,IknewwhatshewasaswellasifIhadseenher.I knew she was well enough; there were girls like her in Madame Beck'sschool—phlegmatics—pale, slow, inert, but kind-natured, neutral of evil,undistinguishedforgood.

Ifsheworeangels'wings,Iknewwhosepoet-fancyconferredthem.Ifherforeheadshoneluminouswiththereflexofahalo,Iknewinthefireofwhoseiridsthatcircletofholyflamehadgeneration.

WasI, then, tobefrightenedbyJustineMarie?Was thepictureofapale

deadnuntorise,aneternalbarrier?Andwhatofthecharitieswhichabsorbedhisworldlygoods?Whatofhisheartsworntovirginity?

Madame Beck—Père Silas—you should not have suggested thesequestions.Theywereatoncethedeepestpuzzle,thestrongestobstruction,andthekeeneststimulus,Ihadeverfelt.ForaweekofnightsanddaysIfellasleep—Idreamt, and Iwokeupon these twoquestions. In thewholeworld therewasnoanswer to them,exceptwhereonedarklittlemanstood,sat,walked,lectured,underthehead-pieceofabanditbonnet-grec,andwithinthegirthofasorrypaletôt,muchbe-inked,andnolittleadust.

AfterthatvisittotheRuedesMages,Ididwanttoseehimagain.Ifeltasif—knowing what I now knew—his countenance would offer a page morelucid,more interesting thanever; I felta longingto trace in it the imprintofthatprimitivedevotedness,thesignsofthathalf-knightly,half-saintlychivalrywhich the priest's narrative imputed to his nature. He had become myChristianhero:underthatcharacterIwantedtoviewhim.

Norwasopportunity slow to favour;mynew impressionsunderwenthertestthenextday.Yes:Iwasgrantedaninterviewwithmy"Christianhero"—aninterviewnotveryheroic,orsentimental,orbiblical,butlivelyenoughinitsway.

About threeo'clockof theafternoon, thepeaceof thefirstclasse—safelyestablished, as it seemed, under the serene sway ofMadameBeck,who, inpropriâpersonâwasgivingoneofherorderlyandusefullessons—thispeace,Isay,sufferedasuddenfracturebythewildinburstofapaletôt.

Nobodyatthemomentwasquieterthanmyself.EasedofresponsibilitybyMadameBeck'spresence,soothedbyheruniformtones,pleasedandedifiedwithherclearexpositionofthesubjectinhand(forshetaughtwell),Isatbentovermydesk,drawing—thatis,copyinganelaboratelineengraving,tediouslyworking upmy copy to the finish of the original, for thatwasmy practicalnotionof art; and, strange to say, I tookextremepleasure in the labour, andcouldevenproducecuriouslyfinicalChinesefacsimilesofsteelormezzotintplates—things about as valuable as somany achievements inworsted-work,butIthoughtprettywelloftheminthosedays.

What was the matter? My drawing, my pencils, my precious copy,gatheredintoonecrushed-uphandful,perishedfrombeforemysight;Imyselfappearedtobeshakenoremptiedoutofmychair,asasolitaryandwitherednutmegmightbe emptiedoutof a spice-boxby an excited cook.That chairandmydesk, seizedby thewildpaletôt, oneunder each sleeve,wereborneafar; in a second, I followed the furniture; in twominutes they and I werefixedinthecentreofthegrandsalle—avastadjoiningroom,seldomusedsavefor dancing and choral singing-lessons—fixed with an emphasis which

seemedtoprohibittheremotesthopeofoureverbeingpermittedtostirthenceagain.

Havingpartiallycollectedmyscaredwits,Ifoundmyselfinthepresenceof twomen,gentlemen, I suppose I should say—onedark, theother light—onehavinga stiff, half-militaryair, andwearingabraided surtout; theotherpartaking, ingarbandbearing,moreof thecareless aspectof the studentorartistclass:bothflourishinginfullmagnificenceofmoustaches,whiskers,andimperial.M.Emanuelstoodalittleapartfromthese;hiscountenanceandeyesexpressedstrongcholer;heheldforthhishandwithhistribunegesture.

"Mademoiselle,"saidhe,"yourbusinessistoprovetothesegentlementhatIamnoliar.Youwillanswer,tothebestofyourability,suchquestionsastheyshallput.Youwillalsowriteonsuchthemeastheyshallselect.Intheireyes,itappears,Iholdthepositionofanunprincipledimpostor.Iwriteessays;and,withdeliberateforgery,signtothemmypupils'names,andboastofthemastheirwork.Youwilldisprovethischarge."

Grandciel!Herewas the show-trial, so longevaded, comeonme like athunder-clap.Thesetwofine,braided,mustachioed,sneeringpersonages,werenone other than dandy professors of the college—Messieurs Boissec andRochemorte—apairofcold-bloodedfopsandpedants,sceptics,andscoffers.It seems thatM.Paul hadbeen rashly exhibiting something I hadwritten—something,hehadneveroncepraised,orevenmentioned,inmyhearing,andwhichIdeemedforgotten.Theessaywasnotremarkableatall;itonlyseemedremarkable,comparedwiththeaverageproductionsofforeignschool-girls;inan English establishment it would have passed scarce noticed. MessieursBoissecandRochemortehadthoughtpropertoquestionitsgenuineness,andinsinuateacheat;Iwasnowtobearmytestimonytothetruth,andtobeputtothetortureoftheirexamination.

Amemorablesceneensued.

Theybeganwithclassics.Adeadblank.TheywentontoFrenchhistory.IhardlyknewMérovéefromPharamond.Theytriedmeinvarious'ologies,andstillonlygotashakeofthehead,andanunchanging"Jen'ensaisrien."

After an expressive pause, they proceeded to matters of generalinformation,broachingoneortwosubjectswhichIknewprettywell,andonwhichIhadoftenreflected.M.Emanuel,whohadhithertostoodlookingon,darkasthewinter-solstice,brightenedupsomewhat;hethoughtIshouldnowshowmyselfatleastnofool.

Helearnedhiserror.Thoughanswerstothequestionssurgedupfast,mymindfillinglikearisingwell,ideaswerethere,butnotwords.Ieithercouldnot,orwouldnotspeak—Iamnotsurewhich:partly,Ithink,mynerveshad

gotwrong,andpartlymyhumourwascrossed.

I heardoneofmyexaminers—heof thebraided surtout—whisper tohisco-professor,"Est-elledoncidiote?"

"Yes,"Ithought,"anidiotsheis,andalwayswillbe,forsuchasyou."

But I suffered—suffered cruelly; I saw the damps gather on M. Paul'sbrow,andhiseyespokeapassionateyetsadreproach.Hewouldnotbelieveinmytotallackofpopularcleverness;hethoughtIcouldbepromptifIwould.

Atlast,torelievehim,theprofessors,andmyself,Istammeredout:

"Gentlemen,youhadbetterletmego;youwillgetnogoodofme;asyousay,Iamanidiot."

IwishIcouldhavespokenwithcalmanddignity,orIwishmysensehadsufficed to make me hold my tongue; that traitor tongue tripped, faltered.BeholdingthejudgescastonM.Emanuelahardlookoftriumph,andhearingthedistressedtremorofmyownvoice,outIburstinafitofchokingtears.Theemotionwasfarmoreofangerthangrief;hadIbeenamanandstrong,Icouldhavechallengedthatpaironthespot—butitwasemotion,andIwouldratherhavebeenscourgedthanbetrayedit.

Theincapables!Couldtheynotseeatoncethecrudehandofanoviceinthat composition they called a forgery?The subjectwas classical.WhenM.Pauldictated the traitonwhich theessaywas to turn, Iheard it for the firsttime;thematterwasnewtome,andIhadnomaterialforitstreatment.ButIgotbooks,readupthefacts,laboriouslyconstructedaskeletonoutofthedrybonesof the real,and thenclothed them,and tried tobreathe into themlife,andinthislastaimIhadpleasure.Withmeitwasadifficultandanxioustimetillmyfactswerefound,selected,andproperlyjointed;norcouldIrestfromresearchandeffort tillIwassatisfiedofcorrectanatomy;thestrengthofmyinwardrepugnancetotheideaofflaworfalsitysometimesenabledmetoshunegregiousblunders;but theknowledgewasnot there inmyhead, readyandmellow; it had not been sown in Spring, grown in Summer, harvested inAutumn,andgarneredthroughWinter;whateverIwantedImustgooutandgatherfresh;gleanofwildherbsmylapful,andshredthemgreenintothepot.MessieursBoissec andRochemorte did not perceive this. Theymistookmyworkfortheworkofaripescholar.

Theywouldnotyetletmego:Imustsitdownandwritebeforethem.AsIdippedmypenintheinkwithashakinghand,andsurveyedthewhitepaperwitheyeshalf-blindedandoverflowing,oneofmyjudgesbeganmincinglytoapologizeforthepainhecaused.

"Nous agissons dans l'intérêt de la vérité. Nous ne voulons pas vous

blesser,"saidhe.

Scorngavemenerve.Ionlyanswered,—

"Dictate,Monsieur."

Rochemortenamedthistheme:"HumanJustice."

Human Justice! What was I to make of it? Blank, cold abstraction,unsuggestivetomeofoneinspiringidea;andtherestoodM.Emanuel,sadasSaul,andsternasJoab,andtheretriumphedhisaccusers.

AtthesetwoIlooked.IwasgatheringmycouragetotellthemthatIwouldneitherwritenorspeakanotherwordfortheirsatisfaction,thattheirthemedidnot suit, nor their presence inspire me, and that, notwithstanding, whoeverthrewtheshadowofadoubtonM.Emanuel'shonour,outragedthat truthofwhich they had announced themselves the—champions: Imeant to utter allthis,Isay,whensuddenly,alightdartedonmemory.

Those two faces looking out of the forest of long hair, moustache, andwhisker—those twocoldyetbold, trustlessyetpresumptuousvisages—werethesamefaces,theverysamethat,projectedinfullgaslightfrombehindthepillarsofaportico,hadhalffrightenedmetodeathonthenightofmydesolatearrivalinVillette.These,Ifeltmorallycertain,weretheveryheroeswhohaddriven a friendless foreigner beyond her reckoning and her strength, chasedherbreathlessoverawholequarterofthetown.

"Piousmentors!"thoughtI."Pureguidesforyouth!IfHumanJustice'werewhatsheoughttobe,youtwowouldscarceholdyourpresentpost,orenjoyyourpresentcredit."

Anideaonceseized,Ifelltowork."HumanJustice"rushedbeforemeinnovelguise,ared,randombeldame,witharmsakimbo.Isawherinherhouse,thedenofconfusion:servantscalled toherforordersorhelpwhichshedidnotgive;beggarsstoodatherdoorwaitingandstarvingunnoticed;aswarmofchildren,sickandquarrelsome,crawledroundherfeet,andyelledinherearsappealsfornotice,sympathy,cure,redress.Thehonestwomancaredfornoneofthesethings.Shehadawarmseatofherownbythefire,shehadherownsolaceinashortblackpipe,andabottleofMrs.Sweeny'ssoothingsyrup;shesmokedandshesipped,andsheenjoyedherparadise;andwheneveracryofthe suffering souls about her pierced her ears too keenly—my jolly dameseizedthepokerorthehearth-brush:iftheoffenderwasweak,wronged,andsickly, she effectually settled him: if hewas strong, lively, and violent, sheonlymenaced, thenplungedherhand inherdeeppouch,and flunga liberalshowerofsugar-plums.

Suchwasthesketchof"HumanJustice,"scratchedhurriedlyonpaper,and

placedattheserviceofMessrs.BoissecandRochemorte.M.Emanuelreaditovermyshoulder.Waitingnocomment,Icurtsiedtothetrio,andwithdrew.

Afterschoolthatday,M.PaulandIagainmet.Ofcoursethemeetingdidnot at first run smooth; there was a crow to pluck with him; that forcedexamination could not be immediately digested. A crabbed dialogueterminated in my being called "une petite moqueuse et sans-coeur," and inMonsieur'stemporarydeparture.

Notwishinghimtogoquiteaway,onlydesiringheshouldfeelthatsuchatransportashehadthatdaygivenwayto,couldnotbeindulgedwithperfectimpunity,Iwasnotsorrytoseehim,soonafter,gardeningintheberceau.Heapproached the glass door; I drew near also. We spoke of some flowersgrowing round it. By-and-by Monsieur laid down his spade; by-and-by herecommenced conversation, passed to other subjects, and at last touched apointofinterest.

Consciousthathisproceedingofthatdaywasspeciallyopentoachargeofextravagance,M.Paulhalfapologized;hehalfregretted,too,thefitfulnessofhismoodsatalltimes,yethehintedthatsomeallowanceoughttobemadeforhim. "But," said he, "I can hardly expect it at your hands,Miss Lucy; youknowneitherme,normyposition,normyhistory."

Hishistory.Itookupthewordatonce;Ipursuedtheidea.

"No,Monsieur," I rejoined. "Of course, as you say, I knowneither yourhistory, nor your position, nor your sacrifices, nor any of your sorrows, ortrials,oraffections,or fidelities.Oh,no! Iknownothingaboutyou;youareformealtogetherastranger."

"Hein?"hemurmured,archinghisbrowsinsurprise.

"You know,Monsieur, I only see you in classe—stern, dogmatic, hasty,imperious.Ionlyhearofyouintownasactiveandwilful,quicktooriginate,hastytolead,butslowtopersuade,andhardtobend.Amanlikeyou,withoutties, can have no attachments; without dependants, no duties. All we, withwhomyou come in contact, aremachines,which you thrust here and there,inconsiderate of their feelings. You seek your recreations in public, by thelight of the evening chandelier: this school and yonder college are yourworkshops, where you fabricate the ware called pupils. I don't so much asknowwhereyoulive;itisnaturaltotakeitforgrantedthatyouhavenohome,andneednone."

"Iamjudged,"saidhe."YouropinionofmeisjustwhatIthoughtitwas.ForyouIamneitheramannoraChristian.Youseemevoidofaffectionandreligion,unattachedby friendor family,unpilotedbyprincipleor faith. It iswell,Mademoiselle;suchisourrewardinthislife."

"You are a philosopher,Monsieur; a cynic philosopher" (and I looked athis paletôt, ofwhich he straightway brushed the dim sleevewith his hand),"despising the foibles of humanity—above its luxuries—independent of itscomforts."

"Etvous,Mademoiselle?vousêtespropretteetdouillette,etaffreusementinsensible,par-dessuslemarché."

"But,inshort,Monsieur,nowIthinkofit,youmustlivesomewhere?

Dotellmewhere;andwhatestablishmentofservantsdoyoukeep?"

Withafearfulprojectionoftheunder-lip,implyinganimpetusofscornthemostdecided,hebrokeout—

"Jevisdansuntrou!Iinhabitaden,Miss—acavern,whereyouwouldnotput your dainty nose.Once,with base shameof speaking thewhole truth, Italkedaboutmy'study'inthatcollege:knownowthatthis'study'ismywholeabode;mychamberisthereandmydrawing-room.Asformy'establishmentofservants'"(mimickingmyvoice)"theynumberten;lesvoilà."

Andhegrimlyspread,closeundermyeyes,histenfingers.

"Iblackmyboots,"pursuedhesavagely."Ibrushmypaletôt."

"No,Monsieur,itistooplain;youneverdothat,"wasmyparenthesis.

"Je fais mon lit et mon ménage; I seek my dinner in a restaurant; mysuppertakescare,ofitself;Ipassdayslaboriousandloveless;nightslongandlonely; Iamferocious,andbeardedandmonkish;andnothingnowliving inthisworldlovesme,exceptsomeoldheartswornlikemyown,andsomefewbeings, impoverished, suffering, poor in purse and in spirit, whom thekingdomsofthisworldownnot,buttowhomawillandtestamentnottobedisputedhasbequeathedthekingdomofheaven."

"Ah,Monsieur;butIknow!"

"Whatdoyouknow?manythings,Iverilybelieve;yetnotme,Lucy!"

"IknowthatyouhaveapleasantoldhouseinapleasantoldsquareoftheBasse-Ville—whydon'tyougoandlivethere?"

"Hein?"mutteredheagain.

"Ilikeditmuch,Monsieur;withthestepsascendingtothedoor,thegreyflags in front, the nodding trees behind—real trees, not shrubs—trees dark,high, and of old growth. And the boudoir-oratoire—you should make thatroomyourstudy;itissoquietandsolemn."

Heeyedmeclosely;hehalf-smiled,half-coloured."Wheredidyoupickupallthat?Whotoldyou?"heasked.

"Nobodytoldme.DidIdreamit,Monsieur,doyouthink?"

"Can I enter intoyourvisions?Can Iguess awoman'swaking thoughts,muchlesshersleepingfantasies?"

"IfIdreamtit,Isawinmydreamhumanbeingsaswellasahouse.Isawapriest, old, bent, andgrey, and adomestic—old, too, andpicturesque; andalady, splendid but strange; her head would scarce reach to my elbow—hermagnificencemightransomaduke.Sheworeagownbrightaslapis-lazuli—ashawlworthathousandfrancs:shewasdeckedwithornamentssobrilliant,Ineversawanywithsuchabeautifulsparkle;butherfigurelookedasifithadbeen broken in two and bent double; she seemed also to have outlived thecommonyearsofhumanity,andtohaveattainedthosewhichareonlylabourand sorrow. Shewas becomemorose—almostmalevolent; yet somebody, itappears, cared for her in her infirmities—somebody forgave her trespasses,hopingtohavehistrespassesforgiven.Theylivedtogether,thesethreepeople—themistress,thechaplain,theservant—allold,allfeeble,allshelteredunderonekindwing."

Hecoveredwithhishandtheupperpartofhisface,butdidnotconcealhismouth,whereIsawhoveringanexpressionIliked.

"Iseeyouhaveenteredintomysecrets,"saidhe,"buthowwasitdone?"

SoI toldhimhow—thecommissiononwhichIhadbeensent, thestormwhichhaddetainedme,theabruptnessofthelady,thekindnessofthepriest.

"AsIsatwaitingfortheraintocease,PèreSilaswhiledawaythetimewithastory,"Isaid.

"Astory!Whatstory?PèreSilasisnoromancist."

"ShallItellMonsieurthetale?"

"Yes:beginat thebeginning.LetmehearsomeofMissLucy'sFrench—herbestorherworst—Idon'tmuchcarewhich:letushaveagoodpoignéeofbarbarisms,andabounteousdoseoftheinsularaccent."

"Monsieur isnotgoingtobegratifiedbya taleofambitiousproportions,andthespectacleofthenarratorstickingfastinthemidst.ButIwilltellhimthetitle—the'Priest'sPupil.'"

"Bah!"saidhe,theswarthyflushagaindyeinghisdarkcheek."Thegoodold father could not have chosen aworse subject; it is hisweak point. Butwhatofthe'Priest'sPupil?'"

"Oh!manythings."

"Youmayaswelldefinewhatthings.Imeantoknow."

"There was the pupil's youth, the pupil's manhood;—his avarice, hisingratitude,hisimplacability,hisinconstancy.Suchabadpupil,Monsieur!—sothankless,cold-hearted,unchivalrous,unforgiving!

"Etpuis?"saidhe,takingacigar.

"Et puis," I pursued, "he underwent calamitieswhich one did not pity—boretheminaspiritonedidnotadmire—enduredwrongsforwhichonefeltnosympathy;finallytooktheunchristianrevengeofheapingcoalsoffireonhisadversary'shead."

"Youhavenottoldmeall,"saidhe.

"Nearlyall,Ithink:IhaveindicatedtheheadsofPèreSilas'schapters."

"You have forgotten one—that which touched on the pupil's lack ofaffection—onhishard,cold,monkishheart."

"True; I remember now. Père Silas did say that his vocationwas almostthatofapriest—thathislifewasconsideredconsecrated."

"Bywhatbondsorduties?"

"Bythetiesofthepastandthecharitiesofthepresent."

"Youhave,then,thewholesituation?"

"IhavenowtoldMonsieurallthatwastoldme."

Somemeditativeminutespassed.

"Now,MademoiselleLucy,lookatme,andwiththattruthwhichIbelieveyouneverknowinglyviolate,answermeonequestion.Raiseyoureyes; restthem onmine; have no hesitation; fear not to trust me—I am aman to betrusted."

Iraisedmyeyes.

"Knowingmethoroughlynow—allmyantecedents,allmyresponsibilities—havinglongknownmyfaults,canyouandIstillbefriends?"

"IfMonsieurwantsafriendinme,Ishallbegladtohaveafriendinhim."

"But a close friend Imean—intimate and real—kindred in all but blood.WillMissLucybe thesisterofaverypoor, fettered,burdened,encumberedman?"

Icouldnotanswerhiminwords,yetIsupposeIdidanswerhim;hetookmyhand,whichfoundcomfort,intheshelterofhis.Hisfriendshipwasnotadoubtful,waveringbenefit—acold,distanthope—asentimentsobrittleasnottobeartheweightofafinger:Iatoncefelt(orthoughtIfelt)itssupportlikethatofsomerock.

"When I talk of friendship, I mean true friendship," he repeatedemphatically;andIcouldhardlybelievethatwordssoearnesthadblessedmyear;Ihardlycouldcredittherealityofthatkind,anxiouslookhegave.Ifhereallywishedformyconfidenceandregard,andreallywouldgivemehis—why,itseemedtomethatlifecouldoffernothingmoreorbetter.Inthatcase,Iwasbecomestrongandrich:inamomentIwasmadesubstantiallyhappy.Toascertainthefact,tofixandsealit,Iasked—

"IsMonsieurquiteserious?Doeshereallythinkheneedsme,andcantakeaninterestinmeasasister?"

"Surely,surely,"saidhe;"alonelymanlikeme,whohasnosister,mustbebuttoogladtofindinsomewoman'sheartasister'spureaffection."

"AnddareIrelyonMonsieur'sregard?DareIspeaktohimwhenIamsoinclined?"

"Mylittlesistermustmakeherownexperiments,"saidhe;"Iwillgivenopromises.Shemustteaseandtryherwaywardbrothertillshehasdrilledhimintowhatshewishes.Afterall,heisnoinductilematerialinsomehands."

Whilehespoke,thetoneofhisvoice,thelightofhisnowaffectionateeye,gaveme such a pleasure as, certainly, I had never felt. I envied no girl herlover,nobrideherbridegroom,nowifeherhusband;Iwascontentwiththismy voluntary, self-offering friend. If he would but prove reliable, and helooked reliable,what, beyond his friendship, could I ever covet? But, if allmeltedlikeadream,asoncebeforehadhappened—?

"Qu'est-cedonc?Whatisit?"saidhe,asthisthoughtthrewitsweightonmy heart, its shadow onmy countenance. I told him; and after amoment'spause,andathoughtfulsmile,heshowedmehowanequalfear—lestIshouldwearyofhim,amanofmoodssodifficultandfitful—hadhauntedhismindformorethanoneday,oronemonth.

On hearing this, a quiet courage cheered me. I ventured a word of re-assurance.Thatwordwasnotonlytolerated;itsrepetitionwascourted.Igrewquite happy—strangely happy—in making him secure, content, tranquil.Yesterday,Icouldnothavebelievedthatearthheld,orlifeafforded,momentslikethefewIwasnowpassing.Countlesstimesithadbeenmylottowatchapprehended sorrow close darkly in; but to see unhoped-for happiness takeform,findplace,andgrowmorerealasthesecondssped,wasindeedanewexperience.

"Lucy," saidM.Paul, speaking low, and still holdingmyhand, "didyouseeapictureintheboudoiroftheoldhouse?"

"Idid;apicturepaintedonapanel."

"Theportraitofanun?"

"Yes."

"Youheardherhistory?"

"Yes."

"Yourememberwhatwesawthatnightintheberceau?"

"Ishallneverforgetit."

"Youdidnotconnectthetwoideas;thatwouldbefolly?"

"IthoughtoftheapparitionwhenIsawtheportrait,"saidI;whichwastrueenough.

"You did not, nor will you fancy," pursued he, "that a saint in heavenperturbs herself with rivalries of earth? Protestants are rarely superstitious;thesemorbidfancieswillnotbesetyou?"

"Iknownotwhat to thinkof thismatter;butIbelieveaperfectlynaturalsolutionofthisseemingmysterywillonedaybearrivedat."

"Doubtless,doubtless.Besides,nogood-livingwoman—muchlessapure,happyspirit—wouldtroubleamitylikeoursn'est-ilpasvrai?"

EreIcouldanswer,FifineBeckburstin,rosyandabrupt,callingoutthatIwaswanted.HermotherwasgoingintotowntocallonsomeEnglishfamily,whohadappliedforaprospectus:myserviceswereneededasinterpreter.Theinterruptionwasnotunseasonable:sufficientforthedayisalwaystheevil;forthishour,itsgoodsufficed.YetIshouldhavelikedtoaskM.Paulwhetherthe"morbidfancies,"againstwhichhewarnedme,wroughtinhisownbrain.

CHAPTERXXXVI.

THEAPPLEOFDISCORD.

BesidesFifineBeck'smother,anotherpowerhadawordtosaytoM.Paulandme,before thatcovenantof friendshipcouldbe ratified.Wewereunderthesurveillanceofa sleeplesseye:Romewatched jealouslyher son throughthatmysticlatticeatwhichIhadkneltonce,andtowhichM.Emanueldrewnighmonthbymonth—theslidingpaneloftheconfessional.

"WhywereyousogladtobefriendswithM.Paul?"asksthereader."Hadhenotlongbeenafriendtoyou?Hadhenotgivenproofonproofofacertainpartialityinhisfeelings?"

Yes,hehad;butstillIlikedtohearhimsaysoearnestly—thathewasmyclose, true friend; I likedhismodestdoubts,his tenderdeference—that trustwhich longed to rest, andwas gratefulwhen taught how.He had calledme"sister." It waswell. Yes; hemight callmewhat he pleased, so long as heconfided inme. I was willing to be his sister, on condition that he did notinvitemetofillthatrelationtosomefuturewifeofhis;andtacitlyvowedashewastocelibacy,ofthisdilemmathereseemedlittledanger.

ThroughmostofthesucceedingnightIponderedthatevening'sinterview.Iwantedmuchthemorningtobreak,andthenlistenedforthebelltoring;and,after rising and dressing, I deemed prayers and breakfast slow, and all thehours lingering, till that arrived at last which brought me the lesson ofliterature.Mywishwastogetamorethoroughcomprehensionofthisfraternalalliance:tonotewithhowmuchofthebrotherhewoulddemeanhimselfwhenwemet again; to prove howmuch of the sisterwas inmy own feelings; todiscover whether I could summon a sister's courage, and he a brother'sfrankness.

Hecame.Lifeissoconstructed,thattheeventdoesnot,cannot,willnot,matchtheexpectation.Thatwholedayheneveraccostedme.Hislessonwasgivenrathermorequietlythanusual,moremildly,andalsomoregravely.Hewas fatherly to his pupils, but he was not brotherly to me. Ere he left theclasse,Iexpectedasmile,ifnotaword;Igotneither:tomyportionfellonenod—hurried,shy.

