VILLETTE..........................................................................................................................................................1

Charlotte Brontë .......................................................................................................................................1

My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town of Bretton. Her husband's family had

been residents there for generations, and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace Bretton of Bretton:

whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been a personage of sufficient importance to

When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a year, and well I liked the visit. The house and its inmates

specially suited me. The large peaceful rooms, the wellarranged furniture, the clear wide windows, the

balcony outside, looking down on a fine antique street, where Sundays and holidays seemed always to abide

so quiet was its atmosphere, so clean its pavement these things pleased me well.

One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of, and in a quiet way I was a good deal

taken notice of by Mrs. Bretton, who had been left a widow, with one son, before I knew her; her husband, a

She was not young, as I remember her, but she was still handsome, tall, wellmade, and though dark for an

Englishwoman, yet wearing always the clearness of health in her brunette cheeks, and its vivacity in a pair of

fine, cheerful black eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity that she had not conferred her complexion on her

son, whose eyes were blue though, even in boyhood, very piercing and the colour of his long hair such as

friends did not venture to specify, except as the sun shone on it, when they called it golden. He inherited the

lines of his mother's features, however; also her good teeth, her stature (or the promise of her stature, for he

was not yet fullgrown), and, what was better, her health without flaw, and her spirits of that tone and

In the autumn of the year I was staying at Bretton; my godmother having come in person to claim me of the

kinsfolk with whom was at that time fixed my permanent residence. I believe she then plainly saw events

coming, whose very shadow I scarce guessed; yet of which the faint suspicion sufficed to impart unsettled

Time always flowed smoothly for me at my godmother's side; not with tumultuous swiftness, but blandly,

like the gliding of a full river through a plain. My visits to her resembled the sojourn of Christian and

Hopeful beside a certain pleasant stream, with green trees on each bank, and meadows beautified with lilies

all the year round.' The charm of variety there was not, nor the excitement of incident; but I liked peace so

well, and sought stimulus so little, that when the latter came I almost felt it a disturbance, and wished rather it

One day, a letter was received of which the contents evidently caused Mrs. Bretton surprise and some

concern. I thought at first it was from home, and trembled, expecting I knew not what disastrous

communication; to me, however, no reference was made, and the cloud seemed to pass.

The next day, on my return from a long walk, I found, as I entered my bedroom, an unexpected change. In

addition to my own French bed in its shady recess, appeared in a corner a small crib, draped with white; and

in addition to my mahogany chest of drawers, I saw a tiny rosewood chest. I stood still, gazed, and

'Of what are these things the signs and tokens?' I asked. The answer was obvious. 'A second guest is coming:

On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A little girl, I was told, would shortly be my companion: the

daughter of a friend and distant relation of the late Dr. Bretton's. This little girl, it was added, had recently

lost her mother; though indeed, Mrs. Bretton ere long subjoined, the loss was not so great as might at first

appear. Mrs. Home (Home it seems was the name) had been a very pretty, but a giddy, careless woman, who

had neglected her child, and disappointed and disheartened her husband. So far from congenial had the union

proved, that separation at last ensued separation by mutual consent, not after any legal process. Soon after

this event, the lady having overexerted herself at a ball, caught cold, took a fever, and died after a very brief

illness. Her husband, naturally a man of very sensitive feelings, and shocked inexpressibly by too sudden

communication of the news, could hardly, it seems, now be persuaded but that some overseverity on his part

some deficiency in patience and indulgence had contributed to hasten her end. He had brooded over this

idea till his spirits were seriously affected; the medical men insisted on travelling being tried as a remedy; and

meanwhile, Mrs. Bretton had offered to take charge of his little girl. 'And I hope', added my godmother in

conclusion, 'the child will not be like her mama; as silly and frivolous a little flirt as ever sensible man was

weak enough to marry. For', said she, 'Mr. Home is a sensible man in his way, though not very practical: he is

fond of science, and lives half his life in a laboratory trying experiments a thing his butterfly wife could

neither comprehend nor endure; and indeed', confessed my godmother, 'I should not have liked it myself.'

In answer to a question of mine, she further informed me that her late husband used to say, Mr. Home had

derived this scientific turn from a maternal uncle, a French savant; for he came, it seems, of mixed French

and Scottish origin, and had connections now living in France, of whom more than one wrote de before his

That same evening, at nine o'clock, a servant was despatched to meet the coach by which our little visitor was

expected. Mrs. Bretton and I sat alone in the drawingroom waiting her coming; John Graham Bretton being

absent on a visit to one of his schoolfellows who lived in the country. My godmother read the evening paper

while she waited; I sewed. It was a wet night; the rain lashed the panes, and the wind sounded angry and

'Poor child!' said Mrs. Bretton from time to time. 'What weather for her journey! I wish she were safe here.'

A little before ten the doorbell announced Warren's return. No sooner was the door opened than I ran down

into the hall: there lay a trunk and some bandboxes, beside them stood a person like a nursegirl, and at the

I would have opened the shawl, and tried to get a peep at the face, but it was hastily turned from me to

'Put me down, please', said a small voice when Warren opened the drawingroom door, 'and take off this

shawl', continued the speaker, extracting with its minute hand the pin, and with a sort of fastidious haste

doffing the clumsy wrapping. The creature which now appeared made a deft attempt to fold the shawl; but the

drapery was much too heavy and large to be sustained or wielded by those hands and arms. 'Give it to Harriet,

please', was the direction, 'and she can put it away.' This said, it turned and fixed its eyes on Mrs Bretton.

'Come here, little dear', said that lady, 'Come and let me see if you are cold and damp: come and let me warm

The child advanced promptly. Relieved of her wrapping, she appeared exceedingly tiny; but was a neat,

completelyfashioned little figure, light, slight, and straight. Seated on my godmother's ample lap, she looked

a mere doll; her neck, delicate as wax, her head of silky curls, increased, I thought, the resemblance.

Mrs. Bretton talked in little fond phrases as she chafed the child's hands, arms, and feet; first she was

considered with a wistful gaze, but soon a smile answered her, Mrs. Bretton was not generally a caressing

woman; even with her deeplycherished son, her manner was rarely sentimental, often the reverse; but when

'Not always; but till papa comes home. Papa is gone away.' She shook her head expressively.

Her eyes filled. She drew her hands down from Mrs. Bretton's, and made a movement to leave her lap; it was

She was allowed to slip down from the knee, and taking a footstool, she carried it to a corner where the shade

was deep, and there seated herself. Mrs. Bretton, though a commanding, and in grave matters even a

peremptory woman, was often passive in trifles: she allowed the child, her way. She said to me, 'Take no

notice at present.' But I did take notice: I watched Polly rest her small elbow on her small knee, her head on

her hand; I observed her draw a squareinch or two of pocket handkerchief from the dollpocket of her

dollskirt, 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 sniff testified to her emotion. Mrs. Bretton did not hear it: which

'Harriet, I must be put to bed', said her little mistress. 'You must ask where my bed is.'

'No, missy', said the nurse: 'You are to share this young lady's room', designating me.

Missy did not leave her seat, but I saw her eyes seek me. After some minutes' silent scrutiny, she emerged

'I wish you, ma'am, good night', said she to Mrs. Bretton; but she passed me mute.

'No need to say good night, since we sleep in the same chamber'; was the reply with which she vanished from

the drawingroom. We heard Harriet propose to carry her upstairs. 'No need', was again her answer 'No

On going to bed an hour afterwards, I found her still wide awake. She had arranged her pillows so as to

support her little person in a sitting posture; her hands, placed one within the other, rested quietly on the

sheet, with an oldfashioned calm, most unchildlike. I abstained from speaking to her for some time, but just

She took some tiny article of raiment from the chair at her crib side, and with it covered her shoulders. I

suffered her to do as she pleased. Listening awhile in the darkness, I was aware that she still wept wept

On awaking with daylight, a trickling of water caught my ear. Behold! there she was risen and mounted on a

stool near the washstand, with pains and difficulty inclining the ewer (which she could not lift) so as to pour

its contents into the basin. It was curious to watch her as she washed and dressed, so small, busy, and

noiseless. Evidently she was little accustomed to perform her own toilet; and the buttons, strings, hooks and

eyes, offered difficulties which she encountered with a perseverance good to witness. She folded her

nightdress, she smoothed the drapery of her couch quite neatly; withdrawing into a corner, where the sweep

of the white curtain concealed her, she became still. I half rose, and advanced my head to see how she was

occupied. On her knees, with her forehead bent on her hands, I perceived that she was praying.

'I am dressed, Harriet', said she: 'I have dressed myself, but I do not feel neat. Make me neat!'

'Hush! speak low, Harriet, for fear of waking the girl' (meaning me, who now lay with my eyes shut). 'I

'When you are cross, I have many a time wanted you to go, but not now. Tie my sash straight; make my hair

'Why? She is a very nice young lady. I hope you mean to behave prettily to her, missy, and not show your

'You are not passing the comb straight through my hair, Harriet: the line will be crooked.'

'I am good, but I ache here'; putting her hand to her heart, and moaning while she reiterated 'Papa! papa!'

I roused myself and started up, to check this scene while it was yet within bounds.

She said 'good morning', and then followed her nurse from the room. Harriet temporarily left that same day,

On descending, I found Paulina (the child called herself Polly, but her full name was Paulina Mary) seated at

the breakfast table, by Mrs. Bretton's side; a mug of milk stood before her, a morsel of bread filled her hand,

'How we shall conciliate this little creature', said Mrs. Bretton to me, 'I don't know: she tastes nothing, and, by

'If she were to take a fancy to anybody in the house, she would soon settle; but not till then', replied Mrs.

Some days elapsed, and it appeared she was not likely to take much of a fancy to anybody in the house. She

was not exactly naughty or wilful: she was far from disobedient; but an object less conducive to comfort to

tranquillity even than she presented, it was scarcely possible to have before one's eyes. She moped: no

grown person could have performed that uncheering business better; no furrowed face of adult exile, longing

for Europe at Europe's antipodes, ever bore more legibly the signs of homesickness than did her infant visage.

She seemed growing old and unearthly. I, Lucy Snowe, plead guiltless of that curse, an overheated and

discursive imagination; but whenever, opening a roomdoor, I found her seated in a corner alone her head

And again, when of moonlight nights, on waking, I beheld her figure, white and conspicuous in its

nightdress, kneeling upright in bed, and praying like some Catholic or Methodist enthusiast some

precocious fanatic or untimely saint I scarcely know what thoughts I had; but they ran risk of being hardly

I seldom caught a word of her prayers, for they were whispered low: sometimes, indeed, they were not

whispered at all, but put up unuttered; such rare sentences as reached my ear still bore the burden, 'Papa; my

dear papa!' This, I perceived, was a oneidead nature; betraying that monomaniac tendency I have ever

What might have been the end of this fretting, had it continued unchecked, can only be conjectured: it

One afternoon Mrs. Bretton, coaxing her from her usual station in a corner, had lifted her into the

windowseat, and, by way of occupying her attention, told her to watch the passengers and count how many

ladies should go down the street in a given time. She had sat listlessly, hardly looking, and not counting,

when my eye being fixed on hers I witnessed in its iris and pupil a startling transfiguration. These sudden,

dangerous natures sensitive as they are called offer many a curious spectacle to those whom a cooler

temperament has secured from participation in their angular vagaries. The fixed and heavy gaze swum,

trembled, then glittered in fire; the small overcast brow cleared; the trivial and dejected features lit up; the sad

countenance vanished, and in its place appeared a sudden eagerness, an intense expectancy.

Like a bird or a shaft, or any other swift thing, she was gone from the room. How she got the housedoor

open I cannot tell; probably it might be ajar; perhaps Warren was in the way and obeyed her behest, which

would be impetuous enough. I watching calmly from the window saw her, in her black frock and tiny

braided apron (to pinafores she had an antipathy), dart half the length of the street; and, as I was on the point

of turning, and quietly announcing to Mrs. Bretton that the child was run out mad, and ought instantly to be

pursued, I saw her caught up, and rapt at once from my cool observation, and from the wondering stare of the

passengers. A gentleman had done this good turn, and now, covering her with his cloak, advanced to restore

I concluded he would leave her in a servant's charge and withdraw; but he entered: having tarried a little

His reception immediately explained that he was known to Mrs. Bretton. She recognised him; she greeted

him, and yet she was fluttered, surprised, taken unawares. Her look and manner were even expostulatory; and

'I could not help it, madam: I found it impossible to leave the country without seeing with my own eyes how

This question he addressed to Paulina, as he sat down and placed her gently on the ground before him.

'How is Polly's papa?' was the reply, as she leaned on his knee, and gazed up into his face.

It was not a noisy, not a wordy scene: for that I was thankful; but it was a scene of feeling, too brimful, and

which, because the cup did not foam up high, or furiously overflow, only oppressed one the more. On all

occasions of vehement, unrestrained expansion, a sense of disdain or ridicule comes to the weary spectator's

relief; whereas I have ever felt most burdensome that sort of sensibility which bends of its own will, a giant

Mr. Home was a sternfeatured, perhaps I should rather say, a hardfeatured man: his forehead was knotty,

and his cheekbones were marked and prominent. The character of his face was quite Scotch; but there was

feeling in his eye, and emotion in his now agitated countenance. His northern accent in speaking harmonised

He kissed her. I wished she would utter some hysterical cry, so that I might get relief and be at ease. She

made wonderfully little noise: she seemed to have got what she wanted all she wanted and to be in a

trance of content. Neither in mien nor features was this creature like her sire, and yet she was of his strain: her

Indisputably Mr. Home owned manly selfcontrol, however he might secretly feel on some matters. 'Polly',

he said, looking down on this little girl, 'go into the hall; you will see papa's greatcoat lying on a chair; put

your hand into the pockets, you will find a pocket handkerchief; bring it to me.'

She obeyed; went and returned deftly and nimbly. He was talking to Mrs. Bretton when she came back, and

she waited with the handkerchief in her hand. It was a picture, in its way, to see her, with her tiny stature and

trim, neat shape, standing at his knee. Seeing that he continued to talk apparently unconscious of her return

she took his hand, opened the unresisting fingers, insinuated into them the handkerchief, and closed them

upon it one by one. He still seemed not to see or feel her; but byandby, he lifted her to his knee; she

nestled against him, and though neither looked at or spoke to the other for an hour following, I suppose both

During tea, the minute thing's movements and behaviour gave, as usual, full occupation to the eye. First she

'Put papa's chair here, and mine near it, between papa and Mrs. Bretton: I must hand his tea.'

And again, as she intercepted his cup in passing, and stirred the sugar and put in the cream herself, 'I always

did it for you at home, papa: nobody could do it as well, not even your own self.'

Throughout the meal she continued her attentions: rather absurd they were. The sugartongs were too wide

for one of her hands, and she had to use both in wielding them; the weight of the silver creamewer, the

bread and butter plates, the very cup and saucer tasked her insufficient strength and dexterity; but she would

lift this, hand that, and luckily contrived through it all to break nothing. Candidly speaking, I thought her a

little busybody; but her father, blind like other parents, seemed perfectly content to let her wait on him, and

'She is my comfort!' he could not help saying to Mrs. Bretton. That lady had her own 'comfort' and nonpareil

on a much larger scale, and for the moment, absent; so she sympathised with his foible.

This second 'comfort' came on the stage in the course of the evening. I knew this day had been fixed for his

return, and was aware that Mrs. Bretton had been expecting him through all its hours. We were seated round

the fire, after tea, when Graham joined our circle: I should rather say, broke it up for, of course, his arrival

made a bustle; and then, as Mr. Graham was fasting, there was refreshment to be provided. He and Mr. Home

His meal over, and numerous questions from his mother answered, he turned from the table to the hearth.

Opposite where he had placed himself was seated Mr. Home, and at his elbow, the child. When I say child I

use an inappropriate and undescriptive term a term suggesting any picture rather than that of the demure

little person in a mourning frock and white chemisette, that might just have fitted a goodsized doll

perched now on a high chair beside a stand, whereon was her toy workbox of white varnished wood, and

holding in her hands a shred of a handkerchief, which she was professing to hem, and at which she bored

perseveringly with a needle, that in her fingers seemed almost a skewer, pricking herself ever and anon,

marking the cambric with a track of minute red dots; occasionally starting when the perverse weapon

swerving from her control inflicted a deeper stab than usual; but still silent, diligent, absorbed, womanly.

Graham was at that time a handsome, faithlesslooking youth of sixteen. I say faithlesslooking, not because

he was really of a very perfidious disposition, but because the epithet strikes me as proper to describe the fair,

Celtic (not Saxon) character of his good looks; his waved light auburn hair, his supple symmetry, his smile

frequent, and destitute neither of fascination nor of subtlety, (in no bad sense.) A spoiled, whimsical boy he

'Mother', he said, after eyeing the little figure before him in silence for some time, and when the temporary

absence of Mr. Home from the room relieved him from the halflaughing bashfulness, which was all he

knew of timidity 'Mother, I see a young lady in the present society to whom I have not been introduced.'

'Indeed, ma'am', replied her son, 'I consider your expression of the least ceremonious: Miss Home I should

certainly have said, in venturing to speak of the gentlewoman to whom I allude.'

'Now, Graham, I will not have that child teased. Don't flatter yourself that I shall suffer you to make her your

'Miss Home', pursued Graham, undeterred by his mother's remonstrance, 'might I have the honour to

introduce myself, since no one else seems willing to render you and me that service? Your slave, John

She looked at him; he rose and bowed quite gravely. She deliberately put down thimble, scissors, work;

descended with precaution from her perch and, curtsying with unspeakable seriousness, said, 'How do you

'I have the honour to be in fair health, only in some measure fatigued with a hurried journey. I hope, ma'am, I

'Torrerably well', was the ambitious reply of the little woman; and she now essayed to regain her former

elevation, but finding this could not be done without some climbing and straining a sacrifice of decorum

not to be thought of and being utterly disdainful of aid in the presence of a strange young gentleman, she

relinquished the high chair for a low stool: towards that low stool Graham drew in his chair.

'I hope, ma'am, the present residence, my mother's house, appears to you a convenient place of abode?'

'A natural and laudable desire, ma'am; but one which, notwithstanding, I shall do my best to oppose. I reckon

on being able to get out of you a little of that precious commodity called amusement, which mama and

'Yes, yes; you will stay with me I am sure. I have a pony on which you shall ride, and no end of books with

'Auburn hair, if you please: mama calls it auburn, or golden, and so do all her friends. But even with my

"long red hair,"' (and he waved his mane with a sort of triumph tawny he himself well knew that it was, and

he was proud of the leonine hue) 'I cannot possibly be queerer than is your ladyship.'

'A little thing like you ought to have been in bed many hours since; but you probably sat up in the expectation

'You certainly wished to enjoy the pleasure of my society. You knew I was coming home, and would wait to

'Very good, Miss Home. I am going to be a favourite: preferred before papa soon, I dare say.'

She wished Mrs. Bretton and myself good night; she seemed hesitating whether Graham's deserts entitled him

to the same attention, when he caught her up with one hand, and with that one hand held her poised aloft

above his head. She saw herself thus lifted up on high, in the glass over the fireplace. The suddenness, the

'For shame, Mr. Graham!' was her indignant cry, 'put me down!' and when again on her feet, 'I wonder what

you would think of me if I were to treat you in that way, lifting you with my hand' (raising that mighty

Mr. Home stayed two days. During his visit he could not be prevailed on to go out: he sat all day long by the

fireside, sometimes silent, sometimes receiving and answering Mrs. Bretton's chat, which was just of the

proper sort for a man in his morbid mood not oversympathetic, yet not too uncongenial; sensible, and

even with a touch of the motherly she was sufficiently his senior to be permitted this touch.

As to Paulina, the child was at once happy and mute, busy and watchful. Her father frequently lifted her to his

knee; she would sit there till she felt or fancied he grew restless; then it was:

And the mighty burden slid to the rug, and establishing itself on carpet or stool just at 'papa's' feet, the white

workbox and the scarletspeckled handkerchief came into play. This handkerchief it seems was intended as

a keepsake for 'papa', and must be finished before his departure; consequently the demand on the sempstress's

industry (she accomplished about a score of stitches in half an hour) was stringent.

The evening, by restoring Graham to the maternal roof (his days were passed at school), brought us an

accession of animation a quality not diminished by the nature of the scenes pretty sure to be enacted

A distant and haughty demeanour had been the result of the indignity put upon her the first evening of his

'I can't attend to you; I have other things to think about.' Being implored to state what things: 'Business.'

Graham would endeavour to seduce her attention by opening his desk and displaying its multifarious

contents: seals, bright sticks of wax, penknives, with a miscellany of engravings some of them gaily

coloured which he had amassed from time to time. Nor was this powerful temptation wholly unavailing:

her eyes, furtively raised from her work, cast many a peep towards the writingtable, rich in scattered

pictures. An etching of a child playing with a Blenheim spaniel happened to flutter to the floor.

Graham prudently took no notice. Ere long, stealing from her corner, she approached to examine the treasure

more closely. The dog's great eyes and long ears, and the child's hat and feathers, were irresistible.

She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess was strong, but to accept would be a compromise of dignity. No.

Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading tone; he took the scissors from his mother's workcasket.

'Here goes!' said he, making a menacing flourish. 'Right through Fido's head, and splitting little Harry's nose.'

Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her turn. Graham gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted to

her father, and took refuge on his knee. Graham rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her face in Mr.

'Then, I shall kiss the hand', said he; but that moment it became a miniature fist, and dealt him payment in a

Graham not failing in his way to be as wily as his little playmate retreated apparently quite discomfited; he

flung himself on a sofa, and resting his head against the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him

silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face were covered with his hands. She turned on her father's

'Mother', suggested Graham, feebly, 'I think you had better send for the doctor. Oh my eye!' (renewed silence

'Let me see your eye: I did not mean to touch it, only your mouth; and I did not think I hit so very hard.'

And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she again punished him; and while she pulled his lion's locks,

On the morning of Mr. Home's departure, he and his daughter had some conversation in a windowrecess by

'Because you are little and tender. It is only great, strong people that should travel. But don't look sad, my

'Then Polly must be cheerful: not cry at parting; not fret afterwards. She must look forward to meeting again,

She held up quivering lips. Her father sobbed, but she, I remarked, did not. Having put her down, he shook

When the streetdoor closed, she dropped on her knees at a chair with a cry 'Papa!'

It was low and long; a sort of 'Why hast thou forsaken me?' During an ensuing space of some minutes, I

perceived she endured agony. She went through, in that brief interval of her infant life, emotions such as

some never feel; it was in her constitution: she would have more of such instants if she lived. Nobody spoke.

Mrs. Bretton, being a mother, shed a tear or two. Graham, who was writing, lifted up his eyes and gazed at

The little creature, thus left unharassed, did for herself what none other could do contended with an

intolerable feeling; and, ere long, in some degree, repressed it. That day she would accept solace from none;

On the third evening, as she sat on the floor, worn and quiet, Graham, coming in, took her up gently, without

a word. She did not resist: she rather nestled in his arms, as if weary. When he sat down, she laid her head

against him; in a few minutes she slept; he carried her upstairs to bed. I was not surprised that, the next

It happened that Graham was not coming to the breakfasttable; he had some exercises to write for that

morning's class, and had requested his mother to send a cup of tea into the study. Polly volunteered to carry

it: she must be busy about something, look after somebody. The cup was entrusted to her: for, if restless, she

was also careful. As the study was opposite the breakfastroom, the doors facing across the passage, my eye

And she deposited the cup on the carpet, like a jailer putting a prisoner's pitcher of water through his

'Anything good. Bring me something particularly nice; that's a kind little woman.'

She selected a portion of whatever was best on the table, and, ere long, came back with a whispered request

for some marmalade, which was not there. Having got it, however (for Mrs. Bretton refused the pair nothing),

Graham was, shortly after heard lauding her to the skies, promising that, when he had a house of his own, she

should be his housekeeper, and perhaps if she showed any culinary genius his cook; and, as she did not

return, I went to look after her, I found Graham and her breakfasting têteàtête she standing at his elbow,

and sharing his fare: excepting the marmalade, which she delicately refused to touch; lest, I suppose, it should

appear that she had procured it as much on her own account as his. She constantly evinced these nice

The league of acquaintanceship thus struck up was not hastily dissolved; on the contrary, it appeared that

time and circumstances served rather to cement than loosen it. Illassimilated as the two were in age, sex,

pursuits, they somehow found a great deal to say to each other. As to Paulina, I observed that her little

character never properly came out, except with young Bretton. As she got settled, and accustomed to the

house, she proved tractable enough with Mrs. Bretton; but she would sit on a stool at that lady's feet all day

long, learning her task, or sewing, or drawing figures with a pencil on a slate, and never kindling once to

originality, or showing a single gleam of the peculiarities of her nature. I ceased to watch her under such

circumstances: she was not interesting. But the moment Graham's knock sounded of an evening, a change

occurred; she was instantly at the head of the staircase. Usually her welcome was a reprimand or a threat.

'Yes and you can't reach me: I am higher up than you' (peeping between the rails of the banister; she could

'My dear boy!' (such was one of her terms for him, adopted in imitation of his mother.)

'I am fit to faint with fatigue', declared Graham, leaning against the passagewall in seeming exhaustion. 'Dr.

Digby' (the headmaster) 'has quite knocked me up with overwork. Just come down and help me to carry up

'Perhaps I may if you'll promise not to touch not to snatch me up, and not to whirl me round.'

This being done, she descended warily, and not taking her eyes from the feeble Graham. Of course her

approach always galvanised him to new and spasmodic life: the game of romps was sure to be exacted.

Sometimes she would be angry; sometimes the matter was allowed to pass smoothly, and we could hear her

It was sufficiently comical to observe her as she sat beside Graham, while he took that meal. In his absence

she was a still personage, but with him the most officious, fidgety little body possible. I often wished she

would mind her self and be tranquil; but no herself was forgotten in him: he could not be sufficiently well

waited on, nor carefully enough looked after; he was more than the Grand Turk in her estimation. She would

gradually assemble the various plates before him, and, when one would suppose all he could possibly desire

'Ma'am', she would whisper to Mrs. Bretton, 'perhaps your son would like a little cake sweet cake, you

know there is some in there' (pointing to the sideboard cupboard). Mrs. Bretton, as a rule, disapproved of

sweet cake at tea, but still the request was urged, 'One little piece only for him as he goes to school: girls

Graham did like it very well, and almost always got it. To do him justice, he would have shared his prize with

her to whom he owed it; but that was never allowed: to insist, was to ruffle her for the evening. To stand by

his knee, and monopolise his talk and notice, was the reward she wanted not a share of the cake.

With curious readiness did she adapt herself to such themes as interested him. One would have thought the

child had no mind or life of her own, but must necessarily live, move, and have her being in another: now that

her father was taken from her, she nestled to Graham, and seemed to feel by his feelings, to exist in his

existence. She learned the names of all his schoolfellows in a trice; she got by heart their characters as given

from his lips: a single description of an individual seemed to suffice. She never forgot, or confused identities:

she would talk with him the whole evening about people she had never seen, and appear completely to realise

their aspect, manners, and dispositions. Some she learned to mimic: an undermaster, who was an aversion of

young Bretton's, had, it seems, some peculiarities, which she caught up in a moment from Graham's

representation, and rehearsed for his amusement; this, however, Mrs. Bretton disapproved and forbade.

The pair seldom quarrelled; yet once a rupture occurred, in which her feelings received a severe shock.

One day Graham, on the occasion of his birthday, had some friends lads of his own age to dine with him.

Paulina took much interest in the coming of these friends; she had frequently heard of them; they were

amongst those of whom Graham oftenest spoke. After dinner, the young gentlemen were left by themselves

in the diningroom, where they soon became very merry and made a good deal of noise. Chancing to pass

through the hall, I found Paulina sitting alone on the lowest step of the staircase, her eyes fixed on the glossy

panels of the diningroom door, where the reflection of the halllamp was shining; her little brow knit in

'Nothing particular; only I wish that door was clear glass that I might see through it. The boys seem very

cheerful, and I want to go to them: I want to be with Graham, and watch his friends.'

'I feel afraid: but may I try, do you think? May I knock at the door, and ask to be let in?' I thought perhaps

they might not object to have her as a playmate, and therefore encouraged the attempt.

She knocked too faintly at first to be heard, but on a second essay the door unclosed; Graham's head

'Do you indeed? As if I would be troubled with you! Away to mama and Mistress Snowe, and tell them to put

you to bed.' The auburn head and bright flushed face, vanished; the door shut peremptorily. She was stunned.

'Why does he speak so? He never spoke so before', she said in consternation. 'What have I done?'

I had some thoughts of consoling her, and of improving the occasion by inculcating some of those maxims of

philosophy whereof I had ever a tolerable stock ready for application. She stopped me, however, by putting

her fingers in her ears at the first words I uttered, and then lying down on the mat with her face against the

flags; nor could either Warren or the cook root her from that position: she was allowed to lie, therefore, till

Graham forgot his impatience the same evening, and would have accosted her as usual when his friends were

gone, but she wrenched herself from his hand; her eye quite flashed; she would not bid him goodnight; she

would not look in his face. The next day he treated her with indifference, and she grew like a bit of marble.

The day after, he teased her to know what was the matter; her lips would not unclose. Of course he could not

feel real anger on his side: the match was too unequal in every way; he tried soothing and coaxing. 'Why was

she angry? What had he done?' Byandby tears answered him; he petted her and they were friends. But she

was one on whom such incidents were not lost: I remarked that never after this rebuff did she seek him, or

follow him, or in any way solicit his notice. I told her once to carry a book or some other article to Graham

'I shall wait till he comes out', said she, proudly; 'I don't choose to give him the trouble of rising to open the

Young Bretton had a favourite pony on which he often rode out; from the window she always watched his

departure and return. It was her ambition to be permitted to have a ride round the courtyard on this pony; but

far be it from her to ask such a favour. One day she descended to the yard to watch him dismount; as she

leaned against the gate, the longing wish for the indulgence of a ride glittered in her eye.

'Come, Polly, will you have a canter?' asked Graham, half carelessly. I suppose she thought he was too

'Lucy Snowe is a tatterbox', I heard her say: (her imperfect articulation was the least precocious thing she

had about her), and with this, she walked into the house. Graham coming in soon after, observed to his

'Mama, I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities; but I should be dull without

'Miss Snowe', said Paulina to me once (she had now got into the habit of occasionally chatting with me when

we were alone in our room at night), 'do you know on what day in the week I like Graham best?'

'How can I possibly know anything so strange? Is there one day out of the seven when he is otherwise than on

'To be sure! Can't you see? Don't you know? I find him the most excellent on a Sunday; then we have him the

This observation was not altogether groundless: going to church, kept Graham quiet on the Sunday, and the

evening he generally dedicated to a serene, though rather indolent sort of enjoyment by the parlour fireside.

Graham was a boy not quite as other boys are; all his delight did not lie in action: he was capable of some

intervals of contemplation; he could take a pleasure, too, in reading, nor was his selection of books wholly

indiscriminate: there were glimmerings of characteristic preference and even of instinctive taste in the choice.

He rarely, it is true, remarked on what he read, but I have seen him sit and think of it.

Polly being near him, kneeling on a little cushion or the carpet, a conversation would begin in murmurs, not

inaudible, though subdued. I caught a snatch of their tenor now and then; and, in truth, some influence better

and finer than that of every day, seemed to soothe Graham at such times into no ungentle mood.

The hymn being rehearsed, or rather halfchanted, in a little singing voice, Graham would take exceptions at

the manner, and proceed to give a lesson in recitation. She was quick in learning, apt in imitating; and,

besides, her pleasure was to please Graham: she proved a ready scholar. To the hymn would succeed some

reading perhaps a chapter in the Bible; correction was seldom required here, for the child could read any

simple narrative chapter very well; and, when the subject was such as she could understand and take an

interest in, her expression and emphasis were something remarkable. Joseph cast into the pit; the calling of

Samuel; Daniel in the lion's den; these were favourite passages: of the first especially she seemed perfectly

'Poor Jacob!' she would sometimes say, with quivering lips. 'How he loved his son Joseph! As much', she

once added 'as much, Graham, as I love you: if you were to die' (and she reopened the book, sought the

verse, and read), 'I should "refuse to be comforted, and go down into the grave to your mourning."'

With these words she gathered Graham in her little arms, drawing his longtressed head towards her. The

action, I remember, struck me as strangely rash; exciting the feeling one might experience on seeing an

animal dangerous by nature, and but halftamed by art, too heedlessly fondled. Not that I feared Graham

would hurt, or very roughly check her; but I thought she ran risk of incurring such a careless, impatient

repulse, as would be worse almost to her than a blow. On the whole, however, these demonstrations were

borne passively: sometimes even a sort of complacent wonder at her earnest partiality would smile not

I was not long allowed the amusement of this study of character. She had scarcely been at Bretton two

months, when a letter came from Mr. Home, signifying that he was now settled amongst his maternal

kinsfolk on the Continent, that, as England was become wholly distasteful to him, he had no thoughts of

returning thither, perhaps, for years; and that he wished his little girl to join him immediately.

'I wonder how she will take this news?' said Mrs. Bretton, when she had read the letter. I wondered, too, and I

Repairing to the drawingroom in which calm and decorated apartment she was fond of being alone, and

where she could be implicitly trusted, for she fingered nothing, or rather soiled nothing she fingered I found

her seated, like a little Odalisque, on a couch, half shaded by the drooping draperies of the window near. She

seemed happy; all her appliances for occupation were about her; the white wood workbox, a shred or two of

muslin, an end or two of ribbon, collected for conversion into dollmillinery. The doll, duly nightcapped

and nightgowned, lay in its cradle; she was rocking it to sleep, with an air of the most perfect faith in its

possession of sentient and somnolent faculties; her eyes, at the same time, being engaged with a

'Miss Snowe', said she in a whisper, 'this is a wonderful book. Candace' the doll, christened by Graham; for,

indeed, its begrimed complexion gave it much of an Ethiopian aspect 'Candace is asleep now, and I may

tell you about it; only we must both speak low, lest she should waken. This book was given me by Graham; it

tells about distant countries, a long, long way from England, which no traveller can reach without sailing

thousands of miles over the sea. Wild men live in these countries, Miss Snowe, who wear clothes different

from ours: indeed, some of them wear scarcely any clothes, for the sake of being cool, you know; for they

have very hot weather. Here is a picture of thousands gathered in a desolate place a plain, spread with sand

round a man in black, a good, good Englishman, a missionary, who is preaching to them under a

palmtree.' (She showed a little coloured cut to that effect.) 'And. here are pictures' (she went on) 'more

stranger' (grammar was occasionally forgotten) 'than that. There is the wonderful Great Wall of China; here is

a Chinese lady, with a foot littler than mine. There is a wild horse of Tartary; and here most strange of all

is a land of ice and snow, without green fields, woods, or gardens. In this land, they found some mammoth

bones: there are no mammoths now. You don't know what it was; but I can tell you, because Graham told me.

A mighty, goblin creature, as high as this room, and as long as the hall; but not a fierce, flesheating thing,

Graham thinks. He believes, if I met one in a forest, it would not kill me, unless I came quite in its way; when

it would trample me down amongst the bushes, as I might tread on a grasshopper in a hayfield without

'Not just yet', was the prudent answer; 'but perhaps in twenty years, when I am grown a woman, as tall as

Mrs. Bretton, I may travel with Graham. We intend going to Switzerland, and climbing Mount Blanck; and

some day we shall sail over to South America, and walk to the top of Kim kim borazo.'

Her reply not given till after a pause evinced one of those unexpected turns of temper peculiar to her:

'Where is the good of talking in that silly way?' said she. 'Why do you mention papa? What is papa to you? I

was just beginning to be happy, and not think about him so much; and there it will be all to do over again!'

Her lip trembled. I hastened to disclose the fact of a letter having been received, and to mention the directions

given that she and Harriet should immediately rejoin this dear papa. 'Now, Polly, are you not glad?' I added.

She made no answer. She dropped her book, and ceased to rock her doll; she gazed at me with gravity and

'Of course', she said at last in that trenchant manner she usually employed in speaking to me; and which was

quite different from that she used with Mrs. Bretton, and different again from the one dedicated to Graham. I

wished to ascertain more of what she thought; but no: she would converse no more. Hastening to Mrs.

Bretton, she questioned her, and received the confirmation of my news. The weight and importance of these

tidings kept her perfectly serious the whole day. In the evening, at the moment Graham's entrance was heard

below, I found her at my side. She began to arrange a locketribbon about my neck, she displaced and

In the course of teatime I made the desired communication. Graham, it chanced, was at that time greatly

preoccupied about some schoolprize, for which he was competing. The news had to be told twice before it

'Polly going? What a pity! Dear little Mousie, I shall be sorry to lose her: she must come to us again, mama.'

And hastily swallowing his tea, he took a candle and a small table to himself and his books, and was soon

'Little Mousie' crept to his side, and lay down on the carpet at his feet, her face to the floor; mute and

motionless she kept that post and position till bedtime. Once I saw Graham wholly unconscious of her

proximity push her with his restless foot, She receded an inch or two. A minute after one little hand stole

out from beneath her face, to which it had been pressed, and softly caressed the heedless foot. When

summoned by her nurse she rose and departed very obediently, having bid us all a subdued goodnight.

I will not say that I dreaded going to bed, an hour later; yet I certainly went with an unquiet anticipation that I

should find that child in no peaceful sleep. The forewarning of my instinct was but fulfilled, when I

discovered her, all cold and vigilant, perched like a white bird on the outside of the bed. I scarcely knew how

to accost her; she was not to be managed like another child. She, however, accosted me. As I closed the door,

'That is downright silly', was her impatient reply; and, indeed, I well knew that if she had heard Mrs. Bretton's

foot approach, she would have nestled quiet as a mouse under the bedclothes. While lavishing her

eccentricities regardlessly before me for whom she professed scarcely the semblance of affection she

never showed my godmother one glimpse of her inner self: for her, she was nothing but a docile, somewhat

quaint little maiden. I examined her; her cheek was crimson; her dilated eye was both troubled and glowing,

and painfully restless: in this state it was obvious she must not be left till morning. I guessed how the case

'Would you like to bid Graham goodnight again?' I asked. 'He is not gone to his room yet.'

She at once stretched out her little arms to be lifted. Folding a shawl round her, I carried her back to the

'She cannot sleep without seeing and speaking to you once more', I said. 'She does not like the thought of

'I've spoilt her', said he, taking her from me with good humour; and kissing her little hot face and burning

She was assured to the contrary, again kissed, restored to me, and I carried her away; but, alas! not soothed.

'Paulina, you should not grieve that Graham does not care for you so much as you care for him. It must be so.'

'Because he is a boy and you are a girl; he is sixteen and you are only six; his nature is strong and gay, and

'But', I continued, 'don't fret, and don't expect too much of him, or else he will feel you to be troublesome, and

'All over!' she echoed softly, 'then I'll be good. I'll try to be good, Lucy Snowe.'

'Will he forgive me this one time?' she asked as I undressed myself. I assured her that he would; that as yet he

'There is no future', said she: 'I am going. Shall I ever, ever, see him again, after I leave England?'

I returned an encouraging response. The candle being extinguished, a still halfhour elapsed. I thought her

asleep, when the little white shape once more lifted itself in the crib, and the small voice asked, 'Do you like

'I told you I liked him a little. Where is the use of caring for him so very much? He is full of faults.'

'Very likely. Wise people say it is folly to think anybody perfect; and as to likes and dislikes, we should be

'I cannot go to sleep. Have you no pain just here' (laying her elfish hand on her elfish breast), 'when you think

'Surely, Polly', said I, 'you should not feel so much pain when you are very soon going to rejoin your father.

I saw the little thing shiver. 'Come to me', I said, wishing, yet scarcely hoping, that she would comply: for she

was a most strange, capricious, little creature, and especially whimsical with me. She came, however,

instantly, like a small ghost gliding over the carpet. I took her in. She was chill; I warmed her in my arms.

She trembled nervously; I soothed her. Thus tranquilised and cherished she at last slumbered.

'A very unique child', thought I, as I viewed her sleeping countenance by the fitful moonlight, and cautiously

and softly wiped her glittering eyelids and her wet cheeks with my handkerchief. 'How will she get through

this world, or battle with this life? How will she bear the shocks and repulses, the humiliations and

desolations, which books, and my own reason tell me are prepared for all flesh?'

She departed the next day; trembling like a leaf when she took leave, but exercising selfcommand.

On quitting Bretton, which I did a few weeks after Paulina's departure little thinking then I was never again

to visit it: never more to tread its calm old streets I betook myself home, having been absent six months. It

will be conjectured that I was of course glad to return to the bosom of my kindred. Well! the amiable

conjecture does no harm, and may therefore be safely left uncontradicted. Far from saying nay, indeed, I will

permit the reader to picture me, for the next eight years, as a bark slumbering through halcyon weather, in a

harbour still as glass the steersman stretched on the little deck, his face up to heaven, his eyes closed:

buried, if you will, in a long prayer. A great many women and girls are supposed to pass their lives something

Picture me then idle, basking, plump, and happy, stretched on a cushioned deck, warmed with constant

sunshine, rocked by breezes indolently soft. However, it cannot be concealed that, in that case, I must

somehow have fallen overboard, or that there must have been wreck at last. I too well remember a time a

long time, of cold, of danger, of contention. To this hour, when I have the nightmare, it repeats the rush and

saltness of briny waves in my throat, and their icy pressure on my lungs. I even know there was a storm, and

that not of one hour nor one day. For many days and nights neither sun nor stars appeared; we cast with our

own hands the tackling out of the ship; a heavy tempest lay on us; all hope that we should be saved was taken

As far as I recollect, I complained to no one about these troubles. 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 our

intercourse, and cut it off. Besides, time had brought changes for her too: the handsome property of which she

was left guardian for her son, and which had been chiefly invested in some jointstock undertaking, had

melted, it was said, to a fraction of its original amount. Graham, I learned from incidental rumours, had

adopted a profession; both he and his mother were gone from Bretton, and were understood to be now in

London. Thus, there remained no possibility of dependence on others; to myself alone could I look. I know

not that I was of a selfreliant or active nature; but selfreliance and exertion were forced upon me by

circumstances, as they are upon thousands besides; and when Miss Marchmont, a maiden lady of our

neighbourhood, sent for me, I obeyed her behest, in the hope that she might assign me some task I could

Miss Marchmont was a woman of fortune, and lived in a handsome residence; but she was a rheumatic

cripple, impotent, foot and hand, and had been so for twenty years. She always sat upstairs: her

drawingroom adjoined her bedroom. I had often heard of Miss Marchmont, and of her peculiarities (she had

the character of being very eccentric), but till now had never seen her. I found her a furrowed, greyhaired

woman, grave with solitude, stern with long affliction, irritable also, and perhaps exacting. It seemed that a

maid, or rather companion, who had waited on her for some years, was about to be married; and she, hearing

of my bereaved lot, had sent for me, with the idea that I might supply this person's place. She made the

'It will not be an easy life', said she candidly, 'for I require a good deal of attention, and you will be much

confined; yet, perhaps, contrasted with the existence you have lately led, it may appear tolerable.'

I reflected. Of course it ought to appear tolerable, I argued inwardly; but somehow, by some strange fatality,

it would not. To live here, in this close room, the watcher of suffering, sometimes, perhaps, the butt of

temper, through all that was to come of my youth; while all that was gone had passed, to say the least, not

blissfully my heart sunk one moment, then it revived; for though I forced myself to realise evils, I think I

So I did. I saw myself in the glass, in my mourningdress, a faded, holloweyed vision. Yet I thought little of

the wan spectacle. The blight, I believed, was chiefly external: I still felt life at life's sources.