This distance, I argued, is accidental—it is involuntary; patience, and itwillvanish. Itvanishednot; it continued fordays; it increased. I suppressedmysurprise,andswallowedwhateverotherfeelingsbegantosurge.

WellmightIaskwhenheofferedfraternity—"DareI relyonyou?"Wellmighthe,doubtlessknowinghimself,withholdallpledge.True,hehadbidmemake my own experiments—tease and try him. Vain injunction! Privilegenominalandunavailable!Somewomenmightuseit!Nothinginmypowersorinstinct placed me amongst this brave band. Left alone, I was passive;repulsed,Iwithdrew;forgotten—mylipswouldnotutter,normyeyesdartareminder. It seemed there had been an error somewhere inmy calculations,andIwantedfortimetodiscloseit.

Butthedaycamewhen,asusual,hewastogivemealesson.Oneeveningin seven he had long generously bestowed on me, devoting it to theexaminationofwhathadbeendone invariousstudiesduring thepastweek,and to thepreparationofwork for theweek inprospect.On theseoccasionsmy schoolroom was anywhere, wherever the pupils and the other teachershappened to be, or in their close vicinage, very often in the large seconddivision,where itwas easy to choose a quiet nookwhen the crowding day

pupils were absent, and the few boarders gathered in a knot about thesurveillante'sestrade.

On thecustomaryevening,hearing thecustomaryhourstrike, Icollectedmybooksandpapers,mypenandink,andsoughtthelargedivision.

Inclassetherewasnoone,anditlayallincooldeepshadow;butthroughthe open double doorswas seen the carré, filledwith pupils andwith light;over hall and figures blushed the westering sun. It blushed so ruddily andvividly, that the hues of the walls and the variegated tints of the dressesseemed all fused in one warm glow. The girls were seated, working orstudying; in the midst of their circle stood M. Emanuel, speaking good-humouredly to a teacher. His dark paletôt, his jetty hair, were tinged withmany a reflexof crimson; hisSpanish face,whenhe turned itmomentarily,answeredthesun'sanimatedkisswithananimatedsmile.Itookmyplaceatadesk.

The orange-trees, and several plants, full and brightwith bloom, baskedalsointhesun'slaughingbounty;theyhadpartakenitthewholeday,andnowaskedwater.M.Emanuelhadatasteforgardening;helikedtotendandfosterplants.Iusedtothinkthatworkingamongstshrubswithaspadeorawatering-potsoothedhisnerves;itwasarecreationtowhichheoftenhadrecourse;andnowhelookedtotheorange-trees,thegeraniums,thegorgeouscactuses,andrevivedthemallwiththerefreshmenttheirdroughtneeded.Hislipsmeantimesustainedhispreciouscigar,that(forhim)firstnecessaryandprimeluxuryoflife; its bluewreaths curled prettily enough amongst the flowers, and in theeveninglight.Hespokenomoretothepupils,nortothemistresses,butgavemanyanendearingwordtoasmallspanieless(ifonemaycoinaword),thatnominally belonged to the house, but virtually owned him asmaster, beingfonder of him than any inmate. A delicate, silky, loving, and lovable littledoggieshewas,trottingathisside,lookingwithexpressive,attachedeyesintohisface;andwheneverhedroppedhisbonnet-grecorhishandkerchief,whichheoccasionallydidinplay,crouchingbesideitwiththeairofaminiaturelionguardingakingdom'sflag.

Thereweremanyplants,andastheamateurgardenerfetchedallthewaterfrom thewell in the court,with his own active hands, hiswork spun on tosomelength.Thegreatschool-clocktickedon.Anotherhourstruck.Thecarréand the youthful group lost the illusion of sunset. Day was drooping. Mylesson,Iperceived,mustto-nightbeveryshort;buttheorange-trees,thecacti,thecameliaswereallservednow.Wasitmyturn?

Alas! in thegardenweremoreplants tobe lookedafter,—favouriterose-bushes,certainchoiceflowers;littleSylvie'sgladbarkandwhinefollowedthereceding paletôt down the alleys. I put up some ofmy books; I should not

want them all; I sat and thought; and waited, involuntarily deprecating thecreepinginvasionoftwilight.

Sylvie, gaily frisking, emerged into view once more, heralding thereturning paletôt; the watering-pot was deposited beside the well; it hadfulfilleditsoffice;howgladIwas!Monsieurwashedhishandsinalittlestonebowl.Therewasnolongertimeforalessonnow;erelongtheprayer-bellmustring;butstillweshouldmeet;hewouldspeak;achancewouldbeofferedofreading in his eyes the riddle of his shyness. His ablutions over, he stood,slowlyre-arranginghiscuffs,lookingatthehornofayoungmoon,setpaleinthe opal sky, and glimmering faint on the oriel of Jean Baptiste. Sylviewatched the mood contemplative; its stillness irked her; she whined andjumpedtobreakit.Helookeddown.

"Petite exigeante," said he; "you must not be forgotten one moment, itseems."

Hestopped,liftedherinhisarms,saunteredacrossthecourt,withinayardof the line of windows near one of which I sat: he sauntered lingeringly,fondlingthespanielinhisbosom,callinghertendernamesinatendervoice.On the front-door stepshe turned;onceagainhe lookedat themoon, at thegreycathedral,overtheremoterspiresandhouse-roofsfadingintoablueseaofnight-mist;hetastedthesweetbreathofdusk,andnotedthefoldedbloomofthegarden;hesuddenlylookedround;akeenbeamoutofhiseyerasedthewhitefaçadeoftheclasses,sweptthelonglineofcroisées.Ithinkhebowed;ifhedid,Ihadnotimetoreturnthecourtesy.Inamomenthewasgone;themoonlitthresholdlaypaleandshadowlessbeforetheclosedfrontdoor.

Gatheringinmyarmsallthatwasspreadonthedeskbeforeme,Icarriedback theunusedheap to itsplace in the thirdclasse.Theprayer-bell rang; Iobeyeditssummons.

The morrow would not restore him to the Rue Fossette, that day beingdevoted entirely to his college. I got through my teaching; I got over theintermediate hours; I saw evening approaching, and armed myself for itsheavy ennuis. Whether it was worse to stay with my co-inmates, or to sitalone,Ihadnotconsidered;Inaturally tookupthelatteralternative; if therewasahopeofcomfortforanymoment,theheartorheadofnohumanbeinginthis house could yield it; only under the lid of my desk could it harbour,nestlingbetweentheleavesofsomebook,gildingapencil-point,thenibofapen,or tingingtheblackfluid in that ink-glass.WithaheavyheartIopenedmydesk-lid;withawearyhandIturnedupitscontents.

One by one, well-accustomed books, volumes sewn in familiar covers,were taken out and put back hopeless: they had no charm; they could notcomfort.Isthissomethingnew,thispamphletinlilac?Ihadnotseenitbefore,

andI re-arrangedmydesk thisveryday—thisveryafternoon; the tractmusthavebeenintroducedwithinthelasthour,whilewewereatdinner.

Iopenedit.Whatwasit?Whatwoulditsaytome?

Itwasneithertalenorpoem,neitheressaynorhistory;itneithersung,norrelated,notdiscussed.Itwasatheologicalwork;itpreachedanditpersuaded.

Ilenttoitmyearverywillingly,for,smallasitwas,itpossesseditsownspell,andboundmyattentionatonce.ItpreachedRomanism;itpersuadedtoconversion.Thevoiceofthatslylittlebookwasahoneyedvoice;itsaccentswereallunctionandbalm.Here roarednoutteranceofRome's thunders,noblastingofthebreathofherdispleasure.TheProtestantwastoturnPapist,notso much in fear of the heretic's hell, as on account of the comfort, theindulgence,thetendernessHolyChurchoffered:farbeitfromhertothreatenortocoerce;herwishwastoguideandwin.Shepersecute?Ohdearno!notonanyaccount!

Thismeekvolumewasnotaddressedtothehardenedandworldly;itwasnotevenstrongmeatforthestrong:itwasmilkforbabes:themildeffluenceof amother's love towards her tenderest and her youngest; intendedwhollyandsolelyforthosewhoseheadistobereachedthroughtheheart.Itsappealwasnottointellect;itsoughttowintheaffectionatethroughtheiraffections,thesympathizingthroughtheirsympathies:St.VincentdePaul,gatheringhisorphansabouthim,neverspokemoresweetly.

I remember one capital inducement to apostacywas held out in the factthat the Catholic who had lost dear friends by death could enjoy theunspeakablesolaceofprayingthemoutofpurgatory.Thewriterdidnottouchonthefirmerpeaceofthosewhosebeliefdispenseswithpurgatoryaltogether:but I thought of this; and, on thewhole, preferred the latter doctrine as themostconsolatory.Thelittlebookamused,anddidnotpainfullydispleaseme.It was a canting, sentimental, shallow little book, yet something about itcheeredmygloomandmademesmile;Iwasamusedwiththegambolsofthisunlickedwolf-cubmuffledinthefleece,andmimickingthebleatofaguilelesslamb.Portionsof it remindedmeofcertainWesleyanMethodist tracts Ihadoncereadwhenachild;theywereflavouredwithaboutthesameseasoningofexcitation to fanaticism. He that hadwritten it was no badman, andwhileperpetuallybetraying the trainedcunning—theclovenhoofofhis system—Ishouldpausebeforeaccusinghimselfof insincerity.His judgment,however,wantedsurgicalprops;itwasrickety.

Ismiledthenoverthisdoseofmaternaltenderness,comingfromtheruddyoldladyoftheSevenHills;smiled,too,atmyowndisinclination,nottosaydisability,tomeetthesemeltingfavours.Glancingatthetitle-page,Ifoundthenameof"PèreSilas."Afly-leafboreinsmall,butclearandwell-knownpencil

characters:"FromP.C.D.E.toL—y."AndwhenIsawthisIlaughed:butnotinmyformerspirit.Iwasrevived.

A mortal bewilderment cleared suddenly from my head and vision; thesolutionof theSphinx-riddlewaswon; the conjunctionof those twonames,PèreSilasandPaulEmanuel,gavethekeytoall.Thepenitenthadbeenwithhisdirector;permittedtowithholdnothing;sufferedtokeepnocornerofhisheartsacredtoGodandtohimself; thewholenarrativeofour late interviewhad been drawn from him; he had avowed the covenant of fraternity, andspokenofhis adopted sister.Howcould such a covenant, such adoption, besanctionedby theChurch?Fraternalcommunionwithaheretic! I seemed tohearPèreSilas annulling the unholypact;warninghis penitent of its perils;entreating, enjoining reserve, nay, by the authority of his office, and in thename, and by the memory of all M. Emanuel held most dear and sacred,commandingtheenforcementof thatnewsystemwhosefrosthadpierced tothemarrowofmybones.

Thesemaynot seempleasanthypotheses;yet, by comparison, theywerewelcome.Thevisionofaghostlytroublerhoveringinthebackground,wasasnothing, matched with the fear of spontaneous change arising in M. Paulhimself.

At this distance of time, I cannot be sure how far the above conjectureswere self-suggested: or in what measure they owed their origin andconfirmationtoanotherquarter.Helpwasnotwanting.

Thiseveningtherewasnobrightsunset:westandeastwereonecloud;nosummernight-mist,blue,yetrose-tinged,softenedthedistance;aclammyfogfrom themarshes crept grey roundVillette.To-night thewatering-potmightrestinitsnichebythewell:asmallrainhadbeendrizzlingalltheafternoon,andstill it fell fastandquietly.Thiswasnoweatherfor rambling in thewetalleys,under thedrippingtrees;andIstarted tohearSylvie'ssuddenbark inthe garden—her bark ofwelcome. Surely shewas not accompanied and yetthisglad,quickbarkwasneveruttered,saveinhomagetoonepresence.

Through the glass door and the arching berceau, I commanded the deepvistaofthealléedéfendue:thitherrushedSylvie,glisteningthroughitsgloomlike awhite guelder-rose. She ran to and fro, whining, springing, harassinglittlebirdsamongstthebushes.Iwatchedfiveminutes;nofulfilmentfollowedtheomen.Ireturnedtomybooks;Sylvie'ssharpbarksuddenlyceased.AgainI looked up. She was standing not many yards distant, wagging her whitefeathery tail as fast as the muscle would work, and intently watching theoperations of a spade, plied fast by an indefatigable hand. There was M.Emanuel,bentoverthesoil,digginginthewetmouldamongsttherain-ladenandstreamingshrubs,workingashardasifhisday'spittancewereyettoearn

bytheliteralsweatofhisbrow.

InthissignIreadaruffledmood.Hewoulddigthusinfrozensnowonthecoldest winter day, when urged inwardly by painful emotion, whether ofnervous excitation, or, sad thoughts of self-reproach. He would dig by thehour,withknitbrowandsetteeth,noroncelifthishead,oropenhislips.

Sylvie watched till she was tired. Again scampering devious, boundinghere, rushing there, snuffing and sniffing everywhere; she at last discoveredmeinclasse.Instantlysheflewbarkingatthepanes,asiftourgemeforthtoshareherpleasureorhermaster'stoil;shehadseenmeoccasionallywalkinginthatalleywithM.Paul;andIdoubtnot,considereditmydutytojoinhimnow,wetasitwas.

She made such a bustle that M. Paul at last looked up, and of courseperceivedwhy,andatwhomshebarked.Hewhistledtocallheroff;sheonlybarkedthelouder.Sheseemedquitebentuponhavingtheglassdooropened.Tired,Isuppose,withherimportunity,hethrewdownhisspade,approached,andpushedthedoorajar.Sylvieburstinallimpetuous,sprangtomylap,andwith her paws at my neck, and her little nose and tongue somewhatoverpoweringly busy aboutmy face,mouth, and eyes, flourished her bushytailoverthedesk,andscatteredbooksandpapersfarandwide.

M.Emanueladvanced tostill theclamourand repair thedisarrangement.Havinggatheredupthebooks,hecapturedSylvie,andstowedherawayunderhispaletôt,whereshenestledasquietasamouse,herheadjustpeepingforth.Shewasvery tiny,andhad theprettiest little innocent face, thesilkiest longears,thefinestdarkeyesintheworld.Ineversawher,butIthoughtofPaulinadeBassompierre:forgivetheassociation,reader,itwouldoccur.

M.Paulpettedandpattedher;theendearmentsshereceivedwerenottobewonderedat;sheinvitedaffectionbyherbeautyandhervivaciouslife.

Whilecaressingthespaniel,hiseyerovedoverthepapersandbooksjustreplaced;itsettledonthereligioustract.Hislipsmoved;hehalfcheckedtheimpulsetospeak.What!hadhepromisednevertoaddressmemore?Ifso,hisbetter nature pronounced thevow "morehonoured in the breach than in theobservance,"forwithasecondeffort,hespoke.—"Youhavenotyetreadthebrochure,Ipresume?Itisnotsufficientlyinviting?"

IrepliedthatIhadreadit.

Hewaited,asifwishingmetogiveanopinionuponitunasked.Unasked,however,Iwasinnomoodtodoorsayanything.Ifanyconcessionsweretobemade—if any advanceswere demanded—thatwas the affair of the verydocilepupilofPèreSilas,notmine.Hiseyesettleduponmegently:therewasmildness at the moment in its blue ray—there was solicitude—a shade of

pathos;thereweremeaningscompositeandcontrasted—reproachmeltingintoremorse.Atthemomentprobably,hewouldhavebeengladtoseesomethingemotional inme. I could not show it. In anotherminute, however, I shouldhavebetrayedconfusion,hadInotbethoughtmyself to takesomequill-pensfrommydesk,andbeginsoberlytomendthem.

Iknewthatactionwouldgiveaturntohismood.Heneverlikedtoseememendpens;myknifewasalwaysdull-edged—myhand,too,wasunskilful;Ihackedandchipped.OnthisoccasionIcutmyownfinger—halfonpurpose.Iwantedtorestorehimtohisnaturalstate,tosethimathisease,togethimtochide.

"Maladroit!"hecriedatlast,"shewillmakemincemeatofherhands."

He put Sylvie down, making her lie quiet beside his bonnet-grec, and,deprivingmeofthepensandpenknife,proceededtoslice,nib,andpointwiththeaccuracyandcelerityofamachine.

"DidIlikethelittlebook?"henowinquired.

Suppressingayawn,IsaidIhardlyknew.

"Haditmovedme?"

"Ithoughtithadmademealittlesleepy."

(Afterapause:)"Allonsdonc!Itwasofnousetakingthattonewithhim.BadasIwas—andheshouldbesorrytohavetonameallmyfaultsatabreath—Godandnaturehadgivenme'tropdesensibilitéetdesympathie'nottobeprofoundlyaffectedbyanappealsotouching."

"Indeed!"Iresponded,rousingmyselfquickly,"Iwasnotaffectedatall—notawhit."

And in proof, I drew frommy pocket a perfectly dry handkerchief, stillcleanandinitsfolds.

HereuponIwasmadetheobjectofastringofstricturesratherpiquantthanpolite. I listenedwithzest.After those twodaysofunnatural silence, itwasbetter thanmusic tohearM.Paulharanguingagain just inhisold fashion. Ilistened, and meantime solaced myself and Sylvie with the contents of abonbonnière, which M. Emanuel's gifts kept well supplied with chocolatecomfits: It pleased him to see even a small matter from his hand dulyappreciated.Helookedatmeandthespanielwhilewesharedthespoil;heputuphispenknife.Touchingmyhandwiththebundleofnew-cutquills,hesaid:—"Dites donc, petite soeur—speak frankly—what have you thought of meduringthelasttwodays?"

ButofthisquestionIwouldtakenomannerofnotice;itspurportmademy

eyesfill.IcaressedSylvieassiduously.M.Paul,leaning—overthedesk,benttowardsme:—"Icalledmyselfyourbrother,"hesaid:"IhardlyknowwhatIam—brother—friend—Icannottell.IknowIthinkofyou—IfeelIwish,youwell—butImustcheckmyself;youaretobefeared.Mybestfriendspointoutdanger,andwhispercaution."

"Youdorighttolistentoyourfriends.Byallmeansbecautious."

"It is your religion—your strange, self-reliant, invulnerable creed,whoseinfluenceseemstoclotheyouin,Iknownotwhat,unblessedpanoply.Youaregood—Père Silas calls you good, and loves you—but your terrible, proud,earnest Protestantism, there is the danger. It expresses itself by your eye attimes;andagain,itgivesyoucertaintonesandcertaingesturesthatmakemyfleshcreep.Youarenotdemonstrative,andyet,justnow—whenyouhandledthattract—myGod!IthoughtLucifersmiled."

"CertainlyIdon'trespectthattract—whatthen?"

"Notrespectthattract?Butit is thepureessenceoffaith, love,charity!Ithoughtitwouldtouchyou:initsgentleness,Itrustedthatitcouldnotfail.Ilaiditinyourdeskwithaprayer:Imustindeedbeasinner:Heavenwillnothear the petitions that come warmest from my heart. You scorn my littleoffering.Oh,celamefaitmal!"

"Monsieur,Idon'tscornit—atleast,notasyourgift.Monsieur,sitdown;listentome.Iamnotaheathen,Iamnothard-hearted,Iamnotunchristian,Iamnotdangerous,astheytellyou;Iwouldnottroubleyourfaith;youbelieveinGodandChristandtheBible,andsodoI."

"ButdoyoubelieveintheBible?DoyoureceiveRevelation?Whatlimitsare there to the wild, careless daring of your country and sect. Père Silasdroppeddarkhints."

Bydintofpersuasion,Imadehimhalf-definethesehints; theyamountedtocraftyJesuit-slanders.ThatnightM.PaulandItalkedseriouslyandclosely.Hepleaded,heargued.Icouldnotargue—afortunateincapacity;itneededbuttriumphant,logicaloppositiontoeffectallthedirectorwishedtobeeffected;butIcouldtalkinmyownway—thewayM.Paulwasusedto—andofwhichhe could follow themeanderings and fill the hiatus, and pardon the strangestammerings,strangetohimnolonger.Ateasewithhim,Icoulddefendmycreedandfaithinmyownfashion;insomedegreeIcouldlullhisprejudices.Hewasnotsatisfiedwhenhewentaway,hardlywasheappeased;buthewasmade thoroughly to feel that Protestants were not necessarily the irreverentPaganshisdirectorhadinsinuated;hewasmadetocomprehendsomethingoftheirmodeofhonouringtheLight,theLife,theWord;hewasenabledpartlytoperceivethat,whiletheirvenerationforthingsvenerablewasnotquitelike

thatcultivatedinhisChurch,ithaditsown,perhaps,deeperpower—itsownmoresolemnawe.

IfoundthatPèreSilas(himself,Imustrepeat,notabadman,thoughtheadvocate of a bad cause) had darkly stigmatized Protestants in general, andmyself by inference,with strangenames, had ascribed to us strange "isms;"Monsieur Emanuel revealed all this in his frank fashion, which knew notsecretiveness, looking at me as he spoke with a kind, earnest fear, almosttrembling lest there shouldbe truth in the charges.PèreSilas, it seems, hadcloselywatchedme,hadascertainedthatIwentbyturns,andindiscriminately,tothethreeProtestantChapelsofVillette—theFrench,German,andEnglish—id est, the Presbyterian, Lutheran, Episcopalian. Such liberality argued inthefather'seyesprofoundindifference—whotoleratesall,hereasoned,canbeattachedtonone.Now,ithappenedthatIhadoftensecretlywonderedat theminuteandunimportantcharacterofthedifferencesbetweenthesethreesects—at the unity and identity of their vital doctrines: I saw nothing to hinderthemfrombeingonedayfusedintoonegrandHolyAlliance,andIrespectedthem all, though I thought that in each there were faults of form,incumbrances,andtrivialities.JustwhatIthought,thatdidItellM.Emanuel,andexplainedtohimthatmyownlastappeal,theguidetowhichIlooked,andthe teacherwhich I owned,must always be theBible itself, rather than anysect,ofwhatevernameornation.

Heleftmesoothed,yetfullofsolicitude,breathingawish,asstrongasaprayer,thatifIwerewrong,Heavenwouldleadmeright.Iheard,pouredforthon the threshold, some fervidmurmurings to "Marie, Reine duCiel," somedeepaspirationthathishopemightyetbemine.

Strange! I had no such feverish wish to turn him from the faith of hisfathers.IthoughtRomanismwrong,agreatmixedimageofgoldandclay;butitseemedtomethatthisRomanistheldthepurerelementsofhiscreedwithaninnocencyofheartwhichGodmustlove.

Theprecedingconversationpassedbetweeneightandnineo'clockof theevening,inaschoolroomofthequietRueFossette,openingonasequesteredgarden.Probablyaboutthesame,orasomewhatlaterhourofthesucceedingevening,itsechoes,collectedbyholyobedience,werebreathedverbatiminanattentear,at thepanelofaconfessional, in thehoarychurchof theMagi. ItensuedthatPèreSilaspaidavisittoMadameBeck,andstirredbyIknownotwhatmixture ofmotives, persuaded her to let him undertake for a time theEnglishwoman'sspiritualdirection.

HereuponIwasputthroughacourseofreading—thatis,Ijustglancedatthe books lent me; they were too little in my way to be thoroughly read,marked, learned, or inwardly digested.And besides, I had a book up-stairs,

undermypillow,whereofcertainchapterssatisfiedmyneedsinthearticleofspiritual lore, furnishing such precept and example as, tomy heart's core, Iwasconvincedcouldnotbeimprovedon.

ThenPère Silas showedme the fair side ofRome, her goodworks; andbademejudgethetreebyitsfruits.

In answer, I felt and I avowed that these works were not the fruits ofRome; they were but her abundant blossoming, but the fair promise sheshowed theworld,Thatbloom,when set, savourednotof charity; the applefull formedwas ignorance, abasement, and bigotry.Out ofmen's afflictionsandaffectionswere forged the rivetsof their servitude.Povertywas fedandclothed,andsheltered,tobinditbyobligationto"theChurch;"orphanagewasrearedandeducatedthatitmightgrowupinthefoldof"theChurch;"sicknesswas tended that itmight die after the formula and in the ordinance of "theChurch;" and men were overwrought, and women most murderouslysacrificed, and all laid down a world God made pleasant for his creatures'good, and took up a cross,monstrous in its gallingweight, that theymightserveRome,provehersanctity,confirmherpower,andspreadthereignofhertyrant"Church."

For man's good was little done; for God's glory, less. A thousand wayswereopenedwithpain,withblood-sweats,with lavishingof life;mountainswerecloven through theirbreasts,and rocksweresplit to theirbase;andallforwhat?ThataPriesthoodmightmarchstraightonandstraightupwardtoanall-dominatingeminence,whencetheymightatlaststretchthesceptreoftheirMoloch"Church."

Itwillnotbe.GodisnotwithRome,and,werehumansorrowsstillfortheSonofGod,wouldhenotmournoverhercrueltiesandambitions,asoncehemournedoverthecrimesandwoesofdoomedJerusalem!

Oh, lovers of power!Oh,mitred aspirants for thisworld's kingdoms! anhourwill come, even to you,when itwill bewell for your hearts—pausingfaintateachbrokenbeat—thatthereisaMercybeyondhumancompassions,aLove,strongerthanthisstrongdeathwhichevenyoumustface,andbeforeit,fall; a Charitymore potent than any sin, even yours; a Pitywhich redeemsworlds—nay,absolvesPriests.

**

MythirdtemptationwasheldoutinthepompofRome—thegloryofherkingdom.Iwastakentothechurchesonsolemnoccasions—daysoffêteandstate;IwasshownthePapalritualandceremonial.Ilookedatit.

Manypeople—menandwomen—nodoubtfarmysuperiorsinathousandways,havefeltthisdisplayimpressive,havedeclaredthatthoughtheirReason

protested, their Imaginationwas subjugated. I cannot say the same.Neitherfullprocession,norhighmass,norswarmingtapers,norswingingcensers,norecclesiasticalmillinery,norcelestialjewellery,touchedmyimaginationawhit.WhatIsawstruckmeastawdry,notgrand;asgrosslymaterial,notpoeticallyspiritual.

This I did not tell Père Silas; hewas old, he looked venerable: througheveryabortiveexperiment,undereveryrepeateddisappointment,heremainedpersonally kind tome, and I felt tender of hurting his feelings. But on theeveningofacertaindaywhen,fromthebalconyofagreathouse,Ihadbeenmade to witness a huge mingled procession of the church and the army—priestswithrelics,andsoldierswithweapons,anobeseandagedarchbishop,habited in cambric and lace, looking strangely like a grey daw in bird-of-paradiseplumage,andabandofyounggirlsfantasticallyrobedandgarlanded—thenIspokemymindtoM.Paul.

"Ididnotlikeit,"Itoldhim;"Ididnotrespectsuchceremonies;Iwishedtoseenomore."