'So you imagine: perhaps you are right. Try your own method, then; and if it does not succeed, test mine. The

This was kind. I told her so, and expressed my gratitude. While I was speaking, a paroxysm of pain came on.

I ministered to her; made the necessary applications, according to her directions, and, by the time she was

relieved, a sort of intimacy was already formed between us. I, for my part, had learned from the manner in

which she bore this attack, that she was a firm, patient woman (patient under physical pain, though

sometimes perhaps excitable under long mental canker); and she, from the goodwill with which I succoured

her, discovered that she could influence my sympathies (such as they were). She sent for me the next day; for

five or six successive days she claimed my company. Closer acquaintance, while it developed both faults and

eccentricities, opened, at the same time, a view of a character I could respect. Stern and even morose as she

sometimes was, I could wait on her and sit beside her with that calm which always blesses us when we are

sensible that our manners, presence, contact, please and soothe the persons we serve. Even when she scolded

me which she did, now and then, very tartly it was in such a way as did not humiliate, and left no sting; it

was rather like an irascible mother rating her daughter, than a harsh mistress lecturing a dependent: lecture,

indeed, she could not, though she could occasionally storm. Moreover, a vein of reason ever ran through her

passion: she was logical even when fierce. Ere long a growing sense of attachment began to present the

thought of staying with her as companion in quite a new light; in another week I had agreed to remain.

Two hot, close rooms thus became my world; and a crippled old woman, my mistress, my friend, my all. Her

service was my duty her pain, my suffering her relief, my hope her anger, my punishment her regard,

my reward. I forgot that there were fields, woods, rivers, seas, an everchanging sky outside the

steamdimmed lattice of this sickchamber; I was almost content to forget it. All within me became

narrowed to my lot. Tame and still by habit, disciplined by destiny, I demanded no walks in the fresh air; my

appetite needed no more than the tiny messes served for the invalid. In addition she gave me the originality of

her character to study: the steadiness of her virtues, I will add, the power of her passions, to admire, the truth

of her feelings to trust. All these things she had, and for these things I clung to her.

For these things I would have crawled on with her for twenty years, if for twenty years longer her life of

endurance had been protracted. But another decree was written. It seemed I must be stimulated into action. I

must be goaded, driven, stung, forced to energy. My little morsel of human affection, which I prized as if It

were a solid pearl, must melt in my fingers and slip thence like a dissolving hailstone. My small adopted duty

must be snatched from my easily contented conscience. I had wanted to compromise with Fate: to escape

occasional great agonies by submitting to a whole life of privation and small pains. Fate would not so be

pacified; nor would Providence sanction this shrinking sloth and cowardly indolence.

One February night I remember it well there came a voice near Miss Marchmont's house, heard by every

inmate, but translated, perhaps, only by one. After a calm winter, storms were ushering in the spring. I had

put Miss Marchmont to bed; I sat at the fireside sewing. The wind was wailing at the windows: it had wailed

all day; but, as night deepened, it took a new tone an accent keen, piercing, almost articulate to the ear; a

'Oh, hush! hush!' I said in my disturbed mind, dropping my work, and making a vain effort to stop my ears

against that subtle, searching cry. I had heard that very voice ere this, and compulsory observation had forced

on me a theory as to what it boded. Three times in the course of my life, events had taught me that these

strange accents in the storm this restless, hopeless cry denote a coming state of the atmosphere

unpropitious to life. Epidemic diseases, I believed, were often heralded by a gasping, sobbing, tormented,

longlamenting east wind. Hence, I inferred, arose the legend of the Banshee. I fancied, too, I had noticed

but was not philosopher enough to know whether there was any connection between the circumstances that

we often at the same time hear of disturbed volcanic action in distant parts of the world; of rivers suddenly

rushing above their banks; and of strange high tides flowing furiously in on low seacoasts. 'Our globe', I had

said to myself, 'seems at such periods torn and disordered; the feeble amongst us wither in her distempered

About midnight, the storm in one half hour fell to a dead calm. The fire, which had been burning dead,

glowed up vividly. I felt the air change, and become keen. Raising blind and curtain, I looked out, and saw in

Turning away, the object that met my eyes was Miss Marchmont awake, lifting her head from the pillow, and

'I thought so', she said; 'for I feel so strong, so well. Raise me. I feel young tonight', she continued; 'young,

lighthearted, and happy. What if my complaint be about to take a turn, and I am yet destined to enjoy

'And these are not the days of miracles', I thought to myself, and wondered to hear her talk so. She went on

directing her conversation to the past, and seeming to recall its incidents, scenes, and personages with

'I love Memory tonight', she said: 'I prize her as my best friend. She is just now giving me a deep delight;

she is bringing back to my heart, in warm and beautiful life, realities not mere empty ideas but what were

once realities, and that I long, have thought decayed, dissolved, mixed in with gravemould. I possess just

now the hours, the thoughts, the hopes of my youth. I renew the love of my life its only love almost its

only affection; for I am not a particularly good woman: I am not amiable. Yet I have had my feelings, strong

and concentrated; and these feelings had their object; which, in its single self, was dear to me, as, to the

majority of men and women, are all the unnumbered points on which they dissipate their regard. While I

loved, and while I was loved, what an existence I enjoyed! What a glorious year I can recall how bright it

comes back to me! What a living spring what a warm, glad summer what soft moonlight, silvering the

autumn evenings what strength of hope under the icebound waters and frosthoar fields of that year's

winter! Through that year my heart lived with Frank's heart. O my noble Frank my faithful Frank my

good Frank! so much better than myself his standard in all things so much higher! This I can now see and

say if few women have suffered as I did in his loss, few have enjoyed what I did in his love. It was a far

better kind of love than common; I had no doubts about it or him: it was such a love as honoured, protected,

and elevated, no less than it gladdened her to whom it was given. Let me now ask, just at this moment, when

my mind is so strangely clear, let me reflect why it was taken from me? For what crime was I condemned,

'I do not know', she continued, after a pause: 'I cannot, cannot see the reason; yet at this hour I can say with

sincerity, what I never tried to say before Inscrutable God, Thy will be done! And at this moment I can

'My dear girl', she said, 'one happy Christmas Eve I dressed and decorated myself, expecting my lover, very

soon to be my husband, would come that night to visit me. I sat down to wait. Once more I see that moment

I see the snowtwilight stealing through the window over which the curtain was not dropped, for I designed

to watch him ride up the white walk; I see and feel the soft firelight warming me, playing on my silk dress,

and fitfully showing me my own young figure in a glass. I see the moon of a calm winter night float full,

clear and cold, over the inky mass of shrubbery, and the silvered turf of my grounds. I wait, with some

impatience in my pulse, but no doubt in my breast. The flames had died in the fire, but it was a bright mass

yet; the moon was mounting high, but she was still visible from the lattice; the clock neared ten; he rarely

'Would he for once fail me? No not even for once; and now he was coming and coming fast to atone for

lost time. 'Frank! you furious rider,' I said inwardly, listening gladly, yet anxiously, to his approaching gallop,

'you shall be rebuked for this: I will tell you it is my neck you are putting in peril; for whatever is yours is, in

a dearer and tenderer sense, mine.' There he was: I saw him; but I think tears were in, my eyes; my sight was

so confused. I saw the horse; I heard it stamp I saw at least a mass; I heard a clamour. Was it a horse? or

what heavy, dragging thing was it, crossing, strangely dark, the lawn? How could I name that thing in the

'I could only run out. A great animal truly, Frank's black horse stood trembling, panting, snorting before

'"What is the matter?" I demanded. Thomas, my own servant, answered by saying sharply, "Go into the

house, madam." And then calling to another servant, who came hurrying from the kitchen as if summoned by

some instinct, "Ruth, take missis into the house directly." But I was kneeling down in the snow, beside

something that lay there something that I had seen dragged along the ground something that sighed, that

groaned on my breast, as I lifted and drew it to me. He was not dead; he was not quite unconscious. I had him

carried in; I refused to be ordered about and thrust from him. I was quite collected enough, not only to be my

own mistress, but the mistress of others. They had begun by trying to treat me like a child, as they always do

with people struck by God's hand; but I gave place to none except the surgeon; and when he had done what

he could, I took my dying Frank to myself. He had strength to fold me in his arms; he had power to speak my

name; he heard me as I prayed over him very softly; he felt me as I tenderly and fondly comforted him.

'"Maria," he said, "I am dying in Paradise." He spent his last breath in faithful words for me. When the dawn

'And that', she went on, 'happened thirty years ago. I have suffered since. I doubt if I have made the best use

of all my calamities. Soft, amiable natures they would have refined to saintliness; of strong, evil spirits they

would have made demons; as for me, I have only been a woestruck and selfish woman.'

'You have done much good', I said; for she was noted for her liberal almsgiving.

'I have not withheld money, you mean, where it could assuage affliction. What of that? It cost me no effort or

pang to give. But I think from this day I am about to enter a better frame of mind, to prepare myself for

reunion with Frank. You see I still think of Frank more than of God; and unless it be counted that in thus

loving the creature so much, so long, and so exclusively, I have not at least blasphemed the Creator, small is

my chance of salvation. What do you think, Lucy, of these things? Be my chaplain and tell me.'

This question I could not answer: I had no words. It seemed as if she thought I had answered it.

'Very right, my child. We should acknowledge God merciful, but not always for us comprehensible. We

should accept our own lot whatever it be, and try to render happy that of others. Should we not? Well,

tomorrow I will begin by trying to make you happy. I will endeavour to do something for you, Lucy:

something that will benefit you when I am dead. My head aches now with talking too much; still I am happy.

Go to bed. The clock strikes two. How late you sit up; or rather how late I, in my selfishness, keep you up.

She composed herself as if to slumber. I, too, retired to my crib in a closet within her room. The night passed

in quietness; quietly her doom must at last have come: peacefully and painlessly: in the morning she was

found without life, nearly cold, but all calm and undisturbed. Her previous excitement of spirits and change

of mood had been the prelude of a fit; one stroke sufficed to sever the thread of an existence so long fretted

My mistress being dead, and I once more alone, I had to look out for a new place. About this time I might be

a little a very little shaken in nerves. I grant I was not looking well, but, on the contrary, thin, haggard,

and holloweyed; like a sitterup at night, like an overwrought servant, or a placeless person in debt. In

debt, however, I was not; nor quite poor; for though Miss Marchmont had not had time to benefit me, as, on

that last night, she said she intended, yet, after the funeral, my wages were duly paid by her second cousin,

the heir, an avariciouslooking man, with pinched nose and narrow temples, who, indeed, I heard long

afterwards, turned out a thorough miser: a direct contrast to his generous kinswoman, and a foil to her

memory, blessed to this day by the poor and needy. The possessor, then, of fifteen pounds; of health, though

worn, not broken, and of a spirit in similar condition; I might still, in comparison with many people, be

regarded as occupying an enviable position. An embarrassing one it was, however, at the same time; as I felt

with some acuteness on a certain day, of which the corresponding one in the next week was to see my

In this dilemma I went, as a last and sole resource, to see and consult an old servant of our family; once my

nurse, now housekeeper at a grand mansion not far from Miss Marchmont. I spent some hours with her; she

comforted, but knew not how to advise me. Still all inward darkness, I left her about twilight; a walk of two

miles lay before me; it was a clear, frosty night. In spite of my solitude, my poverty, and my perplexity, my

heart, nourished and nerved with the vigour of a youth that had not yet counted twentythree summers, beat

light and not feebly. Not feebly, I am sure, or I should have trembled in that lonely walk, which lay through

still fields and passed neither village, nor farmhouse, nor cottage: I should have quailed in the absence of

moonlight, for it was by the leading of stars only I traced the dim path; I should have quailed still more in the

unwonted presence of that which tonight shone in the north, a moving mystery the Aurora Borealis. But

this solemn stranger influenced me otherwise than through my fears. Some new power it seemed to bring. I

drew in energy with the keen, low breeze that blew on its path. A bold thought was sent to my mind; my

I had not very far to look; gazing from this country parish in that flat, rich middle of England I mentally

The next day I returned to the hall, and asking once more to see the housekeeper, I communicated to her my

Mrs. Barrett was a grave, judicious woman, though she knew little more of the world than myself; but grave

and judicious as she was, she did not charge me with being out of my senses: and, indeed, I had a staid

manner of my own which ere now had been as good to me as cloak and hood of hodden grey; since under its

favour I had been enabled to achieve with impunity, and even approbation, deeds that, if attempted with an

excited and unsettled air, would in some minds have stamped me as a dreamer and zealot.

The housekeeper was slowly propounding some difficulties, while she prepared orangerind for marmalade,

when a child ran past the window and came bounding into the room. It was a pretty child, and as it danced,

laughing, up to me for we were not strangers (nor, indeed, was its mother a young married daughter of

the house a stranger) I took it on my knee. Different as were our social positions now, this child's mother

and I had been schoolfellows, when I was a girl of ten and she a young lady of sixteen; and I remembered her

I was admiring the boy's handsome dark eyes, when the mother, young Mrs. Leigh, entered. What a beautiful

and kindlooking woman was the goodnatured and comely, but unintellectual girl become! Wifehood and

maternity had changed her thus, as I have since seen them change others even less promising than she. Me

she had forgotten. I was changed too; though not, I fear, for the better. I made no attempt to recall myself to

her memory: why should I? She came for her son to accompany her in a walk, and behind her followed a

nurse, carrying an infant. I only mention the incident because, in addressing the nurse, Mrs. Leigh spoke

French (very bad French, by the way, and with an incorrigibly bad accent, again forcibly reminding me of our

schooldays): and I found the woman was a foreigner. The little boy chattered volubly in French too. When

the whole party were withdrawn, Mrs. Barrett remarked that her young lady had brought that foreign nurse

home with her two years ago, on her return from a Continental excursion; that she was treated almost as well

as a governess, and had nothing to do but walk out with the baby and chatter French with Master Charles;

'and', added Mrs. Barrett, 'she says there are many Englishwomen in foreign families as well placed as she.'

I stored up this piece of casual information, as careful housewives store seemingly worthless shreds and

fragments for which their prescient minds anticipate a possible use some day. Before I left my old friend, she

gave me the address of a respectable oldfashioned inn in the city, which, she said, my uncles used to

In going to London, I ran less risk and evinced less enterprise than the reader may think. In fact, the distance

was only fifty miles. My means would suffice both to take me there, to keep me a few days, and also to bring

me back if I found no inducement to stay. I regarded it as a brief holiday, permitted for once to workweary

faculties, rather than as an adventure of life and death. There is nothing like taking all you do at a moderate

estimate: it keeps mind and body tranquil; whereas grandiloquent notions are apt to hurry both into fever.

Fifty miles were then a day's journey (for I speak of a time gone by: my hair, which, till a late period,

withstood the frosts of time, lies now, at last white, under a white cap, like snow beneath snow). About nine

My reader, I know, is one who would not thank me for an elaborate reproduction of poetic first impressions;

and it is well, inasmuch as I had neither time nor mood to cherish such; arriving as I did late, on a dark, raw,

and rainy evening, in a Babylon and a wilderness, of which the vastness and the strangeness tried to the

utmost any powers of clear thought and steady selfpossession with which, in the absence of more brilliant

When I left the coach, the strange speech of the cabmen and others waiting round, seemed to me odd as a

foreign tongue. I had never before heard the English language chopped up in that way. However, I managed

to understand and to be understood, so far as to get myself and trunk safely conveyed to the old inn whereof I

had the address. How difficult, how oppressive, how puzzling seemed my flight! In London for the first time;

at an inn for the first time; tired with travelling; confused with darkness; palsied with cold; unfurnished with

Into the hands of Commonsense I confided the matter. Commonsense, however, was as chilled and

bewildered as all my other faculties, and it was only under the spur of an inexorable, necessity that she

spasmodically executed her trust. Thus urged, she paid the porter; considering the crisis, I did not blame her

too much that she was hugely cheated; she asked the waiter for a room; she timorously called for the

chambermaid; what is far more, she bore, without being wholly overcome, a highly supercilious style of

I recollect this same chambermaid was a pattern of town prettiness and smartness. So trim her waist, her cap,

her dress I wondered how they had all been manufactured. Her speech had an accent which in its mincing

glibness seemed to rebuke mine as by authority; her spruce attire flaunted an easy scorn to my plain country

'Well, it can't be helped', I thought, 'and then the scene is new, and the circumstances; I shall gain good.'

Maintaining a very quiet manner towards this arrogant little maid, and subsequently observing the same

towards the parsoniclooking, blackcoated, whiteneckclothed waiter, I got civility from them ere long. I

believe at first they thought I was a servant; but in a little while they changed their minds, and hovered in a

I kept up well till I had partaken of some refreshment, warmed myself by a fire, and was fairly shut into my

room; but, as I sat down by the bed and rested my head and arms on the pillow, a terrible oppression

overcame me. All at once my position rose on me like a ghost. Anomalous; desolate, almost blank of hope, it

stood. What was I doing here alone in great London? What should I do on the morrow? What prospects had I

in life? What friends had I on earth? Whence did I come? Whither should I go? What should I do?

I wet the pillow, my arms, and my hair, with rushing tears. A dark interval of most bitter thought followed

this burst; but I did not regret the step taken, nor wish to retract it. A strong, vague persuasion that it was

better to go forward than backward, and that I could go forward that a way, however narrow and difficult,

would in time open predominated over other feelings: its influence hushed them so far, that at last I became

sufficiently tranquil to be able to say my prayers and seek my couch. I had just extinguished my candle and

lain down, when a deep, low, mighty tone swung through the night. At first I knew it not; but it was uttered

twelve times, and at the twelfth colossal hum and trembling knell, I said: 'I lie in the shadow of St. Paul's.'

The next day was the first of March, and when I awoke, rose and opened my curtain, I saw the risen sun

struggling through fog. Above my head, above the housetops, coelevate almost with the clouds, I saw a

solemn, orbed mass, darkblue and dim THE DOME. While I looked, my inner self moved: my spirit

shook its alwaysfettered wings half loose; I had a sudden feeling as if I, who never yet truly lived, were at

last about to taste life: in that morning my soul grew as fast as Jonah's gourd.

'I did well to come', I said, proceeding to dress with speed and care. 'I like the spirit of this great London

which I feel around me. Who but a coward would pass his whole life in hamlets, and for ever abandon his

Being dressed, I went down; not travelworn and exhausted, but tidy and refreshed. When the waiter came in

with my breakfast, I managed to accost him sedately, yet cheerfully; we had ten minutes discourse, in the

He was a greyhaired elderly man; and, it seemed, had lived in his present place twenty years. Having

ascertained this, I was sure he must remember my two uncles, Charles and Wilmot, who, fifteen years ago,

were frequent visitors here. I mentioned their names; he recalled them perfectly and with respect. Having

intimated my connection, my position in his eyes was henceforth clear, and on a right footing. He said I was

like my uncle Charles: I suppose he spoke truth, because Mrs. Barrett was accustomed to say the same thing.

A ready and obliging courtesy now replaced his former uncomfortably doubtful manner: henceforth I need no

The street on which my little sittingroom window looked was narrow, perfectly quiet, and not dirty: the few

passengers were just such as one sees in provincial towns: here was nothing formidable; I felt sure I might

Having breakfasted, out I went. Elation and pleasure were in my heart: to walk alone in London seemed of

itself an adventure. Presently I found myself in Paternoster Row classic ground this. I entered a bookseller's

shop, kept by one Jones; I bought a little book a piece of extravagance I could ill afford; but I thought I

would one day give or send it to Mrs. Barrett. Mr. Jones, a driedin man of business, stood behind his desk;

Prodigious was the amount of life I lived that morning. Finding myself before St. Paul's, I went in; I mounted

to the dome: I saw thence London, with its river, and its bridges, and its churches; I saw antique Westminster,

and the green Temple Gardens, with sun upon them, and a glad, blue sky, of early spring above; and, between

Descending, I went wandering whither chance might lead, in a still ecstasy of freedom and enjoyment; and I

got I know not how I got into the heart of city life. I saw and felt London at last: I got into the Strand; I

went up Cornhill; I mixed with the life passing along; I dared the perils of crossings. To do this, and to do it

utterly alone, gave me, perhaps an irrational, but a real pleasure. Since those days I have seen the Westend,

the parks, the fine squares, but I love the city far better. The city seems so much more in earnest: its business,

its rush, its roar, are such serious things, sights and sounds. The city is getting its living the Westend but

enjoying its pleasure. At the Westend you may be amused, but in the city you are deeply excited.

Faint, at last, and hungry (it was years since I had felt such healthy hunger), I returned, about two o'clock, to

my dark, old and quiet inn. I dined on two dishes a plain joint and vegetables; both seemed excellent: how

much better than the small, dainty messes Miss Marchmont's cook used to send up to my kind, dead mistress

and me, and to the discussion of which we could not bring half an appetite between us! Delightfully tired, I

lay down on three chairs for an hour (the room did not boast a sofa.) I slept, then I woke and thought for two

My state of mind, and all accompanying circumstances, were just now such as most to favour the adoption of

a new, resolute and daring perhaps desperate line of action. I had nothing to lose. Unutterable loathing of

a desolate existence past, forbade return. If I failed in what I now designed to undertake, who, save myself

would suffer? If I died far away from home, I was going to say, but I had no home from England, then,

I might suffer; I was inured to suffering: death itself had not, I thought, those terrors for me which it has for

the softly reared. I had, ere this, looked on the thought of death with a quiet eye. Prepared then for any

That same evening I obtained from my friend, the waiter, information respecting the sailing of vessels for a

certain continental port, BoueMarine. No time, I found, was to be lost: that very night I must take my berth.

I might, indeed, have waited till the morning before going on board, but would not run the risk of being too

'Better take your berth at once, ma'am', counselled the waiter. I agreed with him, and having discharged my

bill, and acknowledged my friend's services at a rate which I now know was princely, and which in his eyes

must have seemed absurd and indeed, while pocketing the cash, he smiled a faint smile which intimated his

opinion of the donor's savoirfaire he proceeded to call a coach. To the driver he also recommended me,

giving at the same time an injunction about taking me, I think, to the wharf and not leaving me to the

watermen; which that functionary promised to observe, but failed in keeping his promise. On the contrary, he

offered me up as an oblation, served me as a dripping roast, making me alight in the midst of a throng of

This was an uncomfortable crisis. It was a dark night. The coachman instantly drove off as soon as he had got

his fare; the watermen commenced a struggle for me and my trunk. Their oaths I hear at this moment: they

shook my philosophy more than did the night, or the isolation, or the strangeness of the scene. One laid hands

on my trunk. I looked on and waited quietly; but when another laid hands on me I spoke up, shook off his

touch, stepped at once into a boat, desired austerely that the trunk should be placed beside me 'Just there'

which was instantly done; for the owner of the boat I had chosen became now an ally: I was rowed off.

Black was the river as a torrent of ink: lights glanced on it from the piles of building round, ships rocked on

its bosom. They rowed me up to several vessels; I read by lanternlight their names painted in great, white

letters on a dark ground. The Ocean, the Phoenix, the Consort, the Dolphin, were passed in turns; but the

Down the sable flood we glided; I thought of the Styx, and of Charon rowing some solitary soul to the Land

of Shades. Amidst the strange scene, with a chilly wind blowing in my face, and midnightclouds dropping

rain above my head; with two rude rowers for companions, whose insane oaths still tortured my ear, I asked

myself if I was wretched or terrified. I was neither. Often in my life have I been far more so under

comparatively safe circumstances. 'How is this?' said I. 'Methinks I am animated and alert, instead of being

The Vivid started out, white and glaring, from the black night at last. 'Here you are!' said the waterman, and

'You ask too much', I said. He drew off from the vessel and swore he would not embark me till I paid it. A

young man, the steward as I found afterwards, was looking over the ship's side; he grinned a smile in

anticipation of the coming contest; to disappoint him, I paid the money. Three times that afternoon I had

given crowns where I should have given shillings; but I consoled myself with the reflection, 'It is the price of

'They've cheated you!' said the steward exultantly when I got on board. I answered phlegmatically that 'I

A stout, handsome and showy woman was in the ladies' cabin. I asked to be shown my berth; she looked hard

at me, muttered something about it being unusual for passengers to come on board at that hour, and seemed

disposed to be less than civil. What a face she had so comely so insolent and so selfish!

'Now that I am on board, I shall certainly stay here', was my answer. 'I will trouble you to show me my berth.'

She complied, but sullenly. I took off my bonnet, arranged my things, and lay down. Some difficulties had

been passed through; a sort of victory was won: my homeless, anchorless, unsupported mind had again

leisure for a brief repose: till the Vivid arrived in harbour, no further action would be required of me; but

then. . . . Oh! I could not look forward. Harassed, exhausted, I lay in a halftrance.

The stewardess talked all night; not to me but to the young steward, her son and her very picture. He passed

in and out of the cabin continually: they disputed, they quarrelled, they made it up again twenty times in the

course of the night. She professed to be writing a letter home she said to her father; she read passages of it

aloud, heeding me no more than a stock perhaps she believed me asleep: several of these passages appeared

to comprise family secrets, and bore special reference to one 'Charlotte', a younger sister who, from the

bearing of the epistle, seemed to be on the brink of perpetrating a romantic and imprudent match; loud was

the protest of this elder lady against the distasteful union. The dutiful son laughed his mother's

correspondence to scorn. She defended it, and raved at him. They were a strange pair. She might be

thirtynine or forty, and was buxom and blooming as a girl of twenty. Hard, loud, vain and vulgar, her mind

and body alike seemed brazen and imperishable. I should think, from her childhood, she must have lived in

Towards morning her discourse ran on a new theme: 'the Watsons', a certain expected familyparty of

passengers, known to her, it appeared, and by her much esteemed on account of the handsome profit realised

in their fees. She said, 'it was as good as a little fortune to her whenever this family crossed.'

At dawn all were astir, and by sunrise the passengers came on board. Boisterous was the welcome given by

the stewardess to the 'Watsons', and great was the bustle made in their honour. They were four in number,

two males and two females. Besides them, there was but one other passenger a young lady, whom a

gentlemanly, though languidlooking man escorted. The two groups offered a marked contrast. The Watsons

were doubtless rich people, for they had the confidence of conscious wealth in their bearing; the women

youthful both of them, and one perfectly handsome, as far as physical beauty went were dressed richly,

gaily, and absurdly out of character for the circumstances. Their bonnets with bright flowers their velvet

cloaks and silk dresses seemed better suited for park or promenade than for a damp packet deck. The men

were of low stature, plain, fat and vulgar; the oldest, plainest, greasiest, broadest, I soon found was the

husband the bridegroom I suppose, for she was very young of the beautiful girl. Deep was my amazement

at this discovery; and deeper still when I perceived that, instead of being desperately wretched in such a

union, she was gay even to giddiness. 'Her laughter', I reflected, 'must be the mere frenzy of despair.' And

even while this thought was crossing my mind, as I stood leaning quiet and solitary against the ship's side,

she came tripping up to me, an utter stranger, with a camp stool in her hand, and smiling a smile of which the

levity puzzled and startled me, though it showed a perfect set of perfect teeth, she offered me the

accommodation of this piece of furniture. I declined it of course, with all the courtesy I could put into my

manner; she danced off heedless and lightsome. She must have been goodnatured; but what had made her

The other ladypassenger, with the gentleman companion, was quite a girl pretty and fair: her simple print

dress, untrimmed straw bonnet and large shawl, gracefully worn, formed a costume plain to quakerism: yet,

for her, becoming enough. Before the gentleman quitted her, I observed him throwing a glance of scrutiny

over all the passengers, as if to ascertain in what company his charge would be left. With a most dissatisfied

air did his eye turn from the ladies with the gay flowers; he looked at me, and then he spoke to his daughter,

niece, or whatever she was: she also glanced in my direction, and slightly curled her short, pretty lip. It might

be myself or it might be my homely mourning habit, that elicited this mark of contempt; more likely, both. A

bell rang; her father (I afterwards knew that it was her father) kissed her, and returned to land. The packet

Foreigners say that it is only English girls who can thus be trusted to travel alone, and deep is their wonder at

the daring confidence of English parents and guardians. As for the 'jeunes Miss', by some their intrepidity is

pronounced masculine and 'inconvenant', others regard them as the passive victims of an educational and

theological system which wantonly dispenses with proper 'surveillance.' Whether this particular young lady

was of the sort that can the most safely be left unwatched, I do not know: or rather did not then know; but it

soon appeared that the dignity of solitude was not to her taste. She paced the deck once or twice backwards

and forwards; she looked with a little sour air of disdain at the flaunting silks and velvets, and the bears which

I explained that my fondness for a sea voyage had yet to undergo the test of experience; I had never made

'Oh, how charming!' cried she. 'I quite envy you the novelty: first impressions, you know, are so pleasant.

Now I have made so many, I quite forget the first: I am quite blasée about the sea and all that.'

'Why do you laugh at me?' she inquired, with a frank testiness that pleased me better than her other talk.

'Bah! I care nothing about it. I have crossed the Channel ten times, alone; but then I take care never to be long

'You will scarcely make many friends this voyage, I think' (glancing at the Watson group, who were now

'Not of those odious men and women', said she: 'such people should be steerage passengers. Are you going to

'I am going to school. Oh, the number of foreign schools I have been at in my life! And yet I am quite an

ignoramus. I know nothing nothing in the world I assure you; except that I play and dance beautifully

and French and German of course I know, to speak; but I can't read or write them very well. Do you know

they wanted me to translate a page of an easy German book into English the other day, and I couldn't do it.

Papa was so mortified: he says it looks as if M. de Bassompierre my godpapa, who pays all my

schoolbills had thrown away all his money. And then, in matters of information in history, geography,

arithmetic, and so on, I am quite a baby; and I write English so badly such spelling and grammar, they tell

me. Into the bargain I have quite forgotten my religion; they call me a Protestant, you know, but really I am

not sure whether I am one or not: I don't well know the difference between Romanism and Protestantism.

However, I don't the least care for that. I was a Lutheran once at Bonn dear Bonn! charming Bonn! where

there were so many handsome students. Every nice girl in our school had an admirer; they knew our hours for

walking out, and almost always passed us on the promenade: "Schönes Maädchen," we used to hear them

Now, Miss Ginevra Fanshawe (such was this young person's name) only substituted this word 'chose' in

temporary oblivion of the real name. It was a habit she had: 'chose' came in at every turn in her conversation

the convenient substitute for any missing word in any language she might chance at the time to be

speaking. French girls often do the like; from them she caught the custom. 'Chose', however, I found in this

instance, stood for Villette the great capital of the great kingdom of Labassecour.

'Pretty well. The natives, you know, are intensely stupid and vulgar; but there are some nice English families.'

'Oh no! horrid: but I go out every Sunday, and care nothing about the maîtresses or the professeurs, or the

élèves, and send lessons au diable; (one daren't say that in English, you know, but it sounds quite right in

'What are they?' (without waiting for an answer) 'Now, do tell me where you are going.'

(After a pause) 'Bah! how unpleasant! But I know what it is to be poor: they are poor enough at home papa

and mamma, and all of them. Papa is called Captain Fanshawe; he is an officer on halfpay, but well

descended, and some of our connections are great enough; but my uncle and godpapa De Bassompierre,

who lives in France, is the only one that helps us: he educates us girls. I have five sisters and three brothers.

Byandby we are to marry rather elderly gentlemen, I suppose, with cash: papa and mamma manage that.

My sister Augusta is married now to a man much older looking than papa. Augusta is very beautiful not in

my style but dark; her husband, Mr. Davies, had the yellow fever in India, and he is still the colour of a

guinea; but then he is rich, and Augusta has her carriage and establishment, and we all think she has done

perfectly well. Now, this is better than "earning a living," as you say. By the way, are you clever?'

'Oh, immensely! as soon as ever we get in sight of the sea: I begin, indeed, to feel it already. I shall go below;

and won't I order about that fat odious stewardess. Heureusement je sais faire aller mon monde.' Down she

It was not long before the other passengers followed her: throughout the afternoon I remained on deck alone.

When I recall the tranquil, and even happy mood in which I passed those hours, and remember, at the same

time, the position in which I was placed: its hazardous some would have said its hopeless character; I feel

so peril, loneliness, an uncertain future, are not oppressive evils, so long as the frame is healthy and the

faculties are employed; so long, especially, as Liberty lends us her wings, and Hope guides us by her star.

I was not sick till long after we passed Margate, and deep was the pleasure I drank in with the seabreeze;

divine the delight I drew from the heaving channelwaves, from the seabirds on their ridges, from the white

sails on their dark distance, from the quiet yet beclouded sky, overhanging all. In my reverie, methought I

saw the continent of Europe, like a wide dreamland, far away. Sunshine lay on it, making the long coast one

line of gold; tiniest tracery of clustered town and snowgleaming tower, of woods deepmassed, of heights

serrated, of smooth pasturage and veiny stream, embossed the metalbright prospect. For background, spread

a sky, solemn and darkblue, and grand with imperial promise, soft with tints of enchantment strode from

Cancel the whole of that, if you please, reader or rather let it stand, and draw thence a moral an

Miss Fanshawe's berth chanced to be next mine; and, I am sorry to say, she tormented me with an unsparing

selfishness during the whole time of our mutual distress. Nothing could exceed her impatience and

fretfulness. The Watsons, who were very sick too, and on whom the stewardess attended with shameless

partiality, were stoics compared with her. Many a time since have I noticed, in persons of Ginevra

Fanshawe's light, careless temperament, and fair, fragile style of beauty, an entire incapacity to endure: they

seem to sour in adversity, like smallbeer in thunder: the man who takes such a woman for his wife, ought to

be prepared to guarantee her an existence all sunshine. Indignant at last with her teasing peevishness, I curtly

requested her 'to hold her tongue.' The rebuff did her good, and it was observable that she liked me no worse

As dark night drew on, the sea roughened: larger waves swayed strong against the vessel's side. It was strange

to reflect that blackness and water were round us, and to feel the ship ploughing straight on her pathless way,

despite noise, billow and rising gale. Articles of furniture began to fall about, and it became needful to lash

them to their places; the passengers grew sicker than ever; Miss Fanshawe declared, with groans, that she

'Not just yet, honey', said the stewardess. 'We're just in port.' Accordingly, in another quarter of an hour, a

I was sorry: yes, I was sorry. My resting time was past; my difficulties my stringent difficulties

recommenced. When I went on deck, the cold air and black scowl of the night seemed to rebuke me for my

presumption in being where I was: the lights of the foreign seaport town, glimmering round the foreign

harbour, met me like unnumbered threatening eyes. Friends came on board to welcome the Watsons; a whole

family of friends surrounded and bore away Miss Fanshawe; I but I dared not for one moment dwell on a

Yet where should I go? I must go somewhere. Necessity dare not be nice. As I gave the stewardess her fee

and she seemed surprised at receiving a coin of more value than, from such a quarter, her coarse calculations

'Be kind enough to direct me to some quiet, respectable inn, where I can go for the night.'

She not only gave me the required direction, but called a commissionaire, and bid him take charge of me, and

I followed this man along a rudelypaved street, lit now by a fitful gleam of moonlight; he brought me to the

inn. I offered him sixpence, which he refused to take; supposing it not enough, I changed it for a shilling; but

this also he declined, speaking rather sharply, in a language to me unknown. A waiter, coming forward into

the lamplit innpassage, reminded me, in broken English, that my money was foreign money, not current

here. I gave him a sovereign to change. This little matter settled, I asked for a bedroom; supper I could not

take; I was still seasick and unnerved, and trembling all over. How deeply glad I was when the door of a

very small chamber at length closed on me and my exhaustion. Again I might rest: though the cloud of doubt

would be as thick tomorrow as ever; the necessity for exertion more urgent, the peril (of destitution) nearer,

I awoke next morning with courage revived and spirits refreshed: physical debility no longer enervated my

Just as I finished dressing, a tap came to the door; I said, 'Come in', expecting the chambermaid, whereas a

'Gif!' said he impatiently; and as he halfsnatched them from my hand, he added, 'All right! haf your tronc

Fortunately it did turn out all right: he was from the customhouse. Where to go to get some breakfast I could

I now observed, what I had not noticed in my extreme weariness last night, viz., that this inn was, in fact, a

large hotel; and as I slowly descended the broad staircase, halting on each step (for I was in wonderfully little

haste to get down), I gazed at the high ceiling above me, at the painted walls around, at the wide windows

which filled the house with light, at the veined marble I trod (for the steps were all of marble, though

uncarpeted and not very clean), and contrasting all this with the dimensions of the closet assigned to me as a

chamber, with the extreme modesty of its appointments, I fell into a philosophising mood.

Much I marvelled at the sagacity evinced by waiters and chambermaids in proportioning the accommodation

to the guest. How could innservants and shipstewardesses everywhere tell at a glance that, I for instance,

was an individual of no social significance and little burdened by cash? They did know it evidently: I saw

quite well that they all, in a moment's calculation, estimated me at about the same fractional value. The fact

seemed to me curious and pregnant; I would not disguise from myself what it indicated, yet managed to keep

Having at last landed in a great hall, full of skylight glare, I made my way somehow to what proved to be the

coffeeroom. It cannot be denied that on entering this room I trembled somewhat; felt uncertain, solitary,

wretched; wished to Heaven I knew whether I was doing right or wrong; felt convinced it was the last, but

could not help myself. Acting in the spirit and with the calm of a fatalist, I sat down at a small table, to which

a waiter presently brought me some breakfast; and I partook of that meal in a frame of mind not greatly

calculated to favour digestion. There were many other people breakfasting at other tables in the room; I

should have felt rather more happy if amongst them all I could have seen any women; however, there was not

one all present were men. But nobody seemed to think I was doing anything strange; one or two gentlemen

glanced at me occasionally, but none stared obtrusively; I suppose if there was anything eccentric in the

Breakfast over, I must again move in what direction? 'Go to Villette', said an inward voice; prompted

doubtless by the recollection of this slight sentence uttered carelessly and at random by Miss Fanshawe, as

'I wish you would come to Madame Beck's; she has some marmots whom you might look after: she wants an

Who Madame Beck was, where she lived, I knew not; I had asked, but the question passed unheard: Miss

Fanshawe, hurried away by her friends, left it unanswered. I presumed Villette to be her residence to

Villette I would go. The distance was forty miles. I knew I was catching at straws; but in the wide and

weltering deep where I found myself I would have caught at cobwebs. Having inquired about the means of

travelling to Villette, and secured a seat in the diligence, I departed on the strength of this outline this

shadow of a project. Before you pronounce on the rashness of the proceeding, reader, look back to the point

whence I started; consider the desert I had left, note how little I perilled: mine was the game where the player

Of an artistic temperament, I deny that I am; yet I must possess something of the artist's faculty of making the

most of present pleasure: that is to say, when it is of the kind to my taste; I enjoyed that day, though we

travelled slowly, though it was cold, though it rained. Somewhat bare, flat, and treeless was the route along

which our journey lay; and slimy canals crept, like halftorpid green snakes, beside the road; and formal

pollard willows edged level fields, tilled like kitchengarden beds. The sky too was monotonously grey; the

atmosphere was stagnant and humid; yet amidst all these deadening influences, my fancy budded fresh and

my heart basked in sunshine. These feelings, however, were well kept in check by the secret but ceaseless

consciousness of anxiety lying in wait on enjoyment, like a tiger crouched in a jungle. The breathing of that

beast of prey was in my ear always; his fierce heart panted close against mine; he never stirred in his lair but I

I had hoped we might reach Villette ere night set in, and that thus I might escape the deeper embarrassment

which obscurity seems to throw round a first arrival at an unknown bourne; but, what with our slow progress

and long stoppages what with a thick fog and small, dense rain darkness, that might almost be felt, had

I know we passed through a gate where soldiers were stationed so much I could see by lamplight; then,

having left behind us the miry Chaussée, we rattled over a pavement of strangely rough and flinty surface. At

a bureau, the diligence stopped, and the passengers alighted. My first business was to get my trunk: a small

matter enough, but important to me. Understanding that it was best not to be importunate or over eager about

luggage, but to wait and watch quietly the delivery of other boxes till I saw my own, and then promptly claim

and secure it, I stood apart; my eye fixed on that part of the vehicle in which I had seen my little portmanteau

safely stowed, and upon which piles of additional bags and boxes were now heaped. One by one, I saw these

removed, lowered and seized on. I was sure mine ought to be by this time visible: it was not. I had tied on the

direction card with a piece of green ribbon that I might know it at a glance; not a fringe or fragment of green

was perceptible. Every package was removed; every tin case and brown paper parcel; the oilcloth cover was

lifted; I saw with distinct vision that not an umbrella, cloak, cane, hatbox or bandbox remained.

And my portmanteau, with my few clothes and little pocketbook enclasping the remnant of my fifteen

I ask this question now, but I could not ask it then. I could say nothing whatever; not possessing a phrase of

speaking French: and it was French, and French only, the whole world seemed now gabbling around me.

What should I do? Approaching the conductor, I just laid my hand on his arm, pointed to a trunk, thence to

the diligence roof and tried to express a question with my eyes. He misunderstood me, seized the trunk

'Let that alone will you?' said a voice in good English; then, in correction, 'Qu'est ce que vous faites donc?

'Sir', said I, appealing to the stranger, without, in my distress, noticing what he was like, 'I cannot speak

Without discriminating for the moment what sort of face it was to which my eyes were raised and on which

they were fixed, I felt in its expression halfsurprise at my appeal and halfdoubt of the wisdom of

I don't know whether he smiled, but he said in a gentlemanly tone; that is to say, a tone not hard nor

I described it, including in my description the green ribbon. And forthwith he took the conductor under hand,

and I felt, through all the storm of French which followed, that he raked him fore and aft. Presently he

'The fellow avers he was overloaded, and confesses that he removed your trunk after you saw it put on, and

has left it behind at BoueMarine with other parcels; he has promised, however, to forward it tomorrow; the

Meantime what should I do? Perhaps this English gentleman saw the failure of courage in my face; he

There was a little pause, in the course of which, as he turned more fully to the light of a lamp above him, I

saw that he was a young, distinguished and handsome man; he might be a lord for anything I knew; nature

had made him good enough for a prince, I thought. His face was very pleasant; he looked high but not

arrogant, manly but not overbearing. I was turning away, in the deep consciousness of all absence of claim to

'No. I have enough in my purse' (for I had near twenty francs) 'to keep me at a quiet inn till the day after

tomorrow; but I am quite a stranger in Villette, and don't know the streets and the inns.'

'I can give you the address of such an inn as you want', said he; 'and it is not far off; with my direction you

He tore a leaf from his pocketbook, wrote a few words and gave it to me. I did think him kind; and as to

distrusting him, or his advice, or his address, I should almost as soon have thought of distrusting the Bible.

'Your shortest way will be to follow the Boulevard and cross the park', he continued; 'but it is too late and too

He moved on, and I followed him, through the darkness and the small soaking rain. The Boulevard was all

deserted, its path miry, the water dripping from its trees; the park was black as midnight. In the double gloom

of trees and fog, I could not see my guide; I could only follow his tread. Not the least fear had I. I believe I

would have followed that frank tread, through continual night, to the world's end.