Andhaving relievedmyconscienceby thisdeclaration, Iwasable togoon,and,speakingmorecurrentlyandclearlythanmywont,toshowhimthatIhadamindtokeeptomyreformedcreed;themoreIsawofPoperythecloserI clung to Protestantism; doubtless there were errors in every church, but Inowperceivedbycontrasthowseverelypurewasmyown,comparedwithherwhosepaintedandmeretriciousfacehadbeenunveiledformyadmiration. ItoldhimhowwekeptfewerformsbetweenusandGod;retaining,indeed,nomorethan,perhaps,thenatureofmankindinthemassrenderednecessaryfordue observance. I told him I could not look on flowers and tinsel, onwax-lightsandembroidery,atsuchtimesandundersuchcircumstancesasshouldbedevotedtoliftingthesecretvisiontoHimwhosehomeisInfinity,andHisbeing—Eternity.ThatwhenIthoughtofsinandsorrow,ofearthlycorruption,mortaldepravity,weightytemporalwoe—Icouldnotcareforchantingpriestsor mumming officials; that when the pains of existence and the terrors ofdissolutionpressedbeforeme—whenthemightyhopeandmeasurelessdoubtofthefuturearoseinview—then,eventhescientificstrain,ortheprayerinalanguage learned and dead, harassed: with hindrance a heart which onlylongedtocry—"Godbemercifultome,asinner!"

WhenIhadsospoken,sodeclaredmyfaith,andsowidelyseveredmyself,from him I addressed—then, at last, came a tone accordant, an echoresponsive,onesweetchordofharmonyintwoconflictingspirits.

"Whateversaypriestsorcontroversialists,"murmuredM.Emanuel,"Godisgood, and loves all the sincere.Believe, then,whatyoucan;believe it asyoucan;oneprayer,at least,wehave incommon; Ialsocry—'ODieu,sois

appaiséenversmoiquisuispécheur!'"

Heleanedonthebackofmychair.Aftersomethoughtheagainspoke:

"HowseemintheeyesofthatGodwhomadeallfirmaments,fromwhosenostrils issuedwhatever of life is here, or in the stars shining yonder—howseemthedifferencesofman?ButasTimeisnotforGod,norSpace,soneitherisMeasure,norComparison.Weabaseourselvesinourlittleness,andwedoright;yetitmaybethattheconstancyofoneheart,thetruthandfaithofonemindaccordingtothelightHehasappointed, importasmuchtoHimasthejustmotionofsatellitesabouttheirplanets,ofplanetsabouttheirsuns,ofsunsaroundthatmightyunseencentreincomprehensible,irrealizable,withstrangementaleffortonlydivined.

"Godguideusall!Godblessyou,Lucy!"

CHAPTERXXXVII.

SUNSHINE.

It was very, well for Paulina to decline further correspondence withGraham till her father had sanctioned the intercourse.ButDr.Bretton couldnot live within a league of the Hôtel Crécy, and not contrive to visit thereoften. Both lovers meant at first, I believe, to be distant; they kept theirintentionsofarasdemonstrativecourtshipwent,butinfeelingtheysoondrewverynear.

All thatwasbest inGrahamsoughtPaulina;whatever inhimwasnoble,awoke,andgrewinherpresence.WithhispastadmirationofMissFanshawe,Isupposehisintellecthadlittletodo,buthiswholeintellect,andhishighesttastes,came inquestionnow.These, likeallhis faculties,wereactive,eagerfornutriment,andalivetogratificationwhenitcame.

IcannotsaythatPaulinadesignedlyledhimtotalkofbooks,orformallyproposed to herself for amoment the task of winning him to reflection, orplannedtheimprovementofhismind,orsomuchasfanciedhismindcouldinanyone respect be improved.She thought himvery perfect; itwasGrahamhimself,who,atfirstbythemerestchance,mentionedsomebookhehadbeenreading, and when in her response sounded a welcome harmony ofsympathies, something, pleasant to his soul, he talked on, more and betterperhaps than he had ever talked before on such subjects. She listenedwithdelight, and answered with animation. In each successive answer, Grahamheard a music waxing finer and finer to his sense; in each he found asuggestive, persuasive, magic accent that opened a scarce-known treasure-

housewithin,showedhimunsuspectedpowerinhisownmind,andwhatwasbetter, latent goodness in his heart. Each liked the way in which the othertalked;thevoice,thediction,theexpressionpleased;eachkeenlyrelishedtheflavour of the other's wit; they met each other's meaning with strangequickness,theirthoughtsoftenmatchedlikecarefully-chosenpearls.Grahamhad wealth of mirth by nature; Paulina possessed no such inherent flow ofanimalspirits—unstimulated,she inclined tobe thoughtfulandpensive—butnowshe seemedmerryasa lark; inher lover'sgenialpresence, sheglancedlike some soft glad light. How beautiful she grew in her happiness, I canhardlyexpress,butIwonderedtoseeher.Astothatgentleiceofhers—thatreserveonwhich shehaddepended;wherewas itnow?Ah!Grahamwouldnot longbear it;hebroughtwithhimagenerous influence thatsoon thawedthetimid,self-imposedrestriction.

NowweretheoldBrettondaystalkedover;perhapsbrokenlyatfirst,witha sort of smiling diffidence, then with opening candour and still growingconfidence.Graham hadmade for himself a better opportunity than that hehadwishedmetogive;hehadearnedindependenceofthecollateralhelpthatdisobligingLucyhadrefused;allhisreminiscencesof"littlePolly"foundtheirproperexpression inhisownpleasant tones,byhisownkindandhandsomelips;howmuchbetterthanifsuggestedbyme.

More than once when we were alone, Paulina would tell me howwonderful and curious it was to discover the richness and accuracy of hismemoryinthismatter.How,whilehewaslookingather,recollectionswouldseem to be suddenly quickened in hismind. He reminded her that she hadoncegatheredhisheadinherarms,caressedhisleoninegraces,andcriedout,"Graham, I do like you!"He told her how shewould set a footstool besidehim,andclimbbyitsaidtohisknee.Atthisdayhesaidhecouldrecall thesensationofherlittlehandssmoothinghischeek,orburyingthemselvesinhisthick mane. He remembered the touch of her small forefinger, placed halftremblingly, half curiously, in the cleft in his chin, the lisp, the look withwhich shewouldname it "aprettydimple," thenseekhiseyesandquestionwhy they pierced so, telling him he had a "nice, strange face; far nicer, farstranger,thaneitherhismammaorLucySnowe."

"Child as I was," remarked Paulina, "I wonder how I dared be soventurous. Tome he seems now all sacred, his locks are inaccessible, and,Lucy,Ifeelasortoffear,whenIlookathisfirm,marblechin,athisstraightGreek features.Women are called beautiful, Lucy; he is not like awoman,thereforeIsupposeheisnotbeautiful,butwhatishe,then?Dootherpeopleseehimwithmyeyes?Doyouadmirehim?"

"I'll tell you what I do, Paulina," was once my answer to her manyquestions."Ineverseehim.Ilookedathimtwiceorthriceaboutayearago,

beforeherecognisedme,andthenIshutmyeyes;andifheweretocrosstheirballs twelve times between each day's sunset and sunrise, except frommemory,Ishouldhardlyknowwhatshapehadgoneby."

"Lucy,whatdoyoumean?"saidshe,underherbreath.

"ImeanthatIvaluevision,anddreadbeingstruckstoneblind."

It was best to answer her strongly at once, and to silence for ever thetender,passionateconfidenceswhichleftherlipssweethoney,andsometimesdropped in my ear—molten lead. To me, she commented no more on herlover'sbeauty.

Yet speak of him she would; sometimes shyly, in quiet, brief phrases;sometimeswithatendernessofcadence,andmusicofvoiceexquisiteinitself;butwhich chafedme at timesmiserably; and then, I know, I gaveher sternlooksandwords;butcloudlesshappinesshaddazzledhernativeclear sight,andsheonlythoughtLucy—fitful.

"Spartangirl!ProudLucy!"shewouldsay, smilingatme."Grahamsaysyouarethemostpeculiar,capriciouslittlewomanheknows;butyetyouareexcellent;weboththinkso."

"Youboththinkyouknownotwhat,"saidI."Havethegoodnesstomakemeaslittlethesubjectofyourmutualtalkandthoughtsaspossible.Ihavemysortoflifeapartfromyours."

"Butours,Lucy,isabeautifullife,oritwillbe;andyoushallshareit."

"I shall share noman's orwoman's life in thisworld, as you understandsharing. I think Ihaveone friendofmyown,butamnot sure;and till Iamsure,Ilivesolitary."

"Butsolitudeissadness."

"Yes; it is sadness. Life, however; has worse than that. Deeper thanmelancholy,liesheart-break."

"Lucy,Iwonderifanybodywillevercomprehendyoualtogether."

There is, in lovers, a certain infatuation of egotism; they will have awitness of their happiness, cost that witness what it may. Paulina hadforbidden letters, yet Dr. Bretton wrote; she had resolved againstcorrespondence,yetsheanswered,wereitonlytochide.Sheshowedmetheseletters;with something of the spoiled child'swilfulness, and of the heiress'simperiousness, she made me read them. As I read Graham's, I scarcewonderedatherexaction,andunderstoodherpride: theywerefine letters—manly and fond—modest and gallant. Hers must have appeared to himbeautiful.Theyhadnotbeenwrittentoshowhertalents;stillless,Ithink,to

expressherlove.Onthecontrary,itappearedthatshehadproposedtoherselfthetaskofhidingthatfeeling,andbridlingherlover'sardour.Buthowcouldsuch letters serve such a purpose?Grahamwas become dear as her life; hedrewherlikeapowerfulmagnet.Forhertherewasinfluenceunspeakableinallheuttered,wrote,thought,orlooked.Withthisunconfessedconfession,herlettersglowed;itkindledthem,fromgreetingtoadieu.

"Iwishpapaknew; Idowishpapaknew!"begannow tobeheranxiousmurmur."Iwish,andyetIfear.IcanhardlykeepGrahambackfromtellinghim.ThereisnothingIlongformorethantohavethisaffairsettled—tospeakout candidly; and yet I dread the crisis. I know, I am certain, papawill beangry at the first; I fear he will dislike me almost; it will seem to him anuntowardbusiness;itwillbeasurprise,ashock:Icanhardlyforeseeitswholeeffectonhim."

The factwas—her father, longcalm,wasbeginning tobea little stirred:longblindononepoint,animportunatelightwasbeginningtotrespassonhiseye.

To her, he said nothing; but when she was not looking at, or perhapsthinkingofhim,Isawhimgazeandmeditateonher.

One evening—Paulina was in her dressing-room, writing, I believe, toGraham;shehadleftmeinthelibrary,reading—M.deBassompierrecamein;hesatdown:Iwasabouttowithdraw;herequestedmetoremain—gently,yetinamannerwhichshowedhewishedcompliance.Hehadtakenhisseatnearthewindow,at adistance fromme;heopenedadesk;he took from itwhatlooked likeamemorandum-book;of thisbookhestudiedacertainentry forseveralminutes.

"MissSnowe,"saidhe,layingitdown,"doyouknowmylittlegirl'sage?"

"Abouteighteen,isitnot,sir?"

"It seems so. This old pocket-book tellsme shewas born on the 5th ofMay, in the year 18—, eighteen years ago. It is strange; I had lost the justreckoningofherage.Ithoughtofherastwelve—fourteen—anindefinitedate;butsheseemedachild."

"She is about eighteen," I repeated. "She is grown up; she will be notaller."

"Mylittlejewel!"saidM.deBassompierre,inatonewhichpenetratedlikesomeofhisdaughter'saccents.

Hesatverythoughtful.

"Sir,don'tgrieve,"Isaid;forIknewhisfeelings,utterlyunspokenastheywere.

"SheistheonlypearlIhave,"hesaid;"andnowotherswillfindoutthatsheispureandofprice:theywillcovether."

I made no answer. Graham Bretton had dined with us that day; he hadshone both in converse and looks: I know not what pride of bloomembellishedhisaspectandmellowedhisintercourse.Underthestimulusofahigh hope, something had unfolded in his whole manner which compelledattention. I think he had purposed on that day to indicate the origin of hisendeavours, and the aim of his ambition. M. de Bassompierre had foundhimselfforced,inamanner,todescrythedirectionandcatchthecharacterofhis homage. Slow in remarking, he was logical in reasoning: having onceseizedthethread,ithadguidedhimthroughalonglabyrinth.

"Whereisshe?"heasked.

"Sheisup-stairs."

"Whatisshedoing?"

"Sheiswriting."

"Shewrites,doesshe?Doesshereceiveletters?"

"None but such as she can show me. And—sir—she—they have longwantedtoconsultyou."

"Pshaw!Theydon'tthinkofme—anoldfather!Iamintheway."

"Ah,M.deBassompierre—notso—thatcan'tbe!ButPaulinamustspeakforherself:andDr.Bretton,too,mustbehisownadvocate."

"Itisalittlelate.Mattersareadvanced,itseems."

"Sir,tillyouapprove,nothingisdone—onlytheyloveeachother."

"Only!"heechoed.

Investedbyfatewiththepartofconfidanteandmediator,Iwasobligedtogoon:"Hundredsof timeshasDr.Brettonbeenonthepointofappealingtoyou,sir;but,withallhishighcourage,hefearsyoumortally."

"Hemaywell—hemaywellfearme.HehastouchedthebestthingIhave.Hadhebutletheralone,shewouldhaveremainedachildforyearsyet.So.Aretheyengaged?"

"Theycouldnotbecomeengagedwithoutyourpermission."

"Itiswellforyou,MissSnowe,totalkandthinkwiththatproprietywhichalwayscharacterizesyou;butthismatterisagrieftome;mylittlegirlwasallIhad:Ihavenomoredaughtersandnoson;Brettonmightaswellhavelookedelsewhere; there are scores of rich and pretty women who would not, I

daresay, dislike him: he has looks, and conduct, and connection. WouldnothingservehimbutmyPolly?"

"If he had never seen your 'Polly,' othersmight andwould have pleasedhim—yourniece,MissFanshawe,forinstance."

"Ah!IwouldhavegivenhimGinevrawithallmyheart;butPolly!—Ican'tlethimhaveher.No—Ican't.Heisnotherequal,"heaffirmed,rathergruffly."In what particular is he her match? They talk of fortune! I am not anavariciousorinterestedman,buttheworldthinksofthesethings—andPollywillberich."

"Yes,thatisknown,"saidI:"allVilletteknowsherasanheiress."

"Dotheytalkofmylittlegirlinthatlight?"

"Theydo,sir."

Hefellintodeepthought.Iventuredtosay,"Wouldyou,sir,thinkanyonePaulina'smatch?Would you prefer any other toDr. Bretton?Do you thinkhigher rank or more wealth would make much difference in your feelingstowardsafutureson-in-law?"

"Youtouchmethere,"saidhe.

"LookatthearistocracyofVillette—youwouldnotlikethem,sir?"

"Ishouldnot—neveraduc,baron,orvicomteofthelot."

"Iamtoldmanyofthesepersonsthinkabouther,sir,"Iwenton,gainingcourageonfindingthatImetattentionratherthanrepulse."Othersuitorswillcome, therefore, if Dr. Bretton is refused. Wherever you go, I suppose,aspirantswill not bewanting. Independent of heiress-ship, it appears tomethatPaulinacharmsmostofthosewhoseeher."

"Doesshe?How?Mylittlegirlisnotthoughtabeauty."

"Sir,MissdeBassompierreisverybeautiful."

"Nonsense!—begging your pardon,Miss Snowe, but I think you are toopartial. I likePolly: I likeallherwaysandallher looks—but then Iamherfather; and even I never thought about beauty. She is amusing, fairy-like,interestingtome;—youmustbemistakeninsupposingherhandsome?"

"Sheattracts,sir:shewouldattractwithouttheadvantagesofyourwealthandposition."

"Mywealth andposition!Are these anybait toGraham? If I thought so——"

"Dr. Bretton knows these points perfectly, as you may be sure, M. de

Bassompierre, and values them as any gentleman would—as you wouldyourself,under thesamecircumstances—buttheyarenothisbaits.Helovesyourdaughterverymuch;hefeelsherfinestqualities,andtheyinfluencehimworthily."

"What!hasmylittlepet'finequalities?'"

"Ah,sir!didyouobserveherthateveningwhensomanymenofeminenceandlearningdinedhere?"

"Icertainlywas rather struckandsurprisedwithhermanner thatday; itswomanlinessmademesmile."

"Anddidyousee thoseaccomplishedFrenchmengatherroundher in thedrawing-room?"

"I did; but I thought it was by way of relaxation—as onemight amuseone'sselfwithaprettyinfant."

"Sir, she demeaned herself with distinction; and I heard the Frenchgentlemen say shewas 'pétrie d'esprit et de graces.'Dr.Bretton thought thesame."

"She isagood,dearchild, that iscertain;and Idobelieveshehassomecharacter.WhenIthinkofit,Iwasonceill;Pollynursedme;theythoughtIshoulddie;she,Irecollect,grewatoncestrongerandtendererasIgrewworseinhealth.AndasIrecovered,whatasunbeamshewasinmysick-room!Yes;sheplayedaboutmychairasnoiselesslyandascheerfulaslight.Andnowsheissoughtinmarriage!Idon'twanttopartwithher,"saidhe,andhegroaned.

"YouhaveknownDr.andMrs.Brettonsolong,"Isuggested,"itwouldbelesslikeseparationtogivehertohimthantoanother."

Hereflectedrathergloomily.

"True. Ihave longknownLouisaBretton,"hemurmured. "Sheand Iareindeedold,oldfriends;asweet,kindgirlshewaswhenshewasyoung.Youtalkofbeauty,MissSnowe!shewashandsome,ifyouwill—tall,straight,andblooming—not the mere child or elf my Polly seems to me: at eighteen,Louisahadacarriageandstaturefitforaprincess.Sheisacomelyandagoodwomannow.Theladislikeher;Ihavealwaysthoughtso,andfavouredandwishedhimwell.Nowherepaysmebythisrobbery!Mylittletreasureusedtolove her old father dearly and truly. It is all over now, doubtless—I am anincumbrance."

The door opened—his "little treasure" came in. She was dressed, so tospeak, in evening beauty; that animation which sometimes comes with theclose of day, warmed her eye and cheek; a tinge of summer crimsonheightenedhercomplexion;hercurls fell full and longonher lilyneck;her

whitedresssuitedtheheatofJune.Thinkingmealone,shehadbroughtinherhand the letter justwritten—brought it foldedbutunsealed. Iwas to read it.Whenshesawherfather,hertrippingstepfalteredalittle,pausedamoment—thecolourinhercheekflowedrosyoverherwholeface.

"Polly,"saidM.deBassompierre,inalowvoice,withagravesmile,"doyoublushatseeingpapa?Thatissomethingnew."

"Idon'tblush—Ineverdoblush,"affirmedshe,whileanothereddyfromtheheartsentupitsscarlet."ButIthoughtyouwereinthedining-room,andIwantedLucy."

"YouthoughtIwaswithJohnGrahamBretton,Isuppose?Buthehasjustbeencalledout:hewillbebacksoon,Polly.Hecanpostyourletterforyou;itwillsaveMatthieua'course,'ashecallsit."

"Idon'tpostletters,"saidshe,ratherpettishly.

"Whatdoyoudowiththem,then?—comehereandtellme."

Both hermind and gesture seemed to hesitate a second—to say "Shall Icome?"—butsheapproached.

"How long is it since you became a letter-writer, Polly? It only seemsyesterdaywhenyouwereatyourpot-hooks, labouringawayabsolutelywithbothhandsatthepen."

"Papa, theyarenot letters tosend to thepost inyour letter-bag; theyareonlynotes,whichIgivenowandthenintotheperson'shands,justtosatisfy."

"Theperson!ThatmeansMissSnowe,Isuppose?"

"No,papa—notLucy."

"Whothen?PerhapsMrs.Bretton?"

"No,papa—notMrs.Bretton."

"Who,then,mylittledaughter?Tellpapathetruth."

"Oh,papa!"shecriedwithearnestness,"Iwill—Iwilltellyouthetruth—allthetruth;Iamgladtotellyou—glad,thoughItremble."

Shedidtremble:growingexcitement,kindlingfeeling,andalsogatheringcourage,shookher.

"Ihatetohidemyactionsfromyou,papa.IfearyouandloveyouaboveeverythingbutGod.Readtheletter;lookattheaddress."

Shelaiditonhisknee.Hetookitupandreaditthrough;hishandshaking,hiseyesglisteningmeantime.

He re-folded it, and viewed the writer with a strange, tender, mournfulamaze.

"Can shewrite so—the little thing that stood atmy knee but yesterday?Canshefeelso?"

"Papa,isitwrong?Doesitpainyou?"

"Thereisnothingwronginit,myinnocentlittleMary;butitpainsme."

"But, papa, listen! You shall not be pained by me. I would give upeverything—almost" (correctingherself); "Iwoulddie rather thanmakeyouunhappy;thatwouldbetoowicked!"

Sheshuddered.

"Doestheletternotpleaseyou?Mustitnotgo?Mustitbetorn?Itshall,foryoursake,ifyouorderit."

"Iordernothing."

"Order something, papa; express yourwish; only don't hurt, don't grieveGraham.Icannot,cannotbearthat.Iloveyou,papa;butIloveGrahamtoo—because—because—itisimpossibletohelpit."

"ThissplendidGrahamisayoungscamp,Polly—thatismypresentnotionofhim: itwill surpriseyou tohear that, formypart, I donot lovehimonewhit.Ah!yearsagoIsawsomethinginthatlad'seyeIneverquitefathomed—somethinghismotherhasnot—adepthwhichwarnedamannottowadeintothatstreamtoofar;now,suddenly,Ifindmyselftakenoverthecrownofthehead."

"Papa, youdon't—youhavenot fallen in; you are safeon thebank; youcandoasyouplease;yourpowerisdespotic;youcanshutmeupinaconvent,and break Graham's heart to-morrow, if you choose to be so cruel. Now,autocrat,nowczar,willyoudothis?"

"OffwithhimtoSiberia,redwhiskersandall;Isay,Idon'tlikehim,Polly,andIwonderthatyoushould."

"Papa," said she, "do you knowyou are very naughty? I never saw youlook so disagreeable, so unjust, so almost vindictive before. There is anexpressioninyourfacewhichdoesnotbelongtoyou."

"Offwithhim!"pursuedMr.Home,whocertainlydidlooksorelycrossedand annoyed—even a little bitter; "but, I suppose, if he went, Polly wouldpackabundle and runafterhim;herheart is fairlywon—won, andweanedfromheroldfather."

"Papa,Isayit isnaughty, it isdecidedlywrong,totalkinthatway.Iam

notweanedfromyou,andnohumanbeingandnomortalinfluencecanweanme."

"Bemarried,Polly!Espousetheredwhiskers.Ceasetobeadaughter;goandbeawife!"

"Redwhiskers! Iwonderwhat youmean, papa.You should take care ofprejudice.YousometimessaytomethatalltheScotch,yourcountrymen,arethevictimsofprejudice.Itisprovednow,Ithink,whennodistinctionistobemadebetweenredanddeepnut-brown."

"LeavetheprejudicedoldScotchman;goaway."

She stood looking at him a minute. She wanted to show firmness,superioritytotaunts;knowingherfather'scharacter,guessinghisfewfoibles,shehadexpectedthesortofscenewhichwasnowtranspiring;itdidnottakeher by surprise, and she desired to let it pass with dignity, reliant uponreaction.Herdignity stoodher inno stead.Suddenlyher soulmelted inhereyes; she fellonhisneck:—"Iwon't leaveyou,papa; I'llnever leaveyou. Iwon'tpainyou!I'llneverpainyou!"washercry.

"Mylamb!mytreasure!"murmuredthelovingthoughruggedsire.Hesaidnomoreforthemoment;indeed,thosetwowordswerehoarse.

The room was now darkening. I heard a movement, a step without.Thinking it might be a servant coming with candles, I gently opened, toprevent intrusion. In the ante-room stood no servant: a tall gentleman wasplacinghishatonthetable,drawingoffhisglovesslowly—lingering,waiting,it seemed to me. He calledme neither by sign nor word; yet his eye said:—"Lucy,comehere."AndIwent.

Over his face a smile flowed,while he looked down onme: no temper,savehisown,wouldhaveexpressedbyasmilethesortofagitationwhichnowfeveredhim.

"M. de Bassompierre is there—is he not?" he inquired, pointing to thelibrary.

"Yes."

"Henoticedmeatdinner?Heunderstoodme?"

"Yes,Graham."

"Iambroughtupforjudgment,then,andsoisshe?"

"Mr. Home" (we now and always continued to term him Mr. Home attimes)"istalkingtohisdaughter."

"Ha!Thesearesharpmoments,Lucy!"

Hewasquitestirredup;hisyounghandtrembled;avital(Iwasgoingtowrite mortal, but such words ill apply to one all living like him)—a vitalsuspensenowheld,nowhurried,hisbreath:inallthistroublehissmileneverfaded.

"Isheveryangry,Lucy?"

"Sheisveryfaithful,Graham."

"Whatwillbedoneuntome?"

"Graham,yourstarmustbefortunate."

"Must it?Kind prophet! So cheered, I should be a faint heart indeed toquail.IthinkIfindallwomenfaithful,Lucy.Ioughttolovethem,andIdo.Mymotherisgood;sheisdivine;andyouaretrueassteel.Areyounot?"

"Yes,Graham."

"Thengivemethyhand,mylittlegod-sister:itisafriendlylittlehandtome, and always has been. And now for the great venture. God bewith theright.Lucy,sayAmen!"

Heturned,andwaitedtillIsaid"Amen!"—whichIdidtopleasehim:theold charm, in doing as he bid me, came back. I wished him success; andsuccessful I knew he would be. He was born victor, as some are bornvanquished.

"Followme!"hesaid;andIfollowedhimintoMr.Home'spresence.

"Sir,"heasked,"whatismysentence?"

Thefatherlookedathim:thedaughterkeptherfacehid.

"Well,Bretton,"saidMr.Home,"youhavegivenmetheusualrewardofhospitality.Ientertainedyou;youhavetakenmybest.Iwasalwaysgladtoseeyou; youwereglad to see theoneprecious thing I had.You spokeme fair;and,meantime,Iwillnotsayyourobbedme,butIambereaved,andwhatIhavelost,you,itseems,havewon."

"Sir,Icannotrepent."

"Repent!Notyou!You triumph,nodoubt: JohnGraham,youdescendedpartlyfromaHighlanderandachief,andthereisatraceoftheCeltinallyoulook,speak,andthink.Youhavehiscunningandhischarm.Thered—(Wellthen,Polly,thefair)hair,thetongueofguile,andbrainofwile,areallcomedownbyinheritance."

"Sir, I feel honest enough," said Graham; and a genuine English blushcoveredhis facewith itswarmwitnessof sincerity. "Andyet,"he added, "Iwon'tdenythatinsomerespectsyouaccusemejustly.InyourpresenceIhave

alwayshadathoughtwhichIdarednotshowyou.Ididtrulyregardyouasthepossessorofthemostvaluablethingtheworldownsforme.Iwishedforit:Itriedforit.Sir,Iaskforitnow."