'Now', said he, when the park was traversed, 'you will go along this broad street till you come to steps; two

lamps will show you where they are: these steps you will descend: a narrower street lies below; following

that, at the bottom you will find your inn. They speak English there, so your difficulties are now pretty well

The remembrance of his countenance, which I am sure wore a light not unbenignant to the friendless the

sound in my ear of his voice, which spoke a nature chivalric to the needy and feeble, as well as the youthful

and fair were a sort of cordial to me long after. He was a true young English gentleman.

On I went, hurrying fast through a magnificent street and square, with the grandest houses round, and amidst

them the huge outline of more than one overbearing pile; which might be palace or church I could not tell.

Just as I passed a portico, two moustachioed men came suddenly from behind the pillars; they were smoking

cigars, their dress implied pretensions to the rank of gentlemen, but, poor things! they were very plebeian in

soul. They spoke with insolence, and, fast as I walked, they kept pace with me a long way. At last I met a sort

of patrol, and my dreaded hunters were turned from the pursuit; but they had driven me beyond my

reckoning: when I could collect my faculties, I no longer knew where I was; the staircase I must long since

have passed; puzzled, out of breath, all my pulses throbbing in inevitable agitation, I knew not where to turn.

It was terrible to think of again encountering those bearded, sneering simpletons; yet the ground must be

I came at last to an old and worn flight, and, taking it for granted that this must be the one indicated, I

descended them. The street into which they led was indeed narrow, but it contained no inn. On I wandered. In

a very quiet and comparatively clean and well paved street, I saw a light burning over the door of a rather

large house, loftier by a storey than those round it. This might be the inn at last. I hastened on: my knees now

No inn was this. A brass plate embellished the great portecochère: 'Pensionnat de Demoiselles' was the

I started. About a hundred thoughts volleyed through my mind in a moment. Yet I planned nothing, and

considered nothing: I had not time. Providence said, 'Stop here; this is your inn.' Fate took me in her Strong

While I waited, I would not reflect. I fixedly looked at the street stones, where the door lamp shone, and

counted them and noted their shapes, and the glitter of wet on their angles. I rang again. They opened at last.

I believe if I had spoken French she would not have admitted me; but, as I spoke English, she concluded I

was a foreign teacher come on business connected with the pensionnat, and, even at that late hour, she let me

The next moment I sat in a cold, glittering salon, with porcelain stove unlit, and gilded ornaments, and

A quarter of an hour passed. How fast beat every pulse in my frame! How I turned cold and hot by turns! I sat

with my eyes fixed on the door a great white foldingdoor, with gilt mouldings: I watched to see a leaf

move and open. All had been quiet: not a mouse had stirred; the white doors were closed and motionless.

'You ayre Engliss?' said a voice at my elbow. I almost bounded, so unexpected was the sound; so certain had

No ghost stood beside me, nor anything of spectral aspect; merely a motherly, dumpy little woman, in a large

I said I was English, and immediately, without further prelude, we fell to a most remarkable conversation.

Madame Beck (for Madame Beck it was she had entered by a little door behind me, and, being shod with

the shoes of silence, I had heard neither her entrance nor approach) Madame Beck had exhausted her

command of insular speech when she said 'You ayre Engliss', and she now proceeded to work away volubly

in her own tongue. I answered in mine. She partly understood me, but as I did not at all understand her

though we made together an awful clamour (anything like Madame's gift of utterance I had not hitherto heard

or imagined) we achieved little progress. She rang, ere long, for aid; which arrived in the shape of a

'maîtresse', who had been partly educated in an Irish convent, and was esteemed a perfect adept in the English

language. A bluff little personage this maîtresse was Labassecourienne from top to toe: and how she did

slaughter the speech of Albion! However, I told her a plain tale, which she translated. I told her how I had left

my own country, intent on extending my knowledge, and gaining my bread; how I was ready to turn my hand

to any useful thing, provided it was not wrong or degrading; how I would be a child's nurse, or a lady'smaid,

and would not refuse even housework adapted to my strength. Madame heard this; and, questioning her

'Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises', said she: 'sontelles donc intrépides ces femmeslà!'

She asked my name, my age; she sat and looked at me not pityingly, not with interest: never a gleam of

sympathy, or a shade of compassion, crossed her countenance during the interview. I felt she was not one to

be led an inch by her feelings: grave and considerate, she gazed, consulting her judgment and studying my

'Voilà pour la prière du soir!' said she, and rose. Through her interpreter, she desired me to depart now, and

come back on the morrow; but this did not suit me: I could not bear to return to the perils of darkness and the

street. With energy, yet with a collected and controlled manner, I said, addressing herself personally, and not

'Be assured, madame, that by instantly securing my services, your interests will be served and not injured:

you will find me one who will wish to give, in her labour, a full equivalent for her wages; and if you hire me,

it will be better that I should stay here this night: having no acquaintance in Villette, and not possessing the

She inquired after my luggage: I told her when it would arrive. She mused. At that moment a man's step was

heard in the vestibule, hastily proceeding to the outer door. (I shall go on with this part of my tale as if I had

understood all that had passed; for though it was then scarce intelligible to me, I heard it translated

'M. Paul', replied the teacher. 'He came this evening to give a reading to the first class.'

The teacher ran to the salon door. M. Paul was summoned. He entered: a small, dark and spare man, in

'Mon cousin', began Madame, 'I want your opinion. We know your skill in physiognomy; use it now. Read

The little man fixed on me his spectacles. A resolute compression of the lips, and gathering of the brow,

seemed to say that he meant to see through me, and that a veil would be no veil for him.

'She wishes me to engage her as bonne or gouvernante; tells a tale full of integrity, but gives no reference.'

Still he scrutinised. The judgment, when it at last came, was as indefinite as what had gone before it.

'Engage her. If good predominates in that nature, the action will bring its own reward; if evil eh bien! ma

cousine, ce sera toujours une bonne oeuvre.' And with a bow and a 'bon soir', this vague arbiter of my destiny

And Madame did engage me that very night by God's blessing I was spared the necessity of passing forth

Being delivered into the charge of the maîtresse, I was led through a long narrow passage into a foreign

kitchen, very clean but very strange. It seemed to contain no means of cooking neither fireplace nor oven; I

did not understand that the great black furnace which filled one corner, was an efficient substitute for these.

Surely pride was not already beginning its whispers in my heart; yet I felt a sense of relief when, instead of

being left in the kitchen, as I half anticipated, I was led forward to a small inner room termed a 'cabinet.' A

cook in a jacket, a short petticoat and sabots, brought my supper: to wit some meat, nature unknown, served

in an odd and acid, but pleasant sauce, some chopped potatoes, made savoury with, I know not what: vinegar

and sugar, I think: a tartine, or slice of bread and butter, and a baked pear. Being hungry, I ate and was

After the 'Prière du Soir', Madame herself came to have another look at me. She desired me to follow her

upstairs. Through a series of the queerest little dormitories which, I heard afterwards, had once been nuns'

cells: for the premises were in part of ancient date and through the oratory a long, low, gloomy room,

where a crucifix hung, pale, against the wall, and two tapers kept dim vigils she conducted me to an

apartment where three children were asleep in three tiny beds. A heated stove made the air of this room

oppressive; and, to mend matters, it was scented with an odour rather strong than delicate: a perfume, indeed,

altogether surprising and unexpected under the circumstances, being like the combination of smoke with

Beside a table, on which flared the remnant of a candle guttering to waste in the socket, a coarse woman,

heterogeneously clad in a broad striped showy silk dress, and a stuff apron, sat in a chair fast asleep. To

complete the picture, and leave no doubt as to the state of matters, a bottle and an empty glass stood at the

Madame contemplated this remarkable tableau with great calm; she neither smiled nor scowled: no impress

of anger, disgust, or surprise, ruffled the equality of her grave aspect; she did not even wake the woman.

Serenely pointing to a fourth bed, she intimated that it was to be mine; then, having extinguished the candle

and substituted for it a nightlamp, she glided through an inner door, which she left ajar the entrance to her

own chamber, a large, well furnished apartment; as was discernible through the aperture.

My devotions that night were all thanksgiving. Strangely had I been led since morning unexpectedly had I

been provided for. Scarcely could I believe that not fortyeight hours had elapsed since I left London, under

no other guardianship than that which protects the passenger bird with no prospect but the dubious cloud

I was a light sleeper; in the dead of night I suddenly awoke. All was hushed but a white figure stood in the

room Madam in her nightdress. Moving without perceptible sound, she visited the three children in the

three beds; she approached me: I feigned sleep, and she studied me long. A small pantomime ensued, curious

enough. I daresay she sat a quarter of an hour on the edge of my bed, gazing at my face. She then drew

nearer, bent close over me, slightly raised my cap, and turned back the border so as to expose my hair; she

looked at my hand lying on the bedclothes. This done, she turned to the chair where my clothes lay: it was

at the foot of the bed. Hearing her touch and lift them, I opened my eyes with precaution, for I own I felt

curious to see how far her taste for research would lead her. It led her a good way: every article did she

inspect. I divined her motive for this proceeding, viz., the wish to form from the garments a judgment

respecting the wearer, her station, means, neatness, The end was not bad, but the means were hardly fair or

justifiable. In my dress was a pocket; she fairly turned it inside out; she counted the money in my purse; she

opened a little memorandumbook, coolly perused its contents, and took from between the leaves a small

plaited lock of Miss Marchmont's grey hair. To a bunch of three keys, being those of my trunk, desk and

workbox she accorded special attention; with these, indeed, she withdrew a moment to her own room. I

softly rose in my bed and followed her with my eye: these keys, reader, were not brought back till they had

left on the toilet of the adjoining room the impress of their wards in wax. All being thus done decently and in

order, my property was returned to its place, my clothes were carefully refolded. Of what nature were the

conclusions deduced from this scrutiny? Were they favourable or otherwise? Vain question. Madame's face

of stone (for of stone in its present night aspect it looked: it had been human, and, as I said before, motherly,

Her duty done I felt that in her eyes this business was a duty she rose, noiseless as a shadow: she moved

towards her own chamber; at the door, she turned, fixing her eye on the heroine of the bottle, who still slept

and loudly snored. Mrs. Svini (I presume this was Mrs. Svini, Anglicé or Hibernice, Sweeny) Mrs.

Sweeny's doom was in Madame Beck's eye an immutable purpose that eye spoke: madame's visitations for

shortcomings might be slow, but they were sure. All this was very unEnglish: truly, I was in a foreign land.

The morrow made me further acquainted with Mrs. Sweeny. It seems she had introduced herself to her

present employer as an English lady in reduced circumstances: a native, indeed, of Middlesex, professing to

speak the English tongue with the purest metropolitan accent. madame reliant on her own infallible

expedients for finding out the truth in time had a singular intrepidity in hiring service offhand (as indeed

seemed abundantly proved in my own case.) She received Mrs. Sweeny as nurserygoverness to her three

children. I need hardly explain to the reader that this lady was in effect a native of Ireland; her station I do not

pretend to fix; she boldly declared that she had 'had the bringingup of the son and daughter of a marquis.' I

think, myself, she might possibly have been a hangeron, nurse, fosterer, or washerwoman in some Irish

family: she spoke a smothered tongue, curiously overlaid with mincing cockney inflections. By some means

or other she had acquired, and now held in possession, a wardrobe of rather suspicious splendour gowns of

stiff and costly silk, fitting her indifferently, and apparently made for other proportions than those they now

adorned; caps with real lace borders, and the chief item in the inventory, the spell by which she struck a

certain awe through the household, quelling the otherwise scornfully disposed teachers and servants, and, so

long as her broad shoulders wore the folds of that majestic drapery, even influencing Madame herself a real

Indian shawl 'un véritable Cachmire', as Madame Beck said, with unmixed reverence and amaze. I feel

quite sure that without this 'Cachmire' she would not have kept her footing in the pensionnat for two days: by

But when Mrs. Sweeny knew that I was come to fill her shoes, then it was that she declared herself then did

she rise on Madame Beck in her full power then come down on me with her concentrated weight. Madame

bore this revelation and visitation so well, so stoically, that I for very shame could not support it otherwise

than with composure. For one little moment Madame Beck absented herself from the room; ten minutes after

an agent of the police stood 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 not dropped one sharply accented word.

This brisk little affair of the dismissal was all settled before breakfast: order to march given, policeman

called, mutineer expelled, 'chambre d'enfants' fumigated and cleansed, windows thrown open, and every trace

of the accomplished Mrs. Sweeny even to the fine essence and spiritual fragrance which gave token so

subtle and so fatal of the head and front of her offending was annihilated from the Rue Fossette: all this, I

say, was done between the moment of Madame Beck's issuing like Aurora from her chamber, and that

About noon I was summoned to dress madame. (It appeared my place was to be a hybrid between

gouvernante and lady'smaid.) Till noon she haunted the house in her wrappinggown, shawl and soundless

The dressing of her hair puzzled me; she had plenty of it: auburn, unmixed with grey: though she was forty

years old. Seeing my embarrassment, she said, 'You have not been a femme de chambre in your own

country?' And taking the brush from my hand, and setting me aside, not urgently or disrespectfully, she

arranged it herself. In performing other offices of the toilet, she halfdirected, halfaided me, without the

least display of temper or impatience. N.B. That was the first and last time I was required to dress her.

When attired, Madame Beck appeared a personage of a figure rather short and stout, yet still graceful in its

own peculiar way; that is, with the grace resulting from proportion of parts. Her complexion was fresh and

sanguine, not too rubicund; her eye, blue and serene; her dark silk dress fitted her as a French sempstress

alone can make a dress fit; she looked well, though a little bourgeoise; as bourgeoise, indeed, she was. I know

not what of harmony pervaded her whole person; and yet her face offered contrast, too: its features were by

no means such as are usually seen in conjunction with a complexion of such blended freshness and repose:

their outline was stern; her forehead was high but narrow; it expressed capacity and some benevolence, but

no expanse; nor did her peaceful yet watchful eye ever know the fire which is kindled in the heart or the

softness which flows thence. Her mouth was hard: it could be a little grim; her lips were thin. For sensibility

and genius, with all their tenderness and temerity, I felt somehow that madame would be the right sort of

In the long run, I found she was something else in petticoats too. Her name was Modeste Maria Beck, née

Kint: it ought to have been Ignacia. She was a charitable woman, and did a great deal of good. There never

was a mistress whose rule was milder. I was told that she never once remonstrated with the intolerable Mrs.

Sweeny, despite her tipsiness, disorder and general neglect; yet Mrs. Sweeny had to go the moment her

departure became convenient. I was told, too, that neither masters nor teachers were found fault with in that

establishment; yet both masters and teachers were often changed: they vanished and others filled their places,

The establishment was both a pensionnat and an externat; the externes or daypupils exceeded one hundred

in number; the boarders were about a score. Madame must have possessed high administrative powers: she

ruled all these, together with four teachers, eight masters, six servants, and three children, managing at the

same time, to perfection, the pupils' parents and friends; and that without apparent effort; without bustle,

fatigue, fever, or any symptom of undue excitement: occupied she always was busy, rarely. It is true that

madame had her own system for managing and regulating this mass of machinery; and a very pretty system it

was: the reader has seen a specimen of it, in that small affair of turning my pocket inside out, and reading my

Still, Madame knew what honesty was, and liked it that is, when it did not obtrude its clumsy scruples in

the way of her will and interest. She had a respect for Angleterre; and as to les Anglaises, she would have the

Often in the evening, after she had been plotting and counterplotting, spying and receiving the reports of spies

all day, she would come up to my room a trace of real weariness on her brow and she would sit down and

listen while the children said their little prayers to me in English: the Lord's Prayer, and the hymn beginning

'Gentle Jesus', these little Catholics were permitted to repeat at my knee; and, when I had put them to bed, she

would talk to me (I soon gained enough French to be able to understand, and even answer her) about England

and Englishwomen, and the reasons for what she was pleased to term their superior intelligence, and more

real and reliable probity. Very good sense she often showed; very sound opinions she often broached: she

seemed to know that keeping girls in distrustful restraint, in blind ignorance, and under a surveillance that left

them no moment and no corner for retirement, was not the best way to make them grow up honest and

modest women; but she averred that ruinous consequences would ensue if any other method were tried with

continental children they were so accustomed to restraint, that relaxation, however guarded, would be

misunderstood and fatally presumed on: she was sick, she would declare, of the means she had to use, but use

them she must; and after discoursing, often with dignity and delicacy, to me, she would move away on her

souliers de silence, and glide ghostlike through the house, watching and spying everywhere, peering through

After all, Madame's system was not bad let me do her justice. Nothing could be better than all her

arrangements for the physical wellbeing of her scholars. No minds were overtasked; the lessons were well

distributed and made incomparably easy to the learner; there was a liberty of amusement, and a provision for

exercise which kept the girls healthy; the food was abundant and good: neither pale nor puny faces were

anywhere to be seen in the Rue Fossette. She never grudged a holiday; she allowed plenty of time for

sleeping, dressing, washing, eating; her method in all these matters was easy, liberal, salutary and rational:

many an austere English schoolmistress would do vastly well to imitate it and I believe many would be

As Madame Beck ruled by espionage, she of course had her staff of spies: she perfectly knew the quality of

the tools she used, and while she would not scruple to handle the dirtiest for a dirty occasion flinging this

sort from her like refuse rind, after the orange has been duly squeezed I have known her fastidious in

seeking pure metal for clean uses; and when once a bloodless and rustless instrument was found, she was

careful of the prize, keeping it in silk and cottonwool. Yet, woe be to that man or woman who relied on her

one inch beyond the point where it was her interest to be trustworthy; interest was the masterkey of

madame's nature the mainspring of her motives the alpha and omega of her life. I have seen her feelings

appealed to, and I have smiled in halfpity, halfscorn at the appellants. None ever gained her ear through

that channel, or swayed her purpose by that means. On the contrary, to attempt to touch her heart was the

surest way to rouse her antipathy, and to make of her a secret foe. It proved to her that she had no heart to be

touched: it reminded her where she was impotent and dead. Never was the distinction between charity and

mercy better exemplified than in her. While devoid of sympathy, she had a sufficiency of rational

benevolence: she would give in the readiest manner to people she had never seen rather, however, to

classes than to individuals. Pour les pauvres, she opened her purse freely against the poor man, as a rule,

she kept it closed. In philanthropic schemes for the benefit of society at large she took a cheerful part; no

private sorrow touched her: no force or mass of suffering concentrated in one heart had power to pierce hers.

Not the agony in Gethsemane, not the death on Calvary, could have wrung from her eyes one tear.

I say again, Madame was a very great and a very capable woman. That school offered her for her powers too

limited a sphere; she ought to have swayed a nation: she should have been the leader of a turbulent legislative

assembly. Nobody could have browbeaten her, none irritated her nerves, exhausted her patience, or

overreached her astuteness. In her own single person she could have comprised the duties of a first minister

and a superintendent of police. Wise, firm, faithless; secret, crafty, passionless; watchful and inscrutable;

The sensible reader will not suppose that I gained all the knowledge here condensed for his benefit in one

month, or in one halfyear. No! what I saw at first was the thriving outside of a large and flourishing

educational establishment. Here was a great house, full of healthy, lively girls, all well dressed and many of

them handsome, gaining knowledge by a marvellously easy method, without painful exertion or useless waste

of spirits; not, perhaps, making very rapid progress in anything; taking it easy, but still always employed, and

never oppressed. Here was a corps of teachers and masters more stringently tasked, as all the real

headlabour was to be done by them, in order to save the pupils, yet having their duties so arranged that they

relieved each other in quick succession whenever the work was severe; here, in short, was a foreign school;

of which the life, movement and variety made it a complete and most charming contrast to many English

Behind the house was a large garden, and, in summer, the pupils almost lived out of doors amongst the rose

bushes and the fruit trees. Under the vast and vinedraped berceau, madame would take her seat on summer

afternoons, and send for the classes, in turns, to sit round her and sew and read. Meantime, masters came and

went, delivering short and lively lectures, rather than lessons, and the pupils made notes of their instructions,

or did not make them just as inclination prompted; secure that, in case of neglect, they could copy the notes

of their companions. Besides the regular monthly jours de sortie, the Catholic fêtedays brought a succession

of holidays all the year round; and sometimes on a bright summer morning, or soft summer evening, the

boarders were taken out for a long walk into the country, regaled with gaufres and vin blanc, or new milk and

pain bis, or pistolets au beurre (rolls) and coffee. All this seemed very pleasant, and madame appeared

goodness itself; and the teachers not so bad, but they might be worse; and the pupils, perhaps, a little noisy

Thus did the view appear, seen through the enchantment of distance; but there came a time when distance

was to melt for me, when I was to be called down from my watchtower of the nursery, whence I had

hitherto made my observations, and was to be compelled into closer intercourse with this little world of the

I was one day sitting upstairs, as usual, hearing the children their English lessons, and at the same time

turning a silk dress for Madame, when she came sauntering into the room with that absorbed air and brow of

hard thought she sometimes wore, and which made her look so little genial. Dropping into a seat opposite

mine, she remained some minutes silent. Désirée, the eldest girl, was reading to me some little essay of Mrs.

Barbauld's, and I was making her translate currently from English to French, as she proceeded, by way of

Presently, without preface or prelude, she said, almost in the tone of one making an accusation, 'Meess, in

I assured her it was. Again she became silent; but looking up, as I took a pin from the cushion, I found myself

an object of study: she held me under her eye; she seemed turning me round in her thoughts measuring my

fitness for a purpose, weighing my value in a plan. Madame had, ere this, scrutinised all I had, and I believe

she esteemed herself cognisant of much that I was; but from that day, for the space of about a fortnight, she

tried me by new tests. She listened at the nursery door when I was shut in with the children; she followed me

at a cautious distance when I walked out with them, stealing within earshot whenever the trees of park or

boulevard afforded a sufficient screen: a strict preliminary process having thus been observed, she made a

One morning, coming on me abruptly, and with the semblance of hurry, she said she found herself placed in a

little dilemma. Mr. Wilson, the English master, had failed to come at his hour, she feared he was ill; the

pupils were waiting in classe; there was no one to give a lesson; should I, for once, object to giving a short

dictation exercise, just that the pupils might not have it to say they had missed their English lesson?

'Where there are sixty pupils', said I; for I knew the number, and with my usual base habit of cowardice, I

shrunk into my sloth like a snail into its shell, and alleged incapacity and impracticability as a pretext to

escape action. If left to myself, I should infallibly have let this chance slip. Inadventurous, unstirred by

impulses of practical ambition, I was capable of sitting twenty years teaching infants the hornbook, turning

silk dresses and making children's frocks. Not that true contentment dignified this infatuated resignation: my

work had neither charm for my taste, nor hold on my interest; but it seemed to me a great thing to be without

heavy anxiety, and relieved from intimate trial; the negation of severe suffering was the nearest approach to

happiness I expected to know. Besides, I seemed to hold two lives the life of thought, and that of reality;

and, provided the former was nourished with a sufficiency of the strange necromantic joys of fancy, the

privileges of the latter might remain limited to daily bread, hourly work, and a roof of shelter.

'Come', said Madame, as I stooped more busily than ever over the cutting out of a child's pinafore, 'leave that

And as Madame Beck did really want and was resolved to have me as she had long been dissatisfied with

the English master, with his shortcomings in punctuality, and his careless method of tuition as, too, she did

not lack resolution and practical activity, whether I lacked them or not she, without more ado, made me

relinquish thimble and needle; my hand was taken into hers, and I was conducted downstairs. When we

reached the carré, a large square hall between the dwellinghouse and the pensionnat, she paused, dropped

my hand, faced, and scrutinised me. I was flushed and tremulous from head to foot: tell it not in Gath, I

believe I was crying. In fact, the difficulties before me were far from being wholly imaginary; some of them

were real enough; and not the least substantial lay in my want of mastery over the medium through which I

should be obliged to teach. I had, indeed, studied French closely since my arrival in Villette; learning its

practice by day, and its theory in every leisure moment at night, to as late an hour as the rule of the house

would allow candlelight, but I was far from yet being able to trust my powers of correct oral expression.

I might have said 'Yes', and gone back to nursery obscurity, and there, perhaps, mouldered for the rest of my

life; but looking up at Madame, I saw in her countenance a something that made me think twice ere I decided.

At that instant, she did not wear a woman's aspect but rather a man's. Power of a particular kind strongly

limned itself in all her traits, and that power was not my kind of power: neither sympathy nor congeniality,

nor submission were the emotions it awakened. I stood not soothed, nor won, nor overwhelmed. It seemed

as if a challenge of strength between opposing gifts was given, and I suddenly felt all the dishonour of my

'Will you', she said, 'go backward or forward?' indicating with her hand, first, the small door of

communication with the dwellinghouse, and then the great double portals of the classes or schoolrooms.

'But', pursued she, cooling as I warmed, and continuing the hard look, from very antipathy to which I drew

She sneered slightly in saying this: nervous excitability was not much to Madame's taste.

'I am no more excited than this stone', I said, tapping the flag with my toe: 'or than you', I added, returning her

'Bon! But let me tell you these are not quiet, decorous English girls you are going to encounter. Ce sont des

I said: 'I know; and I know, too, that though I have studied French hard since I came here, yet I still speak it

with far too much hesitation too little accuracy to be able to command their respect: I shall make blunders

that will lay me open to the scorn of the most ignorant. Still I mean to give the lesson.'

'I know that, too, madame; I have heard how they rebelled against and persecuted Miss Turner' a poor,

friendless English teacher, whom Madame had employed, and lightly discarded; and to whose piteous history

'C'est vrai', said she, coolly. 'Miss Turner had no more command over them than a servant from the kitchen

would have had. She was weak and wavering; she had neither tact nor intelligence, decision nor dignity. Miss

'You will not expect aid from me, or from any one', said madame. 'That would at once set you down as

I opened the door, let her pass with courtesy, and followed her. There were three schoolrooms, all large.

That dedicated to the second division, where I was to figure, was considerably the largest, and accommodated

an assemblage more numerous, more turbulent, and infinitely more unmanageable than the other two. In after

days, when I knew the ground better, I used to think sometimes (if such a comparison may be permitted), that

the quiet, polished, tame first division, was to the robust, riotous, demonstrative second division, what the

The first glance informed me that many of the pupils were more than girls quite young women; I knew that

some of them were of noble family (as nobility goes in Labassecour), and I was well convinced that not one

amongst them was ignorant of my position in madame's household. As I mounted the estrade (a low platform,

raised a step above the flooring), where stood the teacher's chair and desk, I beheld opposite to me a row of

eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather eyes full of an insolent light, and brows hard and

unblushing as marble. The continental 'female' is quite a different being to the insular 'female' of the same age

and class: I never saw such eyes and brows in England. Madame Beck introduced me in one cool phrase,

I shall never forget that first lesson, nor all the undercurrent of life and character it opened up to me. Then

first did I begin rightly to see the wide difference that lies between the novelist's and poet's ideal 'jeune fille',

It seems that three titled belles in the first row had sat down predetermined that a bonne d'enfants should not

give them lessons in English. They knew they had succeeded in expelling obnoxious teachers before now;

they knew that madame would at any time throw overboard a professeur or maîtresse who became unpopular

with the school that she never assisted a weak official to retain his place that if he had not strength to

fight, or tact to win his way down he went: looking at 'Miss Snowe' they promised themselves an easy

Mesdemoiselles Blanche, Virginie, and Angélique opened the campaign by a series of titterings and

whisperings; these soon swelled into murmurs and short laughs, which the remoter benches caught up and

echoed more loudly. This growing revolt of sixty against one, soon became oppressive enough; my command

Could I but have spoken in my own tongue, I felt as if I might have gained a hearing; for, in the first place,

though I knew I looked a poor creature, and in many respects actually was so, yet nature had given me a

voice that could make 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, in ordinary circumstances, yet under stimulus such as

was now rife through the mutinous mass I could, in English, have rolled out readily phrases stigmatising

their proceedings as such proceedings deserved to be stigmatised; and then with some sarcasm, flavoured

with contemptuous bitterness for the ringleaders, and relieved with easy banter for the weaker, but less

knavish followers, it seemed to me that one might possibly get command over this wild herd and bring them

into training, at least. All I could now do was to walk up to Blanche Mademoiselle de Melcy, a young

baronne the eldest, tallest, handsomest and most vicious stand before her desk, take from under her hand

her exercisebook, remount the estrade, deliberately read the composition, which I found very stupid, and, as

deliberately, and in the face of the whole school, tear the blotted page in two.

This action availed to draw attention and check noise. One girl alone, quite in the background, persevered in

the riot with undiminished energy. I looked at her attentively. She had a pale face, hair like night, broad,

strong eyebrows, decided features, and a dark, mutinous, sinister eye: I noted that she sat close by a little

door, which door, I was well aware, opened into a small closet where books were kept. She was standing up

for the purpose of conducting her clamour with freer energies. I measured her stature and calculated her

strength. She seemed both tall and wiry; but, so the conflict were brief and the attack unexpected, I thought I

Advancing up the room, looking as cool and careless as I possibly could, in short, ayant l'air de rien; I slightly

pushed the door and found it was ajar. In an instant, and with sharpness, I had turned on her. In another

instant she occupied the closet, the door was shut, and the key was in my pocket.

It so happened that this girl, Dolores by name, and a Catalonian by race, was the sort of character at once

dreaded and hated by all her associates; the act of summary justice, above noted, proved popular: there was

not one present but, in her heart, liked to see it done. They were stilled for a moment; then a smile not a

laugh passed from desk to desk: then when I had gravely and tranquilly returned to the estrade,

courteously requested silence and commenced a dictation as if nothing at all had happened the pens

travelled peacefully over the pages, and the remainder of the lesson passed in order and industry.

'C'est bien', said Madame Beck, when I came out of class, hot and a little exhausted. 'Ça ira.'

From that day I ceased to be nurserygoverness, and became English teacher. Madame raised my salary; but

she got thrice the work out of me she had extracted from Mr. Wilson, at half the expense.

My time was now well and profitably filled up. What with teaching others and studying closely myself, I had

hardly a spare moment. It was pleasant. I felt I was getting on; not lying the stagnant prey of mould and rust,

but polishing my faculties and whetting them to a keen edge with constant use. Experience of a certain kind

lay before me, on no narrow scale. Villette is a cosmopolitan city, and in this school were girls of almost

every European nation, and likewise of very varied rank in life. Equality is much practised in Labassecour;

though not republican in form, it is nearly so in substance, and at the desks of Madame Beck's establishment

the young countess and the young bourgeoise sat side by side. Nor could you always by outward indications

decide which was noble and which plebeian; except that, indeed, the latter had often franker and more

courteous manners, while the former bore away the bell for a delicately balanced combination of insolence

and deceit. In the former there was often quick French blood mixed with the marshphlegm: I regret to say

that the effect of this vivacious fluid chiefly appeared in the oilier glibness with which flattery and fiction ran

from the tongue, and in a manner lighter and livelier, but quite heartless and insincere.

To do all parties justice, the honest aboriginal Labassecouriennes had an hypocrisy of their own, too; but it

was of a coarse order, such as could deceive few. Whenever a lie was necessary for their occasions, they

brought it out with a careless ease and breadth altogether untroubled by the rebuke of conscience. Not a soul

in Madame Beck's house, from the scullion to the directress herself, but was above being ashamed of a lie;

they thought nothing of it: to invent might not be precisely a virtue, but it was the most venial of faults. 'J'ai

menti plusieurs fois' formed an item of every girl's and woman's monthly confession: the priest heard

unshocked, and absolved unreluctant. If they had missed going to mass, or read a chapter of a novel, that was

another thing: these were crimes whereof rebuke and penance were the unfailing meed.

While yet but halfconscious of this state of things, and unlearned in its results, I got on in my new sphere

very well. After the first few difficult lessons, given amidst peril and on the edge of a moral volcano that

rumbled under my feet and sent sparks and hot fumes into my eyes, the eruptive spirit seemed to subside, as

far as I was concerned. My mind was a good deal bent on success: I could not bear the thought of being

baffled by mere undisciplined disaffection and wanton indocility, in this first attempt to get on in life. Many

hours of the night I used to lie awake, thinking what plan I had best adopt to get a reliable hold on these

mutineers, to bring this stiffnecked tribe under permanent influence. In the first place, I saw plainly that aid

in no shape was to be expected from madame: her righteous plan was to maintain an unbroken popularity

with the pupils, at any and every cost of justice or comfort to the teachers. For a teacher to seek her alliance

in any crisis of insubordination was equivalent to securing her own expulsion. In intercourse with her pupils,

madame only took to herself what was pleasant, amiable and recommendatory; rigidly requiring of her

lieutenants sufficiency for every annoying crisis, where to act with adequate promptitude was to be

Imprimis it was clear as the day that this swinish multitude were not to be driven by force. They were to be

humoured, borne with very patiently: a courteous though sedate manner impressed them; a very rare flash of

raillery did good. Severe or continuous mental application they could not, or would not, bear: heavy demand

on the memory, the reason, the attention, they rejected pointblank. Where an English girl of not more than

average capacity and docility would quietly take a theme and bind herself to the task of comprehension and

mastery, a Labassecourienne would laugh in your face, and throw it back to you with the phrase 'Dieu, que

A teacher who understood her business would take it back at once, without hesitation, contest, or

expostulation proceed with even exaggerated care to smooth every difficulty, to reduce it to the level of

their understandings, return it to them thus modified, and lay on the lash of sarcasm with unsparing hand.

They would feel the sting, perhaps wince a little under it; but they bore no malice against this sort of attack,

provided the sneer was not sour, but hearty, and that it held well up to them, in a clear light and bold type, so

that she who ran might read, their incapacity, ignorance and sloth. They would riot for three additional lines

to a lesson; but I never knew them rebel against a wound given to their selfrespect: the little they had of that

quality was trained to be crushed, and it rather liked the pressure of a firm heel than otherwise.

By degrees, as I acquired fluency and freedom in their language, and could make such application of its more

nervous idioms as suited their case, the elder and more intelligent girls began rather to like me in their way: I

noticed that whenever a pupil had been roused to feel in her soul the stirring of worthy emulation, or the

quickening of honest shame, from that date she was won. If I could but once make their (usually large) ears

burn under their thick glossy hair, all was comparatively well. Byandby bouquets began to be laid on my

desk in the morning; by way of acknowledgment for this little foreign attention, I used sometimes to walk

with a select few during recreation. In the course of conversation it befell once or twice that I made an

unpremeditated attempt to rectify some of their singularly distorted notions of principle; especially I

expressed my ideas of the evil and baseness of a lie. In an unguarded moment, I chanced to say that, of the

two errors, I considered falsehood worse than an occasional lapse in church attendance. The poor girls were

tutored to report in Catholic ears whatever the Protestant teacher said. An edifying consequence ensued.

Something an unseen, an indefinite, a nameless something stole between myself and these my best

pupils: the bouquets continued to be offered, but conversation thenceforth became impracticable. As I paced

the alleys or sat in the berceau, a girl never came to my right hand but a teacher, as if by magic, appeared at

my left. Also, wonderful to relate, Madame's shoes of silence brought her continually to my back, as quick, as

The opinion of my Catholic acquaintance concerning my spiritual prospects was somewhat naively expressed

to me on one occasion. A pensionnaire, to whom I had rendered some little service, exclaimed one day as she

'Certainement que j'y crois: tout le monde le sait; et d'ailleurs le prêtre me l'a dit.'

'Pour assurer votre salut làhaut, on ferait bien de vous brûler toute vive icibas.'

Has the reader forgotten Miss Ginevra Fanshawe? If so, I must be allowed to reintroduce that young lady as

a thriving pupil of Madame Beck's; for such she was. On her arrival in the Rue Fossette, two or three days

after my sudden settlement there, she encountered me with very little surprise. She must have had good blood

in her veins, for never was any duchess more perfectly, radically, unaffectedly nonchalante than she; a weak,

transient amaze was all she knew of the sensation of wonder. Most of her other faculties seemed to be in the

same flimsy condition: her liking and disliking, her love and hate, were mere cobweb and gossamer; but she

had one thing about her that seemed strong and durable enough, and that was her selfishness.

She was not proud; and bonne d'enfants as I was she would forthwith have made of me a sort of friend

and confidant. She teased me with a thousand vapid complaints about schoolquarrels and household

economy: the cookery was not to her taste the people about her, teachers and pupils, she held to be

despicable, because they were foreigners. I bore with her abuse of the Friday's salt fish and hard eggs with

her invective against the soup, the bread, the coffee with some patience for a time; but at last, wearied by

iteration, I turned crusty, and put her to rights a thing I ought to have done in the very beginning, for a

Much longer had I to endure her demands on me in the way of work. Her wardrobe, so far as concerned

articles of external wear, was well and elegantly supplied; but there were other habiliments not so carefully

provided: what she had, needed frequent repair. She hated needle drudgery herself, and she would bring her

hose, to me in heaps, to be mended. A compliance of some weeks threatening to result in the establishment of

an intolerable bore I at last distinctly told her she must make up her mind to mend her own garments. She

cried on receiving this information, and accused me of having ceased to be her friend; but I held by my

Notwithstanding these foibles, and various others needless to mention but by no means of a refined or

elevating character how pretty she was! How charming she looked, when she came down on a sunny

Sunday morning, welldressed and wellhumoured, robed in pale lilac silk, and with her fair long curls

reposing on her white shoulders. Sunday was a holiday which she always passed with friends resident in

town; and amongst these friends she speedily gave me to understand was one who would fain become

something more. By glimpses and hints it was shown me, and by the general buoyancy of her look and

manner it was ere long proved, that ardent admiration perhaps genuine love was at her command. She

called her suitor 'Isidore': this, however, she intimated was not his real name, but one by which it pleased her

to baptise him his own, she hinted, not being 'very pretty.' Once, when she had been bragging about the

'Comme cela,' said she: 'he is handsome, and he loves me to distraction, so that I am well amused. Ça suffit.'

Finding that she carried the thing on longer than, from her very fickle tastes, I had anticipated, I one day took

it upon me to make Serious inquiries as to whether the gentleman was such as her parents, and especially her

uncle on whom, it appeared, she was dependent would be likely to approve. She allowed that this was

'But if he loves you as much as you say, and yet it comes to nothing in the end, he will be made miserable.'

'Of course he will break his heart. I should be shocked and disappointed if he didn't.'

'He is, about me; but he is wise in other things, à ce qu'on dit. Mrs. Cholmondeley considers him extremely

clever: she says he will push his way by his talents; all I know is, that he does little more than sigh in my

Wishing to get a more definite idea of this lovestricken M. Isidore, whose position seemed to me of the least

secure, I requested her to favour me with a personal description; but she could not describe: she had neither

words nor the power of putting them together so as to make graphic phrases. She even seemed not properly to

have noticed him: nothing of his looks, of the changes in his countenance, had touched her heart or dwelt in

her memory that he was 'beau, mais plutôt bel homme que joli garçon', was all she could assert. My

patience would often have failed, and my interest flagged, in listening to her, but for one thing. All the hints

she dropped, all the details she gave, went unconsciously to prove, to my thinking, that M. Isidore's homage

was offered with great delicacy and respect. I informed her very plainly that I believed him much too good

for her, and intimated with equal plainness my impression that she was but a vain coquette. She laughed,

shook her curls from her eyes, and danced away as if I had paid her a compliment.

Miss Ginevra's school studies were little better than nominal; there were but three things she practised in

earnest, viz., music, singing, and dancing; also embroidering the fine cambric handkerchiefs which she could

not afford to buy ready worked: such mere trifles as lessons in history, geography, grammar, and arithmetic,

she left undone, or got others to do for her. Very much of her time was spent in visiting. Madame, aware that

her stay at school was now limited to a certain period which would not be extended whether she made

progress or not, allowed her great license in this particular. Mrs. Cholmondeley her chaperon a gay,

fashionable lady, invited her whenever she had company at her own house, and sometimes took her to

evening parties at the houses of her acquaintance. Ginevra perfectly approved this mode of procedure: it had

but one inconvenience; she was obliged to be well dressed, and she had not money to buy variety of dresses.

All her thoughts turned on this difficulty; her whole soul was occupied with expedients for effecting its

solution. It was wonderful to witness the activity of her otherwise indolent mind on this point, and to see the

muchdaring intrepidity to which she was spurred by a sense of necessity, and the wish to shine.

She begged boldly of Mrs. Cholmondeley boldly, I say: not with an air of reluctant shame, but in this strain

'My darling Mrs. C., I have nothing in the world fit to wear for your party next week; you must give me a

bookmuslin dress, and then a ceinture bleu céleste: do there's an angel! will you?'

The 'darling Mrs. C.' yielded at first; but finding that applications increased as they were complied with, she

was soon obliged, like all Miss Fanshawe's friends, to oppose resistance to encroachment. After a while I

heard no more of Mrs. Cholmondeley's presents; but still, visiting went on, and the absolutely necessary

dresses continued to be supplied: also many little expensive etceterae gloves, bouquets, even trinkets. These

things, contrary to her custom, and even nature for she was not secretive were most sedulously kept out

of sight for a time; but one evening, when she was going to a large party for which particular care and

elegance of costume were demanded, she could not resist coming to my chamber to show herself in all her

Beautiful she looked: so young, so fresh, and with a delicacy of skin and flexibility of shape altogether

English, and not found in the list of continental female charms. Her dress was new, costly and perfect. I saw

at a glance that it lacked none of those finishing details which cost so much, and give to the general effect

I viewed her from top to toe. She turned airily round that I might survey her on all sides. Conscious of her

charms, she was in her best humour: her rather small blue eyes sparkled gleefully. She was going to bestow

on me a kiss, in her schoolgirl fashion of showing her delight: but I said, 'Steady! Let us be steady, and

know what we are about, and find out the meaning of our magnificence' and so put her off at arm's length,

'Do?' said I. 'There are different ways of doing; and, by my word, I don't understand yours.'

She thought the praise not warm enough, and proceeded to direct attention to the various decorative points of

her attire. 'Look at this parure', said she 'The brooch, the earrings, the bracelets: no one in the school has

'Not they, indeed. Mrs. Cholmondeley is a mean, stingy creature; she never gives me anything now.'

'Now, old Crusty old Diogenes' (these were her familiar terms for me when we disagreed), 'what is the

'What now, Mother Wisdom? I have not got into debt for it that is, not for the jewels, nor the gloves, nor

the bouquet. My dress is certainly not paid for, but uncle de Bassompierre will pay it in the bill: he never

notices items, but just looks at the total; and he is so rich, one need not care about a few guineas more or less.'

'Will you go? I want to shut the door. . . . Ginevra, people may tell you you are very handsome in that ball

attire; but, in my eyes, you will never look so pretty as you did in the gingham gown and plain straw bonnet

'Other people have not your puritanical tastes:' was her angry reply. 'And, besides, I see no right you have to

'Certainly! I have little right; and you, perhaps, have still less to come flourishing and fluttering into my

chamber a mere jay in borrowed plumes. I have not the least respect for your feathers, Miss Fanshawe; and

especially the peacock's eyes you call a parure: very pretty things, if you had bought them with money which

was your own, and which you could well spare, but not at all pretty under present circumstances.'

'On est là pour Mademoiselle Fanshawe!' was announced by the portress, and away she tripped.

This semimystery of the parure was not solved till two or three days afterwards, when she came to make a

'You need not be sulky with me', she began, 'in the idea that I am running somebody, papa or M. de

Bassompierre, deeply into debt. I assure you nothing remains unpaid for, but the few dresses I have lately

'There', I thought, 'lies the mystery; considering that they were not given you by Mrs. Cholmondeley, and that

your own means are limited to a few shillings, of which I know you to be excessively careful.'

'Ecoutez!' she went on, drawing near and speaking in her most confidential and coaxing tone; for my

'sulkiness' was inconvenient to her: she liked me to be in a talking and listening mood, even if I only talked to

chide and listened to rail. 'Ecoutez, chère grogneuse! I will tell you all how and about it; and you will then

see, not only how right the whole thing is, but how cleverly managed. In the first place, I must go out. Papa

himself said that he wished me to see something of the world: he particularly remarked to Mrs.

Cholmondeley, that, though I was a sweet creature enough, I had rather a breadandbuttereating,

schoolgirl air; of which it was his special desire that I should get rid, by an introduction to society here,

before I make my regular début in England. Well, then, if I go out, I must dress. Mrs. Cholmondeley is turned

shabby, and will give nothing more; it would be too hard upon uncle to make him pay for all the things I

need: that you can't deny that agrees with your own preachments. Well, but SOMEBODY who heard me

(quite by chance, I assure you) complaining to Mrs. Cholmondeley of my distressed circumstances, and what

straits I was put to for an ornament or two somebody, far from grudging one a present, was quite delighted

at the idea of being permitted to offer some trifle. You should have seen what a blancbec he looked when he

first spoke of it: how he hesitated and blushed, and positively trembled from fear of a repulse.'

'That will do, Miss Fanshawe. I suppose I am to understand that M. Isidore is the benefactor: that it is from

him you have accepted that costly parure; that he supplies your bouquets and your gloves?'

'You express yourself so disagreeably', said she, 'one hardly knows how to answer; what I mean to say is, that

I occasionally allow Isidore the pleasure and honour of expressing his homage by the offer of a trifle.'

'It comes to the same thing. . . . Now, Ginevra, to speak the plain truth, I don't very well understand these

matters; but I believe you are doing very wrong seriously wrong. Perhaps, however, you now feel certain

that you will be able to marry M. Isidore; your parents and uncle have given their consent, and, for your part,

'Mais pas du tout!' (she always had recourse to French when about to say something specially heartless and

'Excuse me, I must believe this language is mere nonsense and coquetry. There is nothing great about you,

yet you are above profiting by the good nature and purse of a man to whom you feel absolute indifference.

'No. I danced with a young officer the other night, whom I love a thousand times more than he. I often

wonder why I feel so very cold to Isidore, for everybody says he is handsome, and other ladies admire him;

And she seemed to make an effort to reflect. In this I encouraged her. 'Yes!' I said, 'try to get a clear idea of

'It is something in this fashion', she cried out ere long: 'the man is too romantic and devoted, and he expects

something more of me than I find it convenient to be. He thinks I am perfect: furnished with all sorts of

sterling qualities and solid virtues, such as I never had, nor intend to have. Now, one can't help in his

presence, rather trying to justify his good opinion; and it does so tire one to be goody, and to talk sense for

he really thinks I am sensible. I am far more at my ease with you, old lady you, you dear crosspatch who

take me at my lowest, and know me to be coquettish, and ignorant, and flirting, and fickle, and silly, and

selfish, and all the other sweet things you and I have agreed to be a part of my character.'

'This is all very well', I said, making a strenuous effort to preserve that gravity and severity which ran risk of

being shaken by this whimsical candour, 'but it does not alter that wretched business of the presents. Pack

'Then you are deceiving M. Isidore. It stands to reason that by accepting his presents you give him to

'But he won't' she interrupted: 'he has his equivalent now, in the pleasure of seeing me wear them quite

This phrase, in its senseless arrogance, quite cured me of the temporary weakness which had made me relax

'My present business is to enjoy youth, and not to think of fettering myself, by promise or vow, to this man or

that. When first I saw Isidore, I believed he would help me to enjoy it. I believed he would be content with

my being a pretty girl; and that we should meet and part and flutter about like two butterflies, and be happy.

Lo, and behold! I find him at times as grave as a judge, and deepfeeling and thoughtful. Bah! Les penseurs,

les hommes profonds et passionnés, ne sont pas à mon gout. Le Colonel Alfred de Hamal suits me far better.

Va pour les beaux fats et les jolis fripons! Vive les joies et les plaisirs! A bas les grandes passions et les

'J'aime mon beau Colonel' she went on: 'je n'aimerai jamais son rival. Je ne serai jamais femme de bourgeois,

I now signified that it was imperatively necessary my apartment should be relieved of the honour of her

Madame Beck was a most consistent character; forbearing with all the world, and tender to no part of it. Her

own children drew her into no deviation from the even tenor of her stoic calm. She was solicitous about her

family, vigilant for their interests and physical wellbeing; but she never seemed to know the wish to take her

little children upon her lap, to press their rosy lips with her own, to gather them in a genial embrace, to

I have watched her sometimes sitting in the garden, viewing the little ones afar off, as they walked in a distant

alley with Trinette, their bonne; in her mien spoke care and prudence. I know she often pondered anxiously

what she called 'leur avenir'; but if the youngest, a puny and delicate but engaging child, chancing to spy her,

broke from its nurse, and toddling down the walk, came all eager and laughing and panting to clasp her knee,

madame would just calmly put out one hand, so as to prevent inconvenient concussion from the child's

sudden onset: 'Prends garde, mon enfant!' she would say unmoved, patiently permit it to stand near her a few

moments, and then, without smile or kiss, or endearing syllable, rise and lead it back to Trinette.

Her demeanour to the eldest girl was equally characteristic in another way. This was a vicious child. 'Quelle

peste que cette Désirée! Quel poison que cet enfantlà!' were the expressions dedicated to her, alike in

kitchen and in schoolroom. Amongst her other endowments she boasted an exquisite skill in the art of

provocation, sometimes driving her bonne and the servants almost wild. She would steal to their attics, open

their drawers and boxes, wantonly tear their best caps and soil their best shawls; she would watch her

opportunity to get at the beaufet of the salle à manger, where she would smash articles of porcelain or glass

or to the cupboard of the storeroom, where she would plunder the preserves, drink the sweet wine, break jars

and bottles, and so contrive as to throw the onus of suspicion on the cook and the kitchenmaid. All this when

Madame saw, and of which when she received report, her sole observation, uttered with matchless serenity,

'Désirée a besoin d'une surveillance toute particulière.' Accordingly she kept this promising olivebranch a

good deal at her side. Never once, I believe, did she tell her faithfully of her faults, explain the evil of such

habits, and show the results which must thence ensue. Surveillance must work the whole cure. It failed of

course. Désirée was kept in some measure from the servants, but she teased and pillaged her mamma instead.

Whatever belonging to madame's worktable or toilet she could lay her hands on, she stole and hid. Madame

saw all this, but she still pretended not to see. She had not rectitude of soul to confront the child with her

vices. When an article disappeared whose value rendered restitution necessary, she would profess to think

that Désirée had taken it away in play, and beg her to restore it. Désirée was not to be so cheated: she had

learned to bring falsehood to the aid of theft, and would deny having touched the brooch, ring, or scissors.

Carrying on the hollow system, the mother would calmly assume an air of belief and afterwards, ceaselessly

watch and dog the child till she tracked her to her hidingplaces some hole in the gardenwall some

chink or cranny in garret or outhouse. This done, madame would send Désirée out for a walk with her

bonne, and profit by her absence to rob the robber. Désirée proved herself the true daughter of her astute

parent, by never suffering either her countenance or manner to betray the least sign of mortification on

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 ruddy cheek, not from her was derived its moral being. It was an honest,

gleeful little soul: a passionate, warmtempered, bustling creature it was too, and of the sort likely to blunder

often into perils and difficulties. One day it bethought itself to fall from top to bottom of a steep flight of

stone steps; and when madame, hearing the noise (she always heard every noise), issued from the salle à

At first we hoped this was not the case. It was, however, but too true: one little plump arm hung powerless.

'Let Meess' (meaning me) 'take her', said Madame; 'et qu'on aille tout de suite chercher un fiacre.'

In a fiacre she promptly, but with admirable coolness and selfpossession, departed to fetch a surgeon.

It appeared she did not find the family surgeon at home; but that mattered not: she sought until she laid her

hand on a substitute to her mind, and brought him back with her. Meantime I had cut the child's sleeve from

We none of us, I suppose (by we I mean the bonne, the cook, the portress, and myself, all which personages

were now gathered in the small and heated chamber), looked very scrutinisingly at the new doctor when he

came into the room. I, at least, was taken up with endeavouring to soothe Fifine, whose cries (for she had

good lungs), were appalling to hear. These cries redoubled in intensity as the stranger approached her bed;

when he took her up, 'Let alone!' she cried passionately, in her broken English (for she spoke English as did

'And Dr. Pillule is my very good friend', was the answer, in perfect English; 'but he is busy at a place three

leagues off; and I am come in his stead. So now, when we get a little calmer, we must commence business;

Hereupon he called for a glass of eau sucrée, fed her with some teaspoonsful of the sweet liquid (Fifine was a

frank gourmande; anybody could win her heart through her palate), promised her more when the operation

should be over, and promptly went to work. Some assistance being needed, he demanded it of the cook, a

robust, strongarmed woman; but she; the portress, and the nurse instantly fled. I did not like to touch that

small, tortured limb, but, thinking there was no alternative, my hand was already extended to do what was

requisite. I was anticipated; Madame Beck had put out her own hand: hers was steady while mine trembled.

He showed wisdom in his choice. Mine would have been feigned stoicism, forced fortitude. Hers was neither

'Merci, Madame; très bien, fort bien!' said the operator when he had finished. 'Voilà un sangfroid bien

He was pleased with her firmness, she with his compliment. It is likely, too, that his whole general

appearance, his voice, mien and manner wrought impressions in his favour. Indeed, when you looked well at

him, and when a lamp was brought in for it was evening and now waxing dusk you saw that, unless

Madame Beck had been less than woman, it could not well be otherwise. This young doctor (he was young)

had no common aspect. His stature looked imposingly tall in that little chamber, and amidst that group of

Dutchmade women; his profile was clear, fine and expressive: perhaps his eye glanced from face to face

rather too vividly, too quickly and too often; but it had a most pleasant character, and so had his mouth; his

chin was full, cleft, Grecian and perfect. As to his smile, one could not in a hurry make up one's mind as to

the descriptive epithet it merited; there was something in it that pleased, but something too that brought

surging up into the mind all one's foibles and weak points: all that could lay one open to a laugh. Yet Fifine

liked this doubtful smile, and thought the owner genial: much as he had hurt her, she held out her hand to bid

him a friendly goodnight. He patted the little hand kindly, and then he and Madame went downstairs

together; she talking in her highest tide of spirits and volubility; he listening with an air of goodnatured

amenity, dashed with that unconscious roguish archness I find it difficult to describe.

I noticed that though he spoke French well, he spoke English better; he had, too, an English complexion, eyes

and form. I noticed more. As he passed me in leaving the room, turning his face in my direction one moment

not to address me, but to speak to madame, yet so standing, that I almost necessarily looked up at him a

recollection which had been struggling to form in my memory, since the first moment I heard his voice,

started up perfected. This was the very gentleman to whom I had spoken at the bureau; who had helped me in

the matter of the trunk; who had been my guide through the dark, wet park. Listening, as he passed down the

long vestibule out into the street, I recognised his very tread: it was the same firm and equal stride I had

It was to be concluded that this young surgeonphysician's first visit to the Rue Fossette would be the last.

The respectable Dr. Pillule being expected home the next day, there appeared no reason why his temporary

substitute should again represent him; but the Fates had written their decree to the contrary.

Dr. Pillule had been summoned to see a rich old hypochondriac at the antique university town of

BouquinMoisi, and upon his prescribing change of air and travel as remedies, he was retained to accompany

the timid patient on a tour of some weeks; it but remained, therefore, for the new doctor to continue his

I often saw him when he came; for Madame would not trust the little invalid to Trinette, but required me to

spend much of my time in the nursery. I think he was skilful. Fifine recovered rapidly under his care, yet even

her convalescence did not hasten his dismissal. Destiny and Madame Beck seemed in league, and both had

ruled that he should make deliberate acquaintance with the vestibule, the private staircase and upper

No sooner did Fifine emerge from his hands than Désirée declared herself ill. That possessed child had a

genius for simulation, and captivated by the attentions and indulgences of a sickroom, she came to the

conclusion that an illness would perfectly accommodate her tastes, and took to her bed accordingly. She acted

well, and her mother still better; for while the whole case was transparent to Madame Beck as the day, she

What surprised me was, that Dr. John (so the young Englishman had taught Fifine to call him, and we all

took from her the habit of addressing him by this name, till it became an established custom, and he was

known by no other in the Rue Fossette) that Dr. John consented tacitly to adopt Madame's tactics, and to

fall in with her manoeuvres. He betrayed, indeed, a period of comic doubt, cast one or two rapid glances from

the child to the mother, indulged in an interval of selfconsultation, but finally resigned himself with a good

grace to play his part in the farce. Désirée ate like a raven, gambolled day and night in her bed, pitched tents

with the sheets and blankets, lounged like a Turk amidst pillows and bolsters, diverted herself with throwing

her shoes at her bonne and grimacing at her sisters overflowed, in short, with unmerited health and evil

spirits only languishing when her mamma and the physician paid their diurnal visit. Madame Beck, I knew,

was glad, at any price, to have her daughter in bed out of the way of mischief; but I wondered that Dr. John

Every day, on this mere pretext of a motive, he gave punctual attendance; madame always received him with

the same empressement, the same sunshine for himself the same admirably counterfeited air of concern for

her child. Dr. John wrote harmless prescriptions for the patient, and viewed her mother with a shrewdly

sparkling eye. Madame caught his rallying looks without resenting them she had too much good sense for

that. Supple as the young doctor seemed, one could not despise him this pliant part was evidently not

adopted in the design to curry favour with his employer: while he liked his office at the pensionnat, and

lingered strangely about the Rue Fossette, he was independent, almost careless in his carriage there; and yet,

It was not perhaps my business to observe the mystery of his bearing, or search out its origin or aim; but,

placed as I was, I could hardly help it. He laid himself open to my observation, according to my presence in

the room just that degree of notice and consequence a person of my exterior habitually expects: that is to say,

about what is given to unobtrusive articles of furniture, chairs of ordinary joiner's work, and carpets of no

striking pattern. Often, while waiting for Madame, he would muse, smile, watch, or listen like a man who

thinks himself alone. I, meantime, was free to puzzle over his countenance and movements, and wonder what

could be the meaning of that peculiar interest and attachment all mixed up with doubt and strangeness, and

inexplicably ruled by some presiding spell which wedded him to this demiconvent, secluded in the

builtup core of a capital. He, I believe, never remembered that I had eyes in my head; much less a brain

Nor would he ever have found this out, but that one day, while he sat in the sunshine, and I was observing the

colouring of his hair, whiskers and complexion the whole being of such a tone as a strong light brings out

with somewhat perilous force (indeed I recollect I was driven to compare his beamy head in my thoughts to

that of the 'golden image' which Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up), an idea new, sudden, and startling,

rivetted my attention with an overmastering strength and power of attraction. I know not to this day how I

looked at him the force of surprise and also of conviction made me forget myself; and I only recovered

wonted consciousness when I saw that his notice was arrested, and that it had caught my movement in a clear

little oval mirror fixed in the side of the window recess by the aid of which reflector Madame often secretly

spied persons walking in the garden below. Though of so gay and sanguine a temperament, he was not

without a certain nervous sensitiveness which made him ill at ease under a direct, inquiring gaze. On

surprising me thus, he turned and said, in a tone which though courteous, had just so much dryness in it as to

mark a shade of annoyance, as well as to give to what was said the character of rebuke

'Mademoiselle does not spare me: I am not vain enough to fancy that it is my merits which attract her

I was confounded, as the reader may suppose, yet not with an irrecoverable confusion; being conscious that it

was from no emotion of incautious admiration, nor yet in a spirit of unjustifiable inquisitiveness, that I had

incurred this reproof. I might have cleared myself on the spot, but would not. I did not speak. I was not in the

habit of speaking to him. Suffering him, then, to think what he chose and accuse me of what he would, I

resumed some work I had dropped, and kept my head bent over it during the remainder of his stay. There is a

perverse mood of the mind which is rather soothed than irritated by misconstruction; and in quarters where

we can never be rightly known, we take pleasure, I think, in being consummately ignored. What honest man

on being casually taken for a housebreaker does not feel rather tickled than vexed at the mistake?

It was summer and very hot. Georgette, the youngest of Madame Beck's children, took a fever. Désirée,

suddenly cured of her ailments was, together with Fifine, packed off to BonneMaman in the country, by

way of precaution against infection. Medical aid was now really needed, and Madame, choosing to ignore the

return of Dr. Pillule, who had been at home a week, conjured his English rival to continue his visits. One or

two of the pensionnaires complained of headache, and in other respects seemed slightly to participate in

Georgette's ailment. 'Now, at last', I thought, 'Dr. Pillule must be recalled: the prudent directress will never

The directress was very prudent, but she could also be intrepidly venturous. She actually introduced Dr. John

to the schooldivision of the premises, and established him in attendance on the proud and handsome

Blanche de Melcy, and the vain, flirting Angélique, her friend. Dr. John, I thought, testified a certain

gratification at this mark of confidence; and if discretion of bearing could have justified the step, it would by

him have been amply justified. Here, however, in this land of convents and confessionals, such a presence as

his was not to be suffered with impunity in a 'pensionnat de demoiselles.' The school gossipped, the kitchen

whispered, the town caught the rumour, parents wrote letters and paid visits of remonstrance. Madame, had

she been weak, would now have been lost: a dozen rival educational houses were ready to improve this false

step if false step it were to her ruin; but Madame was not weak, and little Jesuit though she might be, yet I

clapped the hands of my heart, and with its voice cried 'brava!' as I watched her able bearing, her skilled

She met the alarmed parents with a goodhumoured, easy grace: for nobody matched her in, I know not

whether to say the possession or the assumption of a certain 'rondeur et franchise de bonne femme'; which on

various occasions gained the point aimed at with instant and complete success, where severe gravity and

'Ce pauvre Docteur Jean!' she would say, chuckling and rubbing joyously her fat, little, white hands; 'ce cher

jeune homme! le meilleur créature du monde!' and go on to explain how she happened to be employing him

for her own children, who were so fond of him they would scream themselves into fits at the thought of

another doctor; how where she had confidence for her own, she thought it natural to repose trust for others,

and au reste it was only the most temporary expedient in the world; Blanche and Angélique had the migraine;

The parents' mouths were closed. Blanche and Angélique saved her all remaining trouble by chanting loud

duets in their physician's praise; the other pupils echoed them, unanimously declaring that when they were ill

they would have Dr. John and nobody else; and Madame laughed, and the parents laughed too. The

Labassecouriens must have a large organ of philoprogenitiveness: at least the indulgence of offspring is

carried by them to excessive lengths; the law of most households being the children's will. Madame now got

credit for having acted on this occasion in a spirit of motherly partiality: she came off with flying colours;

To this day I never fully understood why she thus risked her interest for the sake of Dr. John. What people

said, of course I know well: the whole house pupils, teachers, servants included affirmed that she was

going to marry him. So they had settled it; difference of age seemed to make no obstacle in their eyes: it was

It must be admitted that appearances did not wholly discountenance this idea; Madame seemed so bent on

retaining his services, so oblivious of her former protégé, Pillule. She made, too, such a point of personally

receiving his visits, and was so unfailingly cheerful, blithe and benignant in her manner to him. Moreover,

she paid, about this time, marked attention to dress: the morning deshabille, the nightcap and shawl were

discarded; Dr. John's early visits always found her with auburn braids all nicely arranged, silk dress trimly

fitted on, neat laced brodequins in lieu of slippers: in short the whole toilette complete as a model and fresh as

a flower. I scarcely think, however, that her intention in this went further than just to show a very handsome

man that she was not quite a plain woman: and plain she was not. Without beauty of feature or elegance of

form, she pleased. Without youth and its gay graces, she cheered. One never tired of seeing her: she was

never monotonous, or insipid, or colourless, or flat. Her unfaded hair, her eye with its temperate blue light,

her cheek with its wholesome fruitlike bloom these things pleased in moderation, but with constancy.

Had she, indeed, floating visions of adopting Dr. John as a husband, taking him to her wellfurnished home,

endowing him with her savings, which were said to amount to a moderate competency, and making him

comfortable for the rest of his life? Did Dr. John suspect her of such visions? I have met him coming out of

her presence with a mischievous halfsmile about his lips, and in his eyes a look as of masculine vanity elate

and tickled. With all his good looks and goodnature he was not perfect; he must have been very imperfect if

he roguishly encouraged aims he never intended to be successful. But did he not intend them to be

successful? People said he had no money, that he was wholly dependent upon his profession. Madame

though perhaps some fourteen years his senior was yet the sort of woman never to grow old, never to

wither, never to break down. They certainly were on good terms. He perhaps was not in love; but how many

people ever do love, or at least marry for love, in this world? We waited the end.

For what he waited I do not know, nor for what he watched; but the peculiarity of his manner, his expectant,

vigilant, absorbed, eager look, never wore off: it rather intensified. He had never been quite within the

One morning little Georgette had been more feverish and consequently more peevish; she was crying, and

would not be pacified. I thought a particular draught ordered, disagreed with her, and I doubted whether it

ought to be continued; I waited impatiently for the doctor's coming in order to consult him.

The doorbell rung, he was admitted; I felt sure of this, for I heard his voice addressing the portresse. It was

his custom to mount straight to the nursery, taking about three degrees of the staircase at once, and coming

upon us like a cheerful surprise. Five minutes elapsed ten and I saw and heard nothing of him. What

could he be doing? Possibly waiting in the corridor below. Little Georgette still piped her plaintive wail,

appealing to me by her familiar term, 'Minnie, Minnie, me very poorly!' till my heart ached. I descended to

ascertain why he did not come. The corridor was empty. Whither was he vanished? Was he with Madame in

the salle à manger? Impossible: I had left her but a short time since, dressing in her own chamber. I listened.

Three pupils were just then hard at work practising in three proximate rooms the diningroom and the

greater and lesser drawingrooms, between which and the corridor there was but the portresse's cabinet

communicating with the salons, and intended originally for a boudoir. Farther off, at a fourth instrument in

the oratory, a whole class of a dozen or more were taking a singing lesson, and just then joining in a

'barcarole' (I think they called it), whereof I yet remember these words 'fraîchëbrisë'; and 'Venisë.' Under

these circumstances, what could I hear? A great deal, certainly; had it only been to the purpose.

Yes; I heard a giddy treble laugh in the abovementioned little cabinet, close by the door of which I stood

that door halfunclosed; a man's voice in a soft, deep, pleading tone, uttered some words, whereof I only

caught the adjuration, 'For God's sake!' Then, after a second's pause, forth issued Dr. John, his eye full

shining, but not with either joy or triumph; his fair English cheek high coloured; a baffled, tortured, anxious,

The open door served me as a screen; but had I been full in his way, I believe he would have passed without

seeing me. Some mortification, some strong vexation had hold of his soul: or rather, to write my impressions

now as I received them at the time, I should say some sorrow, some sense of injustice. I did not so much

think his pride was hurt, as that his affections had been wounded cruelly wounded, it seemed to me. But

who was the torturer? What being in that house had him so much in her power? Madame I believed to be in

her chamber; the room whence he had stepped was dedicated to the portresse's sole use; and she, Rosine

Matou, an unprincipled though pretty little French grisette, airy, fickle, dressy, vain and mercenary it was

not, surely, to her hand, he owed the ordeal through which he seemed to have passed?

But while I pondered, her voice, clear, though somewhat sharp, broke out in a lightsome French song, trilling

through the door still ajar: I glanced in, doubting my senses. There at the table she sat in a smart dress of

'jaconas rose', trimming a tiny blond cap: not a living thing save herself was in the room, except indeed some

Dr. John sat in a chair at Georgette's bedside; Madame stood before him; the little patient had been examined

and soothed, and now lay composed in her crib. Madame Beck, as I entered, was discussing the physician's

own health, remarking on some real or fancied change in his looks, charging him with overwork, and

recommending rest and change of air. He listened goodnaturedly, but with laughing indifference, telling her

that she was 'trop bonne', and that he felt perfectly well. Madame appealed to me Dr. John following her

movement with a slow glance which seemed to express languid surprise at reference being made to a quarter

It was very seldom that I uttered more than monosyllables in Dr. John's presence; he was the kind of person

with whom I was likely ever to remain the neutral, passive thing he thought me. Now, however, I took license

'He looks ill at this moment; but perhaps it is owing to some temporary cause: Dr. John may have been vexed

or harassed.' I cannot tell how he took this speech, as I never sought his face for information. Georgette here

began to ask me in her broken English if she might have a glass of eau sucrée. I answered her in English. For

the first time, I fancy, he noticed that I spoke his language; hitherto he had always taken me for a foreigner,

addressing me as 'Mademoiselle', and giving in French the requisite directions about the children's treatment.

He seemed on the point of making a remark, but thinking better of it, held his tongue.

Madame recommenced advising him; he shook his head laughing, rose and bid her goodmorning, with

courtesy, but still with the regardless air of one whom too much unsolicited attention was surfeiting and

When he was gone, madame dropped into the chair he had just left; she rested her chin in her hand; all that

was animated and amiable vanished from her face: she looked stony and stern, almost mortified and morose.

She sighed; a single, but a deep sigh. A loud bell rang for morning school. She got up; as she passed a

dressingtable with a glass upon it, she looked at her reflected image. One single white hair streaked her nut

brown tresses; she plucked it out with a shudder. In the full summer daylight, her face, though it still had

the colour, could plainly be seen to have lost the texture of youth; and then, where were youth's contours? Ah,

madame! wise as you were, even you knew weakness. Never had I pitied madame before, but my heart

softened towards her, when she turned darkly from the glass. A calamity had come upon her. That hag

Disappointment was greeting her with a grisly 'Allhail', and her soul rejected the intimacy.

But Rosine! My bewilderment there surpasses description. I embraced five opportunities of passing her

cabinet that day, with a view to contemplating her charms, and finding out the secret of their influence. She

was pretty, young, and wore a wellmade dress. All very good points, and, I suppose, amply sufficient to

account; in any philosophic mind, for any amount of agony and distraction in a young man like Dr. John.

Still, I could not help forming half a wish that the said doctor were my brother; or at least that he had a sister

or a mother who would kindly sermonise him. I say half a wish; I broke it, and flung it away before it became

a whole one, discovering in good time its exquisite folly. 'Somebody', I argued, 'might as well sermonise

I believe madame sermonised herself. She did not behave weakly, or make herself in any shape ridiculous. It

is true she had neither strong feelings to overcome, nor tender feelings by which to be miserably pained. It is

true likewise that she had an important avocation, a real business to fill her time, divert her thoughts and

divide her interest. It is especially true that she possessed a genuine good sense which is not given to all

women nor to all men; and by dint of these combined advantages she behaved wisely she behaved well.

Brava! once more, Madame Beck, I saw you matched against an Apollyon of a predilection; you fought a

Behind the house at the Rue Fossette there was a garden large, considering that it lay in the heart of a city,

and to my recollection at this day it seems pleasant: but time, like distance, lends to certain scenes an

influence so softening; and where all is stone around, blank wall and hot pavement, how precious seems one

There went a tradition that Madame Beck's house had in old days been a convent; that in years gone by

how long gone by I cannot tell, but I think some centuries before the city had overspread this quarter; and

when it was tilled ground and avenue, and such deep and leafy seclusion as ought to embosom a religious

house; something had happened on this site which, rousing fear and inflicting horror, had left to the place the

inheritance of a ghost story. A vague tale went of a black and white nun, sometimes, on some night or nights

of the year, seen in some part of this vicinage. The ghost must have been built out some ages ago, for there

were houses all round now; but certain convent relics, in the shape of old and huge fruit trees, yet consecrated

the spot; and, at the foot of one a Methuselah of a pear tree, dead, all but a few boughs which still faithfully

renewed their perfumed snow in spring, and their honeysweet pendants in autumn you saw, in scraping

away the mossy earth between the halfbared roots, a glimpse of slab, smooth, hard and black. The legend

went, unconfirmed and unaccredited, but still propagated, that this was the portal of a vault, imprisoning deep

beneath that ground, on whose surface grass grew and flowers bloomed, the bones of a girl whom the

monkish conclave of the drear middle ages had here buried alive for some sin against her vow. Her shadow it

was that tremblers had feared, through long generations after her poor frame was dust; her black robe and

white veil that, for timid eyes, moonlight and shade had mocked, as they fluctuated in the night wind through

Independently of romantic rubbish, however, that old garden had its charms. On summer mornings I used to

rise early to enjoy them alone; on summer evenings, to linger solitary, to keep tryste with the rising moon, or

taste one kiss of the evening breeze, or fancy rather than feel the freshness of dew descending. The turf was

verdant, the gravelled walks were white; sunbright nasturtiums clustered beautiful about the roots of the

doddered orchard giants. There was a large berceau, above which spread the shade of an acacia; there was a

smaller, more sequestered bower, nestled in the vines which ran all along a high and grey wall, and gathered

their tendrils in a knot of beauty, and hung their clusters in loving profusion about the favoured spot where

Doubtless at high noon, in the broad, vulgar middle of the day, when Madame Beck's large school turned out

rampant, and externes and pensionnaires were spread abroad, vying with the denizens of the boys' college

close at hand, in the brazen exercise of their lungs and limbs doubtless then the garden was a trite,

troddendown place enough. But at sunset or at the hour of salut, when the externes were gone home, and the

boarders quiet at their studies; pleasant was it then to stray down the peaceful alleys, and hear the bells of St.

I was walking thus one evening, and had been detained farther within the verge of twilight than usual, by the

still deepening calm, the mellow coolness, the fragrant breathing with which flowers no sunshine could win

now answered the persuasion of the dew. I saw by a light in the oratory window that the Catholic household

were then gathered to evening prayer a rite, from attendance on which, I now and then, as a Protestant,

'One moment longer', whispered solitude and the summer moon, 'stay with us: all is truly quiet now; for

another quarter of an hour your presence will not be missed: the day's heat and bustle have tired you; enjoy

The windowless backs of houses built in this garden, and in particular the whole of one side was skirted by

the rear of a long line of premises being the boardinghouses of the neighbouring college. This rear,

however, was all blank stone, with the exception of certain attic loopholes high up, opening from the

sleepingrooms of the womenservants, and also one casement in a lower storey said to mark the chamber or

study of a master. But, though thus secure, an alley, which ran parallel with the very high wall on that side the

garden, was forbidden to be entered by the pupils. It was called indeed 'l'allée défendue', and any girl setting

foot there would have rendered herself liable to as severe a penalty as the mild rules of Madame Beck's

establishment permitted. Teachers might indeed go there with impunity; but as the walk was narrow, and the

neglected shrubs were grown very thick and close on each side, weaving overhead a roof of branch and leaf

which the sun's rays penetrated but in rare chequers, this alley was seldom entered even during day, and after

From the first I was tempted to make an exception to this rule of avoidance: the seclusion, the very gloom of

the walk attracted me. For a long time the fear of seeming singular scared me away; but by degrees, as people

became accustomed to me and my habits, and to such shades of peculiarity as were engrained in my nature

shades, certainly not striking enough to interest, and perhaps not prominent enough to offend, but born in and

with me, and no more to be parted with than my identity by slow degrees I became a frequenter of this

straight and narrow path. I made myself gardener of some tintless flowers that grew between its

closelyranked shrubs; I cleared away the relics of past autumns choking up a rustic seat at the far end.

Borrowing of Goton, the cuisinière, a pail of water and a scrubbing brush, I made this seat clean. Madame

saw me at work and smiled approbation: whether sincerely or not I don't know; but she seemed sincere.

'Voyezvous!' cried she, 'comme elle est propre cette demoiselle Lucie? Vous aimez donc cette allée, meess?'

'C'est juste', cried she with an air of bonté; and she kindly recommended me to confine myself to it as much

as I chose, saying, that as I was not charged with the surveillance, I need not trouble myself to walk with the

pupils: only I might permit her children to come there, to talk English with me.

On the night in question, I was sitting on the hidden seat reclaimed from fungi and mould, listening to what

seemed the far off sounds of the city. Faroff, in truth, they were not: this school was in the city's centre;

hence, it was but five minutes' walk to the park, scarce ten to buildings of palatial splendour. Quite near were

wide streets brightly lit, teeming at this moment with life: carriages were rolling through them, to balls or to

the opera. The same hour which tolled curfew for our convent, which extinguished each lamp, and dropped

the curtain round each couch, rang for the gay city about us the summons to festal enjoyment. Of this contrast

I thought not, however: gay instincts my nature had few; ball or opera I had never seen; and though often I

had heard them described, and even wished to see them, it was not the wish of one who hopes to partake a

pleasure if she could only reach it who feels fitted to shine in some bright distant sphere, could she but

thither win her way; it was no yearning to attain, no hunger to taste; only the calm desire to look on a new

A moon was in the sky, not a full moon but a young crescent. I saw her through a space in the boughs

overhead. She and the stars, visible beside her, were no strangers where all else was strange: my childhood

knew them. I had seen that golden sign with the dark globe in its curve leaning back on azure, beside an old

thorn at the top of an old field, in Old England, in long past days, just as it now leaned back beside a stately

Oh, my childhood! I had feelings: passive as I lived, little as I spoke, cold as I looked, when I thought of past

days, I could feel. About the present, it was better to be stoical: about the future such a future as mine to

be dead. And in catalepsy and a dead trance, I studiously held the quick of my nature.

At this time, I well remember whatever could excite certain accidents of the weather, for instance, were

almost dreaded by me, because they woke the being I was always lulling, and stirred up a craving cry I could

not satisfy. One night a thunderstorm broke; a sort of hurricane shook us in our beds: the Catholics rose in

panic and prayed to their saints. As for me, the tempest took hold of me with tyranny: I was roughly roused

and obliged to live. I got up and dressed myself, and creeping outside the casement close by my bed, sat on

its ledge, with my feet on the roof of a lower adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch dark.

Within the dormitory they gathered round the nightlamp in consternation, praying loud. I could not go in:

too resistless was the delight of staying with the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing out such an ode

as language never delivered to man too terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and pierced by white

I did long, achingly, then and for fourandtwenty hours afterwards, for something to fetch me out of my

present existence, and lead me upwards and onwards. This longing, and all of a similar kind, it was necessary

to knock on the head; which I did, figuratively, after the manner of Jael to Sisera, driving a nail through their

temples. Unlike Sisera, they did not die: they were but transiently stunned, and at intervals would turn on the

nail with a rebellious wrench; then did the temples bleed, and the brain thrill to its core.

Tonight, I was not so mutinous, nor so miserable. My Sisera lay quiet in the tent, slumbering; and if his pain

ached through his slumbers, something like an angel the Ideal knelt near, dropping balm on the soothed

temples, holding before the sealed eyes a magic glass, of which the sweet, solemn visions were repeated in

dreams, and shedding a reflex from her moonlight wings and robe over the transfixed sleeper, over the tent

threshold, over all the landscape lying without. Jael, the stern woman, sat apart, relenting somewhat over her

captive; but more prone to dwell on the faithful expectation of Heber coming home. By which words I mean

that the cool peace and dewy sweetness of the night filled me with a mood of hope: not hope on any definite

Should not such a mood, so sweet, so tranquil, so unwonted, have been the harbinger of good? Alas, no good

came of it! Presently the rude Real burst coarsely in all evil, grovelling and repellent as she too often is.

Amid the intense stillness of that pile of stone overlooking the walk, the trees, the high wall, I heard a sound;

a casement (all the windows here are casements, opening on hinges) creaked. Ere I had time to look up and

mark where, in which storey, or by whom unclosed, a tree overhead shook, as if struck by a missile; some

Nine was striking by St. Jean Baptiste's clock; day was fading, but it was not dark: the crescent moon aided

little, but the deep gilding of that point in heaven where the sun beamed last, and the crystalline clearness of a

wide space above, sustained the summer twilight; even in my dark walk I could, by approaching an opening,

have managed to read print of a small type. Easy was it to see then that the missile was a box, a small box of

white and coloured ivory: its loose lid opened in my hand; violets lay within, violets smothering a closely

folded bit of pink paper, a note, superscribed, 'Pour la robe grise.' I wore indeed a dress of French grey.

Good. Was this a billetdoux? A thing I had heard of; but hitherto had not had the honour of seeing or

handling. Was it this sort of commodity I held between my finger and thumb at this moment?

Scarcely: I did not dream it for a moment. Suitor or admirer my very thoughts had not conceived. All the

teachers had dreams of some lover; one (but she was naturally of a credulous turn) believed in a future

husband. All the pupils above fourteen knew of some prospective bridegroom; two or three were already

affianced by their parents, and had been so from childhood: but into the realm of feelings and hopes which

such prospects open, my speculations, far less my presumptions, had never once had warrant to intrude. If the

other teachers went into town, or took a walk on the boulevards, or only attended mass, they were very

certain (according to the accounts brought back) to meet with some individual of the 'opposite sex', whose

rapt, earnest gaze assured them of their power to strike and to attract. I can't say that my experience tallied

with theirs, in this respect. I went to church and I took walks, and am very well convinced that nobody

minded me. There was not a girl or woman in the Rue Fossette who could not, and did not testify to having

received an admiring beam from our young doctor's blue eyes at one time or other. I am obliged, however

humbling it may sound, to except myself: as far as I was concerned, those blue eyes were guiltless, and calm

as the sky, to whose tint theirs seemed akin. So it came to pass that I heard the others talk, wondered often at

their gaiety, security and selfsatisfaction, but did not trouble myself to look up and gaze along the path they

seemed so certain of treading. This then was no billet doux; and it was in settled conviction to the contrary

'Angel of my dreams! A thousand, thousand thanks for the promise kept: scarcely did I venture to hope its

fulfilment. I believed you, indeed, to be half in jest; and then you seemed to think the enterprise beset with

such danger the hour so untimely, the alley so strictly secluded often, you said, haunted by that dragon,

the English teacher une véritable bégueule Britannique à ce que vous dites espèce de monstre, brusque et

rude comme un vieux caporal de grenadiers, et revêche comme une religieuse' (the reader will excuse my

modesty in allowing this flattering sketch of my amiable self to retain the slight veil of the original tongue).

'You are aware', went on this precious effusion, 'that little Gustave, on account of his illness, has been

removed to a master's chamber that favoured chamber, whose lattice overlooks your prison ground. There,

I, the best uncle in the world, am admitted to visit him. How tremblingly I approached the window and

glanced into your Eden an Eden for me, though a desert for you! how I feared to behold vacancy, or the

dragon aforesaid! How my heart palpitated with delight when, through apertures in the envious boughs, I at

once caught the gleam of your graceful straw hat, and the waving of your grey dress dress that I should

recognise amongst a thousand. But why, my angel, will you not look up? Cruel, to deny me one ray of those

adorable eyes! how a single glance would have revived me! I write this in fiery haste; while the physician

examines Gustave, I snatch an opportunity to enclose it in a small casket, together with a bouquet of flowers,

the sweetest that blow yet less sweet than thee, my Peri my allcharming! ever thine thou well knowest

'I wish I did know whom', was my comment: and the wish bore even closer reference to the person addressed

in this choice document, than to the writer thereof. Perhaps it was from the fiancé of one of the engaged

pupils; and, in that case, there was no great harm done or intended only a small irregularity. Several of the

girls, the majority, indeed, had brothers or cousins at the neighbouring college. But, 'la robe grise, le chapeau

de paille', here surely was a clue a very confusing one. The straw hat was an ordinary garden head screen,

common to a score besides myself. The grey dress hardly gave more definite indication. Madame Beck

herself ordinarily wore a grey dress just now; another teacher, and three of the pensionnaires, had had grey

dresses purchased of the same shade and fabric as mine: it was a sort of everyday wear which happened at

Meanwhile, as I pondered, I knew I must go in. Lights moving in the dormitory announced that prayers were

over and the pupils going to bed. Another halfhour and all doors would be locked all lights extinguished.

The front door yet stood open, to admit into the heated house the coolness of the summer night; from the

portresse's cabinet close by shone a lamp, showing the long vestibule with the twoleaved drawingroom

All at once, quick rang the bell quick, but not loud a cautious tinkle a sort of warning metal whisper.

Rosine darted from her cabinet and ran to open. The person she admitted stood with her two minutes in

parley: there seemed a demur, a delay. Rosine came to the garden door, lamp in hand; she stood on the steps,

'Let me pass', pleaded a voice I knew: 'I ask but five minutes'; and a familiar shape, tall and grand (as we of

the Rue Fossette all thought it), issued from the house, and strode down amongst the beds and walks. It was

sacrilege the intrusion of a man into that spot, at that hour; but he knew himself privileged, and perhaps he

trusted to the friendly night. He wandered down the alleys, looking on this side and on that he was lost in

the shrubs, trampling flowers and breaking branches in his search he penetrated at last the 'forbidden walk.'

He did not ask by whom, for with his quick eye he perceived that I held it in my hand.

'Were I ever so disposed to treachery, I cannot betray what I do not know', was my answer. 'Read the note,

'Perhaps you have read it', I thought to myself; and yet I could not believe he wrote it: that could hardly be his

style: besides, I was fool enough to think there would be a degree of hardship in his calling me such names.

'This is indeed too much: this is cruel, this is humiliating', were the words that fell from him. I thought it was

cruel, when I saw his countenance so moved. No matter whether he was to blame or not; somebody, it

'What shall you do about it?' he inquired of me. 'Shall you tell Madame Beck what you have found, and cause

I thought I ought to tell, and said so; adding that I did not believe there would be either stir or esclandre:

madame was much too prudent to make a noise about an affair of that sort connected with her establishment.

He stood looking down and meditating. He was both too proud and too honourable to entreat my secrecy on a

point which duty evidently commanded me to communicate. I wished to do right, yet loathed to grieve or

injure him. Just then Rosine glanced out through the open door; she could not see us, though between the

trees I could plainly see her: her dress was grey, like mine. This circumstance, taken in connection with prior

transactions, suggested to me that perhaps the case, however deplorable, was one in which I was under no

'If you can assure me that none of Madame Beck's pupils are implicated in this business, I shall be happy to

stand aloof from all interference. Take the casket, the bouquet and the billet; for my part I gladly forget the

'Look there!' he whispered suddenly, as his hand closed on what I offered, and at the same time he pointed

I looked. Behold madame, in shawl, wrappinggown and slippers, softly descending the steps, and stealing

like a cat round the garden: in two minutes she would have been upon Dr. John. If she were like a cat,

however, he, quite as much, resembled a leopard: nothing could be lighter than his tread when he chose. He

watched, and as she turned a corner, he took the garden at two noiseless bounds. She reappeared, and he was

gone. Rosine helped him, instantly interposing the door between him and his huntress. I, too, might have got

Though it was my frequent and wellknown custom to spend twilight in the garden, yet, never till now, had I

remained so late. Full sure was I that Madame had missed was come in search of me, and designed now to

pounce on the defaulter unawares. I expected a reprimand. No. Madame was all goodness. She tendered not

even a remonstrance; she testified no shade of surprise. With that consummate tact of hers, in which I believe

she was never surpassed by living thing, she even professed merely to have issued forth to taste 'la brise du

'Quelle belle nuit!' cried she, looking up at the stars the moon was now gone down behind the broad tower

And, instead of sending me in, she detained me to take a few turns with her down the principal alley. When at

last we both reentered, she leaned affably on my shoulder by way of support in mounting the front door

steps; at parting, her cheek was presented to my lips, and Bon soir, ma bonne amie; dormez bien!' was her

I caught myself smiling as I lay awake and thoughtful on my couch smiling at madame. The unction, the

suavity of her behaviour offered, for one who knew her, a sure token that suspicion of some kind was busy in

her brain. From some aperture or summit of observation, through parted bough or open window, she had

doubtless caught a glimpse, remote or near, deceptive or instructive, of that night's transactions. Finely

accomplished as she was in the art of surveillance, it was next to impossible that a casket could be thrown

into her garden, or an interloper could cross her walks to seek it, without that she, in shaken branch, passing

shade, unwonted footfall, or stilly murmur (and though Dr. John had spoken very low in the few words he

dropped me, yet the hum of his man's voice pervaded, I thought, the whole conventual ground) without, I say,

that she should have caught intimation of things extraordinary transpiring on her premises. What things, she

might by no means see, or at that time be able to discover; but a delicious little ravelled plot lay tempting her

to disentanglement; and in the midst, folded round and round in cobwebs, had she not secured 'Meess Lucie',

I had occasion to smile nay, to laugh, at madame again, within the space of fourandtwenty hours after

Villette owns a climate as variable, though not so humid, as that of any English town. A night of high wind

followed upon that soft sunset, and all the next day was one of dry storm dark, beclouded, yet rainless

the streets were dim with sand and dust, whirled from the boulevards. I know not that even lovely weather

would have tempted me to spend the eveningtime of study and recreation, where I had spent it yesterday.