"John,youaskmuch."

"Verymuch, sir. Itmustcomefromyourgenerosity,asagift; fromyourjustice,asareward.Icanneverearnit."

"Ay!ListentotheHighlandtongue!"saidMr.Home."Lookup,Polly!

Answerthis'brawwooer;'sendhimaway!"

Shelookedup.Sheshylyglancedathereager,handsomesuitor.Shegazedtenderlyonherfurrowedsire.

"Papa,Iloveyouboth,"saidshe;"Icantakecareofyouboth.Ineednotsend Graham away—he can live here; he will be no inconvenience," sheallegedwiththatsimplicityofphraseologywhichattimeswaswonttomakebothherfatherandGrahamsmile.Theysmilednow.

"Hewillbeaprodigiousinconveniencetome,"stillpersistedMr.Home."Idon'twanthim,Polly,heistootall;heisinmyway.Tellhimtomarch."

"Youwillgetusedtohim,papa.Heseemedexceedinglytalltomeatfirst—likeatowerwhenIlookedupathim;but,onthewhole,Iwouldrathernothavehimotherwise."

"Iobject tohimaltogether,Polly;Icandowithoutason-in-law.Ishouldneverhaverequestedthebestmaninthelandtostandtomeinthatrelation.Dismissthisgentleman."

"Buthehasknownyousolong,papa,andsuitsyousowell."

"Suitsme,forsooth!Yes;hehaspretendedtomakemyopinionsandtasteshisown.Hehashumouredmeforgoodreasons.Ithink,Polly,youandIwillbidhimgood-by."

"Tillto-morrowonly.ShakehandswithGraham,papa."

"No: I think not: I am not friends with him. Don't think to coax mebetweenyou."

"Indeed, indeed, you are friends. Graham, stretch out your right hand.Papa, put out yours. Now, let them touch. Papa, don't be stiff; close yourfingers; be pliant—there! But that is not a clasp—it is a grasp? Papa, yougrasplikeavice.YoucrushGraham'shandtothebone;youhurthim!"

He must have hurt him; for he wore a massive ring, set round withbrilliants,ofwhich thesharp facetscut intoGraham's fleshanddrewblood:butpainonlymadeDr.Johnlaugh,asanxietyhadmadehimsmile.

"Comewithmeintomystudy,"atlastsaidMr.Hometothedoctor.Theywent. Their intercoursewas not long, but I suppose it was conclusive. Thesuitorhadtoundergoaninterrogatoryandascrutinyonmanythings.WhetherDr. Bretton was at times guileful in look and language or not, there was asound foundationbelow.Hisanswers, Iunderstoodafterwards, evincedbothwisdom and integrity. He had managed his affairs well. He had struggledthrough entanglements; his fortuneswere in theway of retrieval; he provedhimselfinapositiontomarry.

Once more the father and lover appeared in the library. M. deBassompierreshutthedoor;hepointedtohisdaughter.

"Takeher,"hesaid."Takeher,JohnBretton:andmayGoddealwithyouasyoudealwithher!"

**

Not long after, perhaps a fortnight, I saw three persons, Count deBassompierre,hisdaughter,andDr.GrahamBretton,sittingononeseat,undera low-spreading and umbrageous tree, in the grounds of the palace at Boisl'Etang. They had come thither to enjoy a summer evening: outside themagnificentgates theircarriagewaitedto takethemhome;thegreensweepsofturfspreadroundthemquietanddim;thepalaceroseatadistance,whiteasa crag on Pentelicus; the evening star shone above it; a forest of floweringshrubs embalmed the climate of this spot; the hourwas still and sweet; thescene,butforthisgroup,wassolitary.

Paulina sat between the two gentlemen: while they conversed, her littlehandswerebusyatsomework;I thoughtatfirstshewasbindinganosegay.No;withthetinypairofscissors,glitteringinherlap,shehadseveredspoilsfromeachmanlyheadbesideher,andwasnowoccupiedinplaitingtogetherthegreylockandthegoldenwave.Theplaitwoven—nosilk-threadbeingathandtobindit—atressofherownhairwasmadetoservethatpurpose;shetieditlikeaknot,prisoneditinalocket,andlaiditonherheart.

"Now,"saidshe,"there isanamuletmade,whichhasvirtue tokeepyoutwoalwaysfriends.YoucanneverquarrelsolongasIwearthis."

An amulet was indeed made, a spell framed which rendered enmityimpossible.Shewasbecomeabondtoboth,aninfluenceovereach,amutualconcord.Fromthemshedrewherhappiness,andwhatsheborrowed,she,withinterest,gaveback.

"Is there, indeed, such happiness on earth?" I asked, as I watched thefather,thedaughter,thefuturehusband,nowunited—allblessedandblessing.

Yes; it is so.Without any colouring of romance, or any exaggeration of

fancy, it isso.Somereal livesdo—forsomecertaindaysoryears—actuallyanticipatethehappinessofHeaven;and,Ibelieve,ifsuchperfecthappinessisonce felt by good people (to thewicked it never comes), its sweet effect isneverwhollylost.Whatevertrialsfollow,whateverpainsofsicknessorshadesofdeath, thegloryprecedentstill shines through,cheering thekeenanguish,andtingingthedeepcloud.

I will go farther. I do believe there are some human beings so born, soreared,soguidedfromasoftcradletoacalmandlategrave,thatnoexcessivesuffering penetrates their lot, and no tempestuous blackness overcasts theirjourney.Andoften,thesearenotpampered,selfishbeings,butNature'select,harmonious and benign; men and womenmild with charity, kind agents ofGod'skindattributes.

Let me not delay the happy truth. Graham Bretton and Paulina deBassompierreweremarried,andsuchanagentdidDr.Brettonprove.Hedidnotwith time degenerate; his faults decayed, his virtues ripened; he rose inintellectual refinement, he won in moral profit: all dregs filtered away, theclearwinesettledbrightandtranquil.Bright,too,wasthedestinyofhissweetwife.Shekeptherhusband'slove,sheaidedinhisprogress—ofhishappinessshewasthecornerstone.

Thispairwasblessedindeed,foryearsbroughtthem,withgreatprosperity,great goodness: they imparted with open hand, yet wisely. Doubtless theyknewcrosses,disappointments,difficulties;but thesewerewellborne.Morethanonce,too,theyhadtolookonHimwhosefacefleshscarcecanseeandlive: they had to pay their tribute to the King of Terrors. In the fulness ofyears,M.deBassompierrewastaken:inripeoldagedepartedLouisaBretton.Onceeventhereroseacryintheirhalls,ofRachelweepingforherchildren;but others spranghealthy andblooming to replace the lost:Dr.Bretton sawhimselfliveagaininasonwhoinheritedhislooksandhisdisposition;hehadstatelydaughters,too,likehimself:thesechildrenherearedwithasuave,yetafirmhand;theygrewupaccordingtoinheritanceandnurture.

Inshort,IdobutspeakthetruthwhenIsaythatthesetwolivesofGrahamandPaulinawereblessed,likethatofJacob'sfavouredson,with"blessingsofHeavenabove,blessingsof thedeepthat liesunder."Itwasso,forGodsawthatitwasgood.

CHAPTERXXXVIII.

CLOUD.

Butitisnotsoforall.Whatthen?Hiswillbedone,asdoneitsurelywillbe, whether we humble ourselves to resignation or not. The impulse ofcreationforwardsit;thestrengthofpowers,seenandunseen,hasitsfulfilmentin charge. Proof of a life to come must be given. In fire and in blood, ifneedful,mustthatproofbewritten.Infireandinblooddowetracetherecordthroughout nature. In fire and in blood does it cross our own experience.Sufferer,faintnotthroughterrorofthisburningevidence.Tiredwayfarer,girdupthyloins;lookupward,marchonward.Pilgrimsandbrothermourners,joininfriendlycompany.Dark through thewildernessof thisworldstretches thewayformostofus:equalandsteadybeourtread;beourcrossourbanner.Forstaff we have His promise, whose "word is tried, whose way perfect:" forpresent hope His providence, "who gives the shield of salvation, whosegentlenessmakesgreat;"forfinalhomeHisbosom,who"dwellsintheheightofHeaven;"forcrowningprizeaglory,exceedingandeternal.Letussorunthatwemayobtain:letusendurehardnessasgoodsoldiers;letusfinishourcourse, and keep the faith, reliant in the issue to come off more thanconquerors:"ArtthounotfromeverlastingmineHolyOne?WESHALLNOTDIE!"

OnaThursdaymorningwewereallassembled inclasse,waiting for thelessonofliterature.Thehourwascome;weexpectedthemaster.

Thepupilsofthefirstclassesatverystill;thecleanly-writtencompositionspreparedsincethelast lessonlayreadybeforethem,neatlytiedwithribbon,waitingtobegatheredbythehandoftheProfessorashemadehisrapidroundofthedesks.ThemonthwasJuly,themorningfine,theglass-doorstoodajar,throughitplayedafreshbreeze,andplants,growingatthelintel,waved,bent,lookedin,seemingtowhispertidings.

M.Emanuelwasnotalwaysquitepunctual;wescarcelywonderedathisbeingalittlelate,butwewonderedwhenthedooratlastopenedand,insteadofhimwithhisswiftnessandhisfire,therecamequietlyuponusthecautiousMadameBeck.

SheapproachedM.Paul'sdesk;shestoodbeforeit;shedrewroundherthelightshawlcoveringhershoulders;beginningtospeakinlow,yetfirmtones,and with a fixed gaze, she said, "This morning there will be no lesson ofliterature."

The second paragraph of her address followed, after about twominutes'pause.

"Itisprobablethelessonswillbesuspendedforaweek.Ishallrequireatleast that space of time to find an efficient substitute for M. Emanuel.Meanwhile,itshallbeourstudytofilltheblanksusefully.

"Your Professor, ladies," shewent on, "intends, if possible, duly to takeleaveofyou.Atthepresentmomenthehasnotleisureforthatceremony.Heis preparing for a longvoyage.Avery sudden andurgent summonsof dutycallshimtoagreatdistance.HehasdecidedtoleaveEuropeforanindefinitetime.Perhapshemaytellyoumorehimself.Ladies,insteadoftheusuallessonwithM. Emanuel, you will, this morning, read English withMademoiselleLucy."

She bent her head courteously, drew closer the folds of her shawl, andpassedfromtheclasse.

Agreatsilencefell: thenamurmurwent round theroom:Ibelievesomepupilswept.

Some time elapsed. The noise, the whispering, the occasional sobbingincreased.Ibecameconsciousofarelaxationofdiscipline,asortofgrowingdisorder,asifmygirlsfeltthatvigilancewaswithdrawn,andthatsurveillancehadvirtually left theclasse.Habitand thesenseofdutyenabledme to rallyquickly, to rise inmy usualway, to speak inmy usual tone, to enjoin, andfinally to establish quiet. Imade the English reading long and close. I keptthemat it thewholemorning. I remember feelinga sentimentof impatiencetowardsthepupilswhosobbed.Indeed,theiremotionwasnotofmuchvalue:itwasonlyanhystericagitation. I told themsounsparingly. Ihalf ridiculedthem. I was severe. The truth was, I could not do with their tears, or thatgaspingsound; Icouldnotbear it.Aratherweak-minded, low-spiritedpupilkeptitupwhentheothershaddone;relentlessnecessityobligedandassistedmesotoaccosther,thatshedarednotcarryonthedemonstration,thatshewasforcedtoconquertheconvulsion.

Thatgirlwouldhavehadarighttohateme,exceptthat,whenschoolwasoverandhercompanionsdeparting,Iorderedhertostay,andwhentheyweregone,IdidwhatIhadneverdonetooneamongthembefore—pressedhertomyheartandkissedhercheek.But,thisimpulseyieldedto,Ispeedilyputherout of the classe, for, upon that poignant strain, sheweptmorebitterly thanever.

Ifilledwithoccupationeveryminuteofthatday,andshouldhavelikedtosit up all night if I might have kept a candle burning; the night, however,proved a bad time, and left bad effects, preparingme ill for the next day'sordeal of insufferable gossip. Of course this news fell under generaldiscussion. Some little reserve had accompanied the first surprise: that soonwore off; every mouth opened; every tongue wagged; teachers, pupils, thevery servants,mouthed the nameof "Emanuel."He,whose connectionwiththe school was contemporary with its commencement, thus suddenly towithdraw!Allfeltitstrange.

Theytalkedsomuch,solong,sooften,that,outoftheverymultitudeoftheirwordsandrumours,grewatlastsomeintelligence.AboutthethirddayIheard it said thathewas to sail inaweek; then—thathewasbound for theWestIndies.IlookedatMadameBeck'sface,andintohereyes,fordisproofor confirmationof this report; Iperusedher allover for information,butnopartofherdisclosedmorethanwhatwasunperturbedandcommonplace.

"This secession was an immense loss to her," she alleged. "She did notknowhowsheshouldfillupthevacancy.Shewassousedtoherkinsman,hehadbecomeherrighthand;whatshouldshedowithouthim?Shehadopposedthestep,butM.Paulhadconvincedheritwashisduty."

Shesaidallthisinpublic,inclasse,atthedinner-table,speakingaudiblytoZélieSt.Pierre.

"Whywasithisduty?"Icouldhaveaskedherthat.Ihadimpulsestotakeholdofhersuddenly,asshecalmlypassedmeinclasse,tostretchoutmyhandand grasp her fast, and say, "Stop. Let us hear the conclusion of thewholematter. Why is it his duty to go into banishment?" But Madame alwaysaddressed some other teacher, and never looked at me, never seemedconsciousIcouldhaveacareinthequestion.

Theweekworeon.NothingmorewassaidaboutM.Emanuelcomingtobid us good-by; and none seemed anxious for his coming; none questionedwhetherornothewouldcome;nonebetrayed torment lesthe shoulddepartsilentandunseen;incessantlydidtheytalk,andnever,inalltheirtalk,touchedonthisvitalpoint.AstoMadame,sheofcoursecouldseehim,andsaytohimasmuchasshepleased.Whatshouldshecarewhetherornotheappearedintheschoolroom?

Theweekconsumed.Weweretoldthathewasgoingonsuchaday, thathisdestinationwas"BasseterreinGuadaloupe:"thebusinesswhichcalledhimabroadrelatedtoafriend'sinterests,nothisown:Ithoughtasmuch.

"BasseterreinGuadaloupe."Ihadlittlesleepaboutthistime,butwheneverI did slumber, it followed infallibly that I was quickly roused with a start,while the words "Basseterre," "Guadaloupe," seemed pronounced over mypillow,orranathwartthedarknessroundandbeforeme,inzigzagcharactersofredorvioletlight.

For what I felt there was no help, and how could I help feeling? M.Emanuelhadbeenverykindtomeoflatedays;hehadbeengrowinghourlybetter and kinder. It was now amonth sincewe had settled the theologicaldifference,andinall that timetherehadbeennoquarrel.Norhadourpeacebeen the cold daughter of divorce; we had not lived aloof; he had comeoftener,hehadtalkedwithmemorethanbefore;hehadspenthourswithme,

withtempersoothed,witheyecontent,withmannerhome-likeandmild.Kindsubjectsofconversationhadgrownbetweenus;hehadinquiredintomyplansoflife,andIhadcommunicatedthem;theschoolprojectpleasedhim;hemademerepeatitmorethanonce,thoughhecalleditanAlnaschardream.Thejarwasover;themutualunderstandingwassettlingandfixing;feelingsofunionand hope made themselves profoundly felt in the heart; affection and deepesteemanddawningtrusthadeachfasteneditsbond.

WhatquietlessonsIhadaboutthistime!Nomoretauntsonmy"intellect,"nomoremenacesofgratingpublicshows!Howsweetly,forthejealousgibe,and the more jealous, half-passionate eulogy, were substituted a mute,indulgenthelp,a fondguidance,anda tender forbearancewhichforgavebutneverpraised.Thereweretimeswhenhewouldsitformanyminutesandnotspeakatall;andwhenduskordutybroughtseparation,hewouldleavewithwordslikethese,"Ilestdoux,lerepos!Ilestprécieuxlecalmebonheur!"

Oneevening,nottenshortdayssince,hejoinedmewhilstwalkinginmyalley.Hetookmyhand.I lookedupinhisface.Ithoughthemeanttoarrestmyattention.

"Bonnepetiteamie!"saidhe,softly;"douceconsolatrice!"Butthroughhistouch,andwithhiswords,anewfeelingandastrangethoughtfoundacourse.Could itbe thathewasbecomingmore than friendorbrother?Didhis lookspeakakindnessbeyondfraternityoramity?

His eloquent look had more to say, his hand drew me forward, hisinterpreting lips stirred.No.Not now.Here into the twilight alley broke aninterruption: it came dual and ominous: we faced two bodeful forms—awoman'sandapriest's—MadameBeckandPèreSilas.

The aspect of the latter I shall never forget. On the first impulse itexpressed a Jean-Jacques sensibility, stirred by the signs of affection justsurprised; then, immediately, darkened over it the jaundice of ecclesiasticaljealousy.Hespoketomewithunction.Helookedonhispupilwithsternness.As to Madame Beck, she, of course, saw nothing—nothing; though herkinsman retained in her presence the hand of the heretic foreigner, notsufferingwithdrawal,butclaspingitcloseandfast.

Following these incidents, that sudden announcement of departure hadstruckmeatfirstasincredible.Indeed,itwasonlyfrequentrepetition,andthecredenceofthehundredandfiftymindsroundme,whichforcedonmeitsfullacceptance. As to that week of suspense, with its blank, yet burning days,whichbrought fromhimnowordof explanation—I remember, but I cannotdescribeitspassage.

Thelastdaybroke.Nowwouldhevisitus.Nowhewouldcomeandspeak

hisfarewell,orhewouldvanishmute,andbeseenbyusnevermore.

Thisalternativeseemedtobepresentinthemindofnotalivingcreatureinthat school.All rose at the usual hour; all breakfasted as usual; all,withoutreference to, or apparent thought of their late Professor, betook themselveswithwontedphlegmtotheirordinaryduties.

So oblivious was the house, so tame, so trained its proceedings, soinexpectant its aspect—I scarceknewhow tobreathe in an atmosphere thusstagnant,thussmothering.Wouldnoonelendmeavoice?Hadnooneawish,nooneaword,nooneaprayertowhichIcouldsay—Amen?

I had seen them unanimous in demand for the merest trifle—a treat, aholiday, a lesson's remission; they could not, they would not now band tobesiegeMadameBeck,andinsistona last interviewwithaMasterwhohadcertainly been loved, at least by some—loved as they could love—but, oh!whatistheloveofthemultitude?

I knew where he lived: I knew where he was to be heard of, orcommunicatedwith;thedistancewasscarceastone's-throw:haditbeeninthenextroom—unsummoned,Icouldmakenouseofmyknowledge.Tofollow,toseekout,toremind,torecall—forthesethingsIhadnofaculty.

M. Emanuelmight have passedwithin reach ofmy arm: had he passedsilentandunnoticing,silentandstirlessshouldIhavesufferedhimtogoby.

Morningwasted. Afternoon came, and I thought all was over.My hearttrembled in itsplace.Mybloodwas troubled in itscurrent. Iwasquitesick,andhardlyknewhowtokeepatmypost—ordomywork.Yetthelittleworldroundmeploddedon indifferent;all seemed jocund, freeofcare,or fear,orthought: the very pupils who, seven days since, had wept hysterically at astartlingpieceofnews,appearedquitetohaveforgottenthenews,itsimport,andtheiremotion.

A littlebefore fiveo'clock, thehourofdismissal,MadameBecksent forme to her chamber, to read over and translate some English letter she hadreceived, and to write for her the answer. Before settling to this work, Iobserved that shesoftlyclosed the twodoorsofherchamber; sheevenshutandfastenedthecasement,thoughitwasahotday,andfreecirculationofairwas usually regarded by her as indispensable.Why this precaution?A keensuspicion,analmostfiercedistrust,suggestedsuchquestion.Didshewanttoexcludesound?whatsound?

I listened as I had never listened before; I listened like the evening andwinter-wolf, snuffing the snow, scenting prey, and hearing far off thetraveller's tramp.Yet I could both listen andwrite.About themiddle of theletter Iheard—whatcheckedmypen—atread in thevestibule.Nodoor-bell

hadrung;Rosine—actingdoubtlessbyorders—hadanticipatedsuchréveillée.Madame sawmehalt. She coughed,made a bustle, spoke louder.The treadhadpassedontotheclasses.

"Proceed,"saidMadame;butmyhandwasfettered,myearenchained,mythoughtswerecarriedoffcaptive.

The classes formed another building; the hall parted them from thedwelling-house: despite distance and partition, I heard the sudden stir ofnumbers,awholedivisionrisingatonce.

"Theyareputtingawaywork,"saidMadame.

Itwasindeedthehourtoputawaywork,butwhythatsuddenhush—thatinstantquellofthetumult?

"Wait,Madame—Iwillseewhatitis."

AndIputdownmypenandlefther.Lefther?No:shewouldnotbeleft:powerlesstodetainme,sheroseandfollowed,closeasmyshadow.I turnedonthelaststepofthestair.

"Areyoucoming,too?"Iasked.

"Yes," said she; meeting my glance with a peculiar aspect—a look,clouded,yetresolute.

Weproceededthen,nottogether,butshewalkedinmysteps.

He was come. Entering the first classe, I saw him. There, once moreappearedtheformmostfamiliar.Idoubtnottheyhadtriedtokeephimaway,buthewascome.

Thegirlsstoodinasemicircle;hewaspassinground,givinghisfarewells,pressing each hand, touching with his lips each cheek. This last ceremony,foreigncustompermittedatsuchaparting—sosolemn,tolastsolong.

I felt it hard that Madame Beck should dog me thus; following andwatchingmeclose;myneckandshouldershrunkinfeverunderherbreath;Ibecameterriblygoaded.

Hewasapproaching;thesemicirclewasalmosttravelledround;hecametothe last pupil; he turned. ButMadamewas beforeme; she had stepped outsuddenly;sheseemedtomagnifyherproportionsandamplifyherdrapery;sheeclipsed me; I was hid. She knew my weakness and deficiency; she couldcalculate the degree ofmoral paralysis—the total default of self-assertion—withwhich, in a crisis, I could be struck.She hastened to her kinsman, shebroke upon him volubly, shemastered his attention, she hurried him to thedoor—theglass-dooropeningonthegarden.Ithinkhelookedround;couldIbuthavecaughthiseye,courage,Ithink,wouldhaverushedintoaidfeeling,

and therewouldhavebeena charge, and,perhaps, a rescue;but already theroomwasallconfusion,thesemicirclebrokenintogroups,myfigurewaslostamongthirtymoreconspicuous.Madamehadherwill;yes,shegothimaway,andhehadnotseenme;he thoughtmeabsent.Fiveo'clockstruck, the louddismissal-bellrang,theschoolseparated,theroomemptied.

There seems, tomymemory, an entire darkness and distraction in somecertain minutes I then passed alone—a grief inexpressible over a lossunendurable.WhatshouldIdo;oh!whatshouldIdo;whenallmylife'shopewasthustornbytherootsoutofmyriven,outragedheart?

WhatIshouldhavedone,Iknownot,whenalittlechild—theleastchildintheschool—brokewithitssimplicityanditsunconsciousnessintotheragingyetsilentcentreofthatinwardconflict.

"Mademoiselle," lisped the treble voice, "I am togiveyou that.M.PaulsaidIwas toseekyouallover thehouse, fromthegrenier to thecellar,andwhenIfoundyou,togiveyouthat."

And the child delivered a note; the little dove dropped onmy knee, itsoliveleafpluckedoff.Ifoundneitheraddressnorname,onlythesewords:—

"Itwasnotmyintentionto takeleaveofyouwhenIsaidgood-byto therest, but I hoped to see you in classe. I was disappointed. The interview isdeferred.Bereadyforme.EreIsail,Imustseeyouatleisure,andspeakwithyou at length. Be ready; my moments are numbered, and, just now,monopolized;besides,IhaveaprivatebusinessonhandwhichIwillnotsharewithany,norcommunicate—eventoyou.—PAUL."

"Beready?"Thenitmustbethisevening:washenottogoonthemorrow?Yes;of thatpoint Iwascertain. Ihadseen thedateofhisvessel'sdepartureadvertised.Oh!Iwouldbeready,butcouldthatlonged-formeetingreallybeachieved?thetimewassoshort,theschemersseemedsowatchful,soactive,so hostile; theway of access appeared strait as a gully, deep as a chasm—Apollyon straddled across it, breathing flames. Could my Greatheartovercome?Couldmyguidereachme?

Who might tell? Yet I began to take some courage, some comfort; itseemedtomethatIfeltapulseofhisheartbeatingyettruetothewholethrobofmine.

Iwaitedmychampion.ApollyoncametrailinghisHellbehindhim.Ithinkif Eternity held torment, its form would not be fiery rack, nor its naturedespair.Ithinkthatonacertaindayamongstthosedayswhichneverdawned,andwill not set, an angel enteredHades—stood, shone, smiled, delivered aprophecyofconditionalpardon,kindledadoubtfulhopeofblisstocome,notnow, but at a day and hour unlooked for, revealed in his own glory and

grandeurtheheightandcompassofhispromise:spokethus—thentowering,becameastar,andvanishedintohisownHeaven.Hislegacywassuspense—aworseboonthandespair.

All that evening Iwaited, trusting in the dove-sent olive-leaf, yet in themidstofmytrust,terriblyfearing.Myfearpressedheavy.Coldandpeculiar,Iknewitforthepartnerofararely-beliedpresentiment.Thefirsthoursseemedlongandslow;inspiritIclungtotheflyingskirtsofthelast.Theypassedlikedriftcloud—likethewrackscuddingbeforeastorm.

Theypassed.All the long,hotsummerdayburnedaway likeaYule-log;thecrimsonofitscloseperished;Iwasleftbentamongthecoolblueshades,overthepaleandashengleamsofitsnight.

Prayerswereover;itwasbed-time;myco-inmateswereallretired.Istillremainedinthegloomyfirstclasse,forgetting,oratleastdisregarding,rulesIhadneverforgottenordisregardedbefore.

How long Ipaced thatclasse Icannot tell; Imusthavebeenafootmanyhours;mechanicallyhadImovedasidebenchesanddesks,andhadmadeformyselfapathdownitslength.ThereIwalked,andthere,whencertainthatthewhole householdwere abed, andquite out of hearing—there, I at lastwept.Reliant on Night, confiding in Solitude, I kept my tears sealed, my sobschained,nolonger; theyheavedmyheart; theytore theirway.In thishouse,whatgriefcouldbesacred?

Soonaftereleveno'clock—averylatehourintheRueFossette—thedoorunclosed, quietly but not stealthily; a lamp's flame invaded the moonlight;Madame Beck entered, with the same composed air, as if coming on anordinaryoccasion,atanordinaryseason.Insteadofatonceaddressingme,shewent toherdesk, tookherkeys,andseemed toseeksomething:she loiteredover this feigned search long, too long. Shewas calm, too calm;mymoodscarceenduredthepretence;drivenbeyondcommonrange,twohourssinceIhadleftbehindmewontedrespectsandfears.Ledbyatouch,andruledbyaword, under usual circumstances, no yoke could now be borne—no curbobeyed.