My alley, and, indeed, all the walks and shrubs in the garden, had acquired a new, but not a pleasant interest;

their seclusion was now become precarious; their calm insecure. That casement which rained billets, had

vulgarised the once dear nook it overlooked; and elsewhere, the eyes of the flowers had gained vision, and

the knots in the tree boles listened like secret ears. Some plants there were, indeed, trodden down by Dr. John

in his search, and his hasty and heedless progress, which I wished to prop up, water, and revive; some

footmarks, too, he had left on the beds: but these, in spite of the strong wind, I found a moment's leisure to

efface very early in the morning, ere common eyes had discovered them. With a pensive sort of content, I sat

down to my desk and my German, while the pupils settled to their evening lessons, and the other teachers

The scene of the 'étude du soir' was always the refectory, a much smaller apartment than any of the three

classes or schoolrooms; for here none, save the boarders, were ever admitted, and these numbered only a

score. Two lamps hung from the ceiling over the two tables; these were lit at dusk, and their kindling was the

signal for schoolbooks being set aside, a grave demeanour assumed, general silence enforced, and then

commenced 'la lecture pieuse.' This said 'lecture pieuse' was, I soon found, mainly designed as a wholesome

mortification of the Intellect, a useful humiliation of the Reason; and such a dose for Common Sense as she

The book brought out (it was never changed, but when finished, recommenced) was a venerable volume, old

I would have given two francs for the chance of getting that book once into my hands, turning over the sacred

yellow leaves, ascertaining the title, and perusing with my own eyes the enormous figments which, as an

unworthy heretic, it was only permitted me to drink in with my bewildered ears. This book contained legends

of the saints. Good God! (I speak the words reverently) what legends they were. What gasconading rascals

those saints must have been, if they first boasted these exploits or invented these miracles. These legends,

however, were no more than monkish extravagances, over which one laughed inwardly; there were, besides,

priestly matters, and the priestcraft of the book was far worse than its monkery. The ears burned on each side

of my head as I listened, perforce, to tales of moral martyrdom inflicted by Rome; the dread boasts of

confessors, who had wickedly abused their office, trampling to deep degradation highborn ladies, making of

countesses and princesses the most tormented slaves under the sun. Stories like that of Conrad and Elizabeth

of Hungary, recurred again and again, with all its dreadful viciousness, sickening tyranny and black impiety:

I sat out this 'lecture pieuse' for some nights as well as I could, and as quietly too; only once breaking off the

points of my scissors by involuntarily sticking them somewhat deep in the wormeaten board of the table

before me. But, at last, it made me so burning hot, and my temples, and my heart and my wrist throbbed so

fast, and my sleep afterwards was so broken with excitement, that I could sit no longer. Prudence

recommended henceforward a swift clearance of my person from the place, the moment that guilty old book

was brought out. No Mause Headrigg ever felt a stronger call to take up her testimony against Sergeant

Bothwell, than I to speak my mind in this matter of the popish 'lecture pieuse.' However, I did manage

somehow to curb and rein in; and though always, as soon as Rosine came to light the lamps, I shot from the

room quickly, yet also I did it quietly; seizing that vantage moment given by the little bustle before the dead

When I vanished it was into darkness; candles were not allowed to be carried about, and the teacher who

forsook the refectory, had only the unlit hall, schoolroom, or bedroom, as a refuge. In winter I sought the long

classes, and paced them fast to keep myself warm fortunate if the moon shone, and if there were only stars,

soon reconciled to their dim gleam, or even to the total eclipse of their absence. In summer it was never quite

dark, and then I went upstairs to my own quarter of the long dormitory, opened my own casement (that

chamber was lit by five casements large as great doors), and leaning out, looked forth upon the city beyond

the garden, and listened to band music from the park or the palacesquare, thinking meantime my own

This evening, fugitive as usual before the Pope and his works, I mounted the staircase, approached the

dormitory, and quietly opened the door which was always kept carefully shut, and which, like every other

door in this house, revolved noiselessly on welloiled hinges. Before I saw, I felt that life was in the great

room, usually void: not that there was either stir or breath, or rustle of sound, but Vacuum lacked, Solitude

was not at home. All the white beds the 'lits d'ange', as they were poetically termed lay visible at a glance;

all were empty: no sleeper reposed therein. The sound of a drawer cautiously slid out struck my ear; stepping

a little to one side, my vision took a free range, unimpeded by falling curtains. I now commanded my own

bed and my own toilet, with a locked workbox upon it, and locked drawers underneath.

Very good. A dumpy, motherly, little body, in decent shawl and the cleanest of possible nightcaps, stood

before this toilet, hard at work, apparently doing me the kindness of 'tidying out' the 'meuble.' Open stood the

lid of the workbox, open the top drawer; duly and impartially was each succeeding drawer opened in turn:

not an article of their contents but was lifted and unfolded, not a paper but was glanced over, not a little box

but was unlidded; and beautiful was the adroitness, exemplary the care with which the search was

accomplished. Madame wrought at it like a true star, 'unhasting yet unresting.' I will not deny that it was with

a secret glee I watched her. Had I been a gentleman I believe madame would have found favour in my eyes,

she was so handy, neat, thorough in all she did: some people's movements provoke the soul by their loose

awkwardness, hers satisfied by their trim compactness. I stood, in short, fascinated; but it was necessary to

make an effort to break this spell: a retreat must be beaten. The searcher might have turned and caught me;

there would have been nothing for it then but a scene, and she and I would have had to come all at once, with

a sudden clash, to a thorough knowledge of each other: down would have gone conventionalities, away swept

disguises, and I should have looked into her eyes, and she into mine we should have known that we could

Where was the use of tempting such a catastrophe? I was not angry, and had no wish in the world to leave

her. I could hardly get another employer whose yoke would be so light and so easy of carriage; and truly, I

liked madame for her capital sense, whatever I might think of her principles: as to her system, it did me no

harm; she might work me with it to her heart's content: nothing would come of the operation. Loverless and

inexpectant of love, I was as safe from spies in my heartpoverty, as the beggar from thieves in his

destitution of purse. I turned then and fled, descending the stairs with progress as swift and soundless as that

How I laughed when I reached the schoolroom. I knew now she had certainly seen Dr. John in the garden; I

knew what her thoughts were. The spectacle of a suspicious nature so far misled by its own inventions,

tickled me much. Yet as the laugh died, a kind of wrath smote me, and then bitterness followed: it was the

rock struck, and Meribah's waters gushing out. I never had felt so strange and contradictory an inward tumult

as I felt for an hour that evening: soreness and laughter, and fire, and grief shared my heart between them. I

cried hot tears: not because madame mistrusted me I did not care twopence for her mistrust but for other

reasons. Complicated, disquieting thoughts broke up the whole repose of my nature. However, that turmoil

On revisiting my drawers, I found them all securely locked; the closest subsequent examination could not

discover change or apparent disturbance in the position of one object. My few dresses were folded as I had

left them; a certain little bunch of white violets that had once been silently presented to me by a stranger (a

stranger to me, for we had never exchanged words), and which I had dried and kept for its sweet perfume

between the folds of my best dress, lay there unstirred; my black silk scarf my lace chemisette and collars

were unrumpled. Had she creased one solitary article, I own I should have felt much greater difficulty in

forgiving her; but finding all straight and orderly, I said, 'Let bygones be bygones. I am unharmed: why

A thing there was which puzzled myself, and I sought in my brain a key to that riddle almost as sedulously as

madame had sought a guide to useful knowledge in my toilet drawers. How was it that Dr. John, if he had not

been accessory to the dropping of that casket into the garden, should have known that it was dropped and

appeared so promptly on the spot to seek it? So strong was the wish to clear up this point that I began to

'Why may I not, in case I should ever have the opportunity, ask Dr. John himself to explain this coincidence?'

And so long as Dr. John was absent, I really believed I had courage to test him with such a question.

Little Georgette was now convalescent; and her physician accordingly made his visits very rare: indeed, he

would have ceased them altogether had not madame insisted on his giving an occasional call till the child

She came into the nursery one evening just after I had listened to Georgette's lisped and broken prayer, and

'Cette enfant a toujours un peu de fièvre.' And presently afterwards, looking at me with a quicker glance than

was habitual to her quiet eye, 'Le Docteur John l'atil vue dernièrement? Non, n'est ce pas?'

Of course, she knew this better than any other person in the house. 'Well', she continued, 'I am going out,

pour faire quelques courses en fiacre. I shall call on Dr. John, and send him to the child. I will that he sees her

this evening, her cheeks are flushed, her pulse is quick: you will receive him for my part, I shall be from

Now the child was well enough, only warm with the warmth of July; it was scarcely less needful to send for a

priest to administer extreme unction than for a doctor to prescribe a dose; also Madame rarely made 'courses',

as she called them, in the evening: moreover, this was the first time she had chosen to absent herself on the

occasion of a visit from Dr. John. The whole arrangement indicated some plan; this I saw, but without the

least anxiety. 'Ha! ha! Madame', laughed. Lightheart the Beggar, 'your crafty wits are on the wrong track.'

She departed, attired very smartly, in a shawl of price, and a certain chapeau vert tendre hazardous, as to its

tint, for any complexion less fresh than her own, but to her, not unbecoming. I wondered what she intended:

whether she really would send Dr. John or not; or whether indeed he would come: he might be engaged.

Madame had charged me not to let Georgette sleep till the doctor came: I had therefore sufficient occupation

in telling her nursery tales and palavering the little language for her benefit. I affected Georgette; she was a

sensitive and a loving child: to hold her in my lap, or carry her in my arms, was to me a treat. Tonight she

would have me lay my head on the pillow of her crib; she even put her little arms round my neck. Her clasp

and the nestling action with which she pressed her cheek to mine, made me almost cry with a tender pain.

Feeling of no kind abounded in that house; this pure little drop from a pure little source was too sweet: it

Half an hour or an hour passed: Georgette murmured in her soft lisp that she was growing sleepy. 'And you

shall sleep', thought I, 'malgré maman and médecin, if they are not here in ten minutes.'

Hark! There was the ring, and there the tread, astonishing the staircase by the fleetness with which it left the

steps behind. Rosine introduced Dr. John, and, with a freedom of manner not altogether peculiar to herself

but characteristic of the domestics of Villette generally, she stayed to hear what he had to say. Madame's

presence would have awed her back to her own realm of the vestibule and the cabinet for mine, or that of

any other teacher or pupil, she cared not a jot. Smart, trim and pert, she stood, a hand in each pocket of her

gay grisette apron, eyeing Dr. John with no more fear or shyness than if he had been a picture instead of a

'Le marmot n'a rien, n'est ce pas?' said she, indicating Georgette with a jerk of her chin.

'Pas beaucoup', was the answer, as the doctor hastily scribbled with his pencil some harmless prescription.

'Eh bien!' pursued Rosine, approaching him quite near, while he put up his pencil. 'And the box did you get

it? Monsieur went off like a coup de vent the other night; I had not time to ask him.'

'And who threw it, then?' continued Rosine, speaking quite freely the very words I should so much have

wished to say, but had no address or courage to bring it out: how short some people make the road to a point

'That may be my secret, rejoined Dr. John briefly, but with no sort of hauteur: he seemed quite to understand

'Mais enfin', continued she, nothing abashed, 'monsieur knew it was thrown, since he came to seek it how

'I was attending a little patient in the college near', said he, 'and saw it dropped out of his chamber window,

How simple the whole explanation! The note had alluded to a physician as then examining 'Gustave.'

'Ah ça!' pursued Rosine, 'il n'y a donc rien làdessous: pas de mystère, pas d'amourette, par exemple?'

'Quel dommage!' responded the grisette: 'et moi à qui tout cela commençait à donner des idées.'

She pouted. The doctor could not help laughing at the sort of 'moue' she made: when he laughed, he had

something peculiarly goodnatured and genial in his look. I saw his hand incline to his pocket.

'How many times have you opened the door for me within this last month?' he asked.

'As if I had not something better to do!' rejoined he; but I saw him give her a piece of gold, which she took

unscrupulously, and then danced off to answer the doorbell, ringing just now every five minutes, as the

The reader must not think too hardly of Rosine; on the whole, she was not a bad. sort of person, and had no

idea there could be any disgrace in grasping at whatever she could get, or any effrontery in chattering like a

I had learnt something from the above scene besides what concerned the ivory box: viz., that not on the robe

de jaconas, pink or grey, nor yet on the frilled and pocketed apron, lay the blame of breaking Dr. John's heart:

these items of array were obviously guiltless as Georgette's little blue tunic. So much the better. But who then

was the culprit? What was the ground what the origin what the perfect explanation of the whole business?

'However', I said to myself 'it is no affair of yours'; and turning from the face on which I had been

unconsciously dwelling with a questioning gaze, I looked through the window which commanded the garden

below. Dr. John meantime, standing by the bedside, was slowly drawing on his gloves and watching his

little patient, as her eyes closed and her rosy lips parted in coming sleep. I waited till he should depart as

usual, with a quick bow and scarce articulate 'good night.' Just as he took his hat, my eyes, fixed on the tall

houses bounding the garden, saw the one lattice, already commemorated, cautiously open; forth from the

aperture projected a hand and a white handkerchief; both waved. I know not whether the signal was answered

from some viewless quarter of our own dwelling; but immediately after there fluttered from the lattice a

'Where?' asked Dr. John with energy, making direct for the window. 'What is it?'

'They have gone and done it again', was my reply. 'A handkerchief waved and something fell:' and I pointed

'Go at once; pick it up and bring it here', was his prompt direction: adding, 'nobody will take notice of you: I

Straight I went. After some little search, I found a folded paper, lodged on the lower branch of a shrub; I

seized and brought it direct to Dr. John. This time, I believe not even Rosine saw me.

'If I knew you better, I might be tempted to risk some confidence, and thus secure you as guardian over a

'Yes', said he abstractedly. 'What snares are round her!' he added, musingly: and now, certainly for the first

time, he examined my face, anxious, doubtless, to see if any kindly expression there, would warrant him in

recommending to my care and indulgence some ethereal creature, against whom powers of darkness were

plotting. I felt no particular vocation to undertake the surveillance of ethereal creatures; but recalling the

scene at the bureau, it seemed to me that I owed him a good turn: if I could help him then I would, and it lay

not with me to decide how. With as little reluctance as might be, I intimated that 'I was willing to do what I

'I am no farther interested than as a spectator', said he, with a modesty, admirable, as I thought, to witness. 'I

happen to be acquainted with the rather worthless character of the person who, from the house opposite, has

now twice invaded the sanctity of this place; I have also met in society the object at whom these vulgar

attempts are aimed. Her exquisite superiority and innate refinement ought, one would think, to scare

impertinence from her very idea. It is not so, however; and innocent, unsuspicious as she is, I would guard

her from evil if I could. In person, however, I can do nothing: I cannot come near her' he paused.

'Well, I am willing to help you', said I, 'only tell me how.' And busily, in my own mind, I ran over the list of

our inmates, seeking this paragon, this pearl of great price, this gem without flaw. 'It must be madame', I

concluded. 'She only, amongst us all, has the art even to seem superior: but as to being unsuspicious,

inexperienced, Dr. John need not distract himself about that. However, this is just his whim, and I will not

'Just notify the quarter to which my care is to be directed', I continued gravely: chuckling, however, to myself

Now Dr. John had a fine set of nerves, and he at once felt by instinct, what no more coarsely constituted mind

would have detected; namely, that I was a little amused at him. The colour rose to his cheek; with half a smile

'I will I will help you', said I eagerly. 'I will do what you wish. I will watch over your angel; I will take care

'But you must know', said he then with earnestness, yet speaking very low. 'So spotless, so good, so

unspeakably beautiful! impossible that one house should contain two like her. I allude, of course '

Here the latch of Madame Beck's chamberdoor (opening into the nursery) gave a sudden click, as if the

hand holding it had been slightly convulsed; there was the suppressed explosion of an irrepressible sneeze.

These little accidents will happen to the best of us. Madame excellent woman! was then on duty. She had

come home quietly, stolen upstairs on tiptoe; she was in her chamber. If she had not sneezed, she would

have heard all, and so should I; but that unlucky sternutation routed Dr. John. While he stood aghast, she

came forward alert, composed, in the best yet most tranquil spirits: no novice to her habits but would have

thought she had just some in, and scouted the idea of her ear having been glued to the keyhole for at least

ten minutes. She affected to sneeze again, declared she was 'enrhumée', and then proceeded volubly to

recount her 'courses en fiacre.' The prayerbell rang, and I left her with the doctor.

As soon as Georgette was well, madame sent her away into the country. I was sorry; I loved the child, and her

loss made me poorer than before. But I must not complain. I lived in a house full of robust life; I might have

had companions and I chose solitude. Each of the teachers in turn made me overtures of special intimacy; I

tried them all. One I found to be an honest woman, but a narrow thinker, a coarse feeler, and an egotist. The

second was a Parisienne, externally refined at heart, corrupt without a creed, without a principle, without

an affection: having penetrated the outward crust of decorum in this character, you found a slough beneath.

She had a wonderful passion for presents; and, in this point, the third teacher a person otherwise

characterless and insignificant closely resembled her. This lastnamed had also one other distinctive

property that of avarice. In her reigned the love of money for its own sake. The sight of a piece of gold

would bring into her eyes a green glisten, singular to witness. She once, as a mark of high favour, took me

upstairs, and, opening a secret door, showed me a hoard a mass of coarse, large coin about fifteen

guineas, in fivefranc pieces. She loved this hoard as a bird loves its eggs. These were her savings. She

would come and talk to me about them with an infatuated and persevering dotage, strange to behold in a

The Parisienne on the other hand, was prodigal and profligate (in disposition, that is: as to action, I do not

know). That latter quality showed its snakehead to me but once, peering out very cautiously. A curious kind

of reptile it seemed, judging from the glimpse I got; its novelty whetted my curiosity: if it would have come

out boldly, perhaps I might philosophically have stood my ground, and coolly surveyed the long thing from

forked tongue to scaly tailtip; but it merely rustled in the leaves of a bad novel; and, on encountering a hasty

and illadvised demonstration of wrath, recoiled and vanished, hissing. She hated me from that day.

This Parisienne was always in debt; her salary being anticipated, not only in dress, but in perfumes,

cosmetics, confectionery and condiments. What a cold, callous epicure she was in all things! I see her now.

Thin in face and figure, sallow in complexion, regular in features, with perfect teeth, lips like a thread, a large

prominent chin, a wellopened, but frozen eye, of light at once craving and ingrate. She mortally hated work,

and loved what she called pleasure, being an insipid, heartless, brainless dissipation of time.

Madame Beck knew this woman's character perfectly well. She once talked to me about her, with an odd

mixture of discrimination, indifference, and antipathy. I asked why she kept her in the establishment. She

answered plainly, 'because it suited her interest to do so'; and pointed out a fact I had already noticed, namely

that Mademoiselle St. Pierre possessed, in an almost unique degree, the power of keeping order amongst her

undisciplined ranks of scholars. A certain petrifying influence accompanied and surrounded her: without

passion, noise, or violence, she held them in check as a breezeless frost air might still a brawling stream. She

was of little use as far as communication of knowledge went, but for strict surveillance and maintenance of

rules she was invaluable. 'Je sais bien qu'elle n'a pas de principes, ni, peutêtre, de moeurs', admitted Madame

frankly; but added with philosophy, 'son maintien en classe est toujours convenable et rempli même d'une

certaine dignité: c'est tout ce qu'il faut. Ni les élèves ni les parents ne regardent plus loin; ni, par conséquent,

A strange, frolicsome, noisy little world was this school: great pains were taken to hide chains with flowers: a

subtle essence of Romanism pervaded every arrangement: large sensual indulgence (so to speak) was

permitted by way of counterpoise to jealous spiritual restraint. Each mind was being reared in slavery; but, to

prevent reflection from dwelling on this fact, every pretext for physical recreation was seized and made the

most of. There, as elsewhere, the CHURCH strove to bring up her children robust in body, feeble in soul, fat,

ruddy, hale, joyous, ignorant, unthinking, unquestioning. 'Eat, drink and live!' she says. 'Look after your

bodies; leave your souls to me. I hold their cure guide their course: I guarantee their final fate.' A bargain,

in which every true Catholic deems himself a gainer. Lucifer just offers the same terms; 'All this power will I

give thee, and the glory of it; for that is delivered unto me, and to whomsoever I will, I give it. If thou,

About this time in the ripest glow of summer Madame Beck's house became as merry a place as a school

could well be. All day long the broad foldingdoors and the twoleaved casements stood wide open: settled

sunshine seemed naturalised in the atmosphere; clouds were far off, sailing away beyond sea, resting, no

doubt, round islands such as England that dear land of mists but withdrawn wholly from the drier

continent. We lived far more in the garden than under a roof: classes were held, and meals partaken of in the

'grand berceau.' Moreover, there was a note of holiday preparation, which almost turned freedom into license.

The autumnal long vacation was but two months distant; but before that, a great day an important ceremony

The conduct of this fête devolved chiefly on Mademoiselle St. Pierre; madame herself being supposed to

stand aloof, disinterestedly unconscious of what might be going forward in her honour. Especially, she never

knew, never in the least suspected that a subscription was annually levied on the whole school for the

purchase of a handsome present. The polite tact of the reader will please to leave out of the account a brief

'Oh, no matter! Let it alone. Let the poor children keep their francs.' And madame looked benign and modest.

The St. Pierre would here protrude her chin; she knew madame by heart; she always called her airs of 'bonté';

'Vite!' she would say coldly. 'Name the article. Shall it be jewellery or porcelain, haberdashery or silver?'

The programme of the fête day's proceedings comprised: Presentation of plate, collation in the garden,

dramatic performance (with pupils and teachers for actors), a dance and supper. Very gorgeous seemed the

effect of the whole to me, as I well remember. Zélie St. Pierre understood these things and managed them

The play was the main point; a month's previous drilling being there required. The choice too of the actors

required knowledge and care; then came lessons in elocution, in attitude, and then the fatigue of countless

rehearsals. For all this, as may well be supposed, St. Pierre did not suffice: other management, other

accomplishments than hers were requisite here They were supplied in the person of a master M. Paul

Emanuel, professor of literature. It was never my lot to be present at the histrionic lessons of M. Paul, but I

often saw him as he crossed the carré (a square hall between the dwellinghouse and schoolhouse). I heard

him too in the warm evenings, lecturing with open doors, and his name, with anecdotes of him, resounded in

one's ears from all sides. Especially our former acquaintance, Miss Ginevra Fanshawe, who had been selected

to take a prominent part in the play used, in bestowing upon me a large portion of her leisure, to lard her

discourse with frequent allusions to his sayings and doings. She esteemed him hideously plain, and used to

profess herself frightened almost into hysterics at the sound of his step or voice. A dark little man he certainly

was; pungent and austere. Even to me he seemed a harsh apparition, with his closeshorn, black head, his

broad, sallow brow, his thin cheek, his wide and quivering nostril, his thorough glance and hurried bearing.

Irritable he was; one heard that, as he apostrophised with vehemence the awkward squad under his orders.

Sometimes he would break out on these raw amateur actresses with a passion of impatience at their falseness

of conception, their coldness of emotion, their feebleness of delivery. 'Ecoutez!' he would cry; and then his

voice rang through the premises like a trumpet; and when, mimicking it, came the small pipe of a Ginevra, a

Mathilde, or a Blanche, one understood why a hollow groan of scorn, or a fierce hiss of rage, rewarded the

'Vous n'étes donc que des poupées?' I heard him thunder. 'Vous n'avez pas de passions vous autres? Vous

ne sentez donc rien? Votre chair est de neige, votre sang de glace? Moi, je veux que tout cela s'allume, qu'il

Vain resolve! And when he at last found it was vain, he suddenly broke the whole business down. Hitherto he

had been teaching them a grand tragedy; he tore the tragedy in morsels, and came next day with a compact

little comic trifle. To this they took more kindly; he presently knocked it all into their smooth round pates.

Mademoiselle St. Pierre always presided at M. Emanuel's lessons, and I was told that the polish of her

manner, her seeming attention, her tact and grace, impressed that gentleman very favourably. She had,

indeed, the art of pleasing, for a given time, whom she would; but the feeling. would not last: in an hour it

The day preceding Madame's fête was as much a holiday as the fête itself. It was devoted to clearing out,

cleaning, arranging and decorating the three schoolrooms. All within doors was the gayest bustle; neither

upstairs nor down could a quiet, isolated person find rest for the sole of her foot; accordingly, for my part, I

took refuge in the garden. The whole day did I wander or sit there alone, finding warmth in the sun, shelter

among the trees, and a sort of companionship in my own thoughts. I well remember that I exchanged but two

sentences that day with any living being: not that I felt solitary; I was glad to be quiet. For a lookeron, it

sufficed to pass through the rooms once or twice, observe what changes were being wrought, how a

greenroom and a dressingroom were being contrived, a little stage with scenery erected, how M. Paul

Emanuel, in conjunction with Mademoiselle St. Pierre, was directing all, and how an eager band of pupils,

The great day arrived. The sun rose hot and unclouded, and hot and unclouded it burned on till evening. All

the doors and all the windows were set open, which gave a pleasant sense of summer freedom and freedom

the most complete seemed indeed the order of the day. Teachers and pupils descended to breakfast in

dressinggowns and curlpapers: anticipating 'avec délices' the toilette of the evening, they seemed to take a

pleasure in indulging that forenoon in a luxury of slovenliness; like aldermen fasting in preparation for a

feast. About nine o'clock a.m., an important functionary, the coiffeur, arrived. Sacrilegious to state, he fixed

his headquarters in the oratory, and there, in presence of bênitier, candle and crucifix, solemnised the

mysteries of his art. Each girl was summoned in turn to pass through his hands; emerging from them with

head as smooth as a shell, intersected by faultless white lines, and wreathed about with Grecian plaits that

shone as if lacquered. I took my turn with the rest, and could hardly believe what the glass said when I

applied to it for information afterwards; the lavished garlandry of woven brown hair amazed me I feared it

was not all my own, and it required several convincing pulls to give assurance to the contrary. I then

acknowledged in the coiffeur a firstrate artist one who certainly made the most of indifferent materials.

The oratory closed, the dormitory became the scene of ablutions, arrayings and bedizenings curiously

elaborate. To me it was, and ever must be an enigma, how they contrived to spend so much time in doing so

little. The operation seemed close, intricate, prolonged: the result simple. A clear white muslin dress, a blue

sash (the Virgin's colours), a pair of white, or straw colour kid gloves such was the gala uniform, to the

assumption whereof that houseful of teachers and pupils devoted three mortal hours. But though simple, it

must be allowed the array was perfect perfect in fashion, fit and freshness; every head being also dressed

with exquisite nicety, and a certain compact taste suiting the full, firm comeliness of Labassecourien

contours, though too stiff for any more flowing and flexible style of beauty the general effect was, on the

In beholding this diaphanous and snowy mass, I well remember feeling myself to be a mere shadowy spot on

a field of light; the courage was not in me to put on a transparent white dress: something thin I must wear

the weather and rooms being too hot to give substantial fabrics sufferance, so I had sought through a dozen

shops till I lit upon a crapelike material of purplegray the colour, in short, of dun mist, lying on a moor

in bloom. My tailleuse had kindly made it as well as she could: because, as she judiciously observed, it was

'si triste si peu voyant', care in the fashion was the more imperative: it was well she took this view of the

matter, for I had no flower, no jewel to relieve it: and, what was more, I had no natural rose of complexion.

We become oblivious of these deficiencies in the uniform routine of daily drudgery, but they will force upon

However, in this same gown of shadow, I felt at home and at ease; an advantage I should not have enjoyed in

anything more brilliant or striking. Madame Beck, too, kept me in countenance; her dress was almost as quiet

as mine, except that she wore a bracelet, and a large brooch bright with gold and fine stones. We chanced to

meet on the stairs, and she gave me a nod and smile of approbation. Not that she thought I was looking well

a point unlikely to engage her interest but she considered me dressed 'convenablement', 'décemment', and la

Convenance et la Décence were the two calm deities of Madame's worship. She even paused, laid on my

shoulder her gloved hand, holding an embroidered and perfumed handkerchief and confided to my ear a

sarcasm on the other teachers (whom she had just been complimenting to their faces). 'Nothing so absurd',

she said, 'as for des femme mûres "to dress themselves like girls of fifteen" quant a' la St. Pierre, elle a l'air

Being dressed at least a couple of hours before anybody else, I felt a pleasure in betaking myself not to the

garden, where servants were busy propping up long tables, placing seats, and spreading cloths in readiness for

the collation but to the schoolrooms, now empty, quiet, cool and clean; their walls fresh stained; their

planked floors fresh scoured and scarce dry; flowers fresh gathered adorning the recesses in pots, and

Withdrawing to the first classe, a smaller and neater room than the others, and taking from the glazed

bookcase, of which I kept the key, a volume whose title promised some interest, I sat down to read. The

glass door of this classe, or schoolroom, opened into the large berceau; acacia boughs caressed its panes, as

they stretched across to meet a rosebush blooming by the opposite lintel: in this rosebush bees murmured

busy and happy. I commenced reading. Just as the stilly hum, the embowering shade, the warm, lonely calm

of my retreat were beginning to steal meaning from the page, vision from my eyes, and to lure me along the

track of reverie, down into some deep dell of dreamland just then, the sharpest ring of the streetdoor bell

to which that much tried instrument had ever thrilled, snatched me back to consciousness.

Now, the bell had been ringing all the morning, as workmen, or servants, or coiffeuses, or tailleuses went and

came on their several errands. Moreover, there was good reason to expect it would ring all the afternoon,

since about one hundred externes were yet to arrive in carriages or fiacres: nor could it be expected to rest

during the evening, when parents and friends would gather thronging to the play. Under these circumstances,

a ring even a sharp ring was a matter of course: yet this particular peal had an accent of its own, which

I was stooping to pick up this last, when firm, fast, straight right on through vestibule along corridor,

across carré, through first division, second division, grand salle strode a step, quick, regular, intent. The

closed door of the first classe my sanctuary offered no obstacle; it burst open, and a paletot and a bonnet

grec filled the void; also two eyes first vaguely struck upon, and then hungrily dived into me.

'C'est cela!' said a voice. 'Je la connais: c'est l'Anglaise. Tant pis. Toute Anglaise, et, par conséquent, toute

Then, with a certain stern politeness (I suppose he thought I had not caught the drift of his previous uncivil

mutterings), and in a jargon the most execrable that ever was heard. 'Meess, play you must: I am planted

'What can I do for you, M. Paul Emanuel?' I inquired: for M. Paul Emanuel it was, and in a state of no little

'Play you must. I will not have you shrink, or frown, or make the prude. I read your skull that night you came;

'There is no time to be lost', he went on now speaking in French; 'and let us thrust to the wall all reluctance,

'Listen!' he said. 'The case shall be stated, and you shall then answer me Yes, or No; and according to your

The scarcesuppressed impetus of a most irritable nature glowed in his cheek, fed with sharp shafts his

glances, a nature the injudicious, the mawkish, the hesitating, the sullen, the affected, above all, the

unyielding, might quickly render violent and implacable. Silence and attention was the best balm to apply: I

'The whole matter is going to fail', he began. 'Louise Vanderkelkov has fallen ill at least so her ridiculous

mother asserts; for my part, I feel sure she might play if she would: it is only goodwill that lacks. She was

charged with a rôle, as you know, or do not know it is equal: without that rôle the play is stopped. There are

now but a few hours in which to learn it: not a girl in this school would hear reason, and accept the task.

Forsooth, it is not an interesting, not an amiable, part; their vile amourpropre that base quality of which

women have so much would revolt from it. Englishwomen are either the best or the worst of their sex. Dieu

sait que je les déteste comme la peste, ordinairement' (this between his recreant teeth). 'I apply to an

A thousand objections rushed into my mind. The foreign language, the limited time, the public display . . .

Inclination recoiled, Ability faltered, Selfrespect (that 'vile quality') trembled. 'Non, non, non!' said all these;

but looking up at M. Paul, and seeing in his vexed, fiery, and searching eye, a sort of appeal behind all its

menace my lips dropped the word 'oui'. For a moment his rigid countenance relaxed with a quiver of

'Vite à l'ouvrage! Here is the book; here is your rôle: read.' And I read. He did not commend; at some

passages he scowled and stamped. He gave me a lesson: I diligently imitated. It was a disagreeable part a

man's an emptyheaded fop's. One could put into it neither heart nor soul: I hated it. The play a mere

trifle ran chiefly on the efforts of a brace of rivals to gain the hand of a fair coquette. One lover was called

the 'Ours', a good and gallant but unpolished man, a sort of diamond in the rough; the other was a butterfly, a

I did my best which was bad, I know: it provoked M. Paul; he fumed. Putting both hands to the work, I

endeavoured to do better than my best; I presume he gave me credit for good intentions; he professed to be

partially content. 'Ça ira!' he cried; and as voices began sounding from the garden, and white dresses

fluttering among the trees, he added: 'You must withdraw: you must be alone to learn this. Come with me.'

Without being allowed time or power to deliberate, I found myself in the same breath convoyed along as in a

species of whirlwind, up stairs, up two pair of stairs, nay, actually up three (for this fiery little man seemed as

by instinct to know his way everywhere); to the solitary and lofty attic was I borne, put in and locked in, the

The attic was no pleasant place: I believe he did not know how unpleasant it was, or he never would have

locked me in with so little ceremony. In this summer weather, it was hot as Africa; as in winter, it was always

cold as Greenland. Boxes and lumber filled it; old dresses draped its unstained wall cobwebs its unswept

ceiling. Well was it known to be tenanted by rats, by black beetles, and by cockroaches nay, rumour

affirmed that the ghostly Nun of the garden had once been seen here. A partial darkness obscured one end,

across which, as for deeper mystery, an old russet curtain was drawn, by way of screen to a sombre band of

winter cloaks, pendant each from its pin like a malefactor from his gibbet. From amongst these cloaks, and

behind that curtain, the Nun was said to issue. I did not believe this, nor was I troubled by apprehension

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 on many a black beetle dotting the floor. These objects discomposed me more,

perhaps, than it would be wise to say, as also did the dust, lumber and stifling heat of the place. The last

inconvenience would soon have become intolerable had I not found means to open and prop up the skylight,

thus admitting some freshness. Underneath this aperture I pushed a large empty chest, and having mounted

upon it a smaller box, and wiped from both the dust, I gathered my dress (my best, the reader must remember,

and therefore a legitimate object of care) fastidiously around me, ascended this species of extempore throne,

and being seated, commenced the acquisition of my task; while I learned, not forgetting to keep a sharp

lookout on the black beetles and cockroaches, of which, more even, I believe, than of the rats, I sat in mortal

My impression at first was that I had undertaken what it really was impossible to perform, and I simply

resolved to do my best and be resigned to fail. I soon found, however, that one part in so short a piece was not

more than memory could master at a few hours' notice. I learned and learned on, first in a whisper, and then

aloud. Perfectly secure from human audience, I acted my part before the garret vermin. Entering into its

emptiness, frivolity, and falsehood, with a spirit inspired by scorn and impatience, I took my revenge on this

In this exercise the afternoon passed: day began to glide into evening; and I, who had eaten nothing since

breakfast, grew excessively hungry. Now I thought of the collation, which doubtless they were just then

devouring in the garden far below. (I had seen in the vestibule a basketful of small pâtés à la crème, than

which nothing in the whole range of cookery seemed to me better.) A pâté; or a square of cake, it seemed to

me would come very apropos; and as my relish for those dainties increased, it began to appear somewhat hard

that I should pass my holiday fasting and in prison. Remote as was the attic from the street door and

vestibule, yet the evertinkling bell was faintly audible here; and also the ceaseless roll of wheels on the

tormented pavement. I knew that the house and garden were thronged, and that all was gay and glad below;

here it began to grow dusk: the beetles were fading from my sight; I trembled lest they should steal on me a

march, mount my throne unseen, and unsuspected, invade my skirts. Impatient and apprehensive, I

commenced the rehearsal of my part merely to kill time. Just as I was concluding, the longdelayed rattle of

the key in the lock came to my ear no unwelcome sound. M. Paul (I could just see through the dusk that is

was M. Paul, for light enough still lingered to show the velvet blackness of his close shorn head and the

'Brava!' cried he, holding the door open and remaining at the threshold. 'J'ai tout entendu. C'est assez bien.

'Enfin, elle sait', said he, half dissatisfied, 'and one cannot be fastidious or exacting under the circumstances.'

Then he added. 'You may yet have twenty minutes for preparation: au revoir!' And he was going.

In a moment my throne was abdicated, the attic evacuted; an inverse repetition of the impetus which had

brought me up into the attic, instantly took me down down down to the very kitchen. I thought I should

have gone to the cellar. The cook was imperatively ordered to produce food, and I, as imperatively, was

commanded to eat. To my great joy this food was limited to coffee and cake: I had feared wine and sweets,

which I did not like. How he guessed that I should like a petit pâté à la crème I cannot tell; but he went out

and procured me one from some quarter. With considerable willingness I ate and drank, keeping the petit pâté

till the last, as a bonne bouche. M. Paul superintended my repast, and almost forced upon me more than I

'A la bonne heure', he cried, when I signified that I really could take no more, and, with uplifted hands,

implored to be spared the additional roll on which he had just spread butter. 'You will set me down as a

species of tyrant and Bluebeard, starving women in a garret; whereas, after all, I am no such thing. Now,

I said, I thought I did; though, in truth, I was perfectly confused, and could hardly tell how I felt: but this little

man was of the order of beings who must not be opposed, unless you possessed an alldominant force

I gave him mine, and he set off with a rapid walk, which obliged me to run at his side in order to keep pace.

In the carré he stopped a moment; it was lit with large lamps; the wide doors of the classes were open, and so

were the equally wide garden doors; orange trees in tubs, and tall flowers in pots, ornamented these portals on

each side; groups of ladies and gentlemen in evening dress stood and walked amongst the flowers. Within,

the long vista of the schoolrooms presented a thronging, undulating, murmuring, waving, streaming

multitude, all rose, and blue, and half translucent white. There were lustres burning overhead; far off there

I should have said it was, but my heart got up into my throat. M. Paul discovered this, and gave me a side

'I will do my best, but I wish it was over.' said I; then I asked: 'Are we to walk through that crowd?'

In an instant we were out of doors: the cool, calm night revived me somewhat. It was moonless, but the reflex

from the many glowing windows lit the court brightly, and even the alleys dimly. Heaven was cloudless,

and grand with the quiver of its living fires. How soft are the nights of the continent! How bland, balmy, safe!

Having crossed court and garden, we reached the glass door of the first classe. It stood open, like all other

doors that night; we passed, and then I was ushered into a small cabinet, dividing the first classe from the

grand salle. This cabinet dazzled me, it was so full of light: it deafened me, it was clamorous with voices: it

'De l'ordre! Du silence!' cried M. Paul. 'Is this chaos?' he demanded; and there was a hush. With a dozen

words, and as many gestures, he turned out half the persons present, and obliged the remnant to fall into rank.

Those left were all in costume: they were the performers, and this was the greenroom. M. Paul introduced

me. All stared and some tittered. It was a surprise: they had not expected the Englishwoman would play in a

vaudeville. Ginevra Fanshawe, beautifully dressed for her part, and looking fascinatingly pretty, turned on me

a pair of eyes as round as beads. In the highest spirit, unperturbed by fear or bashfulness, delighted indeed at

the thought of shining off before hundreds my entrance seemed to transfix her with amazement in the midst

of her joy. She would have exclaimed, but M. Paul held her and all the rest in check.

'Dressed dressed like a man!' exclaimed Zélie St. Pierre, darting forwards; adding with officiousness, 'I will

To be dressed like a man did not please, and would not suit me. I had consented to take a man's name and

part; as to his dress halte là! No. I would keep my own dress, come what might. M. Paul might storm,

might rage: I would keep my own dress. I said so, with a voice as resolute in intent, as it was low, and

He did not immediately storm or rage, as I fully thought he would: he stood silent. But Zélie again interposed.

'She will make a capital petitmaître. Here are the garments, all all complete: somewhat too large, but I will

And she sneered, for I was not 'belle.' She seized my hand, she was drawing me away. M. Paul stood

'You must not resist', pursued St. Pierre for resist I did. 'You will spoil all, destroy the mirth of the piece,

the enjoyment of the company, sacrifice everything to your amourpropre. This would be too bad monsieur

She sought his eye. I watched, likewise, for a glance. He gave her one, and then he gave me one. 'Stop!' he

said slowly, arresting St. Pierre, who continued her efforts to drag me after her. Everybody awaited the

'How must it be, then? How, accept a man's part, and go on the stage dressed as a woman? This is an amateur

affair, it is true a vaudeville de pensionnat; certain modifications I might sanction, yet something you must

'And I will, monsieur; but it must be arranged in my own way: nobody must meddle; the things must not be

Monsieur; without another word, took the costume from St. Pierre, gave it to me, and permitted me to pass

into the dressingroom. Once alone, I grew calm, and collectedly went to work. Retaining my woman's garb

without the slightest retrenchment, I merely assumed, in addition, a little vest, a collar, and cravat, and a

paletôt of small dimensions; the whole being the costume of a brother of one of the pupils. Having loosened

my hair out of its braid, made up the long back hair close, and brushed the front hair to one side, I took my

hat and gloves in my hand and came out. M. Paul was waiting, and so were the others. He looked at me. 'That

may pass in a pensionnat', he pronounced. Then added, not unkindly, 'Courage, mon ami! Un peu de sang

I was irritable, because excited, and I could not help turning upon her and saying, that if she were not a lady

'After the play, after the play', said M. Paul. 'I will then divide my pair of pistols between you, and we will

settle the dispute according to form: it will only be the old quarrel of France and England.'

But now the moment approached for the performance to commence. M. Paul, setting us before him,

harangued us briefly, like a general addressing soldiers about to charge. I don't know what he said, except

that he recommended each to penetrate herself with a sense of her personal insignificance. God knows I

thought this advice superfluous for some of us. A bell tinkled. I and two more were ushered on to the stage.

'Do not look at the crowd, nor think of it', whispered M. Paul in my ear. 'Imagine yourself in the garret, acting

He vanished. The curtain drew up shrivelled to the ceiling; the bright lights, the long room, the gay throng,

burst upon us. I thought of the black beetles, the old boxes, the wormeaten bureaux. I said my say badly; but

I said it. That first speech was the difficulty; it revealed to me this fact, that it was not the crowd I feared so

much as my own voice. Foreigners and strangers, the crowd were nothing to me. Nor did I think of them.

When my tongue once got free, and my voice took its true pitch, and found its natural tone, I thought of

nothing but the personage I represented and of M. Paul, who was listening, watching, prompting in the side

Byandby, feeling the right power come the spring demanded gush and rise inwardly I became

sufficiently composed to notice my fellow actors. Some of them played very well; especially Ginevra

Fanshawe, who had to coquette between two suitors, and managed admirably: in fact she was in her element.

I observed that she once or twice threw a certain marked fondness and pointed partiality into her manner

towards me the fop. With such emphasis and animation did she favour me, such glances did she dart out

into the listening and applauding crowd, that to me who knew her it presently became evident she was

acting at some one; and I followed her eye, her smile, her gesture, and ere long discovered that she had at

least singled out a handsome and distinguished aim for her shafts; full in the path of those arrows taller than

other spectators, and therefore more sure to receive them stood, in attitude quiet but intent, a wellknown

The spectacle seemed somehow suggestive. There was language in Dr. John's look, though I cannot tell what

he said; it animated me: I drew out of it a history; I put my idea into the part I performed; I threw it into my

wooing of Ginevra. In the 'Ours', or sincere lover, I saw Dr. John. Did I pity him, as erst? No, I hardened my

heart, rivalled and outrivalled him. I knew myself but a fop, but where he was outcast I could please. Now I

know I acted as if wishful and resolute to win and conquer. Ginevra seconded me; between us we half

changed the nature of the rôle, gilding it from top to toe. Between the acts M. Paul told us he knew not what

possessed us, and half expostulated, 'C'est peut être plus beau que votre modèle', said he, 'mais ce n'est pas

juste.' I know not what possessed me either; but somehow, my longing was to eclipse the 'Ours', i.e., Dr.

John. Ginevra was tender; how could I be otherwise than chivalric? Retaining the letter, I recklessly altered

the spirit of the rôle. Without heart, without interest, I could not play it at all. It must be played in went the

What I felt that night, and what I did, I no more expected to feel and do, 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,

becoming interested, taking courage, I acted to please myself. Yet the next day, when I thought it over, I quite

disapproved of these amateur performances; and though glad that I had obliged M. Paul and tried my own

strength for once, I took a firm resolution never to be drawn into a similar affair. A keen relish for dramatic

expression had revealed itself as part of my nature; to cherish and exercise this newfound faculty might gift

me with a world of delight, but it would not do for a mere lookeron at life: the strength and longing must be

put by; and I put them by, and fastened them in with the lock of a resolution which neither Time nor

No sooner was the play over and well over, than the choleric and arbitrary M. Paul underwent a

metamorphosis. His hour of managerial responsibility past, he at once laid aside his magisterial austerity; in a

moment he stood amongst us, vivacious, kind and social, shook hands with us all round, thanked us

separately, and announced his determination that each of us should in turn be his partner in the coming ball.

On his claiming my promise, I told him I did not dance. 'For once I must', was the answer; and if I had not

slipped aside and kept out of his way, he would have compelled me to this second performance. But I had

acted enough for one evening; it was time I retired into myself and my ordinary life. My duncoloured dress

did well enough under a paletôt on the stage, but would not suit a waltz or a quadrille. Withdrawing to a quiet

nook, whence unobserved I could observe the ball, its splendours and its pleasures, passed before me as a

Again, Ginevra Fanshawe was the belle, the fairest and the gayest present; she was selected to open the ball:

very lovely she looked, very gracefully she danced, very joyously she smiled. Such scenes were her triumphs

she was the child of pleasure. Work or suffering found her listless and dejected, powerless and repining; but

gaiety expanded her butterfly's wings, lit up their golddust and bright spots, made her flash like a gem, and

flush like a flower. At all ordinary diet and plain beverage she would pout; but she fed on creams and ices

like a hummingbird on honeypaste: sweet wine was her clement, and sweet cake her daily bread. Ginevra

Think not, reader, that she thus bloomed and sparkled for the mere sake of M. Paul, her partner, or that she

lavished her best graces that night for the edification of her companions only, or for that of the parents and

grandparents, who filled the carré and lined the ballroom; under circumstances so insipid and limited, with

motives so chilly and vapid, Ginevra would scarce have deigned to walk one quadrille, and weariness and

fretfulness would have replaced animation and good humour, but she knew of a leaven in the otherwise heavy

festal mass which lighted the whole; she tasted a condiment which gave it zest; she perceived reasons

In the ballroom, indeed, not a single male spectator was to be seen who was not married and a father M.

Paul excepted that gentleman, too, being the sole creature of his sex permitted to lead out a pupil to the

dance; and this exceptional part was allowed him, partly as a matter of oldestablished custom (for he was a

kinsman of Madame Beck's, and high in her confidence), partly because he would always have his own way,

and do as he pleased, and partly because wilful, passionate, partial, as he might be he was the soul of

honour, and might be trusted with a regiment of the fairest and purest, in perfect security that under his

leadership they would come to no harm. Many of the girls it may be noted in parenthesis were not

pureminded at all, very much otherwise; but they no more dare betray their natural coarseness in M. Paul's

presence, than they dare tread purposely on his corns, laugh in his face during a stormy apostrophe, or speak

above their breath while some crisis of irritability was covering his human visage with the mask of an

intelligent tiger. M. Paul, then, might dance with whom he would and woe be to the interference which put

Others there were admitted as spectators with (seeming) reluctance, through prayers, by influence, under

restriction, by special and difficult exercise of Madame Beck's gracious good nature, and whom she all the

evening with her own personal surveillance kept far aloof at the remotest, drearest, coldest, darkest side

of the carré a small forlorn band of 'jeunes gens'; these being all of the best families, grownup sons of

mothers present, and whose sisters were pupils in the school. That whole evening was Madame on duty

beside these 'jeunes gens' attentive to them as a mother, but strict with them as a dragon. There was a sort

of cordon sketched before them, which they wearied her with prayers to be permitted to pass, and just to

revive themselves by one dance with that 'belle blonde', or that 'jolie brune', or 'cette jeune fille magnifique

'Taisezvous!' Madame would reply, heroically and inexorably. 'Vous ne passerez pas à moins que ce ne soit

sur mon cadavre, et vous ne danserez qu'avec la nonnette du jardin' (alluding to the legend). And she

majestically walked to and fro along their disconsolate and impatient line, like a little Bonaparte in a

Madame knew something of the world; Madame knew much of human nature. I don't think that another

directress in Villette would have dared to admit a 'jeune homme' within her walls; but Madame knew that by

granting such admission, on an occasion like the present, a bold stroke might be struck, and a great point

In the first place, the parents were made accomplices to the deed, for it was only through their mediation it

was brought about. Secondly: the admission of these rattlesnakes, so fascinating and so dangerous, served to

draw out Madame precisely in her strongest character that of a firstrate surveillante. Thirdly: their

presence furnished a most piquant ingredient to the entertainment: the pupils knew it, and saw it, and the

view of such golden apples shining afar off, animated them with a spirit no other circumstance could have

kindled. The children's pleasure spread to the parents; life and mirth circulated quickly round the ballroom;

the 'jeunes gens' themselves, though restrained, were amused; for madame never permitted them to feel dull

and thus Madame Beck's fête annually ensured a success unknown to the fête of any other directress in the

I observed that Dr. John was at first permitted to walk at large through the classes: there was about him a

manly, responsible look, that redeemed his youth, and half expiated his beauty; but as soon as the ball began,

'Come, Wolf; come', said she, laughing: 'You wear sheep's clothing, but you must quit the fold

notwithstanding. Come; I have a fine menagerie of twenty here in the carré: let me place you among my

'Have you the face to ask such a thing? It is madness: it is impiety. Sortez, sortez, au plus vite.'

Ginevra being, I suppose, tired with dancing sought me out in my retreat. She threw herself on the bench

beside me, and (a demonstration I could very well have dispensed with) cast her arms round my neck.

'Lucy Snowe! Lucy Snowe!' she cried in a somewhat sobbing voice, half hysterical.

'Caustic creature! You never have a kind word for me; but in spite of you, and all other envious detractors, I

know I am beautiful; I feel it, I see it for there is a great lookingglass in the dressingroom, where I can

view my shape from head to foot. Will you go with me now, and let us two stand before it?'

The dressingroom was very near, and we stepped in. Putting her arm through mine, she drew me to the

mirror. Without resistance, remonstrance, or remark, I stood and let her selflove have its feast and triumph:

curious to see how much it could swallow whether it was possible it could feed to satiety whether any

whisper of consideration for others could penetrate her heart, and moderate its vainglorious exultation.

Not at all. She turned me and herself round; she viewed us both on all sides; she smiled, she waved her curls,

she retouched her sash, she spread her dress, and finally, letting go my arm, and curtseying with mock

'Not a bad sixpence strange as it may sound', I replied. 'You are but a poor creature.'

'No; for in my heart you have not the outline of a place: I only occasionally turn you over in my brain.'

'Well, but', said she, in an expostulatory tone, just listen to the difference of our positions, and then see how

'In the first place: I am the daughter of a gentleman of family, and though my father is not rich, I have

expectations from an uncle. Then, I am just eighteen, the finest age possible. I have had a continental

education, and though I can't spell, I have abundant accomplishments. I am pretty; you can't deny that; I may

have as many admirers as I choose. This very night I have been breaking the hearts of two gentlemen, and it

is the dying look I had from one of them just now, which puts me in such spirits. I do so like to watch them

turn red and pale, and scowl and dart fiery glances at each other, and languishing ones at me. There is me

'I suppose you are nobody's daughter, since you took care of little children when you first came to Villette:

you have no relations; you can't call yourself young at twentythree; you have no attractive accomplishments

no beauty. As to admirers, you hardly know what they are; you can't even talk on the subject: you sit dumb

when the other teachers quote their conquests. I believe you never were in love, and never will be; you don't

know the feeling: and so much the better, for though you might have your own heart broken, no living heart

'A good deal of it is true as gospel, and shrewd besides. There must be good in you, Ginevra, to speak so

honestly; that snake, Zélie St. Pierre, could not utter what you have uttered. Still, Miss Fanshawe, hapless as I

am, according to your showing, sixpence I would not give to purchase you, body and soul.'

'Just because I am not clever, and that is all you think of. Nobody in the world but you cares for cleverness.'

'On the contrary, I consider you are clever, in your way very smart indeed. But you were talking of

breaking hearts that edifying amusement into the merits of which I don't quite enter; pray on whom does

She approached her lips to my ear 'Isidore and Alfred de Hamal are both here', she whispered.

'There's a dear creature! your curiosity is roused at last. Follow me, I will point them out.'

She proudly led the way 'But you cannot see them well from the classes', said she, turning, 'Madame keeps

them too far off. Let us cross the garden, enter by the corridor, and get close to them behind: we shall be

For once, I did not mind. Through the garden we went penetrated into the corridor by a quiet private

entrance, and approaching the carré, yet keeping in the corridor shade, commanded a near view of the band of

I believe I could have picked out the conquering De Hamal even undirected. He was a straightnosed, very

correctfeatured little dandy. I say little dandy, though he was not beneath the middle standard in stature; but

his lineaments were small, and so were his hands and feet; and he was pretty and smooth, and as trim as a

doll: so nicely dressed, so nicely curled, so booted and gloved and cravated he was charming indeed. I said

so: 'What a dear personage!' cried I, and commended Ginevra's taste warmly; and asked her what she thought

De Hamal might have done with the precious fragments of that heart she had broken whether he kept them

in a scent vial, and conserved them in otto of roses? I observed, too, with deep rapture of approbation, that the

colonel's hands were scarce larger than Miss Fanshawe's own, and suggested that this circumstance might be

convenient, as he could wear her gloves at a pinch. On his dear curls, I told her I doated: and as to his low,

Grecian brow, and exquisite classic headpiece, I confessed I had no language to do such perfections justice.

'Oh! heavens, what bliss!' said I; 'but do not be inhuman, Miss Fanshawe: to put such thoughts into my head

Ginevra admired my taste, for all these things were her adoration; she could then readily credit that they were

'Now for Isidore', I went on. I own I felt still more curious to see him than his rival; but Ginevra was absorbed

'Alfred was admitted here tonight', said she, 'through the influence of his aunt, Madame la Baronne de

Dorlodot; and now, having seen him, can you not understand why I have been in such spirits all the evening,

and acted so well, and danced with such life, and why I am now happy as a queen? Dieu! Dieu! It was such

'Because because' (in a whisper) 'he has such such whiskers, orange red there now!'

'The murder is out', I subjoined. 'Never mind, show him all the same; I engage not to faint.'

'She takes cold so easily', he pursued, looking at Ginevra with extreme kindness. 'She is delicate; she must be

'Permit me to judge for myself', said Miss Fanshawe, with hauteur. 'I want no shawl.'

The answer Dr. John would have given did not come; that his heart was hurt became evident in his eye;

darkened, and saddened, and pained, he turned a little aside, but was patient. I knew where there were plenty

'She shall wear this if I have strength to make her', said I, folding it well round her muslin dress, covering

carefully her neck and her arms. 'Is that Isidore?' I asked, in a somewhat fierce whisper.

'Is that Isidore?' I repeated, giving her a shake: I could have given her a dozen.

'C'est luimême', said she. 'How coarse he is, compared with the ColonelCount! And then oh, ciel! the

'The ColonelCount!' I echoed. 'The doll the puppet the manikin the poor inferior creature! A mere

lackey for Dr. John: his valet, his footboy! Is it possible that fine generous gentleman handsome as a

vision offers you his honourable hand and gallant heart, and promises to protect your flimsy person and

wretchless mind through the storms and struggles of life and you hang back you scorn, you sting, you

torture him! Have you power to do this? Who gave you that power? Where is it? Does it lie all in your beauty

your pink and white complexion, and your yellow hair? Does this bind his soul at your feet, and bend his

neck under your yoke? Does this purchase for you his affection, his tenderness, his thoughts, his hopes, his

interest, his noble cordial love and will you not have it? Do you scorn it? You are only dissembling: you are

not in earnest; you love him; you long for him; but you trifle with his heart to make him more surely yours?'

I had got her out into the garden ere this. I now set her down on a seat and told her she should not stir till she

'Him you call the man', said she, 'is bourgeois, sandyhaired, and answers to the name of John? cela suffit:

je n'en veux pas. Colonel de Hamal is a gentleman of excellent connections, perfect manners, sweet

appearance, with pale interesting face, and hair and eyes like an Italian. Then, too, he is the most delightful

company possible a man quite in my way; not sensible and serious like the other, but one with whom I can

talk on equal terms who does not plague and bore, and harass me with depths, and heights, and passions,

Somehow I could not avoid returning once more in the direction of the corridor to get another glimpse of Dr.

John; but I met him on the gardensteps, standing where the light from a window fell broad. His

wellproportioned figure was not to be mistaken, for I doubt whether there was another in that assemblage

his equal. He carried his hat in his hand; his uncovered head, his face and fine brow were most handsome and

manly. His features were not delicate, not slight like those of a woman, nor were they cold, frivolous and

feeble; though well cut, they were not so chiselled, so frittered away, as to lose in power and significance

what they gained in unmeaning symmetry. Much feeling spoke in them at times, and more sat silent in his

eye. Such at least were my thoughts of him: to me he seemed all this. An inexpressible sense of wonder

occupied me as I looked at this man, and reflected that he could not be slighted.

It was not my intention to approach or address him in the garden, our terms of acquaintance not warranting

such a step; I had only meant to view him in the crowd myself unseen; coming upon him thus alone, I

withdrew. But he was looking out for me, or rather for her who had been with me: therefore he descended the

'You know Miss Fanshawe? I have often wished to ask whether you knew her', said he.

'Am I her keeper?' I felt inclined to ask; but I simply answered, 'I have shaken her well, and would have

'Would you favour me', he asked, 'by watching over her this one evening, and observing that she does nothing

imprudent does not, for instance, run out into the night air immediately after dancing?'

'I may, perhaps, look after her a little, since you wish it; but she likes her own way too well to submit readily

'But she has not the slightest idea how much I am her friend. That is precisely the point I cannot teach her.

'Under the name of "Isidore" she has talked about you often; but I must add that it is only within the last ten

minutes I have discovered that you and "Isidore" are identical. It is only, Dr. John, within that brief space of

time I have learned that Ginevra Fanshawe is the person, under this roof, in whom you have long been

interested that she is the magnet which attracts you to the Rue Fossette, that for her sake you venture into

'For more than a year I have been accustomed to meet her in society. Mrs. Cholmondeley, her friend, is an

acquaintance of mine; thus I see her every Sunday. But you observed that under the name of "Isidore" she

often spoke of me: may I without inviting you to a breach of confidence inquire what was the tone, what

the feeling of her remarks? I feel somewhat anxious to know, being a little tormented with uncertainty as to

'I can', thought I, 'but it would not do to communicate that general idea to you. Besides, if I said she did not

'You are silent', he pursued. 'I suppose you have no good news to impart. No matter. If she feels for me

'Do you doubt yourself? Do you consider yourself the inferior of Colonel de Hamal?'

'I love Miss Fanshawe far more than De Hamal loves any human being, and would care for and guard her

better than he. Respecting De Hamal, I fear she is under an illusion; the man's character is known to me, all

his antecedents, all his scrapes. He is not worthy of your beautiful young friend'

'My "beautiful young friend" ought to know that, and to know or feel who is worthy of her', said I. 'If her

beauty or her brains will not serve her so far, she merits the sharp lesson of experience.

'I am excessively severe more severe than I choose to show you. You should hear the strictures with which

I favour my "beautiful young friend," only that you would be unutterably shocked at my want of tender

'She is so lovely, one cannot but be loving towards her. You every woman older than herself must feel for

such a simple, innocent, girlish fairy a sort of motherly or eldersisterly fondness. Graceful angel! Does not

your heart yearn towards her when she pours into your ear her pure, childlike confidences? How you are

'I cut short these confidences somewhat abruptly now and then', said I. 'But excuse me, Dr. John, may I

change the theme for one instant? What a godlike person is that De Hamal! What a nose on his face

perfect! Model one in putty or clay, you could not make a better or straighter, or neater; and then, such classic

'You, Dr. John, and every man of a less refined mould than he, must feel for him a sort of admiring affection,

such as Mars and the coarser deities may be supposed to have borne the young, graceful Apollo.'

'An unprincipled, gambling, little jackanapes!' said Dr. John curtly, 'whom, with one hand, I could lift up by

'The sweet seraph!' said I. 'What a cruel idea! Are you not a little severe, Dr. John?'

And now I paused. For the second time that night I was going beyond myself venturing out of what I

looked on as my natural habits speaking in an unpremeditated, impulsive strain, which startled me strangely

when I halted to reflect. On rising that morning, had I anticipated that before night I should have acted the

part of a gay lover in a vaudeville; and an hour after, frankly discussed with Dr. John the question of his

hapless suit, and rallied him on his illusions? I had no more presaged such feats than I had looked forward to

The Doctor and I, having paced down the walk, were now returning; the reflex from the window again lit his

face: he smiled, but his eye was melancholy. How I wished that he could feel heart'sease! How I grieved

that he brooded over pain, and pain from such a cause! He, with his great advantages, he to love in vain! I did

not then know that the pensiveness of reverse is the best phase for some minds; nor did I reflect that some

'Do not be sorrowful, do not grieve', I broke out. 'If there is in Ginevra one spark of worthiness of your

affection, she will she must feel devotion in return. Be cheerful, be hopeful, Dr. John. Who should hope, if

In return for this speech I got what, it must be supposed, I deserved a look of surprise: I thought also of

some disapprobation. We parted, and I went into the house very chill. The clocks struck and the bells tolled

midnight; people were leaving fast: the fête was over; the lamps were fading. In another hour all the

dwellinghouse and all the pensionnat were dark and hushed. I too was in bed, but not asleep. To me it was

Following Madame Beck's fête, with its three preceding weeks of relaxation, its brief twelve hours' burst of

hilarity and dissipation, and its one subsequent day of utter languor, came a period of reaction; two months of

real application, of close, hard study. These two months, being the last of the 'année scolaire', were indeed the

only genuine working months in the year. To them was procrastinated into them concentrated, alike by

professors, mistresses and pupils the main burden of preparation for the examinations preceding the

distribution of prizes. Candidates for rewards had then to work in good earnest; masters and teachers had to

set their shoulders to the wheel, to urge on the backward, and diligently aid and train the more promising. A

showy demonstration a telling exhibition must be got up for public view, and all means were fair to this

I scarcely noted how the other teachers went to work; I had my own business to mind: and my task was not

the least onerous, being to imbue some ninety sets of brains with a due tincture of what they considered a

most complicated and difficult science, that of the English language; and to drill ninety tongues in what, for

them, was an almost impossible pronunciation the lisping and hissing dentals of the Isles.

The examinationday arrived. Awful day! Prepared for with anxious care, dressed for with silent despatch

nothing vaporous or fluttering now no white gauze or azure streamers; the grave, close, compact was the

order of the toilette. It seemed to me that I was this day especially doomed the main burden and trial falling

on me alone of all the female teachers. The others were not expected to examine in the studies they taught;

the professor of literature, M. Paul, taking upon himself this duty. He, this schoolautocrat, gathered all and

sundry reins into the hollow of his one hand; he irefully rejected any colleague; he would not have help.

Madame herself; who evidently rather wished to undertake the examination in geography her favourite

study, which she taught well was forced to succumb, and be subordinate to her despotic kinsman's

direction. The whole staff of instructors, male and female, he set aside, and stood on the examiner's estrade

alone. It irked him that he was forced to make one exception to this rule. He could not manage English: he

was obliged to leave that branch of education in the English teacher's hands; which he did, not without a flash

A constant crusade against the amourpropre of every human being but himself; was the crotchet of this able,

but fiery and grasping little man. He had a strong relish for public representation in his own person, but an

extreme abhorrence of the like display in any other. He quelled, he kept down when he could; and when he

On the evening preceding the examinationday, I was walking in the garden, as were the other teachers and

all the boarders. M. Emanuel joined me in the 'allée défendue'; his cigar was at his lips; his paletôt a most

characteristic garment of no particular shape hung dark and menacing; the tassel of his bonnet grec sternly

shadowed his left temple; his black whiskers curled like those of a wrathful cat; his blue eye had a cloud in its

'Ainsi', he began, abruptly fronting and arresting me, 'vous allez tróner comme une reine; demain trôner à

mes côtés? Sans doute vous savourez d'avance les délices de l'autorité. Je crois voir un je ne sais quoi de

Now the fact was, he happened to be entirely mistaken. I did not could not estimate the admiration or the

good opinion of tomorrow's audience at the same rate as he did. Had that audience numbered as many

personal friends and acquaintance for me, as for him, I know not how it might have been: I speak of the case

as it stood. On me school triumphs shed but a cold lustre. I had wondered and I wondered now how it

was that for him they seemed to shine as with hearth warmth and hearth glow. He cared for them perhaps too

much; I, probably, too little. However, I had my own fancies as well as he. I liked, for instance, to see M.

Emanuel jealous: it lit up his nature, and woke his spirit; it threw all sorts of queer lights and shadows over

his dun face, and into his violet azure eyes (he used to say that his black hair and blue eyes were 'une de ses

beautés'). There was a relish in his anger; it was artless, earnest, quite unreasonable, but never hypocritical. I

uttered no disclaimer then of the complacency he attributed to me; I merely asked where the English

'I hesitate', said he, 'whether at the very beginning, before many persons are come, and when your aspiring

nature will not be gratified by a large audience, or quite at the close, when everybody is tired, and only a

'One ought to be "dur" with you. You are one of those beings who must be kept down. I know you! I know

you! Other people in this house see you pass, and think that a colourless shadow has gone by. As for me, I

Without answering directly, he went on, 'Were you not gratified when you succeeded in that vaudeville? I

watched you and saw a passionate ardour for triumph in your physiognomy. What fire shot into the glance!

'What feeling I had on that occasion, monsieur and pardon me, if I say, you immensely exaggerate both its

quality and quantity was quite abstract. I did not care for the vaudeville. I hated the part you assigned me. I

had not the slightest sympathy with the audience below the stage. They are good people, doubtless, but do I

know them? Are they anything to me? Can I care for being brought before their view again tomorrow? Will

'But I should fail. I only know three phrases of English, and a few words: par exemple, de sonn, de mone, de

stare estce bien dit? My opinion is that it would be better to give up the thing altogether: to have no

'Donnezmoi la main', said he, and the spite and jealousy melted out of his face, and a generous kindliness

'Come, we will not be rivals, we will be friends'; he pursued. 'The examination shall take place, and I will

choose a good moment; and instead of vexing and hindering, as I felt half inclined ten minutes ago for I

have my malevolent moods: I always had from childhood I will aid you sincerely. After all, you are solitary

and a stranger, and have your way to make and your bread to earn; it may be well that you should become

'Out of my heart, monsieur. I am glad of a friend. I like that better than a triumph.'

The examination passed over well; M. Paul was as good as his word, and did his best to make my part easy.

The next day came the distribution of prizes; that also passed; the school broke up; the pupils went home, and

That vacation! Shall I ever forget it? I think not. Madame Beck went, the first day of the holidays, to join her

children at the seaside; all the three teachers had parents or friends with whom they took refuge; every

professor quitted the city; some went to Paris, some to BoueMarine; M. Paul set forth on a pilgrimage to

Rome; the house was left quite empty, but for me, a servant, and a poor deformed and imbecile pupil, a sort

of crétin, whom her stepmother in a distant province would not allow to return home.

My heart almost died within me; miserable longings strained its chords. How long were the September days!

How silent, how lifeless! How vast and void seemed the desolate premises! How gloomy the forsaken garden

grey now with the dust of a town summer departed. Looking forward at the commencement of those eight

weeks, I hardly knew how I was to live to the end. My spirits had long been gradually sinking; now that the

prop of employment was withdrawn, they went down fast. Even to look forward was not to hope: the dumb

future spoke no comfort, offered no promise, gave no inducement to bear present evil in reliance on future

good. A sorrowful indifference to existence often pressed on me a despairing resignation to reach betimes

the end of all things earthly. Alas! When I had full leisure to look on life as life must be looked on by such as

me, I found it but a hopeless desert: tawny sands, with no green fields, no palm tree, no well in view. The

hopes which are dear to youth, which bear it up and lead it on, I knew not and dared not know. If they

knocked at my heart sometimes, an inhospitable bar to admission must be inwardly drawn. When they turned

away thus rejected, tears sad enough sometimes flowed; but it could not be helped: I dared not give such

Religious reader, you will preach to me a long sermon about what I have just written, and so will you,

moralist; and you, stern sage: you, stoic, will frown; you, cynic, sneer; you, epicure, laugh. Well, each and

all, take it your own way. I accept the sermon, frown, sneer, and laugh; perhaps you are all right: and perhaps,

circumstanced like me, you would have been, like me, wrong. The first month was, indeed, a long, black,

The crétin did not seem unhappy. I did my best to feed her well and keep her warm, and she only asked food

and sunshine, or when that lacked, fire. Her weak faculties approved of inertion: her brain, her eyes, her ears,

her heart slept content; they could not wake to work, so lethargy was their Paradise.

Three weeks of that vacation were hot, fair, and dry, but the fourth and fifth were tempestuous and wet. I do

not know why that change in the atmosphere made a cruel impression on me, why the raging storm and

beating rain crushed me with a deadlier paralysis than I had experienced while the air had remained serene:

but so it was, and my nervous system could hardly support what it had for many days and nights to undergo

in that huge, empty house. How I used to pray to Heaven for consolation and support! With what dread force

the conviction would grasp me that Fate was my permanent foe, never to be conciliated. I did not, in my

heart, arraign the mercy or justice of God for this; I concluded it to be a part of His great plan that some must

deeply suffer while they live, and I thrilled in the certainty that of this number, I was one.

It was some relief when an aunt of the crétin, a kind old woman, came one day and took away my strange,

deformed companion. The hapless creature had been at times a heavy charge; I could not take her out beyond

the garden, and I could not leave her a minute alone; for her poor mind, like her body, was warped: its

propensity was to evil. A vague bent to mischief an aimless malevolence, made constant vigilance

indispensable. As she very rarely spoke, and would sit for hours together moping and mowing and distorting

her features with indescribable grimaces, it was more like being prisoned with some strange tameless animal,

than associating with a human being. Then there were personal attentions to be rendered which required the

nerve of a hospital nurse; my resolution was so tried, it sometimes fell dead sick. These duties should not

have fallen on me; a servant, now absent, had rendered them hitherto, and in the hurry of holiday departure,

no substitute to fill this office had been provided. This tax and trial were by no means the least I have known

in life. Still, menial and distasteful as they were, my mental pain was far more wasting and wearing.

Attendance on the crétin deprived me often of the power and inclination to swallow a meal, and sent me faint

to the fresh air, and the well or fountain in the court; but this duty never wrung my heart, or brimmed my

The crétin being gone, I was free to walk out. At first I lacked courage to venture far from the Rue Fossette,

but by degrees I sought the city gates and passed them, and then went wandering away far along chaussées,

through fields, beyond cemeteries, Catholic and Protestant, beyond farmsteads, to lanes and little woods, and

I know not where. A goad thrust me on, a fever forbade me to rest; a want of companionship maintained in

my soul the cravings of a most deadly famine. I often walked all day, through the burning noon and the arid

While wandering in solitude, I would sometimes picture the present probable position of others, my

acquaintance. There was Madame Beck at a cheerful wateringplace with her children, her mother, and a

whole troop of friends who had sought the same scene of relaxation. Zélie St. Pierre was at Paris, with her

relatives; the other teachers were at their homes. There was Ginevra Fanshawe, whom certain of her

connections had carried on a pleasant tour southward. Ginevra seemed to me the happiest. She was on the

route of beautiful scenery; these September suns shone for her on fertile plains, where harvest and vintage

matured under their mellow beam. These gold and crystal moons rose on her vision over blue horizons waved

But all this was nothing; I too felt those autumn suns and saw those harvest moons, and I almost wished to be

covered in with earth and turf deep out of their influence; for I could not live in their light, nor make them

comrades, nor yield them affection. But Ginevra had a kind of spirit with her, empowered to give constant

strength and comfort, to gladden daylight and embalm darkness; the best of the good genii that guard

humanity curtained her with his wings, and canopied her head with his bending form. By True Love was

Ginevra followed: never could she be alone. Was she insensible to this presence? It seemed to me impossible:

I could not realise such deadness. I imagined her grateful in secret, loving now with reserve; but purposing

one day to show how much she loved: I pictured her faithful hero half conscious of her coy fondness, and

comforted by that consciousness: I conceived an electric chord of sympathy between them, a fine chain of

mutual understanding, sustaining union through a separation of a hundred leagues carrying, across mound

and hollow, communication by prayer and wish. Ginevra gradually became with me a sort of heroine. One

day, perceiving this growing illusion, I said, 'I really believe my nerves are getting overstretched: my mind

has suffered somewhat too much; a malady is growing upon it what shall I do? How shall I keep well?'

Indeed there was no way to keep well under the circumstances. At last a day and night of peculiarly agonising

depression were succeeded by physical illness, I took perforce to my bed. About this time the Indian summer

closed and the equinoctial storms began; and for nine dark and wet days, of which the hours rushed on all

turbulent, deaf dishevelled bewildered with sounding hurricane I lay in a strange fever of the nerves and

blood. Sleep went quite away. I used to rise in the night, look round for her, beseech her earnestly to return. A

I err. She came once, but in anger. Impatient of my importunity she brought with her an avenging dream. By

the clock of St. Jean Baptiste, that dream remained scarce fifteen minutes a brief space, but sufficing to

wring my whole frame with unknown anguish; to confer a nameless experience that had the hue, the mien,

the terror, the very tone of a visitation from eternity. Between twelve and one that night a cup was forced to

my lips, black, strong, strange, drawn from no well, but filled up seething from bottomless and boundless sea.

Suffering, brewed in temporal or calculable measure, and mixed for mortal lips, tastes not as this suffering

tasted. Having drank and woke, I thought all was over: the end come and past by. Trembling fearfully as

consciousness returned ready to cry out on some fellowcreature to help me, only that I knew no

fellowcreature was near enough to catch the wild summons Goton in her far distant attic could not hear I

rose on my knees in bed. Some fearful hours went over me: indescribably was I torn, racked and oppressed in

mind. Amidst the horrors of that dream I think the worst lay here. Methought the wellloved dead, who had

loved me well in life, met me elsewhere, alienated: galled was my inmost spirit with an unutterable sense of

despair about the future. Motive there was none why I should try to recover or wish to live; and yet quite

unendurable was the pitiless and haughty voice in which Death challenged me to engage his unknown terrors.

On bringing me my tea next morning Goton urged me to call in a doctor. I would not: I thought no doctor

One evening and I was not delirious: I was in my sane mind, I got up I dressed myself, weak and shaking.

The solitude and the stillness of the long dormitory could not be borne any longer; the ghastly white beds

were turning into spectres the coronal of each became a death's head, huge and sunbleached dead

dreams of an elder world and mightier race lay frozen in their wide gaping eyeholes. That evening more

firmly than ever fastened into my soul the conviction that Fate was of stone, and Hope a false idol blind,

bloodless, and of granite core. I felt, too, that the trial God had appointed me was gaining its climax, and

must now be turned by my own hands, hot, feeble, trembling as they were. It rained still, and blew; but with

more clemency, I thought, than it had poured and raged all day. Twilight was falling, and I deemed its

influence pitiful; from the lattice I saw coming nightclouds trailing low like banners drooping. It seemed to

me that at this hour there was affection and sorrow in Heaven above for all pain suffered on earth beneath;

the weight of my dreadful dream became alleviated that insufferable thought of being no more loved, no

more owned, half yielded to hope of the contrary I was sure this hope would shine clearer if I got out from

under this house roof, which was crushing as the slab of a tomb, and went outside the city to a certain quiet

hill, a long way distant in the fields. Covered with a cloak (I could not be delirious, for I had sense and

recollection to put on warm clothing), forth I set. The bells of a church arrested me in passing; they seemed to

call me in to the salut, and I went in. Any solemn rite, any spectacle of sincere worship, any opening for

appeal to God was as welcome to me then as bread to one in extremity of want. I knelt down with others on

the stone pavement. It was an old solemn church, its pervading gloom not gilded but purpled by light shed

Few worshippers were assembled, and, the salut over, half of them departed. I discovered soon that those left

remained to confess. I did not stir. Carefully every door of the church was shut; a holy quiet sank upon, and a

solemn shade gathered about us. After a space, breathless and spent in prayer, a penitent approached the

confessional. I watched. She whispered her avowal; her shrift was whispered back: she returned consoled.

Another went, and another. A pale lady, kneeling near me, said in a low, kind voice

Mechanically obedient, I rose and went. I knew what I was about; my mind had run over the intent with

lightning speed. To take this step could not make me more wretched than I was; it might soothe me.

The priest within the confessional never turned his eyes to regard me; he only quietly inclined his ear to my

lips. He might be a good man, but this duty had become to him a sort of form: he went through it with the

phlegm of custom. I hesitated; of the formula of confession I was ignorant: instead of commencing them with

He directly turned. He was not a native priest: of that class, the cast of physiognomy is, almost invariably,

grovelling: I saw by his profile and brow he was a Frenchman; though grey and advanced in years, he did not,

I think, lack feeling or intelligence. He inquired, not unkindly, why, being a Protestant, I came to him?'

I said I was perishing for a word of advice or an accent of comfort. I had been living for some weeks quite

alone; I had been ill; I had a pressure of affliction on my mind of which it would hardly any longer endure the

I reassured him on this point, and, as well as I could, I showed him the mere outline of my experience.

He looked thoughtful, surprised, puzzled. 'You take me unawares', said he. 'I have not had such a case as

yours before: ordinarily we know our routine, and are prepared; but this makes a great break in the common

course of confession. I am hardly furnished with counsel fitting the circumstances.'

Of course, I had not expected he would be; but the mere relief of communication in an ear which was human

and sentient, yet consecrated the mere pouring out of some portion of long accumulating, long pentup

pain into a vessel whence it could not be again diffused had done me good. I was already solaced.

'My daughter', he said kindly and I am sure he was a kind man: he had a compassionate eye 'for the

present you had better go: but I assure you your words have struck me. Confession, like other things, is apt to

become formal and trivial with habit. You have come and poured your heart out; a thing seldom done. I

would fain think your case over, and take it with me to my oratory. Were you of our faith I should know what

to say a mind so tossed can find repose but in the bosom of retreat, and the punctual practice of piety. The

world, it is well known, has no satisfaction for that class of natures. Holy men have bidden penitents like you

to hasten their path upward by penance, selfdenial and difficult good works. Tears are given them here for

meat and drink bread of affliction and waters of affliction their recompense comes hereafter. It is my own

conviction that these impressions under which you are smarting are messengers from God to bring you back

to the true Church. You were made for our faith: depend upon it our faith alone could heal and help you

Protestantism is altogether too dry, cold, prosaic for you. The further I look into this matter, the more plainly

I see it is entirely out of the common order of things. On no account would I lose sight of you. Go, my

'You must not come to this church', said he: 'I see you are ill, and this church is too cold; you must come to

my house: I live' (and he gave me his address). 'Be there tomorrow morning at ten.'

In reply to this appointment, I only bowed; and pulling down my veil, and gathering round me my cloak, I

Did I, do you suppose, reader, contemplate venturing again within that worthy priest's reach? As soon should

I have thought of walking into a Babylonish furnace. That priest had arms which could influence me: he was

naturally kind, with a sentimental French kindness, to whose softness I knew myself not wholly impervious.

Without respecting some sorts of affection, there was hardly any sort having a fibre of root in reality, which I

could rely on my force wholly to withstand. Had I gone to him, he would have shown me all that was tender,

and comforting, and gentle, in the honest Popish superstition. Then he would have tried to kindle, blow and

stir up in me the zeal of good works. I know not how it would all have ended. We all think ourselves strong

in some points; we all know ourselves weak in many; the probabilities are that, had I visited Numero 10, Rue

des Mages, at the hour and day appointed, I might just now, instead of writing this heretic narrative, be

counting my beads in the cell of a certain Carmelite convent on the Boulevard of Crécy, in Villette. There

was something of Fénelon about that benign old priest; and whatever most of his brethren may be, and

whatever I may think of his Church and creed (and I like neither), of himself I must ever retain a grateful

recollection. He was kind when I needed kindness; he did me good. May Heaven bless him!

Twilight had passed into night, and the lamps were lit in the streets, ere I issued from that sombre church. To

turn back was now become possible to me; the wild longing to breathe this October wind on the little hill far

without the city walls had ceased to be an imperative impulse, and was softened into a wish with which

Reason could cope: she put it down, and I turned, as I thought, to the Rue Fossette. But I had become

involved in a part of the city with which I was not familiar; it was the old part, and full of narrow streets of

picturesque, ancient and mouldering houses. I was much too weak to be very collected, and I was still too

careless of my own welfare and safety to be cautious; I grew embarrassed; I got immeshed in a network of

turns unknown. I was lost and had no resolution to ask guidance of any passenger.

If the storm had lulled a little at sunset, it made up now for lost time. Strong and horizontal thundered the

current of the wind from northwest to southeast; it brought rain like spray, and sometimes a sharp, hail like

shot; it was cold and pierced me to the vitals. I bent my head to meet it, but it beat me back. My heart did not

fail at all in this conflict; I only wished that I had wings and could ascend the gale, spread and repose my

pinions on its strength, career in its course, sweep where it swept. While wishing this, I suddenly felt colder

where before I was cold, and more powerless where before I was weak. I tried to reach the porch of a great

building near, but the mass of frontage and the giant spire turned black and vanished from my eyes. Instead of

sinking on the steps as I intended, I seemed to pitch headlong down an abyss. I remember no more.

Where my soul went during that swoon I cannot tell. Whatever she saw, or wherever she travelled in her

trance on that strange night, she kept her own secret; never whispering a word to Memory, and baffling

Imagination by an indissoluble silence. She may have gone upward, and come in sight of her eternal home,

hoping for leave to rest now, and deeming that her painful union with matter was at last dissolved. While she

so deemed, an angel may have warned her away from heaven's threshold, and, guiding her, weeping, down,

have bound her, once more, all shuddering and unwilling, to that poor frame, cold and wasted, of whose

I know she reentered her prison with pain, with reluctance, with a moan and a long shiver. The divorced

mates, Spirit and Substance, were hard to reunite: they greeted each other, not in an embrace, but a racking

sort of struggle. The returning sense of sight came upon me, red, as if it swam in blood; suspended hearing

rushed back loud, like thunder; consciousness revived in fear: I sat up appalled, wondering into what region,

amongst what strange beings I was waking. At first I knew nothing I looked on: a wall was not a wall a

lamp not a lamp. I should have understood what we call a ghost, as well as I did the commonest object: which

is another way of intimating that all my eye rested on struck it as spectral. But the faculties soon settled each

Still, I knew not where I was; only in time I saw I had been removed from the spot where I fell: I lay on no

porticostep; night and tempest were excluded by walls, windows and ceiling. Into some house I had been

I could only think of the pensionnat in the Rue Fossette. Still halfdreaming, I tried hard to discover in what

room they had put me; whether the greater dormitory or one of the little dormitories. I was puzzled, because I

could not make the glimpses of furniture I saw, accord with my knowledge of any of these apartments. The

empty white beds were wanting, and the long line of large windows. 'Surely,' thought I, 'it is not to Madame

Beck's own chamber they have carried me!' And here my eye fell on an easy chair covered with blue damask.

Other seats, cushioned to match, dawned on me by degrees; and at last I took in the complete fact of a

pleasant parlour, with a wood fire on a clear shining hearth, a carpet where arabesques of bright blue relieved

a ground of shaded fawn; pale walls over which a slight but endless garland of azure forgetmenots ran

mazed and bewildered amongst myriad gold leaves and tendrils. A gilded mirror filled up the space between

two windows, curtained amply with blue damask. In this mirror I saw myself laid, not in bed, but on a sofa. I

looked spectral; my eyes larger and more hollow, my hair darker than was natural, by contrast with my thin

and ashen face. It was obvious, not only from the furniture, but from the position of windows, doors and

Hardly less plain was it that my brain was not yet settled; for, as I gazed at the blue armchair, it appeared to

grow familiar; so did a certain scroll couch, and not less so the round centre table, with a blue covering

bordered with autumntinted foliage; and, above all, two little footstools with worked covers, and a small

ebonyframed chair, of which the seat and back were also worked with groups of brilliant flowers on a dark

Struck with these things, I explored further. Strange to say, old acquaintance were all about me, and 'auld

lang syne' smiled out of every nook. There were two oval miniatures over the mantelpiece, of which I knew

by heart the pearls about the high and powdered 'heads'; the velvet circling the white throats; the swell of the

full muslin kerchiefs; the pattern of the lace sleeve ruffles. Upon the mantelshelf there were two china

vases, some relics of a diminutive tea service, as smooth as enamel and as thin as eggshell, and a white centre

ornament, a classic group in alabaster, preserved under glass. Of all these things I could have told the

peculiarities, numbered the flaws or cracks, like any clairvoyante. Above all, there was a pair of

handscreens, with elaborate pencil drawings finished like line engravings: these, my very eyes ached at

beholding again, recalling hours when they had followed, stroke by stroke and touch by touch, a tedious,

Where was I? Not only in what spot of the world, but in what year of our Lord? For all these objects were of

past days and of a distant country. Ten years ago I bade them goodbye; since my fourteenth year they and I

A shape hitherto unnoticed, stirred, rose, came forward: a shape inharmonious with the environment, serving

only to complicate the riddle further. This was no more than a sort of native bonne, in a commonplace

bonne's cap and print dress. She spoke neither French nor English, and I could get no intelligence from her,

not understanding her phrases of dialect. But she bathed my temples and forehead with some cool and

perfumed water, and then she heightened the cushion on which I reclined, made signs that I was not to speak,

She was busy knitting; her eyes thus drawn from me, I could gaze on her without interruption. I did mightily

wonder how she came there, or what she could have to do among the scenes, or with the days of my girlhood.