"Itismorethantimeforretirement,"saidMadame;"theruleofthehousehasalreadybeentransgressedtoolong."

Madamemetnoanswer:Ididnotcheckmywalk;whenshecameinmyway,

Iputheroutofit.

"Letmepersuadeyoutocalm,Meess;letmeleadyoutoyourchamber,"saidshe,tryingtospeaksoftly.

"No!"Isaid;"neitheryounoranothershallpersuadeorleadme."

"Yourbedshallbewarmed.Goton is sittingupstill.Sheshallmakeyoucomfortable:sheshallgiveyouasedative."

"Madame,"Ibrokeout,"youareasensualist.Underallyourserenity,yourpeace,andyourdecorum,youareanundeniedsensualist.Makeyourownbedwarm and soft; take sedatives and meats, and drinks spiced and sweet, asmuchasyouwill. Ifyouhaveanysorrowordisappointment—and,perhaps,you have—nay, I know you have—seek your own palliatives, in your ownchosenresources.Leaveme,however.Leaveme,Isay!"

"Imustsendanothertowatchyou,Meess:ImustsendGoton."

"I forbid it.Letme alone.Keep your hand offme, andmy life, andmytroubles. Oh, Madame! in your hand there is both chill and poison. Youenvenomandyouparalyze."

"WhathaveIdone,Meess?YoumustnotmarryPaul.Hecannotmarry."

"Doginthemanger!"Isaid:forIknewshesecretlywantedhim,andhadalwayswanted him. She called him "insupportable:" she railed at him for a"dévot:"shedidnotlove,butshewantedtomarry,thatshemightbindhimtoher interest.DeepintosomeofMadame'ssecrets Ihadentered—Iknownothow:byanintuitionoraninspirationwhichcametome—Iknownotwhence.Inthecourseoflivingwithhertoo,Ihadslowlylearned,that,unlesswithaninferior, shemust ever be a rival. Shewasmy rival, heart and soul, thoughsecretly,underthesmoothestbearing,andutterlyunknowntoallsaveherandmyself.

TwominutesIstoodoverMadame,feelingthatthewholewomanwasinmypower,because insomemoods,suchas thepresent—insomestimulatedstatesofperception,likethatofthisinstant—herhabitualdisguise,hermaskandherdomino,weretomeamerenetworkreticulatedwithholes;andIsawunderneathabeingheartless,self-indulgent,andignoble.Shequietlyretreatedfromme:meekandself-possessed,thoughveryuneasy,shesaid,"IfIwouldnotbepersuadedtotakerest,shemustreluctantlyleaveme."Whichshedidincontinent,perhapsevenmoregladtogetaway,thanIwastoseehervanish.

This was the sole flash-eliciting, truth-extorting, rencontre which everoccurred between me and Madame Beck: this short night-scene was neverrepeated.Itdidnotonewhitchangehermannertome.Idonotknowthatsherevengedit.Idonotknowthatshehatedmetheworseformyfellcandour.Ithinkshebuckleredherselfwiththesecretphilosophyofherstrongmind,andresolvedtoforgetwhatitirkedhertoremember.Iknowthattotheendofourmutuallivesthereoccurrednorepetitionof,noallusionto,thatfierypassage.

Thatnightpassed:allnights—eventhestarlessnightbeforedissolution—mustwearaway.Aboutsixo'clock,thehourwhichcalledupthehousehold,Iwent out to the court, and washed my face in its cold, fresh well-water.Enteringbythecarré,apieceofmirror-glass,setinanoakencabinet,repeatedmyimage.ItsaidIwaschanged:mycheeksandlipsweresoddenwhite,myeyeswereglassy,andmyeyelidsswollenandpurple.

On rejoining my companions, I knew they all looked at me—my heartseemeddiscoveredtothem:Ibelievedmyselfself-betrayed.HideouslycertaindiditseemthattheveryyoungestoftheschoolmustguesswhyandforwhomIdespaired.

"Isabelle,"thechildwhomIhadoncenursedinsickness,approachedme.Wouldshe,too,mockme!

"Que vous êtes pâle! Vous êtes donc bien malade, Mademoiselle!" saidshe,puttingherfingerinhermouth,andstaringwithawistfulstupiditywhichatthemomentseemedtomemorebeautifulthanthekeenestintelligence.

Isabelle did not long stand alone in the recommendation of ignorance:beforethedaywasover,Igatheredcauseofgratitudetowardsthewholeblindhousehold.Themultitudehave somethingelse todo than to readhearts andinterpret dark sayings.Who wills, may keep his own counsel—be his ownsecret'ssovereign.Inthecourseofthatday,proofmetmeonproof,notonlythatthecauseofmypresentsorrowwasunguessed,butthatmywholeinnerlifeforthelastsixmonths,wasstillmineonly.Itwasnotknown—ithadnotbeennoted—thatIheldinpeculiarvalueonelifeamongalllives.Gossiphadpassedmeby;curiosityhadlookedmeover;bothsubtleinfluences,hoveringalwaysround,hadneverbecomecentreduponme.Agivenorganizationmaylive in a full fever-hospital, and escape typhus.M. Emanuel had come andgone:Ihadbeentaughtandsought;inseasonandoutofseasonhehadcalledme,andIhadobeyedhim:"M.PaulwantsMissLucy"—"MissLucyiswithM.Paul"—suchhadbeentheperpetualbulletin;andnobodycommented,farlesscondemned.Nobodyhinted,nobodyjested.MadameBeckreadtheriddle:noneelseresolved it.WhatInowsufferedwascalled illness—aheadache:Iacceptedthebaptism.

Butwhatbodilyillnesswaseverlikethispain?Thiscertaintythathewasgonewithoutafarewell—thiscruelconvictionthatfateandpursuingfuries—awoman's envyandapriest'sbigotry—would sufferme to seehimnomore?What wonder that the second evening found me like the first—untamed,tortured, again pacing a solitary room in an unalterable passion of silentdesolation?

MadameBeckdidnotherselfsummonmetobedthatnight—shedidnotcome near me: she sent Ginevra Fanshawe—amore efficient agent for the

purpose she could not have employed. Ginevra's first words—"Is yourheadache very bad to-night?" (for Ginevra, like the rest, thought I had aheadache—an intolerable headache whichmademe frightfully white in theface, and insanely restless in the foot)—her first words, I say, inspired theimpulse to fleeanywhere, so that itwereonlyoutof reach.Andsoon,whatfollowed—plaintsaboutherownheadaches—completedthebusiness.

Iwentup-stairs.PresentlyIwasinmybed—mymiserablebed—hauntedwith quick scorpions. I had not been laid down fiveminutes,when anotheremissary arrived: Goton came, bringing me something to drink. I wasconsumedwiththirst—Idrankeagerly;thebeveragewassweet,butItastedadrug.

"Madame says it will make you sleep, chou-chou," said Goton, as shereceivedbacktheemptiedcup.

Ah!thesedativehadbeenadministered.Infact,theyhadgivenmeastrongopiate.Iwastobeheldquietforonenight.

Thehouseholdcametobed,thenight-lightwaslit,thedormitoryhushed.Sleep soon reigned: over those pillows, sleep won an easy supremacy:contentedsovereignoverheadsandheartswhichdidnotache—hepassedbytheunquiet.

Thedrugwrought.IknownotwhetherMadamehadoverchargedorunder-chargedthedose;itsresultwasnotthatsheintended.Insteadofstupor,cameexcitement.Ibecamealivetonewthought—toreveriepeculiarincolouring.Agatheringcall ranamong thefaculties, theirbuglessang, their trumpets ranganuntimely summons. Imaginationwas roused fromher rest, and she cameforth impetuous and venturous.With scorn she looked onMatter, her mate—"Rise!" she said. "Sluggard! thisnight Iwillhavemywill;nor shalt thouprevail."

"Lookforthandviewthenight!"washercry;andwhenIliftedtheheavyblind from the casement close at hand—with her own royal gesture, sheshowedmeamoonsupreme,inanelementdeepandsplendid.

Tomygaspingsensesshemadetheglimmeringgloom,thenarrowlimits,the oppressive heat of the dormitory, intolerable. She luredme to leave thisdenandfollowherforthintodew,coolness,andglory.

Shebroughtuponmea strangevisionofVillette atmidnight.Especiallysheshowedthepark,thesummer-park,withitslongalleysallsilent,loneandsafe;amongtheselayahugestonebasin—thatbasinIknew,andbesidewhichI had often stood—deep-set in the tree-shadows, brimmingwith coolwater,clear,with a green, leafy, rushy bed.What of all this? The park-gateswereshutup,locked,sentinelled:theplacecouldnotbeentered.

Could it not? A point worth considering; and while revolving it, Imechanically dressed. Utterly incapable of sleeping or lying still—excitedfromheadtofoot—whatcouldIdobetterthandress?

The gates were locked, soldiers set before them: was there, then, noadmissiontothepark?

Theotherday, inwalkingpast, I had seen,without thenattending to thecircumstance,agapinthepaling—onestakebrokendown:Inowsawthisgapagain in recollection—saw it very plainly—the narrow, irregular aperturevisible between the stems of the lindens, planted orderly as a colonnade.Aman could not havemade his way through that aperture, nor could a stoutwoman,perhapsnotMadameBeck;butIthoughtImight:IfanciedIshouldliketotry,andoncewithin,at thishourthewholeparkwouldbemine—themoonlight,midnightpark!

How soundly the dormitory slept! What deep slumbers! What quietbreathing!How very still thewhole large house!Whatwas the time? I feltrestless toknow.Therestoodaclock in theclassebelow:whathinderedmefromventuringdowntoconsult it?Bysuchamoon,itslargewhitefaceandjetblackfiguresmustbevividlydistinct.

Asforhindrancetothisstep,thereofferednotsomuchasacreakinghingeoraclickinglatch.OnthesehotJulynights,closeaircouldnotbetolerated,andthechamber-doorstoodwideopen.Willthedormitory-plankssustainmytreaduntraitorous?Yes. Iknowwhereveraboard is loose,andwillavoid it.TheoakstaircasecreakssomewhatasIdescend,butnotmuch:—Iaminthecarré.

Thegreatclasse-doorsarecloseshut: theyarebolted.Ontheotherhand,theentrancetothecorridorstandsopen.Theclassesseemtomythought,greatdreary jails, buried far back beyond thoroughfares, and for me, filled withspectral and intolerable Memories, laid miserable amongst their straw andtheir manacles. The corridor offers a cheerful vista, leading to the highvestibulewhichopensdirectuponthestreet.

Hush!—theclockstrikes.Ghostlydeepasisthestillnessofthisconvent,itisonlyeleven.Whilemyear follows tosilence thehumof the last stroke, Icatch faintly from the built-out capital, a sound like bells or like a band—asound where sweetness, where victory, where mourning blend. Oh, toapproachthismusicnearer,tolistentoitalonebytherushybasin!Letmego—oh,letmego!Whathinders,whatdoesnotaidfreedom?

There,inthecorridor,hangsmygarden-costume,mylargehat,myshawl.Thereisnolockonthehuge,heavy,porte-cochère;thereisnokeytoseek:itfastens with a sort of spring-bolt, not to be opened from the outside, but

which,fromwithin,maybenoiselesslywithdrawn.CanImanageit?Ityieldsto my hand, yields with propitious facility. I wonder as that portal seemsalmostspontaneously tounclose—IwonderasIcross the thresholdandsteponthepavedstreet,wonderatthestrangeeasewithwhichthisprisonhasbeenforced. It seems as if I had been pioneered invisibly, as if some dissolvingforcehadgonebeforeme:formyself,Ihavescarcemadeaneffort.

QuietRueFossette!Ifindonthispavementthatwanderer-wooingsummernightofwhichImused;Iseeitsmoonoverme;Ifeelitsdewintheair.ButhereIcannotstay;Iamstilltoonearoldhaunts:socloseunderthedungeon,Icanhear theprisonersmoan.This solemnpeace isnotwhat I seek, it isnotwhatIcanbear:tomethefaceofthatskybearstheaspectofaworld'sdeath.Theparkalsowillbecalm—Iknow,amortalserenityprevailseverywhere—yetletmeseekthepark.

I took a route well known, and went up towards the palatial and royalHaute-Ville;thencethemusicIhadheardcertainlyfloated;itwashushednow,but itmight re-waken. Iwenton:neitherbandnorbellmusiccame tomeetme; another sound replaced it, a sound like a strong tide, a great flow,deepeningasIproceeded.Lightbroke,movementgathered,chimespealed—to what was I coming? Entering on the level of a Grande Place, I foundmyself,with the suddenness ofmagic, plunged amidst a gay, living, joyouscrowd.

Villette is one blaze, one broad illumination; the whole world seemsabroad;moonlightandheavenarebanished:thetown,byherownflambeaux,beholds her own splendour—gay dresses, grand equipages, fine horses andgallant riders throng the bright streets. I see even scores of masks. It is astrange scene, stranger than dreams. Butwhere is the park?—I ought to benearit.Inthemidstofthisglaretheparkmustbeshadowyandcalm—there,atleast,areneithertorches,lamps,norcrowd?

Iwas asking this questionwhen an open carriage passedme filledwithknown faces.Through thedeep throng it couldpassbut slowly; the spiritedhorsesfrettedintheircurbedardour.Isawtheoccupantsofthatcarriagewell:metheycouldnotsee,or,atleast,notknow,foldedcloseinmylargeshawl,screened withmy straw hat (in that motley crowd no dress was noticeablystrange).IsawtheCountdeBassompierre;Isawmygodmother,handsomelyapparelled,comelyandcheerful;Isaw,too,PaulinaMary,compassedwiththetriple halo of her beauty, her youth, and her happiness. In looking on hercountenanceofjoy,andeyesoffestallight,onescarcerememberedtonotethegalaeleganceofwhatshewore; Iknowonly that thedrapery floatingaboutherwas allwhite and light andbridal; seatedopposite toher I sawGrahamBretton;itwasinlookingupathimheraspecthadcaughtitslustre—thelightrepeatedinhereyesbeamedfirstoutofhis.

It gaveme strange pleasure to follow these friends viewlessly, and I didfollowthem,asI thought, tothepark.Iwatchedthemalight(carriageswereinadmissible)amidstnewandunanticipatedsplendours.Lo!theirongateway,between the stone columns,was spannedby a flaming arch built ofmassedstars;and,followingthemcautiouslybeneaththatarch,wherewerethey,andwherewasI?

Inalandofenchantment,agardenmostgorgeous,aplainsprinkledwithcoloured meteors, a forest with sparks of purple and ruby and golden firegemming the foliage; a region, not of trees and shadow, but of strangestarchitecturalwealth—ofaltarandoftemple,ofpyramid,obelisk,andsphinx:incredible to say, thewonders and the symbols ofEgypt teemed throughouttheparkofVillette.

Nomatterthatinfiveminutesthesecretwasmine—thekeyofthemysterypickedup,and its illusionunveiled—nomatter that Iquickly recognised thematerialofthesesolemnfragments—thetimber,thepaint,andthepasteboard—theseinevitablediscoveriesfailedtoquitedestroythecharm,orunderminethemarvel of that night.Nomatter that I now seized the explanationof thewholegreatfête—afêteofwhichtheconventualRueFossettehadnottasted,though ithadopenedatdawnthatmorning,andwasstill in fullvigournearmidnight.

In past days there had been, said history, an awful crisis in the fate ofLabassecour,involvingIknownotwhatperiltotherightsandlibertiesofhergallant citizens.Rumours ofwars there had been, if notwars themselves; akindofstrugglinginthestreets—abustle—arunningtoandfro,somerearingof barricades, some burgher-rioting, some calling out of troops, muchinterchangeofbrickbats,andevenalittleofshot.Traditionheldthatpatriotshad fallen: in theoldBasse-Villewasshownanenclosure, solemnlybuilt inandsetapart,holding, itwassaid, thesacredbonesofmartyrs.Be thisas itmay,acertaindayintheyearwasstillkeptasafestivalinhonourofthesaidpatriots and martyrs of somewhat apocryphal memory—the morning beinggiven to a solemn Te Deum in St. Jean Baptiste, the evening devoted tospectacles,decorations,andilluminations,suchastheseInowsaw.

Whilelookingupat theimageofawhiteibis,fixedonacolumn—whilefathoming thedeep, torch-litperspectiveofanavenue,at thecloseofwhichwascouchedasphinx—Ilostsightofthepartywhich,fromthemiddleofthegreat square, I had followed—or, rather, they vanished like a group ofapparitions.Onthiswholescenewasimpressedadream-likecharacter:everyshapewaswavering, everymovement floating, everyvoice echo-like—half-mocking, half-uncertain. Paulina and her friends being gone, I scarce couldavouchthatIhadreallyseenthem;nordidImissthemasguidesthroughthechaos,farlessregretthemasprotectorsamidstthenight.

Thatfestalnightwouldhavebeensafeforaverychild.Halfthepeasantryhad come in from theoutlying environsofVillette, and thedecent burgherswereallabroadandaround,dressedintheirbest.Mystraw-hatpassedamidstcap and jacket, short petticoat, and long calico mantle, without, perhaps,attracting a glance; I only took the precaution to bind down the broad leafgipsy-wise,withasupplementaryribbon—andthenIfeltsafeasifmasked.

SafeIpasseddowntheavenues—safeImixedwiththecrowdwhereitwasdeepest.Tobestillwasnotinmypower,norquietlytoobserve.Itookarevelof the scene; I drank the elastic night-air—the swell of sound, the dubiouslight, now flashing, now fading. As to Happiness or Hope, they and I hadshakenhands,butjustnow—IscornedDespair.

Myvagueaim,asIwent,wastofindthestone-basin,withitscleardepthandgreen lining:of thatcoolnessandverdure I thought,with thepassionatethirstofunconsciousfever.Amidsttheglare,andhurry,andthrong,andnoise,I still secretly and chiefly longed to comeon that circularmirror of crystal,andsurprisethemoonglassingthereinherpearlyfront.

Iknewmyroute,yetitseemedasifIwashinderedfrompursuingitdirect:nowasight,andnowasound,calledmeaside,luringmedownthisalleyanddownthat.AlreadyIsawthethick-plantedtreeswhichframedthistremulousand rippled glass, when, choiring out of a glade to the right, broke such asound as I thoughtmight be heard if Heavenwere to open—such a sound,perhaps, as was heard above the plain of Bethlehem, on the night of gladtidings.

The song, the sweet music, rose afar, but rushing swiftly on fast-strengthening pinions—there swept through these shades so full a storm ofharmonies that, had no tree been near againstwhich to lean, I think Imusthavedropped.Voiceswere there, it seemed tome,unnumbered; instrumentsvaried and countless—bugle, horn, and trumpet I knew.The effectwas as aseabreakingintosongwithallitswaves.

Theswayingtidesweptthisway,andthenitfellback,andIfolloweditsretreat.ItledmetowardsaByzantinebuilding—asortofkiosknearthepark'scentre.Roundaboutstoodcrowdedthousands,gatheredtoagrandconcertintheopenair.WhatIhadheardwas,Ithink,awildJägerchorus;thenight,thespace, the scene,andmyownmood,hadbutenhanced thesoundsand theirimpression.

Herewereassembledladies,lookingbythislightmostbeautiful:someoftheirdressesweregauzy,andsomehadthesheenofsatin,theflowersandtheblond trembled, and the veils waved about their decorated bonnets, as thathost-like chorus, with its greatly-gathering sound, sundered the air abovethem.Mostoftheseladiesoccupiedthelittlelightpark-chairs,andbehindand

beside them stood guardian gentlemen. The outer ranks of the crowd weremadeupofcitizens,plebeiansandpolice.

InthisouterrankItookmyplace.Iratherlikedtofindmyselfthesilent,unknown, consequently unaccosted neighbour of the short petticoat and thesabot; andonly thedistant gazer at the silk robe, thevelvetmantle, and theplumedchapeau.Amidstsomuchlifeandjoy,too,itsuitedmetobealone—quitealone.Havingneitherwishnorpowertoforcemywaythroughamasssoclose-packed,mystationwasonthefarthestconfines,where,indeed,Imighthear,butcouldseelittle.

"Mademoiselle isnotwellplaced,"saidavoiceatmyelbow.Whodaredaccostme,abeinginamoodsolittlesocial?Iturned,rathertorepelthantoreply. I sawaman—aburgher—anentire stranger,as Ideemedhimforonemoment, but the next, recognised in him a certain tradesman—abookseller,whoseshop furnished theRueFossettewith itsbooksandstationery;amannotorious in our pensionnat for the excessive brittleness of his temper, andfrequentsnappishnessofhismanner,eventous,hisprincipalcustomers:butwhom,formysolitaryself,Ihadeverbeendisposedtolike,andhadalwaysfoundcivil,sometimeskind;once,inaidingmeaboutsometroublesomelittleexchangeofforeignmoney,hehaddonemeaservice.Hewasanintelligentman; under his asperity, he was a good-hearted man; the thought hadsometimescrossedme, thatapartofhisnatureboreaffinity toapartofM.Emanuel's(whomheknewwell,andwhomIhadoftenseensittingonMiret'scounter, turning over the current month's publications); and it was in thisaffinity I read the explanation of that conciliatory feeling with which Iinstinctivelyregardedhim.

Strange tosay, thismanknewmeundermystraw-hatandclosely-foldedshawl;and,thoughIdeprecatedtheeffort,heinsistedonmakingawayformethrough the crowd, and finding me a better situation. He carried hisdisinterested civility further; and, from some quarter, procured me a chair.Onceandagain,Ihavefoundthatthemostcross-grainedarebynomeanstheworst ofmankind; nor the humblest in station, the least polished in feeling.Thisman, in his courtesy, seemed to find nothing strange inmy being herealone; only a reason for extending tome, as far as he could, a retiring, yetefficientattention.Havingsecuredmeaplaceandaseat,hewithdrewwithoutaskingaquestion,withoutobtrudinga remark,withoutaddingasuperfluousword. No wonder that Professor Emanuel liked to take his cigar and hislounge, and to read his feuilleton in M. Miret's shop—the two must havesuited.

Ihadnotbeenseatedfiveminutes,ereIbecameawarethatchanceandmyworthy burgher friend had broughtme oncemorewithin viewof a familiaranddomesticgroup.RightbeforemesattheBrettonsanddeBassompierres.

Withinreachofmyhand—hadIchosentoextendit—satafigurelikeafairy-queen,whosearray,liliesandtheirleavesseemedtohavesuggested;whateverwas not spotlesswhite, being forest-green.My godmother, too, sat so near,that, had I leaned forward, my breath might have stirred the ribbon of herbonnet. They were too near; having been just recognised by a comparativestranger,Ifeltuneasyatthisclosevicinageofintimateacquaintance.

It made me quite start when Mrs. Bretton, turning to Mr. Home, andspeakingoutofakindimpulseofmemory,said,—"IwonderwhatmysteadylittleLucywouldsaytoallthisifshewerehere?Iwishwehadbroughther,shewouldhaveenjoyeditmuch."

"Soshewould,soshewould,inhergravesensiblefashion;itisapitybutwehadaskedher,"rejoinedthekindgentleman;andadded,"Iliketoseehersoquietlypleased;solittlemoved,yetsocontent."

Dearweretheybothtome,deararetheytothisdayintheirrememberedbenevolence.LittleknewtheytherackofpainwhichhaddrivenLucyalmostintofever,andbroughtherout,guidelessandreckless,urgedanddruggedtothebrinkoffrenzy.Ihadhalfamindtobendovertheelders'shoulders,andanswertheirgoodnesswiththethanksofmyeyes.M.deBassompierredidnotwellknowme,butIknewhim,andhonouredandadmiredhisnature,withallitsplainsincerity,itswarmaffection,andunconsciousenthusiasm.PossiblyImight have spoken, but just thenGraham turned; he turnedwith one of hisstately firmmovements, sodifferent from those, of a sharp-temperedunder-sizedman:therewasbehindhimathrong,ahundredranksdeep;therewerethousands to meet his eye and divide its scrutiny—why then did heconcentrateallonme—oppressingmewiththewholeforceofthatfull,blue,steadfastorb?Why,ifhewouldlook,didnotoneglancesatisfyhim?whydidhe turnonhis chair, rest his elbowon its back, and studyme leisurely?Hecould not seemy face, I held it down; surely, he could not recogniseme: Istooped,Iturned,Iwouldnotbeknown.Herose,bysomemeanshecontrivedtoapproach,intwominuteshewouldhavehadmysecret:myidentitywouldhavebeengraspedbetweenhis,nevertyrannous,butalwayspowerfulhands.There was but one way to evade or to check him. I implied, by a sort ofsupplicatorygesture, that itwasmyprayer tobe letalone;after that,hadhepersisted,hewouldperhapshaveseenthespectacleofLucyincensed:notallthatwasgrand,orgood,orkindinhim(andLucyfeltthefullamount)shouldhave kept her quite tame, or absolutely inoffensive and shadowlike. Helooked,buthedesisted.He shookhishandsomehead,buthewasmute.Heresumed his seat, nor did he again turn or disturb me by a glance, exceptindeedforonesingleinstant,whenalook,rathersolicitousthancurious,stolemy way—speaking what somehow stilled my heart like "the south-windquieting the earth." Graham's thoughts of me were not entirely those of a

frozen indifference, after all. I believe in that goodlymansion, his heart, hekept one little place under the sky-lights where Lucy might haveentertainment, if she chose to call. Itwasnot sohandsomeas the chamberswhere he lodged his male friends; it was not like the hall where heaccommodatedhisphilanthropy,orthelibrarywherehetreasuredhisscience,stilllessdiditresemblethepavilionwherehismarriagefeastwassplendidlyspread; yet, gradually, by long and equal kindness, he proved tome that hekept one little closet, over the door ofwhichwaswritten "Lucy'sRoom." Ikeptaplaceforhim,too—aplaceofwhichInevertookthemeasure,eitherbyruleorcompass:IthinkitwaslikethetentofPeri-Banou.AllmylifelongIcarried it folded in the hollow ofmy hand yet, released from that hold andconstriction, I know not but its innate capacity for expanse might havemagnifieditintoatabernacleforahost.

Forbearing as he was to-night, I could not stay in this proximity; thisdangerousplaceandseatmustbegivenup: Iwatchedmyopportunity, rose,and stole away. He might think, he might even believe that Lucy wascontainedwithin that shawl, and shelteredunder thathat;henever couldbecertain,forhedidnotseemyface.

Surelythespiritofrestlessnesswasbythistimeappeased?HadInothadenoughofadventure?DidInotbegintoflag,quail,andwishforsafetyunderaroof?Notso.Istillloathedmybedintheschooldormitorymorethanwordscanexpress:Iclungtowhatevercoulddistractthought.SomehowIfelt, too,that the night's dramawas but begun, that the prologuewas scarce spoken:throughoutthiswoodyandturfytheatrereignedashadowofmystery;actorsandincidentsunlooked-for,waitedbehindthescenes:Ithoughtsoforebodingtoldmeasmuch.