Too weak to scrutinise thoroughly the mystery, I tried to settle it by saying it was a mistake, a dream, a

feverfit; and yet I knew there could be no mistake, and that I was not sleeping, and I believed I was sane. I

wished the room had not been so well lighted, that I might not so clearly have seen the little pictures, the

ornaments, the screens, the worked chair. All these objects, as well as the blue damask furniture, were, in

fact, precisely the same, in every minutest detail, with those I so well remembered, and with which I had been

so thoroughly intimate, in the drawingroom of my godmother's house at Bretton. Methought the apartment

I thought of Bedreddin Hassan, transported in his sleep from Cairo to the gates of Damascus. Had a Genius

stooped his dark wing down the storm to whose stress I had succumbed, and gathering me from the church

steps, and 'rising high into the air,' as the eastern tale said, had he borne me over land and ocean, and laid me

quietly down beside a hearth of Old England? But no; I knew the fire of that hearth burned before its Lares no

The bonne turned again to survey me, and seeing my eyes wide open, and, I suppose, deeming their

expression perturbed and excited, she put down her knitting. I saw her busied for a moment at a little stand;

she poured out water, and measured drops from a phial: glass in hand, she approached me. What darktinged

It was too late to inquire I had swallowed it passively, and at once. A tide of quiet thought now came gently

caressing my brain; softer and softer rose the flow, with tepid undulations smoother than balm. The pain of

weakness left my limbs, my muscles slept. I lost power to move; but, losing at the same time wish, it was no

privation. That kind bonne placed a screen between me and the lamp; I saw her rise to do this, but do not

remember seeing her resume her place in the interval between the two acts, I 'fell on sleep.'

At waking, lo! all was again changed. The light of high day surrounded me; not, indeed, a warm, summer

light, but the leaden gloom of raw and blustering autumn. I felt sure now that I was in the pensionnat sure

by the beating rain on the casement; sure by the 'wuther' of wind amongst trees, denoting a garden outside;

sure by the chill, the whiteness, the solitude, amidst which I lay. I say whiteness for the dimity curtains,

I lifted them; looked out. My eye, prepared to take in the range of a long, large and whitewashed chamber,

blinked baffled, on encountering the limited area of a small cabinet a cabinet with seagreen walls; also,

instead of five wide and naked windows, there was one high lattice, shaded with muslin festoons; instead of

two dozen little stands of painted wood, each holding a basin and an ewer, there was a toilette table dressed

like a lady for a ball, in a white robe over a pink skirt; a polished and large glass crowned, and a pretty

pincushion frilled with lace adorned it. This toilette, together with a small, low, green and white chintz

armchair, a washstand topped with a marble slab, and supplied with utensils of pale green ware,

Reader, I felt alarmed! Why? you will ask. What was there in this simple and somewhat pretty

sleepingcloset to startle the most timid? Merely this these articles of furniture could not be real, solid

armchairs, lookingglasses and washstands they must be the ghosts of such articles; or, if this were denied

as too wild an hypothesis and, confounded as I was, I did deny it there remained but to conclude that I

had myself passed into an abnormal state of mind; in short, that I was very ill and delirious: and even then,

I knew I was obliged to know the green chintz of that little chair; the little snug chair itself, the carved,

shiningblack, foliated frame of that glass; the smooth, milky green of the china vessels on the stand; the

very stand too, with its top of grey marble, splintered at one corner; all these I was compelled to recognise

and to hail, as last night I had, perforce, recognised and hailed the rosewood, the drapery, the porcelain of the

Bretton! Bretton! and ten years ago shone reflected in that mirror. And why did Bretton and my fourteenth

year haunt me thus? Why, if they came at all, did they not return complete? Why hovered before my

distempered vision the mere furniture, while the rooms and the locality were gone! As to that pincushion

made of crimson satin, ornamented with gold beads and frilled with thread lace, I had the same right to know

it as to know the screens I had made it myself. Rising with a start from the bed, I took the cushion in my

hand and examined it. There was the cipher 'L. L. B.' formed in gold beads, and surrounded with an oval

wreath embroidered in white silk. These were the initials of my godmother's name Louisa Lucy Bretton.

Am I in England? Am I at Bretton? I muttered; and hastily pulling up the blind with which the lattice was

shrouded, I looked out to try and discover where I was; half prepared to meet the calm, old, handsome

buildings and clean grey pavement of St. Ann's Street, and to see at the end the towers of the minster: or, if

otherwise, fully expectant of a town view somewhere, a rue in Villette, if not a street in a pleasant and ancient

I looked, on the contrary, through a frame of leafage, clustering round the high lattice, and forth thence to a

grassy meadlike level, a lawn terrace with trees rising from the lower ground beyond high forest trees,

such as I had not seen for many a day. They were now groaning under the gale of October, and between their

trunks I traced the line of an avenue, where yellow leaves lay in heaps and drifts, or were whirled singly

before the sweeping west wind. Whatever landscape might lie further must have been flat, and these tall

beeches shut it out. The place seemed secluded, and was to me quite strange; I did not know it at all.

Once more I lay down. My bed stood in a little alcove; on turning my face to the wall, the room with its

bewildering accompaniments became excluded. Excluded? No! For as I arranged my position in this hope,

behold, on the green space between the divided and loopedup curtains, hung a broad, gilded picture frame

enclosing a portrait. It was drawn, well drawn, though but a sketch in watercolours; a head, a boy's head,

fresh, lifelike, speaking and animated. It seemed a youth of sixteen, fair complexioned with sanguine health

in his cheek; hair long, not dark, and with a sunny sheen; penetrating eyes, an arch mouth and a gay smile. On

the whole a most pleasant face to look at, especially for those claiming a right to that youth's affections

parents, for instance, or sisters. Any romantic little schoolgirl might almost have loved it in its frame. Those

eyes looked as if when somewhat older they would flash a lightning response to love: I cannot tell whether

they kept in store the steady beaming shine of faith. For whatever sentiment met him in form too facile, his

Striving to take each new discovery as quietly as I could, I whispered to myself:

'Ah! that portrait used to hang in the breakfastroom, over the mantelpiece: somewhat too high, as I

thought. I well remember how I used to mount a musicstool for the purpose of unhooking it, holding it in

my hand, and searching into these bonny wells of eyes, whose glance under their hazel lashes seemed like a

pencilled laugh; and well I liked to note the colouring of the cheek, and the expression of the mouth.' I hardly

believed fancy could improve on the curve of that mouth, or of the chin; even my ignorance knew that both

were beautiful, and pondered perplexed over this doubt: 'How it was that what charmed so much, could at the

same time so keenly pain?' Once, by way of test, I took little Missy Home, and, lifting her in my arms, told

'Do you like it, Polly?' I asked. She never answered, but gazed long, and at last a darkness went trembling

through her sensitive eye, as she said, 'Put me down.' So I put her down, saying to myself: 'The child feels it

All these things do I now think over, adding, 'He had his faults, yet scarce ever was a finer nature; liberal,

suave, impressible.' My reflections closed in an audibly pronounced word, 'Graham!'

I looked. The plot was but thickening; the wonder but culminating. If it was strange to see that

wellremembered pictured form on the wall, still stranger was it to turn and behold the equally

wellremembered living form opposite a woman, a lady, most real and substantial, tall, well attired,

wearing widow's silk, and such a cap as best became her matron and motherly braids of hair. Hers, too, was a

good face; too marked, perhaps, now for beauty, but not for sense or character. She was little changed;

something sterner, something more robust but she was my godmother: still the distinct vision of Mrs.

I kept quiet, yet internally I was much agitated: my pulse fluttered, and the blood left my cheek, which turned

'In a very safe asylum; well protected for the present; make your mind quite easy till you get a little better:

'I am so entirely bewildered, I do not know whether I can trust my senses at all, or whether they are

'I should think you might hear that: it would puzzle me to hold a long discourse in French.'

'I am lately arrived thence. Have you been long in this country? You seem to know my son?'

'That is his portrait as a youth. While looking at it, you pronounced his name.'

'Quite right; and you, I am told, are an English teacher in a foreign school here: my son recognised you as

'My son shall tell you that byandby,' said she; 'but at present you are too confused and weak for

Notwithstanding all I had undergone the bodily fatigue, the perturbation of spirits, the exposure to weather

it seemed that I was better: the fever, the real malady which had oppressed my frame, was abating; for,

whereas during the last nine days I had taken no solid food, and suffered from continual thirst, this morning,

on breakfast being offered, I experienced a craving for nourishment: an inward faintness which caused me

eagerly to taste the tea this lady offered, and to eat the morsel of dry toast she allowed in accompaniment. It

was only a morsel, but it sufficed; keeping up my strength till some two or three hours afterwards, when the

As evening began to darken, and the ceaseless blast still blew wild and cold, and the rain streamed on,

delugelike, I grew weary very weary of my bed. The room, though pretty, was small: I felt it confining; I

longed for a change. The increasing chill and gathering gloom, too, depressed me; I wanted to see to feel

firelight. Besides, I kept thinking of the son of that tall matron: when should I see him? Certainly not till I left

At last the bonne came to make my bed for the night. She prepared to wrap me in a blanket and place me in

the little chintz chair; but, declining these attentions, I proceeded to dress myself. The business was just

achieved, and I was sitting down to take breath, when Mrs. Bretton once more appeared.

'Dressed!' she exclaimed, smiling with that smile I so well knew a pleasant smile, though not soft; 'You

She spoke to me so much as of old she used to speak that I almost fancied she was beginning to know me.

There was the same sort of patronage in her voice and manner that, as a girl, I had always experienced from

her a patronage I yielded to and even liked; it was not founded on conventional grounds of superior wealth

or station (in the last particular there had never been any inequality; her degree was mine); but on natural

reasons of physical advantage: it was the shelter the tree gives the herb. I put a request without further

'I desire nothing better, if you are strong enough to bear the change,' was her reply. 'Come then; here is an

arm.' And she offered me hers: I took it, and we descended one flight of carpeted steps to a landing where a

tall door, standing open, gave admission into the blue damask room. How pleasant it was in its air of perfect

domestic comfort! How warm in its amber lamplight and vermilion fireflush To render the picture perfect,

tea stood ready on the table an English tea, whereof the whole shining service glanced at me familiarly;

from the solid silver urn, of antique pattern, and the massive pot of the same metal, to the thin porcelain cups,

dark with purple and gilding. I knew the very seedcake of peculiar form, baked in a peculiar mould, which

always had a place on the teatable at Bretton. Graham liked it, and there it was as of yore set before

Graham's plate with the silver knife and fork beside it. Graham was then expected to tea: Graham was now,

'Sit down sit down,' said my conductress, as my step faltered a little in passing to the hearth. She seated me

on the sofa, but I soon passed behind it, saying the fire was too hot; in its shade I found another seat which

suited me better. Mrs. Bretton was never wont to make a fuss about any person or anything; without

remonstrance she suffered me to have my own way. She made the tea, and she took up the newspaper. I liked

to watch every action of my godmother; all her movements were so young: she must have been now about

fifty, yet neither her sinews nor her spirit seemed yet touched by the rust of age. Though portly, she was alert,

and though serene, she was at times impetuous good health and an excellent temperament kept her green as

While she read, I perceived she listened listened for her son. She was not the woman ever to confess herself

uneasy, but there was yet no lull in the weather, and if Graham were out in that hoarse wind roaring still

'Ten minutes behind his time,' said she, looking at her watch; then, in another minute, a lifting of her eyes

from the page, and a slight inclination of her head towards the door, denoted that she heard some sound.

Presently her brow cleared; and then even my ear, less practised, caught the iron clash of a gate swung to,

steps on gravel, lastly the doorbell. He was come. His mother filled the teapot from the urn, she drew the

stuffed and cushioned blue chair nearer the hearth her own chair by right, but I saw there was one who

might with impunity usurp it. And when that one came up the stairs which he soon did, after, I suppose,

some such attention to the toilette as the wild and wet night rendered necessary, and strode straight in

'Who else should it be, mamma?' demanded the Unpunctual, possessing himself irreverently of the abdicated

'Wheel yourself to the table, lazy boy: no seat will serve you but mine; if you had one spark of a sense of

'So I should; only the dear Old Lady persists in leaving it for me. How is your patient, mama?'

'Will she come forward and speak for herself?' said Mrs. Bretton, turning to my corner; and at this invitation,

forward I came. Graham courteously rose up to greet me. He stood tall on the hearth, a figure justifying his

'So you are come down,' said he; 'you must be better then much better. I scarcely expected we should meet

thus, or here. I was alarmed last night, and if I had not been forced to hurry away to a dying patient, I

certainly would not have left you; but my mother herself is something of a doctress, and Martha an excellent

nurse. I saw the case was a fainting fit, not necessarily dangerous. What brought it on, I have yet to learn, and

For, reader, this tall young man this darling son this host of mine this Graham Bretton, was Dr. John:

he, and no other; and, what is more, I ascertained this identity scarcely with surprise. What is more, when I

heard Graham's step on the stairs, I knew what manner of figure would enter, and for whose aspect to prepare

my eyes. The discovery was not of today, its dawn had penetrated my perceptions long since. Of course I

remembered young Bretton well; and though ten years (from sixteen to twentysix) may greatly change the

boy as they mature him to the man, yet they could bring no such utter difference as would suffice wholly to

blind my eyes, or baffle my memory. Dr. John Graham Bretton retained still an affinity to the youth of

sixteen: he had his eyes; he had some of his features; to wit, all the excellentlymoulded lower half of the

face; I found him out soon. I first recognised him on that occasion, noted several chapters back, when my

unguardedlyfixed attention had drawn on me the mortification of an implied rebuke. Subsequent

observation confirmed, in every point, that early surmise. I traced in the gesture, the port, and the habits of his

manhood, all his boy's promise. I heard in his now deep tones the accent of former days. Certain turns of

phrase, peculiar to him of old, were peculiar to him still; and so was many a trick of eye and lip, many a

smile, many a sudden ray levelled from the iris, under his wellcharactered brow.

To say anything on the subject, to hint at my discovery, had not suited my habits of thought, or assimilated

with my system of feeling. On the contrary, I had preferred to keep the matter to myself. I liked entering his

presence covered with a cloud he had not seen through, while he stood before me under a ray of special

illumination, which shone all partial over his head, trembled about his feet, and cast light no farther.

Well I knew that to him it could make little difference, were I to come forward and announce 'This is Lucy

Snowe!' So I kept back in my teacher's place; and, as he never asked my name, so I never gave it. He heard

me called 'Miss', and 'Miss Lucy'; he never heard the surname, 'Snowe'. As to spontaneous recognition

though I, perhaps, was still less changed than he the idea never approached his mind, and why should I

During tea, Dr. John was kind, as it was his nature to be; that meal over, and the tray carried out, he made a

cosy arrangement of the cushions in a corner of the sofa, and obliged me to settle amongst them. He and his

mother also drew to the fire, and ere we had sat ten minutes, I caught the eye of the latter fastened steadily

'Well,' she exclaimed, presently; 'I have seldom seen a stronger likeness! Graham, have you observed it?'

'Observed what? What ails the Old Lady now? How you stare, mamma! One would think you had an attack

'Mamma, you put her out of countenance. I often tell you abruptness is your fault; remember, too, that to you

'Now, when she looks down; now, when she turns sideways, who is she like, Graham?'

'And you have known her some time, you say ever since you first began to attend the school in the Rue

'I could not mention a thing of which I never thought, and which I do not now acknowledge. What can you

Graham did look: but this was not to be endured; I saw how it must end, so I thought it best to anticipate.

'Dr. John,' I said, 'has had so much to do and think of; since he and I shook hands at our last parting in St.

Ann's Street, that, while I readily found out Mr. Graham Bretton, some months ago, it never occurred to me

'Lucy Snowe! I thought so! I knew it!' cried Mrs. Bretton. And she at once stepped across the hearth and

kissed me. Some ladies would, perhaps, have made a great bustle upon such a discovery without being

particularly glad of it; but it was not my godmother's habit to make a bustle, and she preferred all sentimental

demonstrations in basrelief. So she and I got over the surprise with few words and a single salute; yet I

daresay she was pleased, and I know I was. While we renewed old acquaintance, Graham, sitting opposite,

'Mamma calls me a stupid boy, and I think I am so,' at length he said; 'for, upon my honour, often as I have

seen you, I never once suspected this fact: and yet I perceive it all now. Lucy Snowe! To be sure! I recollect

her perfectly, and there she sits; not a doubt of it. But', he added, 'you surely have not known me as an old

Dr. John commented not. I supposed he regarded my silence as eccentric, but he was indulgent in refraining

from censure. I dare say, too, he would have deemed it impertinence to have interrogated me very closely, to

have asked me the why and wherefore of my reserve; and, though he might feel a little curious, the

importance of the case was by no means such as to tempt curiosity to infringe on discretion.

For my part, I just ventured to inquire whether he remembered the circumstance of my once looking at him

very fixedly; for the slight annoyance he had betrayed on that occasion still lingered sore on my mind.

'Not at all. Only, shy and retiring as your general manner was, I wondered what personal or facial enormity in

And here Mrs. Bretton broke in with many, many questions about past times; and for her satisfaction I had to

recur to goneby troubles, to explain causes of seeming estrangement, to touch on singlehanded conflict

with Life, with Death, with Grief, with Fate. Dr. John listened, saying little. He and she then told me of

changes they had known: even with them all had not gone smoothly, and fortune had retrenched her once

abundant gifts. But so courageous a mother, with such a champion in her son, was well fitted to fight a good

fight with the world, and to prevail ultimately. Dr. John himself was one of those on whose birth benign

planets have certainly smiled. Adversity might set against him her most sullen front: he was the man to beat

her down with smiles. Strong and cheerful, and firm and courteous; not rash, yet valiant; he was the aspirant

to woo Destiny herself, and to win from her stone eyeballs a beam almost loving.

In the profession he had adopted, his success was now quite decided. Within the last three months he had

taken this house (a small château, they told me, about half a league without the Porte de Crécy); this country

site being chosen for the sake of his mother's health, with which town air did not now agree. Hither he had

invited Mrs. Bretton, and she, on leaving England, had brought with her such residue furniture of the former

St. Ann's Street mansion as she had thought fit to keep unsold. Hence my bewilderment at the phantoms of

'Miss Snowe must retire now,' he said; 'she is beginning to look very pale. Tomorrow I will venture to put

some questions respecting the cause of her loss of health. She is much changed indeed, since last July, when I

saw her enact with no little spirit the part of a very killing fine gentleman. As to last night's catastrophe, I am

sure thereby hangs a tale, but we will inquire no further this evening. Goodnight, Miss Lucy.'

And so he kindly led me to the door, and holding a wax candle, lighted me up the one flight of stairs.

When I had said my prayers, and when I was undressed and laid down, I felt that I still had friends. Friends,

not professing vehement attachment, not offering the tender solace of wellmatched and congenial

relationship; on whom, therefore, but moderate demand of affection was to be made, of whom but moderate

expectation formed; but towards whom my heart softened instinctively, and yearned with an importunate

'Do not let me think of them too often, too much, too fondly,' I implored: 'let me be content with a temperate

draught of this living stream: let me not run athirst, and apply passionately to its welcome waters: let me not

imagine in them a sweeter taste than earth's fountains know. Oh! would to God I may be enabled to feel

enough sustained by an occasional, amicable intercourse, rare, brief; unengrossing and tranquil: quite

Still repeating this word, I turned to my pillow; and, still repeating it, I steeped that pillow with tears.

These struggles with the natural character, the strong native bent of the heart, may seem futile and fruitless,

but in the end they do good. They tend, however slightly, to give the actions, the conduct, that turn which

Reason approves, and which Feeling, perhaps, too often opposes: they certainly make a difference in the

general tenor of a life, and enable it to be better regulated, more equable, quieter on the surface; and it is on

the surface only the common gaze will fall. As to what lies below, leave that with God. Man, your equal,

weak as you, and not fit to be your judge, may be shut out thence: take it to your Maker show Him the

secrets of the spirit He gave ask Him how you are to bear the pains He has appointed kneel in His

presence, and pray with faith for light in darkness, for strength in piteous weakness, for patience in extreme

need. Certainly, at some hour, though perhaps not your hour, the waiting waters will stir; in some shape,

though perhaps not the shape you dreamed, which your heart loved, and for which it bled, the healing herald

will descend, the cripple and the blind, and the dumb, and the possessed, will be led to bathe. Herald, come

quickly! Thousands lie round the pool, weeping and despairing, to see it, through slow years, stagnant. Long

are the 'times' of Heaven: the orbits of angel messengers seem wide to mortal vision, they may enring ages:

the cycle of one departure and return may clasp unnumbered generations; and dust, kindling to brief suffering

life, and, through pain, passing back to dust, may meanwhile perish out of memory again, and yet again. To

how many maimed and mourning millions is the first and sole angel visitant, him easterns call Azrael.

I tried to get up next morning, but while I was dressing, and at intervals drinking cold water from the carafe

on my washstand, with design to brace up that trembling weakness which made dressing so difficult, in came

'Here is an absurdity!' was her morning accost. 'Not so,' she added; and dealing with me at once in her own

brusque, energetic fashion that fashion which I used formerly to enjoy seeing applied to her son, and by

him vigorously resisted in two minutes she consigned me captive to the French bed.

'There you lie till afternoon,' said she. 'My boy left orders before he went out that such should be the case,

and I can assure you my son is master and must be obeyed. Presently you shall have breakfast.'

Presently she brought that meal brought it with her own active hands not leaving me to servants. She

seated herself on the bed while I ate. Now it is not everybody, even amongst our respected friends and

esteemed acquaintance, whom we like to have near us, whom we like to watch us, to wait on us, to approach

us with the proximity of a nurse to a patient. It is not every friend whose eye is a light in a sickroom, whose

presence is there a solace: but all this was Mrs. Bretton to me; all this she had ever been. Food or drink never

pleased me so well as when it came through her hands. I do not remember the occasion when her entrance

into a room had not made that room cheerier. Our natures own predilections and antipathies alike strange.

There are people from whom we secretly shrink, whom we would personally avoid, though reason confesses

that they are good people; there are others with faults of temper, etc., evident enough, beside whom we live

content, as if the air about them did us good. My godmother's lively black eye and clear brunette cheek, her

warm, prompt hand, her selfreliant mood, her decided bearing, were all beneficial to me as the atmosphere

of some salubrious climate. Her son used to call her 'the old lady'; it filled me with pleasant wonder to note

how the alacrity and power of fiveandtwenty still breathed from her and around her.

'I would bring my work here,' she said, as she took from me the emptied teacup, 'and sit with you the whole

day, if that overbearing John Graham had not put his veto upon such a proceeding. "Now, mamma," he said,

when he went out, "take notice, you are not to knock up your goddaughter with gossip," and he particularly

desired me to keep close to my own quarters, and spare you my fine company. He says, Lucy, he thinks you

I replied that I did not quite know what my ailment had been, but that I had certainly suffered a good deal,

especially in mind. Further, on this subject, I did not consider it advisable to dwell, for the details of what I

had undergone belonged to a portion of my existence in which I never expected my godmother to take a

share. Into what a new region would such a confidence have led that hale, serene nature! The difference

between her and me might be figured by that between the stately ship cruising safe on smooth seas, with its

full complement of crew, a captain gay and brave, and venturous and provident; and the lifeboat, which

most days of the year lies dry and solitary in an old, dark boathouse, only putting to sea when the billows

run high in rough weather, when cloud encounters water, when danger and death divide between them the

rule of the great deep. No, the Louisa Bretton never was out of harbour on such a night, and in such a scene:

her crew could not conceive it; so the halfdrowned lifeboat man keeps his own counsel, and spins no

She left me, and I lay in bed content: it was good of Graham to remember me before he went out.

My day was lonely, but the prospect of coming evening abridged and cheered it. Then, too, I felt weak, and

rest seemed welcome; and after the morning hours were gone by those hours which always bring, even to

the necessarily unoccupied, a sense of business to be done, of tasks waiting fulfilment, a vague impression of

obligation to be employed when this stirring time was past, and the silent descent of afternoon hushed

housemaid steps on the stairs and in the chambers, I then passed into a dreamy mood, not unpleasant.

My calm little room seemed somehow like a cave in the sea. There was no colour about it, except that white

and pale green, suggestive of foam and deep water: the blanched cornice was adorned with shellshaped

ornaments, and there were white mouldings like dolphins in the ceiling angles. Even that one touch of colour

visible in the red satin pincushion bore affinity to coral; even that dark, shining glass might have mirrored a

mermaid. When I closed my eyes, I heard a gale, subsiding at last, bearing upon the housefront like a

settling swell upon a rockbase. I heard it drawn and withdrawn far, far off like a tide retiring from a shore of

the upper world a world so high above that the rush of its largest waves, the dash of its fiercest breakers,

Amidst these dreams came evening, and then Martha brought a light; with her aid I was quickly dressed, and,

stronger now than in the morning, I made my way down to the blue saloon unassisted.

Dr. John, it appears, had concluded his round of professional calls earlier than usual; his form was the first

object that met my eyes as I entered the parlour; he stood in that windowrecess opposite the door, reading

the close type of a newspaper by such dull light as closing day yet gave. The fire shone clear, but the lamp

As to Mrs. Bretton, my active godmother who, I afterwards found, had been out in the open air all day lay

halfreclined in her deep cushioned chair, actually lost in a nap. Her son, seeing me, came forward. I noticed

that he trod carefully, not to wake the sleeper; he also spoke low: his mellow voice never had any sharpness

in it; modulated as at present, it was calculated rather to soothe than startle slumber.

'This is a quiet little château,' he observed, after inviting me to sit near the casement, 'I don't know whether

you may have noticed it in your walks: though, indeed, from the chaussée it is not visible; just a mile beyond

the Porte de Crécy, you turn down a lane which soon becomes an avenue, and that leads you on, through

meadow and shade to the very door of this house. It is not a modern place, but built somewhat in the old style

of the BasseVille. It is rather a manoir than a château; they call it "La Terrasse," because its front rises from

a broad turfed walk, whence steps lead down a grassy slope to the avenue. See yonder! The moon rises: she

Where, indeed, does the moon not look well? What is the scene, confined or expansive, which her orb does

not hallow? Rosy or fiery, she mounted now above a not distant bank; even while we watched her flushed

ascent, she cleared to gold, and in very brief space, floated up stainless into a now calm sky. Did moonlight

soften or sadden Dr. Bretton? Did it touch him with romance? I think it did. Albeit of no sighing mood, he

sighed in watching it: sighed to himself quietly. No need to ponder the cause or the course of that sigh; I

knew it was wakened by beauty: I knew it pursued Ginevra. Knowing this, the idea pressed upon me that it

was in some sort my duty to speak the name he meditated. Of course he was ready for the subject: I saw in

his countenance a teeming plenitude of comment, question and interest; a pressure of language and sentiment,

only checked, I thought, by sense of embarrassment how to begin. To spare him this embarrassment was my

best, indeed my sole use. I had but to utter the idol's name, and love's tender litany would flow out. I had just

found a fitting phrase: 'You know that Miss Fanshawe is gone on a tour with the Cholmondeleys,' and was

opening my lips to speak it, when he scattered my plans by introducing another theme.

'The first thing this morning,' said he, putting his sentiment in his pocket, turning from the moon, and sitting

down, 'I went to the Rue Fossette, and told the cuisinière that you were safe and in good hands. Do you know

that I actually found that she had not yet discovered your absence from the house: she thought you safe in the

'Oh! all that is very conceivable,' said I. 'Goton could do nothing for me but bring me a little tisane and a crust

of bread, and I had rejected both so often during the past week, that the good woman got tired of useless

journeys from the dwellinghouse kitchen to the school dormitory, and only came once a day at noon to

make my bed. Believe, however, that she is a goodnatured creature, and would have been delighted to cook

'I am not quite sure what my nervous system is, but I was dreadfully lowspirited.'

'Which disables me from helping you by pill or potion. Medicine can give nobody good spirits. My art halts

at the threshold of Hypochondria: she just looks in and sees a chamber of torture, but can neither say nor do

much. Cheerful society would be of use; you should be as little alone as possible; you should take plenty of

Acquiescence and a pause followed these remarks. They sounded all right, I thought, and bore the safe

'Miss Snowe,' recommenced Dr. John my health, nervous system included, being now, somewhat to my

relief discussed and done, with 'is it permitted me to ask what your religion is? Are you a Catholic?'

'I consigned to you? But, indeed, I forget. It yet remains for me to learn how I fell into your hands.'

'Why, under circumstances that puzzled me. I had been in attendance all day yesterday on a case of singularly

interesting and critical character; the disease being rare, and its treatment doubtful: I saw a similar and still

finer case in a hospital in Paris; but that will not interest you. At last a mitigation of the patient's most urgent

symptoms (acute pain is one of its accompaniments) liberated me, and I set out homeward. My shortest way

lay through the BasseVille, and as the night was excessively dark, wild, and wet, I took it. In riding past an

old church belonging to a community of Béguines, I saw by a lamp burning over the porch or deep arch of

the entrance, a priest lifting some object in his arms. The lamp was bright enough to reveal the priest's

features clearly, and I recognised him; he was a man I have often met by the sick beds of both rich and poor:

and chiefly the latter. He is, I think, a good old man, far better than most of his class in this country; superior,

indeed, in every way, better informed, as well as more devoted to duty. Our eyes met; he called on me to

'"This person is one of your countrywomen," he said: "save her, if she is not dead."

'My countrywoman, on examination, turned out to be the English teacher at Madame Beck's pensionnat. She

'He communicated a curious account; that you had been to him that evening at confessional; that your

'Awful crimes, no doubt; but he did not tell me what: there, you know, the seal of the confessional checked

his garrulity and my curiosity. Your confidences, however, had not made an enemy of the good father; it

seems he was so struck, and felt so sorry that you should be out on such a night alone, that he had esteemed it

a Christian duty to watch you when you quitted the church, and so to manage as not to lose sight of you till

you should have reached home. Perhaps the worthy man might, half unconsciously, have blent in this

proceeding some little of the subtility of his class: it might have been his resolve to learn the locality of your

'I did not: on the contrary, I carefully avoided the shadow of any indication: and as to my confession, Dr.

John, I suppose you will think me mad for taking such a step, but I could not help it: I suppose it was all the

fault of what you call my "nervous system." I cannot put the case into words, but my days and nights were

grown intolerable; a cruel sense of desolation pained my mind: a feeling that would make its way, rush out, or

kill me like (and this you will understand, Dr. John) the current which passes through the heart, and which,

if aneurism or any other morbid cause obstructs its natural channels, seeks abnormal outlet. I wanted

companionship, I wanted friendship, I wanted counsel. I could find none of these in closet or chamber, so I

went and sought them in church and confessional. As to what I said, it was no confidence, no narrative. I

have done nothing wrong: my life has not been active enough for any dark deed, either of romance or reality:

'Lucy, you ought to travel for about six months: why, your calm nature is growing quite excitable! Confound

Madame Beck! Has the little buxom widow no bowels, to condemn her best teacher to solitary confinement?'

'It was not Madame Beck's fault,' said I; 'it is no living being's fault, and I won't hear anyone blamed.'

'Me Dr. John me; and a great abstraction on whose wide shoulders I like to lay the mountains of blame

'"Me" must take better care in future,' said Dr. John, smiling, I suppose, at my bad grammar.

'Change of air change of scene; those are my prescriptions,' pursued the practical young doctor. 'But to

return to our muttons, Lucy. As yet, Père Silas, with all his tact (they say he is a Jesuit), is no wiser than you

choose him to be: for, instead of returning to the Rue Fossette, your fevered wanderings there must have

'No, Dr. John: the fever took its turn that night now, don't make out that I was delirious, for I know

'Good! you were as collected as myself at this moment, no doubt! Your wanderings had taken an opposite

direction to the Pensionnat. Near the Bèguinage, amidst the stress of flood and gust, and in the perplexity of

darkness, you had swooned and fallen. The priest came to your succour, and the physician, as we have seen,

supervened. Between us we procured a fiacre and brought you here. Père Silas, old as he is, would carry you

upstairs, and lay you on that couch himself. He would certainly have remained with you till suspended

animation had been restored: and so should I, but at that juncture, a hurried messenger arrived from the dying

patient I had scarcely left the last duties were called for the physician's last visit and the priest's last rite;

extreme unction could not be deferred. Père Silas and myself departed together, my mother was spending the

evening abroad; we gave you in charge to Martha, leaving directions, which it seems she followed

'Not yet,' said I, with a smile. 'And never let Père Silas know where I live, or he will try to convert me; but

give him my best and truest thanks when you see him, and if ever I get rich I will send him money for his

Which he did; and, as Mrs. Bretton sat up astonished and indignant at herself for the indulgence to which

she had succumbed, and fully prepared to deny that she had slept at all her son came gaily to the attack:

'Hushaby, mamma! sleep again. You look the picture of innocence in your slumbers.'

'My slumbers, John Graham! What are you talking about? You know I never do sleep by day; it was the

'Exactly! a seraph's gentle lapse a fairy's dream. Mamma, under such circumstances, you always remind me

'Miss Snowe did you ever hear anything like mamma's wit? She is a most sprightly woman of her size and

'Keep your compliments to yourself sir, and do not neglect your own size: which seems to me a good deal on

the increase. Lucy, has he not rather the air of an incipient John Bull? He used to be slender as an eel, and

now I fancy in him a sort of heavydragoon bent a beefeater tendency. Graham, take notice! If you grow

'As if you could not sooner disown your own personality! I am indispensable to the old lady's happiness,

Lucy. She would pine away in green and yellow melancholy if she had not my six feet of iniquity to scold. It

The two were now standing opposite to each other, one on each side the fireplace; their words were not very

fond, but their mutual looks atoned for verbal deficiencies. At least, the best treasure of Mrs. Bretton's life

was certainly casketed in her son's bosom; her dearest pulse throbbed in his heart. As to him, of course

another love shared his feelings with filial love; and, no doubt, as the new passion was the latest born, so he

assigned it in his emotions Benjamin's portion. Ginevra! Ginevra! Did Mrs. Bretton yet know at whose feet

her own young idol had laid his homage? Would she approve that choice? I could not tell; but I could well

guess that if she knew Miss Fanshawe's conduct towards Graham; her alternations between coldness and

coaxing, and repulse and allurement; if she could at all suspect the pain with which she had tried him; if she

could have seen, as I had seen, his fine spirits subdued and harassed, his inferior preferred before him, his

subordinate made the instrument of his humiliation then Mrs. Bretton would have pronounced Ginevra

That second evening passed as sweetly as the first more sweetly indeed: we enjoyed a smoother

interchange of thought; old troubles were not reverted to, acquaintance was better cemented; I felt happier,

easier, more at home. That night instead of crying myself asleep I went down to dreamland by a pathway

During the first days of my stay at the Terrace, Graham never took a seat near me, or in his frequent pacing of

the room approached the quarter where I sat, or looked preoccupied, or more grave than usual, but I thought

of Miss Fanshawe and expected her name to leap from his lips. I kept my ear and mind in perpetual readiness

for the tender theme; my patience was ordered to be permanently under arms, and my sympathy desired to

keep its cornucopia replenished and ready for outpouring. At last, and after a little inward struggle which I

saw and respected, he one day launched into the topic. It was introduced delicately; anonymously as it were.

'Your friend is spending her vacation in travelling I hear?' 'Friend, forsooth!' thought I to myself: but it would

not do to contradict; he must have his own way; I must own the soft impeachment: friend let it be. Still, by

He had taken a seat at my worktable; he now laid hands on a reel of thread which he proceeded recklessly to

'Ginevra Miss Fanshawe, has accompanied the Cholmondeleys on a tour through the south of France?'

'It will astonish you to hear that I never once thought of making application for that privilege.'

'They will not be deficient in wit and naïveté; there is so much sparkle, and so little art in her soul?'

'She writes comprehensively enough when she writes to M. de Bassompierre: he who runs may read.' (In fact,

Ginevra's epistles to her wealthy kinsman were commonly business documents, unequivocal applications for

'I verily believe that all she does is well done,' said Dr. John; and as I seemed in no hurry to chime in with this

remark, he added: 'You, who know her, could you name a point in which she is deficient?'

'She does several things very well.' ('Flirtation amongst the rest,' subjoined I, in thought.)

'Pardon me, Dr. John, I must explain. You honour me too much in ascribing to me a degree of intimacy with

Miss Fanshawe I have not the felicity to enjoy. I have never been the depositary of her plans and secrets. You

will find her particular friends in another sphere than mine: amongst the Cholmondeleys, for instance.'

He actually thought I was stung with a kind of jealous pain similar to his own! 'Excuse her,' he said; 'judge

her indulgently; the glitter of fashion misleads her, but she will soon find out that these people are hollow,

and will return to you with augmented attachment and confirmed trust. I know something of the

Cholmondeleys: superficial showy, selfish people; depend on it, at heart Ginevra values you beyond a score

'You are very kind,' I said briefly. A disclaimer of the sentiments attributed to me burned on my lips, but I

extinguished the flame. I submitted to be looked upon as the humiliated, castoff, and now pining confidante

'Yet, you see,' continued Graham, 'while I comfort you, I cannot take the same consolation to myself; I cannot

hope she will do me justice. De Hamal is most worthless, yet I fear he pleases her: wretched delusion!'

My patience really gave way, and without notice: all at once. I suppose illness and weakness had worn it and

'Dr. Bretton,' I broke out, 'there is no delusion like your own. On all points but one you are a man, frank,

healthful, rightthinking, clearsighted: on this exceptional point you are but a slave. I declare, where Miss

This little scene took place in the morning; I had to meet him again in the evening, and then I saw I had done

mischief. He was not made of common clay, not put together out of vulgar materials; while the outlines of his

nature had been shaped with breadth and vigour, the details embraced workmanship of almost feminine

delicacy: finer, much finer, than you could be prepared to meet with; than you could believe inherent in him,

even after years of acquaintance. Indeed, till some oversharp contact with his nerves had betrayed, by its

effects, their acute sensibility, this elaborate construction must be ignored; and the more especially because

the sympathetic faculty was not prominent in him: to feel, and to seize quickly another's feelings, are separate

properties; a few constructions possess both, some neither. Dr. John had the one in exquisite perfection; and

because I have admitted that he was not endowed with the other in equal degree, the reader will considerately

refrain from passing to an extreme, and pronouncing him unsympathising, unfeeling: on the contrary, he was

a kind, generous man. Make your need known, his hand was open. Put your grief into words, he turned no

deaf ear. Expect refinements of perception, miracles of intuition, and realise disappointment. This night,

when Dr. John entered the room, and met the evening lamp, I saw well and at one glance his whole

To one who had named him 'slave,' and, on any point, banned him from respect, he must how have peculiar

feelings. That the epithet was well applied, and the ban just, might be; he put forth no denial that it was so:

his mind even candidly revolved that unmanning possibility. He sought in this accusation the cause of that

illsuccess which had got so galling a hold on his mental peace. Amid the worry of a selfcondemnatory

soliloquy, his demeanour seemed grave, perhaps cold, both to me and his mother. And yet there was no bad

feeling, no malice, no rancour, no littleness in his countenance, beautiful with a man's best beauty, even in its

depression. When I placed his chair at the table, which I hastened to do, anticipating the servant, and when I

'Thank you, Lucy,' in as kindly a tone of his full pleasant voice as ever my ear welcomed.

For my part, there was only one plan to be pursued; I must expiate my culpable vehemence, or I must not

sleep that night. This would not do at all; I could not stand it: I made no pretence of capacity to wage war on

this footing. School solitude, conventual silence and stagnation, anything seemed preferable to living

embroiled with Dr. John. As to Ginevra, she might take the silver wings of a dove, or any other fowl that

flies, and mount straight up to the highest place, among the highest stars, where her lover's highest flight of

fancy chose to fix the constellation of her charms: never more be it mine to dispute the arrangement. Long I

tried to catch his eye. Again and again that eye just met mine; but, having nothing to say, it withdrew, and I

was baffled. After tea, he sat, sad and quiet, reading a book. I wished I could have dared to go and sit near

him, but it seemed that if I ventured to take that step, he would infallibly evince hostility and indignation. I

longed to speak out, and I dared not whisper. His mother left the room; then, moved by insupportable regret, I

He looked up from his book; his eyes were not cold or malevolent, his mouth was not cynical; he was ready

and willing to hear what I might have to say: his spirit was of vintage too mellow and generous to sour in one

He smiled that moment I spoke. 'Perhaps I deserved them, Lucy. If you don't respect me, I am sure it is

because I am not respectable. I fear I am an awkward fool: I must manage badly in some way, for where I

'Of that you cannot be sure; and even if such be the case, is it the fault of your character, or of another's

perceptions? But now, let me unsay what I said in anger. In one thing, and in all things, I deeply respect you.

If you think scarcely enough of yourself and too much of others, what is that but an excellence?'

'I believe you may; you believe you can't. Let us agree to differ. Let me be pardoned; that is what I ask.'

'I see you do not and cannot; but just say, "Lucy, I forgive you!" Say that, to ease me of the heartache.'

'Put away your heartache, as I will put away mine; for you wounded me a little, Lucy. Now, when the pain is

Reader, if in the course of this work, you find that my opinion of Dr. John, undergoes modification, excuse

the seeming inconsistency. I give the feeling as at the time I felt it; I describe the view of character as it

He showed the fineness of his nature by being kinder to me after that misunderstanding than before. Nay, the

very incident which, by my theory, must in some degree estrange me and him, changed, indeed, somewhat

our relations; but not in the sense I painfully anticipated. An invisible, but a cold something, very slight, very

transparent, but very chill: a sort of screen of ice had hitherto, all through our two lives, glazed the medium

through which we exchanged intercourse. Those few warm words, though only warm with anger, breathed on

that frail frostwork of reserve; about this time, it gave note of dissolution. I think from that day, so long as

we continued friends, he never in discourse stood on topics of ceremony with me. He seemed to know that if

he would but talk about himself; and about that in which he was most interested, my expectation would

always be answered, my wish always satisfied. It follows, as a matter of course, that I continued to hear much

'Ginevra!' He thought her so fair, so good; he spoke so lovingly of her charms, her sweetness, her innocence,

that, in spite of my plain prose knowledge of the reality, a kind of reflected glow began to settle on her idea,

even for me. Still, reader, I am free to confess, that he often talked nonsense; but I strove to be unfailingly

patient with him. I had had my lesson: I had learned how severe for me was the pain of crossing, or grieving,

or disappointing him. In a strange and new sense, I grew most selfish, and quite powerless to deny myself the

delight of indulging his mood and being pliant to his will. He still seemed to me most absurd when he

obstinately doubted, and desponded about his power to win in the end Miss Fanshawe's preference. The fancy

became rooted in my own mind more stubbornly than ever, that she was only coquetting to goad him, and

that, at heart, she coveted every one of his words and looks. Sometimes he harassed me, in spite of my

resolution to bear and hear; in the midst of the indescribable gallhoney pleasure of thus bearing and hearing,

he struck so on the flint of what firmness I owned, that it emitted fire once and again. I chanced to assert one

day, with a view to stilling his impatience, that in my own mind I felt positive Miss Fanshawe must intend

'You know them as well as I; and, knowing them, Dr. John, it really amazes me that you should not repose

the frankest confidence in her fidelity. To doubt, under the circumstances, is almost to insult.'