Straying at random, obeying the push of every chance elbow, I wasbroughttoaquarterwheretreesplantedinclusters,ortoweringsingly,brokeup somewhat the dense packing of the crowd, and gave it amore scatteredcharacter.Theseconfineswerefarfromthemusic,andsomewhataloofevenfromthelamps,buttherewassoundenoughtosoothe,andwiththatfull,highmoon, lamps were scarce needed. Here had chiefly settled family-groups,burgher-parents; someof them, late aswas thehour, actually surroundedbytheirchildren,withwhomithadnotbeenthoughtadvisabletoventureintothecloserthrong.

Threefinetalltreesgrowingclose,almosttwinedstemwithinstem,lifteda thick canopy of shade above a green knoll, crowned with a seat—a seatwhichmighthaveheldseveral,yetitseemedabandonedtoone,theremainingmembers of the fortunate party in possession of this site standing dutifullyround;yet,amongstthisreverendcirclewasalady,holdingbythehandalittlegirl.

WhenIcaughtsightofthislittlegirl,shewastwistingherselfroundonherheel,swingingfromherconductress'shand,flingingherselffromsidetosidewithwantonand fantasticgyrations.Theseperversemovementsarrestedmyattention, they struck me as of a character fearfully familiar. On closeinspection,nolesssoappearedthechild'sequipment;thelilacsilkpelisse,thesmallswansdownboa,thewhitebonnet—thewholeholidaytoilette,inshort,was the gala garb of a cherub but toowell known, of that tadpole,DésiréeBeck—andDésiréeBeckitwas—she,oranimpinherlikeness.

Imight have taken this discovery as a thunder-clap, but such hyperbolewould have been premature; discovery was destined to rise more than onedegree,ereitreacheditsclimax.

On whose hand could the amiable Désirée swing thus selfishly, whoseglovecouldshetearthusrecklessly,whosearmthusstrainwithimpunity,oronthebordersofwhosedressthusturnandtrampleinsolently,ifnotthehand,glove,arm,androbeofherlady-mother?Andthere,inanIndianshawlandapale-greencrapebonnet—there,fresh,portly,blithe,andpleasant—therestoodMadameBeck.

Curious! I had certainlydeemedMadame in her bed, andDésirée in hercrib,atthisblessedminute,sleeping,bothofthem,thesleepofthejust,withinthe sacred walls, amidst the profound seclusion of the Rue Fossette. Mostcertainlyalsotheydidnotpicture"MeessLucie"otherwiseengaged;andhereweallthreeweretakingour"ébats"inthefête-blazingparkatmidnight!

The factwas,Madamewasonly actingaccording toherquite justifiablewont. I remembered now I had heard it said among the teachers—thoughwithout at the time particularly noticing the gossip—that often, when wethoughtMadameinherchamber,sleeping,shewasgone,full-dressed,totakeherpleasureatoperas,orplays,orballs.Madamehadno sortof taste for amonastic life, and took care—largely, though discreetly—to season herexistencewitharelishoftheworld.

Half adozengentlemenofher friends stoodabouther.Amongst these, Iwasnotslowtorecognisetwoorthree.Therewasherbrother,M.VictorKint;there was another person,moustached andwith long hair—a calm, taciturnman, but whose traits bore a stamp and a semblance I could not markunmoved. Amidst reserve and phlegm, amidst contrasts of character and ofcountenance,somethingtherestillwaswhichrecalledaface—mobile,fervent,feeling—a face changeable, now clouded, and now alight—a face frommyworldtakenaway,formyeyeslost,butwheremybestspring-hoursoflifehadalternatedinshadowandinglow;thatface,whereIhadoftenseenmovementsso near the signs of genius—that why there did not shine fully out theundoubted fire, the thing, the spirit, and the secret itself—Icouldnever tell.

Yes—this Josef Emanuel—this man of peace—reminded me of his ardentbrother.

BesidesMessieursVictorandJosef,Iknewanotherofthisparty.Thisthirdperson stood behind and in the shade, his attitude toowas stooping, yet hisdressandbaldwhiteheadmadehimthemostconspicuousfigureofthegroup.Hewasanecclesiastic:hewasPèreSilas.Donotfancy,reader,thattherewasanyinconsistencyinthepriest'spresenceatthisfête.ThiswasnotconsideredashowofVanityFair,butacommemorationofpatrioticsacrifice.TheChurchpatronised it, evenwithostentation.Therewere troopsofpriests in theparkthatnight.

PèreSilasstoopedovertheseatwithitssingleoccupant,therusticbenchand that which sat upon it: a strange mass it was—bearing no shape, yetmagnificent. You saw, indeed, the outline of a face, and features, but theseweresocadaverousandsostrangelyplaced,youcouldalmosthavefanciedahead severed from its trunk, and flung at random on a pile of richmerchandise.Thedistantlamp-raysglancedonclearpendants,onbroadrings;neither the chasteness of moonlight, nor the distance of the torches, couldquite subdue the gorgeous dyes of the drapery.Hail,MadameWalravens! Ithink you looked more witch-like than ever. And presently the good ladyproved that she was indeed no corpse or ghost, but a harsh and hardy oldwoman;for,uponsomeaggravationintheclamorouspetitionofDésiréeBecktohermother,togotothekioskandtakesweetmeats,thehunchbacksuddenlyfetchedheraresoundingrapwithhergold-knobbedcane.

There, then, were Madame Walravens, Madame Beck, Père Silas—thewholeconjuration,thesecretjunta.Thesightofthemthusassembleddidmegood.IcannotsaythatIfeltweakbeforethem,orabashed,ordismayed.Theyoutnumberedme,andIwasworstedandundertheirfeet;but,asyet,Iwasnotdead.

CHAPTERXXXIX.

OLDANDNEWACQUAINTANCE.

Fascinatedasbyabasiliskwiththreeheads,Icouldnotleavethisclique;thegroundnearthemseemedtoholdmyfeet.Thecanopyofentwinedtreesheldoutshadow,thenightwhisperedapledgeofprotection,andanofficiouslamp flashed just one beam to show me an obscure, safe seat, and thenvanished. Let me now briefly tell the reader all that, during the past darkfortnight, I have been silently gathering fromRumour, respecting the origin

andtheobjectofM.Emanuel'sdeparture.The tale isshort,andnotnew: itsalphaisMammon,anditsomegaInterest.

IfMadameWalravenswashideousasaHindoo idol, she seemedalso topossess,intheestimationofthesehervotaries,anidol'sconsequence.Thefactwas, she had been rich—very rich; and though, for the present,without thecommandofmoney,shewaslikelyonedaytoberichagain.AtBasseterre,inGuadaloupe,shepossessedalargeestate,receivedindowryonhermarriagesixty years ago, sequestered since her husband's failure; but now, it wassupposed,clearedofclaim,and,ifdulylookedafterbyacompetentagentofintegrity,consideredcapableofbeingmade,inafewyears,largelyproductive.

PèreSilastookaninterestinthisprospectiveimprovementforthesakeofreligionandthechurch,whereofMaglioreWalravenswasadevoutdaughter.Madame Beck, distantly related to the hunchback and knowing her to bewithout family of her own, had long brooded over contingencies with amother'scalculatingforethought,and,harshlytreatedasshewasbyMadameWalravens,neverceasedtocourtherforinterest'ssake.MadameBeckandthepriest were thus, formoney reasons, equally and sincerely interested in thenursingoftheWestIndianestate.

Butthedistancewasgreat,andtheclimatehazardous.Thecompetentanduprightagentwanted,mustbeadevotedman.JustsuchamanhadMadameWalravensretainedfortwentyyearsinherservice,blightinghislife,andthenlivingonhim, likeanoldfungus;suchamanhadPèreSilas trained, taught,and bound to him by the ties of gratitude, habit, and belief. Such a manMadameBeckknew,andcouldinsomemeasureinfluence."Mypupil,"saidPèreSilas,"ifheremainsinEurope,runsriskofapostacy,forhehasbecomeentangledwithaheretic."MadameBeckmadealsoherprivatecomment,andpreferred in her own breast her secret reason for desiring expatriation. Thething shecouldnotobtain, shedesirednot another towin: ratherwould shedestroyit.AstoMadameWalravens,shewantedhermoneyandherland,andknewPaul, if he liked, couldmake the best and faithfullest steward: so thethree self-seekers banded and beset the one unselfish. They reasoned, theyappealed, they implored; on hismercy they cast themselves, into his handsthey confidingly thrust their interests. They asked but two or three years ofdevotion—after that,heshould live forhimself:oneof thenumber,perhaps,wishedthatinthemeantimehemightdie.

No livingbeingeverhumbly laidhisadvantageatM.Emanuel's feet,orconfidingly put it into his hands, that he spurned the trust or repulsed therepository. What might be his private pain or inward reluctance to leaveEurope—what his calculations for his own future—none asked, or knew, orreported. All this was a blank to me. His conferences with his confessor Imightguess;thepartdutyandreligionweremadetoplayinthepersuasions

used, I might conjecture. He was gone, and had made no sign. There myknowledgeclosed.

**

Withmy head bent, andmy forehead resting onmy hands, I sat amidstgroupedtree-stemsandbranchingbrushwood.Whatevertalkpassedamongstmyneighbours,Imighthear,ifIwould;Iwasnearenough;butforsometime,therewasscarcemotivetoattend.Theygossipedaboutthedresses,themusic,theilluminations,thefinenight.Ilistenedtohearthemsay,"Itiscalmweatherfor his voyage; the Antigua" (his ship) "will sail prosperously." No suchremark fell; neither the Antigua, nor her course, nor her passenger werenamed.

Perhaps the light chat scarcely interested old Madame Walravens morethanitdidme;sheappearedrestless, turningherheadnowto thisside,nowthat, looking through the trees, and among the crowd, as if expectant of anarrivalandimpatientofdelay."Oùsont-ils?Pourquoineviennent-ils?"Iheardhermuttermorethanonce;andatlast,asifdeterminedtohaveananswertoher question—which hitherto none seemed to mind, she spoke aloud thisphrase—aphrasebriefenough,simpleenough,butitsentashockthroughme—"Messieursetmesdames,"saidshe,"oùdoncestJustineMarie?"

"JustineMarie!"Whatwasthis?JustineMarie—thedeadnun—wherewasshe?Why, in her grave,MadameWalravens—what can youwantwith her?Youshallgotoher,butsheshallnotcometoyou.

ThusIshouldhaveanswered,hadtheresponselainwithme,butnobodyseemedtobeofmymind;nobodyseemedsurprised,startled,orataloss.Thequietestcommonplaceanswermetthestrange,thedead-disturbing,theWitch-of-Endorqueryofthehunchback.

"JustineMarie,"saidone,"iscoming;sheisinthekiosk;shewillbeherepresently."

Out of this question and reply sprang a change in the chat—chat it stillremained, easy, desultory, familiar gossip. Hint, allusion, comment, wentroundthecircle,butallsobroken,sodependentonreferencestopersonsnotnamed,orcircumstancesnotdefined,thatlistenasintentlyasIwould—andIdidlistennowwithafatedinterest—Icouldmakeoutnomorethanthatsomeschemewasonfoot,inwhichthisghostlyJustineMarie—deadoralive—wasconcerned. This family-junta seemed grasping at her somehow, for somereason;thereseemedquestionofamarriage,ofafortune—forwhomIcouldnot quite make out—perhaps for Victor Kint, perhaps for Josef Emanuel—bothwerebachelors.OnceI thought thehintsandjestsraineduponayoungfair-hairedforeigneroftheparty,whomtheycalledHeinrichMühler.Amidst

allthebadinage,MadameWalravensstillobtrudedfromtimetotime,hoarse,cross-grainedspeeches;her impatiencebeingdivertedonlybyan implacablesurveillance ofDésirée,who could not stir but the oldwomanmenacedherwithherstaff.

"Lavoilà!"suddenlycriedoneofthegentlemen,"voilàJustineMariequiarrive!"

Thismomentwasformepeculiar.Icalleduptomemorythepicturednunonthepanel;presenttomymindwasthesadlove-story;Isawinthoughtthevisionofthegarret,theapparitionofthealley,thestrangebirthoftheberceau;I underwent a presentiment of discovery, a strong conviction of comingdisclosure. Ah! when imagination once runs riot where do we stop? Whatwinter tree sobare andbranchless—whatway-side, hedge-munching animalsohumble,thatFancy,apassingcloud,andastrugglingmoonbeam,willnotclotheitinspirituality,andmakeofitaphantom?

With solemn force pressed on my heart, the expectation of mysterybreakingup:hithertoIhadseenthisspectreonlythroughaglassdarkly;nowwasItobeholditfacetoface.Ileanedforward;Ilooked.

"Shecomes!"criedJosefEmanuel.

Thecircleopenedasifopeningtoadmitanewandwelcomemember.Atthisinstantatorchchancedtobecarriedpast;itsblazeaidedthepalemoonindoing justice to the crisis, in lighting to perfection the dénouement pressingon. Surely those nearmemust have felt some little of the anxiety I felt, indegreesounmeted.Ofthatgroupthecoolestmusthave"heldhisbreathforatime!"Asforme,mylifestoodstill.

Itisover.Themomentandthenunarecome.Thecrisisandtherevelationarepassedby.

Theflambeauglaresstillwithinayard,heldupinapark-keeper'shand;itslongeager tongueof flamealmost licks thefigureof theExpected—there—whereshestandsfullinmysight.Whatisshelike?Whatdoesshewear?Howdoesshelook?Whoisshe?

Therearemanymasksintheparkto-night,andasthehourwearslate,sostrangea feelingof revelryandmysterybegins tospreadabroad, thatscarcewouldyoudiscreditme, reader,were I to say that she is like thenunof theattic, that she wears black skirts and white head-clothes, that she looks theresurrectionoftheflesh,andthatsheisarisenghost.

Allfalsities—allfigments!Wewillnotdealinthisgear.Letusbehonest,andcut,asheretofore,fromthehomelyweboftruth.

Homely,though,isanill-chosenword.WhatIseeisnotpreciselyhomely.

AgirlofVillette stands there—agirl fresh fromherpensionnat.She isverycomely,withthebeautyindigenoustothiscountry.Shelookswell-nourished,fair, and fat of flesh. Her cheeks are round, her eyes good; her hair isabundant.Sheishandsomelydressed.Sheisnotalone;herescortconsistsofthree persons—two being elderly; these she addresses as "MonOncle" and"Ma Tante." She laughs, she chats; good-humoured, buxom, and blooming,shelooks,atallpoints,thebourgeoisebelle.

"SomuchforJustineMarie;"somuchforghostsandmystery:notthatthislastwassolved—thisgirlcertainlyisnotmynun:whatIsawinthegarretandgardenmusthavebeentallerbyaspan.

We have looked at the city belle; we have cursorily glanced at therespectable old uncle and aunt.Havewe a stray glance to give to the thirdmemberofthiscompany?Canwesparehimamoment'snotice?Weoughttodistinguishhimsofar,reader;hehasclaimsonus;wedonotnowmeethimfor the first time. I claspedmyhandsveryhard, and Idrewmybreathverydeep:Iheldinthecry,Idevouredtheejaculation,Iforbadethestart,IspokeandIstirrednomorethanastone;butIknewwhatIlookedon;throughthedimnessleft inmyeyesbymanynights'weeping,Iknewhim.TheysaidhewastosailbytheAntigua.MadameBecksaidso.Shelied,orshehadutteredwhat was once truth, and failed to contradict it when it became false. TheAntiguawasgone,andtherestoodPaulEmanuel.

WasIglad?Ahugeloadleftme.Wasitafacttowarrantjoy?Iknownot.Askfirstwhatwerethecircumstancesattendantonthisrespite?Howfardidthis delay concern me? Were there not those whom it might touch morenearly?

Afterall,whomaythisyounggirl,thisJustineMarie,be?Notastranger,reader;sheisknowntomebysight;shevisitsattheRueFossette:sheisoftenofMadame Beck's Sunday parties. She is a relation of both the Becks andWalravens;shederivesherbaptismalnamefromthesaintednunwhowouldhavebeenheraunthadshelived;herpatronymicisSauveur;sheisanheiressandanorphan,andM.Emanuelisherguardian;somesayhergodfather.

The family juntawish this heiress to bemarried to one of their band—whichisit?Vitalquestion—whichisit?

I feltverygladnow, that thedrugadministered in thesweetdraughthadfilled me with a possession which made bed and chamber intolerable. Ialways, through my whole life, liked to penetrate to the real truth; I likeseekingthegoddessinhertemple,andhandlingtheveil,anddaringthedreadglance.OTitanessamongdeities!thecoveredoutlineofthineaspectsickensoftenthroughitsuncertainty,butdefinetousonetrait,showusonelineament,clear inawfulsincerity;wemaygasp inuntold terror,butwith thatgaspwe

drink inabreathof thydivinity;ourheartshakes,anditscurrentssway likeriversliftedbyearthquake,butwehaveswallowedstrength.ToseeandknowtheworstistotakefromFearhermainadvantage.

TheWalravens'party,augmentedinnumbers,nowbecameverygay.Thegentlemenfetchedrefreshmentsfromthekiosk,allsatdownontheturfunderthe trees; they drank healths and sentiments; they laughed, they jested. M.Emanuel underwent some raillery, half good-humoured, half, I thought,malicious,especiallyonMadameBeck'spart.Isoongatheredthathisvoyagehadbeentemporarilydeferredofhisownwill,withouttheconcurrence,evenagainsttheadvice,ofhisfriends;hehadlettheAntiguago,andhadtakenhisberth in the Paul et Virginie, appointed to sail a fortnight later. It was hisreasonfor thisresolvewhichtheyteasedhimtoassign,andwhichhewouldonlyvaguelyindicateas"thesettlementofalittlepieceofbusinesswhichhehadsethisheartupon."Whatwasthisbusiness?Nobodyknew.Yes,therewasone who seemed partly, at least, in his confidence; a meaning look passedbetweenhimandJustineMarie."Lapetitevam'aider—n'est-cepas?"saidhe.Theanswerwaspromptenough,Godknows?

"Maisoui,jevousaideraidetoutmoncoeur.Vousferezdemoitoutcequevousvoudrez,monparrain."

Andthisdear"parrain"tookherhandandliftedittohisgratefullips.Uponwhich demonstration, I saw the light-complexioned young Teuton,HeinrichMühler,growrestless,asifhedidnotlikeit.Heevengrumbledafewwords,whereat M. Emanuel actually laughed in his face, and with the ruthlesstriumphoftheassuredconqueror,hedrewhiswardnearertohim.

M.Emanuelwas indeedvery joyous thatnight.Heseemednotonewhitsubduedbythechangeofsceneandactionimpending.Hewasthetruelifeoftheparty;alittledespotic,perhaps,determinedtobechiefinmirth,aswellasin labour, yet from moment to moment proving indisputably his right ofleadership.Hiswas thewittiestword, the pleasantest anecdote, the frankestlaugh.Restlesslyactive,afterhismanner,hemultipliedhimselftowaitonall;butoh!Isawwhichwashisfavourite.Isawatwhosefeethelayontheturf,Isawwhomhefoldedcarefullyfromthenightair,whomhetended,watched,andcherishedastheappleofhiseye.

Still, hint and raillery flew thick, and still I gathered thatwhileM. Paulshouldbeabsent,workingforothers,theseothers,notquiteungrateful,wouldguard for him the treasure he left in Europe. Let him bring them an Indianfortune:theywouldgivehiminreturnayoungbrideandarichinheritance.Asfor the saintly consecration, the vow of constancy, that was forgotten: thebloomingandcharmingPresentprevailedoverthePast;and,atlength,hisnunwasindeedburied.

Thus itmust be. The revelationwas indeed come. Presentiment had notbeenmistakeninherimpulse:thereisakindofpresentimentwhichneverismistaken; itwas Iwhohad for amomentmiscalculated;not seeing the truebearingoftheoracle,Ihadthoughtshemutteredofvisionwhen,intruth,herpredictiontouchedreality.

ImighthavepausedlongeruponwhatIsaw;ImighthavedeliberatedereIdrew inferences.Some,perhaps,wouldhaveheld thepremisesdoubtful, theproofs insufficient; some slow sceptics would have incredulously examinedere theyconclusivelyaccepted theprojectofamarriagebetweenapoorandunselfishmanofforty,andhiswealthywardofeighteen;butfarfrommesuchshiftsandpalliatives,farfrommesuchtemporaryevasionoftheactual,suchcowardfleeingfromthedread,theswift-footed,theall-overtakingFact,suchfeeble suspense of submission to her the sole sovereign, such paltering andfalteringresistancetothePowerwhoseerrandistomarchconqueringandtoconquer,suchtraitordefectionfromtheTRUTH.

No.Ihastenedtoacceptthewholeplan.Iextendedmygraspandtookitallin.Igatheredittomewithasortofrageofhaste,andfoldeditroundme,asthe soldier struck on the field folds his colours about his breast. I invokedConviction tonailuponme thecertainty, abhorredwhile embraced, to fix itwiththestrongestspikesherstrongeststrokescoulddrive;andwhentheironhadenteredwellmysoul,Istoodup,asIthought,renovated.

Inmyinfatuation,Isaid,"Truth,youareagoodmistress toyourfaithfulservants!WhileaLiepressedme,howIsuffered!EvenwhentheFalsehoodwasstillsweet,stillflatteringtothefancy,andwarmtothefeelings,itwastedmewithhourlytorment.Thepersuasionthataffectionwaswoncouldnotbedivorced from thedread that,byanother turnof thewheel, itmightbe lost.TruthstrippedawayFalsehood,andFlattery,andExpectancy,andhereIstand—free!"

Nothingremainednowbuttotakemyfreedomtomychamber,tocarryitwithme tomybed and seewhat I couldmake of it. The playwas not yet,indeed,quiteplayedout. Imighthavewaitedandwatched longer that love-sceneunderthetrees,thatsylvancourtship.Hadtherebeennothingofloveinthe demonstration,myFancy in this hourwas so generous, so creative, shecouldhavemodelledforitthemostsalientlineaments,andgivenitthedeepestlife and highest colour of passion. But I would not look; I had fixed myresolve,butIwouldnotviolatemynature.Andthen—somethingtoremesocruellyundermyshawl,somethingsodugintomyside,avulturesostronginbeakandtalon,Imustbealonetograpplewithit.IthinkIneverfeltjealousytillnow.ThiswasnotlikeenduringtheendearmentsofDr.JohnandPaulina,againstwhichwhile I sealedmyeyesandmyears,while Iwithdrew thencemythoughts,mysenseofharmonystillacknowledgedinitacharm.Thiswas

anoutrage.Thelovebornofbeautywasnotmine;Ihadnothingincommonwith it: I could not dare to meddle with it, but another love, venturingdiffidentlyintolifeafterlongacquaintance,furnace-triedbypain,stampedbyconstancy, consolidated by affection's pure and durable alloy, submitted byintellecttointellect'sowntests,andfinallywroughtup,byhisownprocess,tohis own unflawed completeness, this Love that laughed at Passion, his fastfrenziesandhishotandhurriedextinction,inthisLoveIhadavestedinterest;andwhatever tendedeither to its cultureor its destruction, I couldnotviewimpassibly.

I turned from thegroupof trees and the "merrie companie" in its shade.Midnight was long past; the concert was over, the crowds were thinning. Ifollowedtheebb.Leavingtheradiantparkandwell-litHaute-Ville(stillwelllit,thisitseemswastobea"nuitblanche"inVillette),Isoughtthedimlowerquarter.

DimIshouldnotsay,forthebeautyofmoonlight—forgotteninthepark—here once more flowed in upon perception. High she rode, and calm andstainlesslysheshone.Themusicandthemirthofthefête,thefireandbrighthues of those lamps had out-done and out-shone her for an hour, but now,again,hergloryandher silence triumphed.The rival lampsweredying: sheheld her course like a white fate. Drum, trumpet, bugle, had uttered theirclangour, and were forgotten; with pencil-ray she wrote on heaven and onearth records for archives everlasting. She and those stars seemed tome atoncethetypesandwitnessesoftruthallregnant.Thenight-skylitherreign:likeitsslow-wheelingprogress,advancedhervictory—thatonwardmovementwhichhasbeen,andis,andwillbefrometernitytoeternity.

Theseoil-twinklingstreetsareverystill:Ilikethemfortheirlowlinessandpeace.Homeward-boundburgherspassmenowandthen,butthesecompaniesarepedestrians,makelittlenoise,andaresoongone.SowelldoIloveVilletteunderherpresentaspect,notwillinglywouldIre-enterunderaroof,butthatIambentonpursuingmystrangeadventure toasuccessfulclose,andquietlyregainingmybedinthegreatdormitory,beforeMadameBeckcomeshome.

OnlyonestreetliesbetweenmeandtheRueFossette;asIenterit,forthefirst time, the soundof a carriage tears up the deeppeaceof this quarter. Itcomes thisway—comes very fast. How loud sounds its rattle on the pavedpath!Thestreetisnarrow,andIkeepcarefullytothecauseway.Thecarriagethunders past, but what do I see, or fancy I see, as it rushes by? Surelysomething white fluttered from that window—surely a hand waved ahandkerchief. Was that signal meant for me? Am I known? Who couldrecogniseme?ThatisnotM.deBassompierre'scarriage,norMrs.Bretton's;andbesides,neithertheHôtelCrécynorthechâteauofLaTerrasseliesinthatdirection.Well,Ihavenotimeforconjecture;Imusthurryhome.

Gaining theRueFossette, reaching thepensionnat, all therewas still; nofiacrehadyetarrivedwithMadameandDésirée.Ihadleftthegreatdoorajar;should I find it thus? Perhaps the wind or some other accident may havethrownittowithsufficientforcetostartthespring-bolt?Inthatcase,hopelessbecameadmission;myadventuremust issue in catastrophe. I lightlypushedtheheavyleaf;wouldityield?

Yes.Assoundless,asunresisting,asifsomepropitiousgeniushadwaitedonasesame-charm,inthevestibulewithin.Enteringwithbatedbreath,quietlymakingallfast,shoelesslymountingthestaircase,Isoughtthedormitory,andreachedmycouch.

**

Ay!Ireachedit,andoncemoredrewafreeinspiration.Thenextmoment,Ialmostshrieked—almost,butnotquite,thankHeaven!

Throughoutthedormitory,throughoutthehouse,therereignedatthishourthestillnessofdeath.Allslept,andinsuchhush,itseemedthatnonedreamed.Stretched on the nineteen beds lay nineteen forms, at full-length andmotionless.Onmine—thetwentiethcouch—nothingoughttohavelain:Ihadleft itvoid,andvoidshouldhavefoundit.What, then;doIseebetweenthehalf-drawncurtains?Whatdark,usurpingshape,supine,long,andstrange?Isitarobberwhohasmadehiswaythroughtheopenstreet-door,andliestherein wait? It looks very black, I think it looks—not human. Can it be awanderingdogthathascomeinfromthestreetandcreptandnestledhither?Willitspring,willitleapoutifIapproach?ApproachImust.Courage!Onestep!—

Myheadreeled,forbythefaintnight-lamp,Isawstretchedonmybedtheoldphantom—theNUN.

A cry at this moment might have ruined me. Be the spectacle what itmight,Icouldaffordneitherconsternation,scream,norswoon.Besides,Iwasnot overcome. Tempered by late incidents, my nerves disdained hysteria.Warm from illuminations, and music, and thronging thousands, thoroughlylashed up by a new scourge, I defied spectra. In a moment, withoutexclamation, I had rushed on the haunted couch; nothing leaped out, orsprung,orstirred;allthemovementwasmine,sowasallthelife,thereality,thesubstance,theforce;asmyinstinctfelt.Itoreherup—theincubus!Iheldheronhigh—thegoblin!Ishookherloose—themystery!Anddownshefell—downallaroundme—downinshredsandfragments—andItrodeuponher.

Hereagain—beholdthebranchlesstree,theunstabledRosinante;thefilmofcloud,theflickerofmoonshine.Thelongnunprovedalongbolsterdressedinalongblackstole,andartfullyinvestedwithawhiteveil.Thegarmentsin

verytruth,strangeasitmayseem,weregenuinenun'sgarments,andbysomehand they had been disposed with a view to illusion. Whence came thesevestments?Whocontrivedthisartifice?Thesequestionsstillremained.Tothehead-bandage was pinned a slip of paper: it bore in pencil these mockingwords—

"ThenunoftheatticbequeathstoLucySnoweherwardrobe.ShewillbeseenintheRueFossettenomore."

Andwhatandwhowasshethathadhauntedme?She,Ihadactuallyseenthree times.Not awomanofmyacquaintancehad the statureof that ghost.Shewasnotofafemaleheight.NottoanymanIknewcouldthemachination,foramoment,beattributed.

Stillmystifiedbeyondexpression,butasthoroughly,assuddenly,relievedfrom all sense of the spectral and unearthly; scorning also to wear out mybrainwiththefretofatrivialthoughinsolubleriddle,Ijustbundledtogetherstole, veil, andbandages, thrust thembeneathmypillow, laydown, listenedtill I heard thewheels ofMadame's home-returning fiacre, then turned, andwornoutbymanynights'vigils,conquered,too,perhaps,bythenowreactingnarcotic,Ideeplyslept.

CHAPTERXL.

THEHAPPYPAIR.

ThedaysucceedingthisremarkableMidsummernight,provednocommonday. Idonotmean that itbrought signs inheavenabove,orportentson theearthbeneath;nordoIallude tometeorologicalphenomena, tostorm,flood,orwhirlwind.Onthecontrary:thesunrosejocund,withaJulyface.Morningdeckedherbeautywithrubies,andsofilledher lapwithroses, that theyfellfromherinshowers,makingherpathblush:theHourswokefreshasnymphs,andemptyingontheearlyhillstheirdew-vials,theysteppedoutdismantledofvapour:shadowless,azure,andglorious,theyledthesun'ssteedsonaburninganduncloudedcourse.

Inshort,itwasasfineadayasthefinestsummercouldboast;butIdoubtwhether I was not the sole inhabitant of the Rue Fossette, who cared orrememberedtonotethispleasantfact.Anotherthoughtbusiedallotherheads;a thought, indeed, which had its share in my meditations; but this masterconsideration, not possessing forme so entire a novelty, sooverwhelming asuddenness,especiallysodenseamystery,asitofferedtothemajorityofmyco-speculators thereon, left me somewhat more open than the rest to any

collateralobservationorimpression.

Still,whilewalking in thegarden, feeling the sunshine, andmarking theblooming andgrowingplants, I pondered the same subject thewhole housediscussed.

Whatsubject?

Merelythis.Whenmatinscametobesaid,therewasaplacevacantinthefirstrankofboarders.Whenbreakfastwasserved,thereremainedacoffee-cupunclaimed.When thehousemaidmade thebeds, she found inone, abolsterlaidlengthwise,cladinacapandnight-gown;andwhenGinevraFanshawe'smusic-mistress came early, as usual, to give the morning lesson, thataccomplished and promising young person, her pupil, failed utterly to beforthcoming.

HighandlowwasMissFanshawesought;throughlengthandbreadthwasthehouse ransacked;vainly;nota trace,notan indication,notsomuchasascrapofabilletrewardedthesearch;thenymphwasvanished,engulfedinthepastnight,likeashootingstarswallowedupbydarkness.

Deep was the dismay of surveillante teachers, deeper the horror of thedefaultingdirectress.NeverhadIseenMadameBecksopaleorsoappalled.Herewas a blow struck at her tender part, herweak side; herewasdamagedone to her interest.How, too, had the untoward event happened?Bywhatoutlethadthefugitivetakenwing?Notacasementwasfoundunfastened,notapaneofglassbroken;allthedoorswereboltedsecure.NevertothisdayhasMadameBeckobtainedsatisfactiononthispoint,norindeedhasanybodyelseconcerned,saveandexceptingone,LucySnowe,whocouldnotforgethow,tofacilitateacertainenterprise,acertaingreatdoorhadbeendrawnsoftlytoitslintel,closed, indeed,butneitherboltednorsecure.The thunderingcarriage-and-pair encountered were now likewise recalled, as well as that puzzlingsignal,thewavedhandkerchief.

From these premises, and one or two others, inaccessible to any butmyself, Icoulddrawbutone inference. Itwasacaseofelopement.Morallycertainonthishead,andseeingMadameBeck'sprofoundembarrassment,Iatlast communicatedmy conviction. Having alluded toM. de Hamal's suit, Ifound,asIexpected,thatMadameBeckwasperfectlyaufaittothataffair.Shehad long since discussed it with Mrs. Cholmondeley, and laid her ownresponsibilityinthebusinessonthatlady'sshoulders.ToMrs.CholmondeleyandM.deBassompierreshenowhadrecourse.

We found that theHôtelCrécywas already alive towhat had happened.Ginevra had written to her cousin Paulina, vaguely signifying hymenealintentions;communicationshadbeen received fromthe familyofdeHamal;

M.deBassompierrewasonthetrackof thefugitives.Heovertookthemtoolate.

In the course of the week, the post brought me a note. I may as welltranscribeit;itcontainsexplanationonmorethanonepoint:—

'DEAROLDTIM"(short forTimon),—" I amoff you see—gone like ashot.AlfredandIintendedtobemarriedinthiswayalmostfromthefirst;wenevermeanttobesplicedinthehumdrumwayofotherpeople;Alfredhastoomuchspirit for that,andsohaveI—Dieumerci!Doyouknow,Alfred,whoused to call you 'the dragon,' has seen somuch of you during the last fewmonths,thathebeginstofeelquitefriendlytowardsyou.Hehopesyouwon'tmisshimnowthathehasgone;hebegstoapologizeforanylittletroublehemayhavegivenyou.Heisafraidheratherinconveniencedyouoncewhenhecameuponyouinthegrenier, justasyouwerereadingaletterseeminglyofthemostspecialinterest;buthecouldnotresistthetemptationtogiveyouastart, you appeared so wonderfully taken up with your correspondent. Enrevanche, he says you once frightened him by rushing in for a dress or ashawl,orsomeotherchiffon,at themomentwhenhehadstruckalight,andwasgoingtotakeaquietwhiffofhiscigar,whilewaitingforme.

"DoyoubegintocomprehendbythistimethatM.leComtedeHamalwasthenunof theattic,andthathecametoseeyourhumbleservant?Iwill tellyouhowhemanaged it.Youknowhehas the entréeof theAthénée,wheretwoorthreeofhisnephews,thesonsofhiseldestsister,MadamedeMelcy,are students.Youknow the court of theAthénée is on the other side of thehighwallboundingyourwalk,thealléedéfendue.Alfredcanclimbaswellashe can dance or fence: his amusement was to make the escalade of ourpensionnat by mounting, first the wall; then—by the aid of that high treeoverspreadingthegrandberceau,andrestingsomeofitsboughsontheroofofthelowerbuildingsofourpremises—hemanagedtoscalethefirstclasseandthegrandsalle.Onenight,bytheway,hefelloutofthistree,toredownsomeofthebranches,nearlybrokehisownneck,andafterall,inrunningaway,gotaterriblefright,andwasnearlycaughtbytwopeople,MadameBeckandM.Emanuel,he thinks,walkingin thealley.Fromthegrandesalle theascent isnotdifficulttothehighestblockofbuilding,finishinginthegreatgarret.Theskylight,youknow,is,dayandnight,lefthalfopenforair;bytheskylightheentered.Nearlyayear ago I chanced to tell himour legendof thenun; thatsuggestedhis romantic ideaof thespectraldisguise,which I thinkyoumustallowhehasverycleverlycarriedout.

"Butforthenun'sblackgownandwhiteveil,hewouldhavebeencaughtagainandagainbothbyyouandthattiger-Jesuit,M.Paul.Hethinksyoubothcapital ghost-seers, and very brave. What I wonder at is, rather yoursecretivenessthanyourcourage.Howcouldyouendurethevisitationsofthat

long spectre, time after time, without crying out, telling everybody, androusingthewholehouseandneighbourhood?

"Oh,andhowdidyoulikethenunasabed-fellow?Idressedherup:didn'tIdoitwell?Didyoushriekwhenyousawher:Ishouldhavegonemad;butthen you have such nerves!—real iron and bend-leather! I believe you feelnothing.Youhaven't thesamesensitiveness thatapersonofmyconstitutionhas.Youseemtomeinsensiblebothtopainandfearandgrief.YouarearealoldDiogenes.

"Well,deargrandmother!andareyounotmightilyangryatmymoonlightflittingandrunawaymatch?Iassureyouitisexcellentfun,andIdiditpartlytospitethatminx,Paulina,andthatbear,Dr.John:toshowthemthat,withalltheirairs,Icouldgetmarriedaswellasthey.M.deBassompierrewasatfirstinastrangefumewithAlfred;hethreatenedaprosecutionfor 'détournementdemineur,'andIknownotwhat;hewassoabominablyinearnest,thatIfoundmyself forced todoa littlebitof themelodramatic—godownonmyknees,sob,cry,drenchthreepocket-handkerchiefs.Ofcourse,'mononcle'soongavein; indeed,wherewas theuseofmakinga fuss? Iammarried,and that'sallabout it. He still says our marriage is not legal, because I am not of age,forsooth!As if thatmade any difference! I am just asmuchmarried as if Iwere a hundred. However, we are to bemarried again, and I am to have atrousseau, andMrs. Cholmondeley is going to superintend it; and there aresomehopesthatM.deBassompierrewillgivemeadecentportion,whichwillbe very convenient, as dear Alfred has nothing but his nobility, native andhereditary,andhispay.Ionlywishunclewoulddothingsunconditionally,inagenerous,gentleman-likefashion;heissodisagreeableastomakethedowrydependonAlfred'sgivinghiswrittenpromisethathewillnevertouchcardsordicefromthedayitispaiddown.Theyaccusemyangelofatendencytoplay:Idon'tknowanythingaboutthat,butIdoknowheisadear,adorablecreature.

"IcannotsufficientlyextolthegeniuswithwhichdeHamalmanagedourflight.Howcleverinhimtoselectthenightofthefête,whenMadame(forheknowsherhabits),ashesaid,wouldinfalliblybeabsentattheconcertinthepark.Isupposeyoumusthavegonewithher.Iwatchedyouriseandleavethedormitoryabouteleveno'clock.Howyoureturnedalone,andonfoot,Icannotconjecture.ThatsurelywasyouwemetinthenarrowoldRueSt.Jean?Didyouseemewavemyhandkerchieffromthecarriagewindow?

"Adieu! Rejoice in my good luck: congratulate me on my supremehappiness,andbelieveme,dearcynicandmisanthrope,yours, in thebestofhealthandspirits,

GINEVRALAURADEHAMAL,néeFANSHAWE.

"P.S.—Remember, I am a countess now. Papa,mamma, and the girls at

home,willbedelightedtohearthat.'MydaughtertheCountess!''MysistertheCountess!'Bravo!SoundsratherbetterthanMrs.JohnBretton,hein?"

**

In winding up Mistress Fanshawe's memoirs, the reader will no doubtexpecttohearthatshecamefinallytobitterexpiationofheryouthfullevities.Ofcourse,alargeshareofsufferingliesinreserveforherfuture.

Afewwordswillembodymyfartherknowledgerespectingher.

I saw her towards the close of her honeymoon. She called onMadameBeck,andsentformeintothesalon.Sherushedintomyarmslaughing.Shelookedverybloomingandbeautiful:hercurlswerelonger,hercheeksrosierthanever:herwhitebonnetandherFlandersveil,herorange-flowersandherbride'sdress,becamehermightily.

"I have got my portion!" she cried at once; (Ginevra ever stuck to thesubstantial; I always thought there was a good trading element in hercomposition, much as she scorned the "bourgeoise;") "and uncle deBassompierre is quite reconciled. I don't mind his calling Alfred a'nincompoop'—that's only his coarse Scotch breeding; and I believe Paulinaenviesme,andDr.Johniswildwithjealousy—fittoblowhisbrainsout—andI'msohappy!IreallythinkI'vehardlyanythinglefttowishfor—unlessitbeacarriageandanhotel,and,oh! I—must introduceyou to 'monmari.'Alfred,comehere!"

And Alfred appeared from the inner salon, where he was talking toMadameBeck,receivingtheblendedfelicitationsandreprimandsofthatlady.Iwaspresentedundermyvariousnames:theDragon,Diogenes,andTimon.The young Colonel was very polite. He made me a prettily-turned, neatly-wordedapology,abouttheghost-visits,&c.,concludingwithsayingthat"thebestexcuseforallhisiniquitiesstoodthere!"pointingtohisbride.

And then thebride sent himback toMadameBeck, and she tookme toherself, andproceeded literally to suffocatemewithherunrestrainedspirits,hergirlish,giddy,wildnonsense.Sheshowedher ringexultingly;shecalledherselfMadamelaComtessedeHamal,andaskedhowitsounded,ascoreoftimes. I saidvery little. Igaveheronly thecrust and rindofmynature.Nomattersheexpectedofmenothingbetter—sheknewmetoowelltolookforcompliments—mydrygibespleasedherwellenoughandthemoreimpassibleandprosaicmymien,themoremerrilyshelaughed.

Soonafterhismarriage,M.deHamalwaspersuadedtoleavethearmyasthesurestwayofweaninghimfromcertainunprofitableassociatesandhabits;a post of attaché was procured for him, and he and his young wife wentabroad.Ithoughtshewouldforgetmenow,butshedidnot.Formanyyears,

shekeptupacapricious,fitfulsortofcorrespondence.Duringthefirstyearortwo, it was only of herself andAlfred shewrote; then, Alfred faded in thebackground;herselfandacertain,newcomerprevailed;oneAlfredFanshawede Bassompierre deHamal began to reign in his father's stead. Thereweregreatboastingsaboutthispersonage,extravagantamplificationsuponmiraclesof precocity, mixed with vehement objurgations against the phlegmaticincredulitywithwhich I received them. I didn't know "what it was to be amother;" "unfeeling thing that I was, the sensibilities of the maternal heartwereGreekandHebrewtome,"andsoon.Induecourseofnaturethisyounggentleman took his degrees in teething,measles, hooping-cough: thatwas aterribletimeforme—themamma'slettersbecameaperfectshoutofaffliction;neverwomanwassoputuponbycalamity:neverhumanbeingstoodinsuchneedofsympathy.Iwasfrightenedatfirst,andwrotebackpathetically;butIsoonfoundouttherewasmorecrythanwoolinthebusiness,andrelapsedintomynaturalcruel insensibility.As to theyouthfulsufferer,heweatheredeachstorm like a hero. Five times was that youth "in articulo mortis," and fivetimesdidhemiraculouslyrevive.

InthecourseofyearstherearoseominousmurmuringsagainstAlfredtheFirst;M.deBassompierrehadtobeappealedto,debtshadtobepaid,someofthemofthatdismalanddingyordercalled"debtsofhonour;"ignobleplaintsanddifficultiesbecamefrequent.Undereverycloud,nomatterwhatitsnature,Ginevra,asofold,calledoutlustilyforsympathyandaid.Shehadnonotionofmeetinganydistress single-handed. In some shape, fromsomequarterorother,shewasprettysuretoobtainherwill,andsoshegoton—fightingthebattle of life by proxy, and, on the whole, suffering as little as any humanbeingIhaveeverknown.

CHAPTERXLI.

FAUBOURGCLOTILDE.

MustI,ereIclose,rendersomeaccountofthatFreedomandRenovationwhich I won on the fête-night? Must I tell how I and the two stalwartcompanionsIbroughthomefromtheilluminatedparkborethetestofintimateacquaintance?

Itriedthemtheverynextday.Theyhadboastedtheirstrengthloudlywhentheyreclaimedmefromloveanditsbondage,butuponmydemandingdeeds,notwords,someevidenceofbettercomfort,someexperienceofarelievedlife—Freedomexcusedhimself,asfor thepresent impoverishedanddisabled toassist;andRenovationneverspoke;hehaddiedinthenightsuddenly.

Ihadnothingleftforitthenbuttotrustsecretlythatconjecturemighthavehurriedmetoofastandtoofar,tosustaintheoppressivehourbyremindersofthe distorting and discolouring magic of jealousy. After a short and vainstruggle,Ifoundmyselfbroughtbackcaptivetotheoldrackofsuspense,tieddownandstrainedanew.

Shall I yet see him before he goes?Will he bearme inmind?Does hepurposetocome?Willthisday—willthenexthourbringhim?ormustIagainassay that corroding pain of long attent—that rude agony of rupture at theclose,thatmute,mortalwrench,which,inatonceuprootinghopeanddoubt,shakes life;while thehandthatdoes theviolencecannotbecaressedtopity,becauseabsenceinterposesherbarrier!

ItwastheFeastoftheAssumption;noschoolwasheld.Theboardersandteachers,afterattendingmassinthemorning,weregonealongwalkintothecountrytotaketheirgoûter,orafternoonmeal,atsomefarm-house.Ididnotgowith them, fornowbut twodays remainedere thePaul etVirginiemustsail,andIwasclingingtomylastchance,asthelivingwaifofawreckclingstohislastraftorcable.

Therewassomejoiners'worktodointhefirstclasse,somebenchordesktorepair;holidayswereoftenturnedtoaccountfortheperformanceoftheseoperations, which could not be executed when the rooms were filled withpupils.AsIsatsolitary,purposingtoadjourntothegardenandleavethecoastclear,buttoolistlesstofulfilmyownintent,Iheardtheworkmencoming.

Foreignartisansandservantsdoeverythingbycouples:IbelieveitwouldtaketwoLabassecouriencarpenterstodriveanail.Whiletyingonmybonnet,which had hitherto hung by its ribbons from my idle hand, I vaguely andmomentarilywonderedtohearthestepofbutone"ouvrier."Inoted,too—ascaptivesindungeonsfindsometimesdrearyleisuretonotethemeresttrifles—that this man wore shoes, and not sabots: I concluded that it must be themaster-carpenter, coming to inspect before he sent his journeymen. I threwroundmemyscarf.Headvanced;heopenedthedoor;mybackwastowardsit; I felt a little thrill—a curious sensation, too quick and transient to beanalyzed.I turned,Istoodinthesupposedmaster-artisan'spresence: lookingtowardsthedoor-way,Isawitfilledwithafigure,andmyeyesprinteduponmybrainthepictureofM.Paul.

Hundreds of the prayers with which we weary Heaven bring to thesuppliantnofulfilment.Oncehaplyin life,onegoldengift fallspronein thelap—oneboonfullandbright,perfectfromFruition'smint.

M. Emanuelwore the dress inwhich he probably purposed to travel—asurtout,guardedwithvelvet;Ithoughthimpreparedforinstantdeparture,andyetIhadunderstoodthattwodayswereyettorunbeforetheshipsailed.He

looked well and cheerful. He looked kind and benign: he came in witheagerness;hewasclosetomeinonesecond;hewasallamity.Itmightbehisbridegroommoodwhichthusbrightenedhim.Whateverthecause,Icouldnotmeethissunshinewithcloud.Ifthisweremylastmomentwithhim,Iwouldnotwaste it in forced,unnaturaldistance. I lovedhimwell—toowellnot tosmiteoutofmypathevenJealousyherself,whenshewouldhaveobstructedakind farewell.A cordialword fromhis lips, or a gentle look fromhis eyes,woulddomegood, forall the spanof life that remained tome; itwouldbecomfortinthelaststraitofloneliness;Iwouldtakeit—Iwouldtastetheelixir,andprideshouldnotspillthecup.

Theinterviewwouldbeshort,ofcourse:hewouldsaytomejustwhathehadsaidtoeachoftheassembledpupils;hewouldtakeandholdmyhandtwominutes;hewouldtouchmycheekwithhislipsforthefirst,last,onlytime—andthen—nomore.Then,indeed,thefinalparting,thenthewideseparation,thegreatgulfIcouldnotpasstogotohim—acrosswhich,haply,hewouldnotglance,torememberme.

Hetookmyhandinoneofhis,withtheotherheputbackmybonnet;helooked into my face, his luminous smile went out, his lips expressedsomething almost like thewordless language of amotherwho finds a childgreatlyandunexpectedlychanged,brokenwithillness,orwornoutbywant.Achecksupervened.

"Paul, Paul!" said awoman's hurried voice behind, "Paul, come into thesalon; I have yet a great many things to say to you—conversation for thewhole day—and so hasVictor; and Josef is here.ComePaul, come to yourfriends."

MadameBeck,broughttothespotbyvigilanceoraninscrutableinstinct,pressedsonear,shealmostthrustherselfbetweenmeandM.Emanuel.

"Come,Paul!" she reiterated,hereyegrazingmewith itshard ray likeasteelstylet.Shepushedagainstherkinsman.I thoughthereceded;I thoughthe would go. Pierced deeper than I could endure, made now to feel whatdefiedsuppression,Icried—

"Myheartwillbreak!"

What I felt seemed literal heart-break; but the seal of another fountainyielded under the strain: one breath fromM.Paul, thewhisper, "Trustme!"liftedaload,openedanoutlet.Withmanyadeepsob,withthrilling,withicyshiver,withstrongtrembling,andyetwithrelief—Iwept.

"Leavehertome;itisacrisis:Iwillgiveheracordial,anditwillpass,"saidthecalmMadameBeck.

Tobelefttoherandhercordialseemedtomesomethinglikebeinglefttothe poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, andbriefly—"Laissez-moi!" in thegrimsound I felt amusic strange, strong,butlife-giving.

"Laissez-moi!"herepeated,hisnostrilsopening,andhisfacialmusclesallquiveringashespoke.

"But this will never do," said Madame, with sternness. More sternlyrejoinedherkinsman—

"Sortezd'ici!"

"IwillsendforPèreSilas:onthespotIwillsendforhim,"shethreatenedpertinaciously.

"Femme!"criedtheProfessor,notnowinhisdeeptones,butinhishighestandmostexcitedkey,"Femme!sortezàl'instant!"

Hewasroused,andIlovedhiminhiswrathwithapassionbeyondwhat

Ihadyetfelt.

"Whatyoudo iswrong,"pursuedMadame; "it is anact characteristicofmen of your unreliable, imaginative temperament; a step impulsive,injudicious, inconsistent—a proceeding vexatious, and not estimable in theviewofpersonsofsteadierandmoreresolutecharacter."

"YouknownotwhatIhaveofsteadyandresoluteinme,"saidhe,"butyoushallsee;theeventshallteachyou.Modeste,"hecontinuedlessfiercely,"begentle,bepitying,beawoman;lookatthispoorface,andrelent.YouknowIamyourfriend,andthefriendofyourfriends;inspiteofyourtaunts,youwellanddeeplyknowImaybetrusted.OfsacrificingmyselfImadenodifficultybutmyheartispainedbywhatIsee;itmusthaveandgivesolace.Leaveme!"

This time, in the "leave me" there was an intonation so bitter and soimperative,IwonderedthatevenMadameBeckherselfcouldforonemomentdelayobedience;butshestoodfirm;shegazeduponhimdauntless; shemethiseye,forbiddingandfixedasstone.Shewasopeningherlipstoretort;IsawoverallM.Paul's faceaquickrising lightandfire; Icanhardly tellhowhemanagedthemovement;itdidnotseemviolent;itkepttheformofcourtesy;hegavehishand;itscarcetouchedherIthought;sheran,shewhirledfromtheroom;shewasgone,andthedoorshut,inonesecond.

The flashofpassionwasalloververy soon.Hesmiledashe toldme towipemyeyes;hewaitedquietlytillIwascalm,droppingfromtimetotimeastilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself—re-assured,notdesperate,noryetdesolate;notfriendless,nothopeless,notsickoflife,andseekingdeath.

"Itmadeyouverysadthentoloseyourfriend?"saidhe.

"Itkillsmetobeforgotten,Monsieur,"Isaid."AllthesewearydaysIhavenotheardfromyouoneword,andIwascrushedwiththepossibility,growingtocertainty,thatyouwoulddepartwithoutsayingfarewell!"

"Must I tell youwhat I toldModesteBeck—that you do not knowme?MustIshowandteachyoumycharacter?YouwillhaveproofthatIcanbeafirmfriend?Withoutclearproofthishandwillnotliestillinmine,itwillnottrustmyshoulderasasafestay?Good.Theproofisready.Icometojustifymyself."

"Say anything, teach anything, prove anything, Monsieur; I can listennow."

"Then,inthefirstplace,youmustgooutwithmeagooddistanceintothetown.Icameonpurposetofetchyou."

Without questioning his meaning, or sounding his plan, or offering thesemblanceofanobjection,Ire-tiedmybonnet:Iwasready.

The route he tookwas by the boulevards: he several timesmademe sitdownontheseatsstationedunderthelime-trees;hedidnotaskifIwastired,butlooked,anddrewhisownconclusions.

"Allthesewearydays,"saidhe,repeatingmywords,withagentle,kindlymimicryofmyvoiceandforeignaccent,notnewfromhislips,andofwhichthe playful banter never wounded, not evenwhen coupled, as it oftenwas,with the assertion, that however I might write his language, I spoke andalwaysshouldspeakit imperfectlyandhesitatingly."'All thesewearydays'Ihavenotforonehourforgottenyou.Faithfulwomenerrinthis,thattheythinkthemselves the sole faithfulofGod'screatures.Onavery ferventand livingtruthtomyself,I,too,tilllatelyscarcedaredcount,fromanyquarter;but——lookatme."

Iliftedmyhappyeyes:theywerehappynow,ortheywouldhavebeennointerpretersofmyheart.

"Well," said he, after some seconds' scrutiny, "there is no denying thatsignature:Constancywroteit:herpenisofiron.Wastherecordpainful?"

"Severelypainful,"Isaid,withtruth."Withdrawherhand,Monsieur;Icanbearitsinscribingforcenomore."

"Elleest toutepâle,"saidhe,speakingtohimself;"cettefigure-làmefaitmal."

"Ah!Iamnotpleasanttolookat——?"

Icouldnothelpsayingthis;thewordscameunbidden:Ineverremember

thetimewhenIhadnotahauntingdreadofwhatmightbethedegreeofmyoutwarddeficiency;thisdreadpressedmeatthemomentwithspecialforce.

A great softness passed upon his countenance; his violet eyes grewsuffusedandglisteningundertheirdeepSpanishlashes:hestartedup;"Letuswalkon."

"DoIdispleaseyoureyesmuch?"Itookcouragetourge:thepointhaditsvitalimportforme.

Hestopped,andgavemeashort,stronganswer;ananswerwhichsilenced,subdued,yetprofoundlysatisfied.EverafterthatIknewwhatIwasforhim;andwhatImightbefortherestoftheworld,Iceasedpainfullytocare.Wasitweaktolaysomuchstressonanopinionaboutappearance?Ifearitmightbe;Ifearitwas;butinthatcaseImustavownolightshareofweakness.Imustowngreatfearofdispleasing—astrongwishmoderatelytopleaseM.Paul.

Whitherwerambled,Iscarceknew.Ourwalkwaslong,yetseemedshort;thepathwaspleasant, theday lovely.M.Emanuel talkedofhisvoyage—hethought of staying away three years. On his return from Guadaloupe, helooked forward to release from liabilities anda clear course; andwhatdid Ipurposedoingintheintervalofhisabsence?heasked.Ihadtalkedonce,heremindedme, of trying to be independent andkeeping a little school ofmyown:hadIdroppedtheidea?

"Indeed,Ihadnot:Iwasdoingmybesttosavewhatwouldenablemetoputitinpractice."

"Hedidnot like leavingme in theRueFossette;he feared I shouldmisshimtheretoomuch—Ishouldfeeldesolate—Ishouldgrowsad—?"

Thiswascertain;butIpromisedtodomybesttoendure.

"Still," saidhe, speaking low, "there is anotherobjection toyourpresentresidence. I shouldwish towrite to you sometimes: itwouldnot bewell tohave any uncertainty about the safe transmission of letters; and in the RueFossette—in short, our Catholic discipline in certain matters—thoughjustifiable and expedient—might possibly, under peculiar circumstances,becomeliabletomisapplication—perhapsabuse."

"Butifyouwrite,"saidI,"Imusthaveyourletters;andIwillhavethem:ten directors, twenty directresses, shall not keep them from me. I am aProtestant:Iwillnotbearthatkindofdiscipline:Monsieur,Iwillnot."

"Doucement—doucement,"rejoinedhe;"wewillcontriveaplan;wehaveourresources:soyeztranquille."

Sospeaking,hepaused.

Wewerenowreturningfromthelongwalk.Wehadreachedthemiddleofa cleanFaubourg,where the houseswere small, but lookedpleasant. Itwasbeforethewhitedoor-stepofaveryneatabodethatM.Paulhadhalted.

"Icallhere,"saidhe.

Hedidnotknock,buttakingfromhispocketakey,heopenedandenteredatonce.Usheringmein,heshutthedoorbehindus.Noservantappeared.Thevestibulewassmall,likethehouse,butfreshlyandtastefullypainted;itsvistaclosed in aFrenchwindowwithvines trained about the panes, tendrils, andgreenleaveskissingtheglass.Silencereignedinthisdwelling.

Openingan innerdoor,M.Pauldisclosedaparlour, or salon—very tiny,butIthought,verypretty.Itsdelicatewallsweretingedlikeablush;itsfloorwaswaxed;asquareofbrilliantcarpetcovereditscentre;itssmallroundtableshone like the mirror over its hearth; there was a little couch, a littlechiffonnière, thehalf-open,crimson-silkdoorofwhich,showedporcelainontheshelves;therewasaFrenchclock,alamp;therewereornamentsinbiscuitchina; the recess of the single amplewindowwas filledwith a green stand,bearing three green flower-pots, each filled with a fine plant glowing inbloom; in one corner appeared a guéridonwith amarble top, and upon it awork-box,andaglassfilledwithvioletsinwater.Thelatticeofthisroomwasopen; the outer air breathing through, gave freshness, the sweet violets lentfragrance.

"Pretty,prettyplace!"saidI.M.Paulsmiledtoseemesopleased.

"Mustwesitdownhereandwait?"Iaskedinawhisper,halfawedbythedeeppervadinghush.

"Wewillfirstpeepintooneortwoothernooksofthisnutshell,"hereplied.

"Dareyoutakethefreedomofgoingalloverthehouse?"Iinquired.

"Yes,Idare,"saidhe,quietly.

Heled theway.Iwasshowna littlekitchenwitha littlestoveandoven,withfewbutbrightbrasses, twochairsanda table.Asmallcupboardheldadiminutivebutcommodioussetofearthenware.

"Thereisacoffeeserviceofchinainthesalon,"saidM.Paul,asIlookedatthesixgreenandwhitedinner-plates;thefourdishes,thecupsandjugstomatch.

Conductedupthenarrowbutcleanstaircase,Iwaspermittedaglimpseoftwoprettycabinetsofsleeping-rooms;finally,Iwasoncemoreledbelow,andwe halted with a certain ceremony before a larger door than had yet beenopened.

Producingasecondkey,M.Emanueladjusted it to the lockof thisdoor.Heopened,putmeinbeforehim.

"Voici!"hecried.

Ifoundmyselfinagood-sizedapartment,scrupulouslyclean,thoughbare,compared with those I had hitherto seen. The well-scoured boards werecarpetless; it contained two rows of green benches and desks,with an alleydownthecentre,terminatinginanestrade,ateacher'schairandtable;behindthematableau.Onthewallshungtwomaps;inthewindowsfloweredafewhardyplants;inshort,herewasaminiatureclasse—complete,neat,pleasant.

"It is a school then?" said I. "Who keeps it? I never heard of anestablishmentinthisfaubourg."

"Will you have the goodness to accept of a few prospectuses fordistributioninbehalfofafriendofmine?"askedhe,takingfromhissurtout-pocket some quires of these documents, and putting them into my hand. Ilooked,Iread—printedinfaircharacters:—

"Externat de demoiselles. Numéro 7, Faubourg Clotilde, Directrice,MademoiselleLucySnowe."

**

AndwhatdidIsaytoM.PaulEmanuel?

Certainjuncturesofourlivesmustalwaysbedifficultofrecalltomemory.Certain points, crises, certain feelings, joys, griefs, and amazements, whenreviewed,muststrikeusasthingswilderedandwhirling,dimasawheelfastspun.

I can no more remember the thoughts or the words of the ten minutessucceeding this disclosure, than I can retrace the experience of my earliestyearoflife:andyetthefirstthingdistincttomeistheconsciousnessthatIwasspeakingveryfast,repeatingoverandoveragain:—

"Didyoudothis,M.Paul?Isthisyourhouse?Didyoufurnishit?Didyouget these papers printed? Do you mean me? Am I the directress? Is thereanotherLucySnowe?Tellme:saysomething."

Buthewouldnotspeak.Hispleasedsilence,hislaughingdown-look,hisattitude,arevisibletomenow.

"Howisit?Imustknowall—all,"Icried.

Thepacketofpapersfellonthefloor.Hehadextendedhishand,andIhadfastenedthereon,obliviousofallelse.

"Ah!yousaidIhadforgottenyouallthesewearydays,"saidhe."Poorold

Emanuel!Thesearethethankshegetsfortrudgingaboutthreemortalweeksfrom house-painter to upholsterer, from cabinet-maker to charwoman. LucyandLucy'scot,thesolethoughtsinhishead!"

Ihardlyknewwhat todo. I firstcaressed thesoftvelvetonhiscuff,andthen.Istrokedthehanditsurrounded.Itwashisforesight,hisgoodness,hissilent,strong,effectivegoodness,thatoverpoweredmebytheirprovedreality.Itwas theassuranceofhis sleepless interestwhichbrokeonme likea lightfromheaven; itwashis—Iwilldare to say it—his fond, tender look,whichnowshookmeindescribably.InthemidstofallIforcedmyselftolookatthepractical.

"Thetrouble!"Icried,"andthecost!Hadyoumoney,M.Paul?"

"Plenty ofmoney!" said he heartily. "The disposal ofmy large teachingconnection put me in possession of a handsome sum with part of it IdeterminedtogivemyselftherichesttreatthatIhaveknownorshallknow.Ilikethis.Ihavereckonedonthishourdayandnightlately.Iwouldnotcomenearyou,becauseIwouldnotforestallit.Reserveisneithermyvirtuenormyvice. If I had put myself into your power, and you had begun with yourquestions of look and lip—Where have you been,M.Paul?What have youbeendoing?What is yourmystery?—mysolitary first and last secretwouldpresentlyhaveunravelleditselfinyourlap.Now,"hepursued,"youshalllivehereandhaveaschool;youshallemployyourselfwhileIamaway;youshallthinkofmesometimes;youshallmindyourhealthandhappinessformysake,andwhenIcomeback—"

Thereheleftablank.

Ipromisedtodoallhetoldme.Ipromisedtoworkhardandwillingly."Iwillbeyourfaithfulsteward,"Isaid;"Itrustatyourcomingtheaccountwillbeready.Monsieur,monsieur,youaretoogood!"

In such inadequate language my feelings struggled for expression: theycouldnotgetit;speech,brittleandunmalleable,andcoldasice,dissolvedorshiveredintheeffort.Hewatchedme,still;hegentlyraisedhishandtostrokemyhair;ittouchedmylipsinpassing;Ipresseditclose,Ipaidittribute.Hewasmyking;royalformehadbeenthathand'sbounty;toofferhomagewasbothajoyandaduty.

**

Theafternoonhourswereover,andthestillertimeofeveningshadedthequiet faubourg. M. Paul claimed my hospitality; occupied and afoot sincemorning,heneededrefreshment;hesaidIshouldofferhimchocolate inmypretty gold and white china service. He went out and ordered what wasneedfulfromtherestaurant;heplacedthesmallguéridonandtwochairsinthe

balconyoutsidetheFrenchwindowunderthescreeningvines.WithwhatshyjoyIacceptedmypartashostess,arrangedthesalver,servedthebenefactor-guest.

Thisbalconywasintherearofthehouse,thegardensofthefaubourgwereroundus,fieldsextendedbeyond.Theairwasstill,mild,andfresh.Abovethepoplars,thelaurels,thecypresses,andtheroses,lookedupamoonsolovelyandsohalcyon,thehearttrembledunderhersmile;astarshonesubjectbesideher,withtheunemulousrayofpurelove.Inalargegardennearus,ajetrosefromawell,andapalestatueleanedovertheplayofwaters.

M. Paul talked to me. His voice was so modulated that it mixedharmoniouswiththesilverwhisper,thegush,themusicalsigh,inwhichlightbreeze,fountainandfoliageintonedtheirlullingvesper:

Happy hour—stay one moment! droop those plumes, rest those wings;inclinetominethatbrowofHeaven!WhiteAngel!letthylightlinger;leaveitsreflectiononsucceedingclouds;bequeathitscheertothattimewhichneedsarayinretrospect!

Ourmealwas simple: thechocolate, the rolls, theplateof fresh summerfruit,cherriesandstrawberriesbeddedingreenleavesformedthewhole:butitwaswhatwebothlikedbetterthanafeast,andItookadelightinexpressibleintendingM. Paul. I asked him whether his friends, Père Silas andMadameBeck,knewwhathehaddone—whethertheyhadseenmyhouse?

"Monamie,"saidhe,"noneknowswhatIhavedonesaveyouandmyself:the pleasure is consecrated to us two, unshared and unprofaned. To speaktruth, therehasbeentomein thismatterarefinementofenjoymentIwouldnotmakevulgarbycommunication.Besides"(smiling)"IwantedtoprovetoMissLucythatIcouldkeepasecret.Howoftenhasshetauntedmewithlackof dignified reserve and needful caution! Howmany times has she saucilyinsinuatedthatallmyaffairsarethesecretofPolichinelle!"

Thiswastrueenough:Ihadnotsparedhimonthispoint,norperhapsonanyotherthatwasassailable.Magnificent-minded,grand-hearted,dear,faultylittleman!Youdeservedcandour,andfrommealwayshadit.

Continuingmyqueries,Iaskedtowhomthehousebelonged,whowasmylandlord, the amount of my rent. He instantly gave me these particulars inwriting;hehadforeseenandpreparedallthings.

The housewas notM.Paul's—that I guessed: hewas hardly theman tobecomeaproprietor;Imorethansuspectedinhimalamentableabsenceofthesaving faculty; he could get, but not keep; he needed a treasurer. Thetenement,then,belongedtoacitizenintheBasse-Ville—amanofsubstance,M.Paulsaid;hestartledmebyadding:"afriendofyours,MissLucy,aperson

who has amost respectful regard for you."And, tomy pleasant surprise, IfoundthelandlordwasnoneotherthanM.Miret,theshort-temperedandkind-heartedbookseller,whohadsokindlyfoundmeaseat thateventfulnight inthepark.ItseemsM.Miretwas,inhisstation,rich,aswellasmuchrespected,andpossessedseveralhousesinthisfaubourg; therentwasmoderate,scarcehalfofwhatitwouldhavebeenforahouseofequalsizenearerthecentreofVillette.

"And then," observedM.Paul, "should fortune not favour you, though Ithinkshewill,Ihavethesatisfactiontothinkyouareingoodhands;M.Miretwillnotbeextortionate:thefirstyear'srentyouhavealreadyinyoursavings;afterwardsMissLucymusttrustGod,andherself.Butnow,whatwillyoudoforpupils?"

"Imustdistributemyprospectuses."

"Right!Bywayoflosingnotime,IgaveonetoM.Miretyesterday.

Should you object to beginning with three petite bourgeoises, theDemoisellesMiret?Theyareatyourservice."

"Monsieur, you forget nothing; you are wonderful. Object? It wouldbecomemeindeedtoobject!IsupposeIhardlyexpectattheoutsettonumberaristocrats inmy little day-school; I care not if they never come. I shall beproudtoreceiveM.Miret'sdaughters."

"Besidesthese,"pursuedhe,"anotherpupiloffers,whowillcomedailytotake lessons inEnglish;andas she is rich, shewillpayhandsomely. Imeanmygod-daughterandward,JustineMarieSauveur."

Whatisinaname?—whatinthreewords?TillthismomentIhadlistenedwith living joy—I had answered with gleeful quickness; a name froze me;three words struck me mute. The effect could not be hidden, and indeed Iscarcetriedtohideit.

"Whatnow?"saidM.Paul.

"Nothing."

"Nothing!Yourcountenancechanges:yourcolourandyourveryeyesfade.Nothing!Youmustbeill;youhavesomesuffering;tellmewhat."

Ihadnothingtotell.

Hedrewhischairnearer.Hedidnotgrowvexed,thoughIcontinuedsilentand icy.He tried towin aword; he entreatedwith perseverance, hewaitedwithpatience.

"JustineMarieisagoodgirl,"saidhe,"docileandamiable;notquick—butyouwilllikeher."

"Ithinknot.Ithinkshemustnotcomehere."

Suchwasmyspeech.

"Do you wish to puzzle me? Do you know her? But, in truth, there issomething.Againyouarepaleasthatstatue.RelyonPaulCarlos;tellhimthegrief."

His chair touched mine; his hand, quietly advanced, turned me towardshim.

"DoyouknowMarieJustine?"saidheagain.

The name re-pronounced by his lips overcameme unaccountably. It didnot prostrate—no, it stirredmeup, runningwith haste andheat throughmyveins—recalling an hour of quick pain, many days and nights of heart-sickness.Nearmeashenowsat,stronglyandcloselyashehadlongtwinedhislifeinmine—farashadprogressed,andnearaswasachievedourminds'and affections' assimilation—the very suggestion of interference, of heart-separation, couldbeheardonlywith a fermentingexcitement, an impetuousthroe,adisdainfulresolve,anire,aresistanceofwhichnohumaneyeorcheekcouldhidetheflame,noranytruth-accustomedhumantonguecurbthecry.

"Iwanttotellyousomething,"Isaid:"Iwanttotellyouall."

"Speak,Lucy;comenear;speak.Whoprizesyou,ifIdonot?Whoisyourfriend,ifnotEmanuel?Speak!"

Ispoke.Allescapedfrommylips.Ilackednotwordsnow;fastInarrated;fluentItoldmytale;itstreamedonmytongue.Iwentbacktothenightinthepark; I mentioned the medicated draught—why it was given—its goadingeffect—howithadtornrestfromundermyhead,shakenmefrommycouch,carriedmeabroadwiththelureofavividyetsolemnfancy—asummer-nightsolitudeonturf,undertrees,nearadeep,coollakelet.Itoldthescenerealized;the crowd, the masques, the music, the lamps, the splendours, the gunsboomingafar,thebellssoundingonhigh.AllIhadencounteredIdetailed,allIhadrecognised,heard,andseen;howIhadbeheldandwatchedhimself:howI listened, how much heard, what conjectured; the whole history, in brief,summonedtohisconfidence,rushedthither,truthful,literal,ardent,bitter.

StillasInarrated,insteadofchecking,heincitedmetoproceedhespurredmeby thegesture, the smile, thehalf-word.Before Ihadhalfdone,heheldbothmyhands,heconsultedmyeyeswithamostpiercingglance:therewassomething inhis facewhich tendedneither to calmnor toputmedown;heforgothisowndoctrine,heforsookhisownsystemofrepressionwhenImostchallenged itsexercise. I think Ideservedstrong reproof;butwhenhaveweour deserts? I merited severity; he looked indulgence. To my very self I

seemedimperiousandunreasonable,forIforbadeJustineMariemydoorandroof;hesmiled,betrayingdelight.Warm,jealous,andhaughty,Iknewnottillnowthatmynaturehadsuchamood:hegatheredmenearhisheart.Iwasfulloffaults;hetookthemandmeallhome.Forthemomentofutmostmutiny,hereservedtheonedeepspellofpeace.Thesewordscaressedmyear:—

"Lucy,takemylove.Onedaysharemylife.Bemydearest,firstonearth."

WewalkedbacktotheRueFossettebymoonlight—suchmoonlightasfellonEden—shiningthroughtheshadesoftheGreatGarden,andhaplygildingapathgloriousforastepdivine—aPresencenameless.OnceintheirlivessomemenandwomengobacktothesefirstfreshdaysofourgreatSireandMother—tastethatgrandmorning'sdew—batheinitssunrise.

InthecourseofthewalkIwastoldhowJustineMarieSauveurhadalwaysbeen regardedwith the affection proper to a daughter—how,withM.Paul'sconsent,shehadbeenaffiancedformonthstooneHeinrichMühler,awealthyyoungGermanmerchant,andwastobemarriedinthecourseofayear.SomeofM.Emanuel'srelationsandconnectionswould,indeed,itseems,havelikedhim tomarry her,with a view to securing her fortune in the family; but tohimselftheschemewasrepugnant,andtheideatotallyinadmissible.

WereachedMadameBeck'sdoor.JeanBaptiste'sclocktollednine.Atthishour,inthishouse,eighteenmonthssince,hadthismanatmysidebentbeforeme,lookedintomyfaceandeyes,andarbiteredmydestiny.Thisveryeveninghehad again stooped, gazed, anddecreed.Howdifferent the look—how farotherwisethefate!

Hedeemedmebornunderhisstar:heseemedtohavespreadovermeitsbeam like a banner. Once—unknown, and unloved, I held him harsh andstrange;thelowstature,thewirymake,theangles,thedarkness,themanner,displeasedme.Now,penetratedwithhisinfluence,andlivingbyhisaffection,having his worth by intellect, and his goodness by heart—I preferred himbeforeallhumanity.

Weparted:hegavemehispledge, and thenhis farewell.Weparted: thenextday—hesailed.

CHAPTERXLII.

FINIS.

Mancannotprophesy.Loveisnooracle.Fearsometimesimaginesavainthing. Those years of absence! How had I sickened over their anticipation!

Thewoetheymustbringseemedcertainasdeath.Iknewthenatureof theircourse:Ineverhaddoubthowitwouldharrowasitwent.Thejuggernautonhis car towered there agrim load.Seeinghimdrawnigh,buryinghisbroadwheels in the oppressed soil—I, the prostrate votary—felt beforehand theannihilatingcraunch.

Strange to say—strange, yet true, and owning many parallels in life'sexperience—thatanticipatorycraunchprovedall—yes—nearlyallthetorture.ThegreatJuggernaut,inhisgreatchariot,drewonlofty,loud,andsullen.Hepassedquietly,likeashadowsweepingthesky,atnoon.Nothingbutachillingdimness was seen or felt. I looked up. Chariot and demon charioteer weregoneby;thevotarystilllived.

M.Emanuelwas away three years.Reader, theywere the three happiestyearsofmylife.Doyouscouttheparadox?Listen.Icommencedmyschool;Iworked—I worked hard. I deemed myself the steward of his property, anddetermined,Godwilling,torenderagoodaccount.Pupilscame—burghersatfirst—a higher class ere long. About the middle of the second year anunexpected chance threw intomy hands an additional hundred pounds: oneday I received fromEngland a letter containing that sum. It came fromMr.Marchmont, the cousin and heir ofmy dear and deadmistress.Hewas justrecovering from a dangerous illness; themoneywas a peace-offering to hisconscience, reproaching him in the matter of, I know not what, papers ormemoranda found after his kinswoman's death—naming or recommendingLucySnowe.Mrs.Barretthadgivenhimmyaddress.Howfarhisconsciencehadbeensinnedagainst, Inever inquired. Iaskednoquestions,but took thecashandmadeituseful.

With thishundredpounds Iventured to take thehouseadjoiningmine. Iwould not leave that whichM. Paul had chosen, in which he had left, andwhereheexpectedagain to findme.Myexternatbecameapensionnat; thatalsoprospered.

Thesecretofmysuccessdidnotliesomuchinmyself,inanyendowment,anypowerofmine,asinanewstateofcircumstances,awonderfullychangedlife, a relieved heart. The spring which moved my energies lay far awaybeyond seas, in an Indian isle. At parting, I had been left a legacy; such athought for the present, such a hope for the future, such a motive for apersevering,alaborious,anenterprising,apatientandabravecourse—Icouldnot flag. Few things shook me now; few things had importance to vex,intimidate,ordepressme:mostthingspleased—meretrifleshadacharm.

Donot think that this genial flame sustained itself, or livedwholly on abequeathed hope or a parting promise. A generous provider suppliedbounteous fuel. I was spared all chill, all stint; I was not suffered to fear

penury;Iwasnottriedwithsuspense.Byeveryvesselhewrote;hewroteashe gave and as he loved, in full-handed, full-hearted plenitude. He wrotebecausehelikedtowrite;hedidnotabridge,becausehecarednottoabridge.Hesatdown,hetookpenandpaper,becausehelovedLucyandhadmuchtosaytoher;becausehewasfaithfulandthoughtful,becausehewastenderandtrue.Therewasnoshamandnocheat,andnohollowunrealinhim.Apologynever dropped her slippery oil on his lips—never proffered, by his pen, hercowardfeintsandpaltrynullities:hewouldgiveneitherastone,noranexcuse—neither a scorpion; nor a disappointment; his letters were real food thatnourished,livingwaterthatrefreshed.

Andwas I grateful?God knows! I believe that scarce a living being soremembered, so sustained, dealt with in kind so constant, honourable andnoble,couldbeotherwisethangratefultothedeath.

Adherenttohisownreligion(inhimwasnotthestuffofwhichismadethefacileapostate),hefreelyleftmemypurefaith.Hedidnotteasenortempt.Hesaid:—

"Remain a Protestant. My little English Puritan, I love Protestantism inyou.Iownitsseverecharm.ThereissomethinginitsritualIcannotreceivemyself,butitisthesolecreedfor'Lucy.'"

AllRomecouldnotput intohimbigotry,nor thePropagandaitselfmakehimarealJesuit.Hewasbornhonest,andnotfalse—artless,andnotcunning—a freeman, and not a slave.His tenderness had rendered him ductile in apriest's hands, his affection, his devotedness, his sincere pious enthusiasmblindedhiskindeyessometimes,madehimabandonjusticetohimself todotheworkofcraft,andservetheendsofselfishness;butthesearefaultssoraretofind,socostlytotheirownertoindulge,wescarceknowwhethertheywillnotonedaybereckonedamongstthejewels.

**

And now the three years are past: M. Emanuel's return is fixed. It isAutumn; he is to bewithme ere themists ofNovember come.My schoolflourishes,myhouseisready:Ihavemadehimalittlelibrary,filleditsshelveswiththebooksheleftinmycare:Ihavecultivatedoutofloveforhim(Iwasnaturally no florist) the plants he preferred, and some of them are yet inbloom.IthoughtIlovedhimwhenhewentaway;Ilovehimnowinanotherdegree:heismoremyown.

Thesunpassestheequinox;thedaysshorten,theleavesgrowsere;but—heiscoming.

Frosts appear atnight;Novemberhas senthis fogs in advance; thewindtakesitsautumnmoan;but—heiscoming.

Theskieshangfullanddark—awracksailsfromthewest;thecloudscastthemselves into strange forms—arches and broad radiations; there riseresplendent mornings—glorious, royal, purple as monarch in his state; theheavens are one flame; sowild are they, they rival battle at its thickest—sobloody,theyshameVictoryinherpride.Iknowsomesignsofthesky;Ihavenotedthemeversincechildhood.Godwatchthatsail!Oh!guardit!

Thewind shifts to thewest. Peace, peace,Banshee—"keening" at everywindow! It will rise—it will swell—it shrieks out long: wander as I maythroughthehousethisnight,Icannotlulltheblast.Theadvancinghoursmakeitstrong:bymidnight,allsleeplesswatchershearandfearawildsouth-weststorm. That storm roared frenzied, for seven days. It did not cease till theAtlanticwasstrewnwithwrecks:itdidnotlulltillthedeepshadgorgedtheirfull of sustenance.Not till thedestroyingangel of tempesthad achievedhisperfectwork,wouldhefoldthewingswhosewaftwasthunder—thetremorofwhoseplumeswasstorm.

Peace, be still! Oh! a thousand weepers, praying in agony on waitingshores,listenedforthatvoice,butitwasnotuttered—notutteredtill;whenthehushcame, somecouldnot feel it: till,when the sun returned,his lightwasnighttosome!

Here pause: pause at once.There is enough said.Trouble no quiet, kindheart;leavesunnyimaginationshope.Letitbetheirstoconceivethedelightofjoybornagain freshoutofgreat terror, the raptureof rescue fromperil, thewondrousreprievefromdread, thefruitionof return.Let thempictureunionandahappysucceedinglife.

MadameBeckprosperedallthedaysofherlife;sodidPèreSilas;MadameWalravensfulfilledherninetiethyearbeforeshedied.Farewell.

THEEND.

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