'Now you are beginning to speak fast and to breathe short; but speak a little faster and breathe a little shorter;

'You shall, Dr. John. In some cases you are a lavish, generous man: you are a worshipper ever ready with the

votive offering: should Père Silas ever convert you, you will give him abundance of alms for his poor, you

will supply his altar with tapers, and the shrine of your favourite saint you will do your best to enrich;

'Hush, I will not: and go on I will: Ginevra has had her hands filled from your hands more times than I can

count. You have sought for her the costliest flowers; you have busied your brain in devising gifts the most

delicate: such, one would have thought, as only a woman could have imagined; and in addition, Miss

Fanshawe owns a set of ornaments, to purchase which your generosity must have verged on extravagance.'

The modesty Ginevra herself had never evinced in this matter, now flushed all over the face of her admirer.

'Nonsense!' he said, destructively snipping a skein of silk with my scissors. 'I offered them to please myself: I

'She did more than a favour, Dr. John: she pledged her very honour that she would make you some return;

and if she cannot pay you in affection, she ought to hand out a businesslike equivalent, in the shape of some

'But you don't understand her; she is far too disinterested to care for my gifts, and too simpleminded to

I laughed out: I had heard her adjudge to every jewel its price; and well I knew moneyembarrassment,

moneyschemes, money's worth, and endeavours to realise supplies, had, young as she was, furnished the

He pursued. 'You should have seen her whenever I have laid on her lap some trifle; so cool, so unmoved: no

eagerness to take, not even pleasure in contemplating. Just from amiable reluctance to grieve me, she would

permit the bouquet to lie beside her, and perhaps consent to bear it away. Or, if I achieved the fastening of a

bracelet on her ivory arm, however pretty the trinket might be (and I always carefully chose what seemed to

me pretty, and what of course was not valueless), the glitter never dazzled her bright eyes: she would hardly

'No; for such a repulse she was too goodnatured. She would consent to seem to forget what I had done, and

retain the offering with ladylike quiet and easy oblivion. Under such circumstances, how can a man build on

acceptance of his presents as a favourable symptom? For my part, were I to offer her all I have, and she to

take it, such is her incapacity to be swayed by sordid considerations, I should not venture to believe the

'Dr. John,' I began, 'Love is blind;' but just then a blue, subtle ray sped sideways from Dr. John's eye: it

reminded me of old days, it reminded me of his picture: it half led me to think that part, at least, of his

professed persuasion of Miss Fanshawe's naïveté, was assumed; it led me dubiously to conjecture that

perhaps, in spite of his passion for her beauty, his appreciation of her foibles might possibly be less mistaken,

more clearsighted, than from his general language was presumable. After all it might be only a chance look,

or at best, the token of a merely momentary impression. Chance or intentional, real or imaginary, it closed the

My stay at La Terrasse was prolonged a fortnight beyond the close of the vacation. Mrs. Bretton's kind

management procured me this respite. Her son having one day delivered the dictum that 'Lucy was not yet

strong enough to go back to that den of a Pensionnat,' she at once drove over to the Rue Fossette, had an

interview with the directress, and procured the indulgence, on the plea of prolonged rest and change being

necessary to perfect recovery. Hereupon, however, followed an attention I could very well have dispensed

That lady one fine day actually came out in a fiacre as far as the château. I suppose she had resolved

within herself to see what manner of place Dr. John inhabited. Apparently, the pleasant site and neat interior

surpassed her expectations; she eulogised all she saw, pronounced the blue salon 'une pièce magnifique,'

profusely congratulated me on the acquisition of friends, 'tellement dignes, aimables, et respectables,' turned

also a neat compliment in my favour, and, upon Dr. John coming in, ran up to him with the utmost buoyancy,

opening at the same time such a fire of rapid language, all sparkling with felicitations and protestations about

his 'château' 'madame sa mère, la digne châtelaine:' also his looks; which, indeed, were very flourishing,

and at the moment additionally embellished by the goodnatured but amused smile with which he always

listened to Madame's fluent and florid French. In short, Madame shone in her very best phase that day, and

came in and went out quite a living catherinewheel of compliments, delight and affability. Halfpurposely,

and half to ask some question about schoolbusiness, I followed her to the carriage, and looked in after she

was seated and the door closed. In that brief fraction of time what a change had been wrought! An instant

ago, all sparkles and jests, she now sat sterner than a judge and graver than a sage. Strange little woman!

I went back and teased Dr. John about Madame's devotion to him. How he laughed! What fun shone in his

eyes as he recalled some of her fine speeches, and repeated them, imitating her voluble delivery! He had an

acute sense of humour, and was the finest company in the world when he could forget Miss Fanshawe.

To 'sit in sunshine calm and sweet' is said to be excellent for weak people; it gives them vital force. When

little Georgette Beck was recovering from her illness, I used to take her in my arms and walk with her in the

garden by the hour together, beneath a certain wall hung with grapes, which the Southern sun was ripening:

that sun cherished her little pale frame quite as effectually as it mellowed and swelled the clustering fruit.

There are human tempers, bland, glowing, and genial, within whose influence it is as good for the poor in

spirit to live, as it is for the feeble in frame to bask in the glow of noon. Of the number of these choice natures

were certainly both Dr. Bretton's and his mother's. They liked to communicate happiness, as some like to

occasion misery: they did it instinctively; without fuss, and apparently with little consciousness; the means to

give pleasure rose spontaneously in their minds. Every day while I stayed with them, some little plan was

proposed which resulted in beneficial enjoyment. Fully occupied as was Dr. John's time, he still made it in his

way to accompany us in each brief excursion. I can hardly tell how he managed his engagements; they were

numerous, yet by dint of system, he classed them in an order which left him a daily period of liberty. I often

saw him hardworked, yet seldom overdriven, and never irritated, confused, or oppressed. What he did was

accomplished with the ease and grace of allsufficing strength; with the bountiful cheerfulness of high and

unbroken energies. Under his guidance I saw, in that one happy fortnight, more of Villette, its environs, and

its inhabitants than I had seen in the whole eight months of my previous residence. He took me to places of

interest in the town, of whose names I had not before so much as heard; with willingness and spirit he

communicated much noteworthy information. He never seemed to think it a trouble to talk to me, and, I am

sure, it was never a task to me to listen. It was not his way to treat subjects coldly and vaguely; he rarely

generalised, never prosed. He seemed to like nice details almost as much as I liked them myself; he seemed

observant of character: and not superficially observant either. These points gave the quality of interest to his

discourse; and the fact of his speaking direct from his own resources, and not borrowing or stealing from

books here a dry fact, and there a trite phrase, and elsewhere a hackneyed opinion ensured a freshness as

welcome as it was rare. Before my eyes, too, his disposition seemed to unfold another phase; to pass to a

His mother possessed a good development of benevolence, but he owned a better and larger. I found, on

accompanying him to the BasseVille the poor and crowded quarter of the city that his errands there

were as much those of the philanthropist as the physician. I understood presently that cheerfully, habitually,

and in singleminded unconsciousness of any special merit distinguishing his deeds he was achieving,

amongst a very wretched population, a world of active good. The lower orders liked him well; his poor

But stop I must not, from the faithful narrator, degenerate into the partial eulogist. Well, full well, do I

know that Dr. John was not perfect, any more than I am perfect. Human fallibility leavened him throughout:

there was no hour, and scarcely a moment of the time I spent with him, that in act, or speech, or look, he did

not betray something that was not of a god. A god could not have the cruel vanity of Dr. John, nor his

sometime levity. No immortal could have resembled him in his occasional temporary oblivion of all but the

present in his passing passion for that present; shown not coarsely, by devoting it to material indulgence,

but selfishly, by extracting from it whatever it could yield of nutriment to his masculine selflove; his delight

was to feed that ravenous sentiment, without thought of the price of provender, or care for the cost of keeping

The reader is requested to note a seeming contradiction in the two views which have been given of Graham

Bretton the public and private the outdoor and the indoor view. In the first, the public, he is shown

oblivious of self; as modest in the display of his energies, as earnest in their exercise. In the second, the

fireside picture, there is expressed consciousness of what he has and what he is; pleasure in homage, some

recklessness in exciting, some vanity in receiving the same. Both portraits are correct.

It was hardly possible to oblige Dr. John quietly and in secret. When you thought that the fabrication of some

trifle dedicated to his use had been achieved unnoticed, and that, like other men, he would use it when placed

ready for his use, and never ask whence it came, he amazed you by a smilinglyuttered observation or two

proving that his eye had been on the work from commencement to close: that he had noted the design, traced

its progress, and marked its completion. It pleased him to be thus served, and he let his pleasure beam in his

This would have been all very well, if he had not added to such kindly and unobtrusive evidence a certain

wilfulness in discharging what he called debts. When his mother worked for him, he paid her by showering

about her his bright animal spirits, with even more affluence than his gay, taunting, teasing, loving wont. If

Lucy Snowe were discovered to have put her hand to such work, he planned, in recompense, some pleasant

I often felt amazed at his perfect knowledge of Villette; a knowledge not merely confined to its open streets,

but penetrating to all its galleries, salles and cabinets: of every door which shut in an object worth seeing, of

every museum, of every hall sacred to art or science, he seemed to possess the 'Open! Sesame.' I never had a

head for science, but an ignorant, blind, fond instinct inclined me to art. I liked to visit the picture galleries,

and I dearly liked to be left there alone. In company, a wretched idiosyncracy forbade me to see much or to

feel anything. In unfamiliar company, where it was necessary to maintain a flow of talk on the subjects in

presence, halfanhour would knock me up, with a combined pressure of physical lassitude and entire mental

incapacity. I never yet saw the wellreared child, much less the educated adult, who could not put me to

shame, by the sustained intelligence of its demeanour under the ordeal of a conversable, sociable visitation of

pictures, historical sights or buildings, or any lions of public interest. Dr. Bretton was a cicerone after my

own heart; he would take me betimes, ere the galleries were filled, leave me there for two or three hours, and

call for me when his own engagements were discharged. Meantime, I was happy; happy, not always in

admiring, but in examining, questioning, and forming conclusions. In the commencement of these visits,

there was some misunderstanding and consequent struggle between Will and Power. The former faculty

exacted approbation of that which it was considered orthodox to admire; the latter groaned forth its utter

inability to pay the tax; it was then selfsneered at, spurred up, goaded on to refine its taste, and whet its zest.

The more it was chidden, however, the more it wouldn't praise. Discovering gradually that a wonderful sense

of fatigue resulted from these conscientious efforts, I began to reflect whether I might not dispense with that

great labour, and concluded eventually that I might, and so sank supine into a luxury of calm before

It seemed to me that an original and good picture was just as scarce as an original and good book; nor did I,

in the end, tremble to say to myself, standing before certain chefd'oeuvres bearing great names, 'These are

not a whit like nature. Nature's daylight never had that colour: never was made so turbid, either by storm or

cloud, as it is laid out there, under a sky of indigo: and that indigo is not ether; and those dark weeds plastered

upon it are not trees.' Several very well executed and complacentlooking fat women struck me as by no

means the goddesses they appeared to consider themselves. Many scores of marvellouslyfinished little

Flemish pictures, and also of sketches, excellent for fashionbooks displaying varied costumes in the

handsomest materials, gave evidence of laudable industry whimsically applied. And yet there were fragments

of truth here and there which satisfied the conscience, and gleams of light that cheered the vision. Nature's

power here broke through in a mountain snowstorm; and there her glory in a sunny southern day. An

expression in this portrait proved clear insight into character; a face in that historical painting, by its vivid

filial likeness, startlingly reminded you that genius gave it birth. These exceptions I loved: they grew dear as

One day, at a quiet early hour, I found myself nearly alone in a certain gallery, wherein one particular' picture

of portentous size, set up in the best light, having a cordon of protection stretched before it, and a cushioned

bench duly set in front for the accommodation of worshipping connoisseurs. who, having gazed themselves

off their feet, might be fain to complete the business sitting: this picture, I say, seemed to consider itself the

It represented a woman, considerably larger, I thought, than the life. I calculated that this lady, put into a

scale of magnitude suitable for the reception of a commodity of bulk, would infallibly turn from fourteen to

sixteen stone. She was, indeed, extremely well fed: very much butcher's meat to say nothing of bread,

vegetables, and liquids must she have consumed to attain that breadth and height, that wealth of muscle,

that affluence of flesh. She lay halfreclined on a couch: why, it would be difficult to say; broad daylight

blazed round her; she appeared in hearty health, strong enough to do the work of two plain cooks; she could

not plead a weak spine; she ought to have been standing, or at least sitting bolt upright. She had no business

to lounge away the noon on a sofa. She ought likewise to have worn decent garments; a gown covering her

properly, which was not the case: out of abundance of material sevenandtwenty yards, I should say, of

drapery she managed to make inefficient raiment. Then, for the wretched untidiness surrounding her, there

could be no excuse. Pots and pans perhaps I ought to say vases and goblets were rolled here and there on

the foreground; a perfect rubbish of flowers was mixed amongst them, and an absurd and disorderly mass of

curtain upholstery smothered the couch and cumbered the floor. On referring to the catalogue, I found that

Well, I was sitting wondering at it (as the bench was there, I thought I might as well take advantage of its

accommodation), and thinking that while some of the details as roses, gold cups, jewels, etc., were very

prettily painted, it was on the whole an enormous piece of claptrap; the room, almost vacant when I entered,

began to fill. Scarcely noticing this circumstance (as, indeed, it did not matter to me) I retained my seat;

rather to rest myself than with a view to studying this huge, darkcomplexioned gipsyqueen; of whom,

indeed, I soon tired, and betook myself for refreshment to the contemplation of some exquisite little pictures

of still life: wild flowers, wildfruit, mossy woodnests, casketing eggs that looked like pearls seen through

clear green seawater; all hung modestly beneath that coarse and preposterous canvass.

Suddenly a light tap visited my shoulder. Starting, turning, I met a face bent to encounter mine; a frowning,

'Vous vous amusez! et à quoi, s'il vous plait? Mais d'abord, faitesmoi le plaisir de vous lever; prenez mon

I did precisely as I was bid. M. Paul Emanuel (it was he) returned from Rome, and now a travelled man, was

not likely to be less tolerant of insubordination now, than before this added distinction laurelled his temples.

M. Paul's hair was shorn close as raven's down, or I think it would have bristled on his head. Beginning now

to perceive his drift, I had a certain pleasure in keeping cool, and working him up.

'Astounding insular audacity!' cried the Professor. 'Singulières femmes que ces Anglaises!'

'Matter! How dare you, a young person, sit coolly down, with the selfpossession of a garçon, and look at

'It is a very ugly picture, but I cannot at all see why I should not look at it.'

'If, however, I have no society no party, as you say? And then, what does it signify whether I am alone, or

'Taisezvous, et asseyezvous là là!' Setting down a chair with emphasis in a particularly dull corner,

'Mais, mademoiselle, asseyezvous, et ne bougez pas entendezvous? jusqu'à ce qu'on vienne vous

And 'laids,' indeed, they were; being a set of four, denominated in the catalogue 'La vie d'une femme.' They

were painted rather in a remarkable style flat, dead, pale, and formal. The first represented a 'Jeune Fille,'

coming out of a church door, a missal in her hand, her dress very prim, her eyes cast down, her mouth pursed

up the image of a most villainous little precocious shehypocrite. The second, a 'Mariée' with a long white

veil, kneeling, at a priedieu in her chamber, holding her hands plastered together, finger to finger, and

showing the whites of her eyes in a most exasperating manner. The third, a 'Jeune Mère,' hanging

disconsolate over a clayey and puffy baby with a face like an unwholesome full moon. The fourth, a 'Veuve,'

being a black woman, holding by the hand a black little girl, and the twain studiously surveying an elegant

French monument, set up in a corner of some Père la Chaise. All these four 'Anges' were grim and grey as

burglars, and cold and vapid as ghosts. What women to live with! insincere, illhumoured, bloodless,

brainless nonentities! As bad in their way as the indolent gypsygiantess, the Cleopatra, in hers.

It was impossible to keep one's attention long confined to these masterpieces, and so, by degrees, I veered

A perfect crowd of spectators was by this time gathered round the Lioness, from whose vicinage I had been

banished; nearly half this crowd were ladies, but M. Paul afterwards told me, these were 'des dames,' and it

was quite proper for them to contemplate what no 'demoiselle' ought to glance at. I assured him plainly I

could not agree in this doctrine, and did not see the sense of it; whereupon, with his usual absolutism, he

merely requested my silence, and also, in the same breath, denounced my mingled rashness and ignorance. A

more despotic little man than M. Paul never filled a professor's chair. I noticed, by the way, that he looked at

the picture himself quite at his ease, and for a very long while; he did not, however, neglect to glance from

time to time my way, in order, I suppose, to make sure that I was obeying orders, and not breaking bounds.

He shrugged his shoulders; varied and contradictory expressions played rapidly over his countenance. Marie

Broc was well known to M. Paul; he never gave a lesson in the third division (containing the least advanced

pupils), that she did not occasion in him a sharp conflict between antagonistic impressions. Her personal

appearance, her repulsive manners, her often unmanageable disposition, irritated his temper, and inspired him

with strong antipathy; a feeling he was too apt to conceive when his taste was offended or his will thwarted.

On the other hand, her misfortunes constituted a strong claim on his forbearance and compassion such a

claim as it was not in his nature to deny; hence resulted almost daily drawn battles between impatience and

disgust on the one hand, pity and a sense of justice on the other; in which, to his credit be it said, it was very

seldom that the former feelings prevailed: when they did, however, M. Paul showed a phase of character

which had its terrors. His passions were strong, his aversions and attachments alike vivid; the force he exerted

in holding both in check by no means mitigated an observer's sense of their vehemence. With such

tendencies, it may well be supposed he often excited in ordinary minds fear and dislike; yet it was an error to

fear him: nothing drove him so nearly frantic as the tremor of an apprehensive and distrustful spirit; nothing

soothed him like confidence tempered with gentleness. To evince these sentiments, however, required a

thorough comprehension of his nature; and his nature was of an order rarely comprehended.

'You have, then, a weak heart! You lack courage; and, perhaps, charity. Yours are not the qualities which

(He was a religious little man, in his way: the selfdenying and selfsacrificing part of the Catholic religion

'I don't know, indeed: I took as good care of her as I could; but when her aunt came to fetch her away, it was

'Ah! you are an egotist. There are women who have nursed hospitalsfull of similar unfortunates. You could

'Women who are worthy the name ought infinitely to surpass our coarse, fallible, selfindulgent sex, in the

'I washed her, I kept her clean, I fed her, I tried to amuse her; but she made mouths at me instead of speaking.'

'Vraiment! Vous valez peu de chose. You are not cast in an heroic mould; your courage will not avail to

sustain you in solitude; it merely gives you the temerity to gaze with sangfroid at pictures of Cleopatra.'

It would have been easy to show anger at the teasing, hostile tone of the little man. I had never been angry

'Cleopatra!' I repeated, quietly. 'Monsieur, too has been looking at Cleopatra; what does he think of her?'

'Cela ne vaut rien,' he responded. 'Une femme superbe une taille d'impératrice, des formes de Junon, mais

une personne dont je ne voudrais ni pour femme, ni pour fille, ni pour soeur. Aussi vous ne jeterez plus un

'But I have looked at her a great many times while monsieur has been talking: I can see her quite well from

'Excuse me, M. Paul; they are too hideous: but if you admire them, allow me to vacate my seat and leave you

'Mademoiselle,' he said, grimacing a half smile, or what he intended for a smile, though it was but a grim and

hurried manifestation. 'You nurslings of Protestantism astonish me. You unguarded English women walk

calmly amidst redhot ploughshares and escape burning. I believe, if some of you were thrown into

Nebuchadnezzar's hottest furnace you would issue forth untraversed by the smell of fire.'

'How! At what are you gazing now? You are not recognising an acquaintance amongst that group of jeunes

In fact, I had caught a glimpse of a head too pretty to belong to any other than the redoubted Colonel de

Hamal. What a very finished, highly polished little pate it was! What a figure, so trim and natty! What

womanish feet and hands! How daintily he held a glass to one of his optics! with what admiration he gazed

upon the Cleopatra! and then, how engagingly he tittered and whispered a friend at his elbow! Oh, the man of

sense! Oh, the refined gentleman of superior taste and tact! I observed him for about ten minutes, and

perceived that he was exceedingly taken with this dusk and portly Venus of the Nile. So much was I

interested in his bearing, so absorbed in divining his character by his looks and movements, I temporarily

forgot M. Paul; in the interim a group came between that gentleman and me; or possibly his scruples might

have received another and worse shock from my present abstraction, causing him to withdraw voluntarily: at

My eye, pursuant of the search, met not him, but another and dissimilar figure, well seen amidst the crowd,

for the height as well as the port lent each its distinction. This way came Dr. John, in visage, in shape, in hue,

as unlike the dark, acerb, and caustic little professor, as the fruit of the Hesperides might be unlike the sloe in

the wild thicket; as the highcouraged but tractable Arabian is unlike the rude and stubborn 'sheltie.' He was

looking for me, but had not yet explored the corner where the schoolmaster had just put me. I remained quiet;

He approached de Hamal; he paused near him; I thought he had a pleasure in looking over his head; Dr.

Bretton, too, gazed on the Cleopatra. I doubt if it were to his taste: he did not simper like the little Count; his

mouth looked fastidious, his eye cool; without demonstration he stepped aside, leaving room for others to

We took one turn round the gallery; with Graham it was very pleasant to take such a turn. I always liked

dearly to hear what he had to say about either pictures or books; because, without pretending to be a

connoisseur, he always spoke his thought, and that was sure to be fresh: very often it was also just and pithy.

It was pleasant also to tell him some things he did not know he listened so kindly, so teachably;

unformalised by scruples lest so to bend his bright handsome head, to gather a woman's rather obscure and

stammering explanation, should imperil the dignity of his manhood. And when he communicated information

in return, it was with a lucid intelligence that left all his words clear graven on the memory: no explanation of

As we left the gallery, I asked him what he thought of the Cleopatra (after making him laugh by telling him

how Professor Emanuel had sent me to the rightabout, and taking him to see the sweet series of pictures

'Pooh!' said he, 'My mother is a betterlooking woman. I heard some French fops; yonder, designating her as

"le type du voluptueux"; if so, I can only say, "le voluptueux" is little to my liking. Compare that mulatto

One morning, Mrs. Bretton, coming promptly into my room, desired me to open my drawers and show her

'That will do,' said she, when she had turned them over. 'You must have a new one.'

She went out. She returned presently with a dressmaker. She had me measured. 'I mean,' said she, 'to follow

'That is not for me,' I said, hurriedly, feeling that I would almost as soon clothe myself in the costume of a

'We shall see whether it is for you or not,' rejoined my godmother, adding with her resistless decision: 'Mark

I thought I should not: I thought no human force should avail to put me into it. A pink dress! I knew it not. It

My godmother went on to decree that I was to go with her and Graham to a concert that same night: which

concert, she explained, was a grand affair to be held in the large salle, or hall, of the principal musical society.

The most advanced of the pupils of the Conservatoire were to perform: it was to be followed by a lottery 'au

bénéfice des pauvres'; and to crown all, the King, Queen and Prince of Labassecour were to be present.

Graham, in sending tickets, had enjoined attention to costume as a compliment due to royalty: he also

About six, I was ushered upstairs. Without any force at all, I found myself led and influenced by another's

will, unconsulted, unpersuaded, quietly overruled. In short, the pink dress went on, softened by some

drapery of black lace. I was pronounced to be en grande ténue, and requested to look in the glass. I did so

with some fear and trembling; with more fear and trembling, I turned away. Seven o'clock struck; Dr. Bretton

was come; my godmother and I went down. She was clad in brown velvet; as I walked in her shadow, how I

envied her those folds of grave, dark majesty! Graham stood in the drawingroom doorway.

'I do hope he will not think I have been decking myself out to draw attention,' was my uneasy aspiration.

'Here, Lucy, are some flowers,' said he, giving me a bouquet. He took no further notice of my dress than was

conveyed in a kind smile and satisfied nod, which calmed at once my sense of shame and fear of ridicule. For

the rest, the dress was made with extreme simplicity, guiltless of flounce or furbelow; it was but the light

fabric and bright tint which scared me, and since Graham found in it nothing absurd, my own eye consented

I suppose people who go every night to places of public amusement, can hardly enter into the fresh gala

feeling with which an opera or a concert is enjoyed by those for whom it is a rarity. I am not sure that I

expected great pleasure from the concert, having but a very vague notion of its nature, but I liked the drive

there well. The snug comfort of the close carriage on a cold though fine night, the pleasure of setting out with

companions so cheerful and friendly, the sight of the stars glinting fitfully through the trees as we rolled

along the avenue; then the freer burst of the nightsky when we issued forth to the open chaussée, the

passage through the city gates, the lights there burning, the guards there posted, the pretence of inspection to

which we were submitted, and which amused us so much all these small matters had for me, in their

novelty, a peculiarly exhilarating charm. How much of it lay in the atmosphere of friendship diffused about

me, I know not: Dr. John and his mother were both in their finest mood, contending animatedly with each

other the whole way, and as frankly kind to me as if I had been one of their kin.

Our way lay through some of the best streets of Villette, streets brightly lit, and far more lively now than at

high noon. How brilliant seemed the shops! How glad, gay and abundant flowed the tide of life along the

broad pavement! While I looked, the thought of the Rue Fossette came across me of the walledin garden

and schoolhouse, and of the dark, vast classes, where, as at this very hour, it was my wont to wander, all

solitary, gazing at the stars, through the high, blindless windows, and listening to the distant voice of the

reader in the refectory, monotonously exercised upon the lecture pieuse. Thus must I soon again listen and

wander; and this shadow of the future stole with timely sobriety across the radiant present.

By this time we had got into a current of carriages all tending in one direction, and soon the front of a great

illuminated building blazed before us. Of what I should see within this building, I had, as before intimated,

but an imperfect idea; for no place of public entertainment had it ever been my lot to enter yet.

We alighted under a portico where there was a great bustle and a great crowd, but I do not distinctly

remember further details, until I found myself mounting a majestic staircase wide and easy of ascent, deeply

and softly carpeted with crimson, leading up to great doors closed solemnly, and whose panels were also

I hardly noticed by what magic these doors were made to roll back Dr. John managed these points; roll

back they did, however, and within was disclosed a hall grand, wide and high, whose sweeping circular

walls, and domed hollow ceiling, seemed to me all dead gold (thus with nice art was it stained), relieved by

cornicing, fluting and garlandry, either bright, like gold burnished, or snowwhite, like alabaster, or white

and gold mingled in wreaths of gilded leaves and spotless lilies: wherever drapery hung, wherever carpets

were spread, or cushions placed, the sole colour employed was deep crimson. Pendant from the dome, flamed

a mass that dazzled me a mass, I thought, of rockcrystal, sparkling with facets, streaming with drops,

ablaze with stars, and gorgeously tinged with dews of gems dissolved, or fragments of rainbows shivered. It

was only the chandelier, reader, but for me it seemed the work of eastern genii: I almost looked to see if a

huge, dark, cloudy hand that of the Slave of the Lamp were not hovering in the lustrous and perfumed

We moved on I was not at all conscious whither but at some turn we suddenly encountered another party

approaching from the opposite direction. I just now see that group, as it flashed upon me for one moment. A

handsome middleaged lady in dark velvet; a gentleman who might be her son the best face, the finest

figure, I thought, I had ever seen; a third person in a pink dress and black lace mantle.

I noted them all the third person as well as the other two and for the fraction of a moment believed them

all strangers, thus receiving an impartial impression of their appearance. But the impression was hardly felt

and not fixed, before the consciousness that I faced a great mirror, filling a compartment between two pillars,

dispelled it: the party was our own party. Thus for the first, and perhaps only time in my life, I enjoyed the

'giftie' of seeing myself as others see me. No need to dwell on the result. It brought a jar of discord, a pang of

regret; it was not flattering, yet, after all, I ought to be thankful; it might have been worse.

At last, we were seated in places commanding a good general view of that vast and dazzling, but warm and

cheerful hall. Already it was filled, and filled with a splendid assemblage. I do not know that the women were

very beautiful, but their dresses were so perfect; and foreigners, even such as are ungraceful in domestic

privacy, seem to possess the art of appearing graceful in public: however blunt and boisterous those everyday

and home movements connected with peignoir and papillotes, there is a slide, a bend, a carriage of the head

and arms, a mien of the mouth and eyes, kept nicely in reserve for gala use always brought out with the

Some fine forms there were here and there, models of a peculiar style of beauty; a style, I think, never seen in

England: a solid, firm set, sculptural style. These shapes have no angles: a caryatid in marble is almost as

flexible; a Phidian goddess is not more perfect in a certain still and stately sort. They have such features as

the Dutch painters give to their madonnas: lowcountry classic features regular but round, straight but stolid;

and for their depth of expressionless calm, of passionless peace, a polar snowfield could alone offer a type.

Women of this order need no ornament, and they seldom wear any; the smooth hair, closely braided, supplies

a sufficient contrast to the smoother cheek and brow; the dress cannot be too simple; the rounded arm and

With one of these beauties I once had the honour and rapture to be perfectly acquainted: the inert force of the

deep, settled love she bore herself, was wonderful; it could only be surpassed by her proud impotency to care

for any other living thing. Of blood, her cool veins conducted no flow; placid lymph filled and almost

Such a Juno as I have described sat full in our view a sort of mark for all eyes, and quite conscious that so

she was, but proof to the magnetic influence of gaze or glance: cold, rounded, blonde, and beauteous as the

Observing that Dr. John's attention was much drawn towards her, I entreated him in a low voice 'for the love

of heaven to shield well his heart. You need not fall in love with that lady.' I said, 'because, I tell you

'Very well,' said he, 'and how do you know that the spectacle of her grand insensibility might not with me be

the strongest stimulus to homage? The sting of desperation is, I think, a wonderful irritant to my emotions:

but' (shrugging his shoulders) 'you know nothing about these things; I'll address myself to my mother.

'Alas! the cruelty of my lot!' responded her son. 'Never man had a more unsentimental mother than mine: she

'If I don't, it is not for want of having that same calamity held over my head: you have threatened me with it

for the last ten years. "Mamma, I am going to be married soon!" was the cry before you were well out of

'But, mother, one of these days it will be realised. All of a sudden, when you think you are most secure, I

shall go forth like Jacob or Esau, or any other patriarch, and take me a wife: perhaps of these which are of the

'This mother of mine means me to be an old bachelor. What a jealous old lady it is! But now just look at that

splendid creature in the pale blue satin dress, and hair of paler brown, with "reflets satinés" as those of her

robe. Would you not feel proud, mamma, if I were to bring that goddess home some day, and introduce her to

'You will bring no goddess to La Terrasse: that little château will not contain two mistresses; especially if the

second be of the height, bulk and circumference of that mighty doll in wood and wax, and kid and satin.'

'Fill my chair? I defy the foreign usurper! a rueful chair should it be for her: but hush, John Graham! Hold

During the above skirmish, the hall which, I had thought, seemed full at the entrance, continued to admit

party after party, until the semicircle before the stage presented one dense mass of heads, sloping from floor

to ceiling. The stage, too, or rather the wide temporary platform, larger than any stage, desert half an hour

since, was now overflowing with life; round two grand pianos, placed about the centre, a white flock of

young girls, the pupils of the Conservatoire, had noiselessly poured. I had noticed their gathering, while

Graham and his mother were engaged in discussing the belle in blue satin, and had watched with interest the

process of arraying and marshalling them. Two gentlemen, in each of whom I recognised an acquaintance,

officered this virgin troop. One, an artistic looking man, bearded, and with long hair, was a noted pianiste,

and also the first music teacher in Villette; he attended twice a week at Madame Beck's pensionnat, to give

lessons to the few pupils whose parents were rich enough to allow their daughters the privilege of his

instructions; his name was M. Josef Emanuel, and he was halfbrother to M. Paul: which potent personage

M. Paul amused me; I smiled to myself as I watched him, he seemed so thoroughly in his element standing

conspicuous in presence of a wide and grand assemblage, arranging, restraining, overawing about one

hundred young ladies. He was, too, so perfectly in earnest so energetic, so intent, and, above all, so

absolute: and yet what business had he there? What had he to do with music or the Conservatoire he who

could hardly distinguish one note from another? I knew that it was his love of display and authority which

had brought him there a love not offensive, only because so naïve. It presently became obvious that his

brother, M. Josef, was as much under his control as were the girls themselves. Never was such a little hawk

of a man as that M. Paul! Ere long, some noted singers and musicians dawned upon the platform: as these

stars rose, the cometlike professor set. Insufferable to him were all notorieties and celebrities: where he

And now all was prepared: but one compartment of the hall waited to be filled a compartment covered with

crimson, like the grand staircase and doors, furnished with stuffed and cushioned benches, ranged on each

A signal was given, the doors rolled back, the assembly stood up, the orchestra burst out, and, to the welcome

Till then, I had never set eyes on living king or queen; it may consequently be conjectured how I strained my

powers of vision to take in these specimens of European royalty. By whomsoever majesty is beheld for the

first time, there will always be experienced a vague surprise bordering on disappointment, that the same does

not appear seated, en permanence, on a throne, bonneted with a crown, and furnished, as to the hand, with a

sceptre. Looking out for a king and queen, and seeing only a middleaged soldier and a rather young lady, I

Well do I recall that King a man of fifty, a little bowed, a little grey: there was no face in all that assembly

which resembled his. I had never read, never been told anything of his nature or his habits; and at first the

strong hieroglyphics graven as with iron stylet on his brow, round his eyes, beside his mouth, puzzled and

baffled instinct. Ere long, however, if I did not know, at least I felt, the meaning of those characters written

without hand. There sat a silent sufferer a nervous, melancholy man. Those eyes had looked on the visits of

a certain ghost had long waited the comings and goings of that strangest spectre, Hypochondria. Perhaps he

saw her now on that stage, over against him, amidst all that brilliant throng. Hypochondria has that wont, to

rise in the midst of thousands dark as Doom, pale as Malady, and wellnigh strong as Death. Her comrade

and victim thinks to be happy one moment 'Not so,' says she; 'I come'. And she freezes the blood in his

Some might say it was the foreign crown pressing the King's brows which bent them to that peculiar and

painful fold; some might quote the effects of early bereavement. Something there might be of both these; but

these as embittered by that darkest foe of humanity constitutional melancholy. The Queen, his wife, knew

this: it seemed to me, the reflection of her husband's grief lay, a subduing shadow, on her own benignant face.

A mild, thoughtful, graceful woman that princess seemed; not beautiful, not at all like the women of solid

charms and marble feelings described a page or two since. Hers was a somewhat slender shape; her features,

though distinguished enough, were too suggestive of reigning dynasties and royal lines to give unqualified

pleasure. The expression clothing that profile was agreeable in the present instance; but you could not avoid

connecting it with remembered effigies, where similar lines appeared, under phase ignoble; feeble, or sensual,

or cunning, as the case might be. The. Queen's eye, however, was her own; and pity, goodness, sweet

sympathy, blessed it with divinest light. She moved no sovereign, but a lady kind, loving, elegant. Her little

son, the Prince of Labassecour, a young Duc de Dindonneau, accompanied her: he leaned on his mother's

knee; and, ever and anon, in the course of that evening, I saw her observant of the monarch at her side,

conscious of his beclouded abstraction, and desirous to rouse him from it by drawing his attention to their

son. She often bent her head to listen to the boy's remarks, and would then smilingly repeat them to his sire.

The moody King started, listened, smiled, but invariably relapsed as soon as his good angel ceased speaking.

Full mournful and significant was that spectacle! Not the less so because, both for the aristocracy and the

honest bourgeoisie of Labassecour, its peculiarity seemed to be wholly invisible: I could not discover that one

With the King and Queen had entered their court, comprising two or three foreign ambassadors; and with

them came the élite of the foreigners then resident in Villette. These took possession of the crimson benches;

the ladies were seated; most of the men remained standing: their sable rank, lining the background, looked

like a dark foil to the splendour displayed in front. Nor was this splendour without varying light and shade

and gradation: the middle distance was filled with matrons in velvets and satins, in plumes and gems; the

benches in the foreground, to the Queen's right hand, seemed devoted exclusively to young girls, the flower

perhaps, I should rather say, the bud of Villette aristocracy. Here were no jewels, no headdresses, no

velvet pile or silken sheen: purity, simplicity, and aërial grace reigned in that virgin band. Young heads

simply braided, and fair forms (I was going to write sylph forms, but that would have been quite untrue:

several of these 'jeunes filles,' who had not numbered more than sixteen or seventeen years, boasted contours

as robust and solid as those of a stout Englishwoman of fiveandtwenty) fair forms robed in white, or pale

rose, or placid blue, suggested thoughts of heaven and angels. I knew a couple, at least, of these 'rose et

blanches' specimens of humanity. Here was a pair of Madame Beck's late pupils Mesdemoiselles Mathilde

and Angélique: pupils, who, during their last year at school, ought to have been in the first class, but whose

brains never got them beyond the second division. In English, they had been under my own charge, and hard

work it was to get them to translate rationally a page of 'The Vicar of Wakefield.' Also during three months I

had one of them for my visèvis at table, and the quantity of household bread, butter and stewed fruit she

would habitually consume at 'second déjeuner' was a real world's wonder to be exceeded only by the fact of

her actually pocketing slices she could not eat. Here be truths wholesome truths, too.

I knew another of these seraphs the prettiest, or, at any rate, the least demure and hypocritical looking of

the lot: she was seated by the daughter of an English peer, also an honest, though a haughtylooking girl;

both had entered in the suite of the British embassy. She (i.e. my acquaintance) had a slight pliant figure, not

at all like the forms of the foreign damsels; her hair, too, was not closebraided, like a shell or a skullcap of

satin; it looked like hair, and waved from her head, long, curled and flowing. She chatted away volubly, and

seemed full of a lightheaded sort of satisfaction with herself and her position. I did not look at Dr. Bretton;

but I knew that he, too, saw Ginevra Fanshawe: he had become so quiet, he answered so briefly his mother's

remarks, he so often suppressed a sigh. Why should he sigh? He had confessed a taste for the pursuit of love

under difficulties; here was full gratification for that taste. His ladylove beamed upon him from a sphere

above his own: he could not come near her; he was not certain that he could win from her a look. I watched to

see if she would so far favour him. Our seat was not far from the crimson benches; we must inevitably be

seen thence, by eyes so quick and roving as Miss Fanshawe's, and very soon those optics of hers were upon

us: at least, upon Dr. and Mrs. Bretton. I kept rather in the shade and out of sight, 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 two afterwards she laughingly whispered her neighbour; upon the performance

On the concert I need not dwell; the reader would not care to have my impressions there anent: and, indeed, it

would not be worth while to record them, as they were the impressions of an ignorance crasse. The young

ladies of the Conservatoire, being very much frightened, made rather a tremulous exhibition on the two grand

pianos. M. Josef Emanuel stood by them while they played; but he had not the tact or influence of his

kinsman, who, under similar circumstances, would certainly have compelled pupils of his to demean

themselves with heroism and selfpossession. M. Paul would have placed the hysteric débutantes between

two fires terror of the audience, and terror of himself and would have inspired them with the courage of

desperation, by making the latter terror incomparably the greater: M. Josef could not do this.

Following the white muslin pianistes came a fine, fullgrown, sulky lady in white satin. She sang. Her

singing just affected me like the tricks of a conjuror: I wondered how she did it how she made her voice run

up and down, and cut such marvellous capers; but a simple Scotch melody, played by a rude street minstrel,

Afterwards stepped forth a gentleman, who, bending his body a good deal in the direction of the King and

Queen, and frequently approaching his whitegloved hand to the region of his heart, vented a bitter outcry

against a certain 'fausse Isabelle.' I thought he seemed especially to solicit the Queen's sympathy; but, unless I

am egregiously mistaken, her Majesty lent her attention rather with the calm of courtesy than the earnestness

of interest. This gentleman's state of mind was very harrowing, and I was glad when he wound up his musical

Some rousing choruses struck me as the best part of the evening's entertainment. There were present deputies

from all the best provincial choral societies; genuine, barrelshaped, native Labassecouriens. These worthies

gave voice without mincing the matter: their hearty exertions had at least this good result the ear drank

Through the whole performance timid instrumental duets, conceited vocal solos, sonorous, brasslunged

choruses my attention gave but one eye and one ear to the stage, the other being permanently retained in the

service of Dr. Bretton: I could not forget him, nor cease to question how he was feeling, what he was

'And how do you like it all, Lucy? You are very quiet,' he said, in his own cheerful tone.

'I am quiet,' I said, 'because I am so very, very much interested: not merely with the music, but with

He then proceeded to make some further remarks, with so much equanimity and composure that I began to

'Mrs. Cholmondeley is there with a very grand party. Yes; Ginevra was in her train; and Mrs. Cholmondeley

was in Lady 's train, who was in the Queen's train. If this were not one of the compact little minor

European courts, whose very formalities are little more imposing than familiarities, and whose gala grandeur

'So do I think so. I have had my eye on her several times since you withdrew yours; and I have had the

'Miss Fanshawe,' he said, 'has a companion with her a lady of rank. I happen to know Lady Sara by sight;

her noble mother has called me in professionally. She is a proud girl, but not in the least insolent, and I doubt

whether Ginevra will have gained ground in her estimation by making a butt of her neighbours.'

'Merely myself and my mother. As to me it is all very natural: nothing, I suppose, can be fairer game than the

young bourgeois doctor; but my mother? I never saw her ridiculed before. Do you know, the curling lip, and

'Think nothing of it, Dr. John: it is not worthwhile. If Ginevra were in a giddy mood, as she is eminently

tonight, she would make no scruple of laughing at that mild, pensive Queen, or that melancholy King. She is

not actuated by malevolence, but sheer, heedless folly. To a featherbrained schoolgirl nothing is sacred.'

'But you forget: I have not been accustomed to look on Miss Fanshawe in the light of a featherbrained

'To speak the honest truth, without any false rant or assumed romance, there actually was a moment, six

months ago, when I thought her divine. Do you remember our conversation about the presents? I was not

quite open with you in discussing that subject: the warmth with which you took it up amused me. By way of

having the full benefit of your lights, I allowed you to think me more in the dark than I really was. It was that

test of the presents which first proved Ginevra mortal. Still her beauty retained its fascination: three days

three hours ago, I was very much her slave. As she passed me tonight, triumphant in beauty, my emotions

did her homage; but for one luckless sneer, I should yet be the humblest of her servants. She might have

scoffed at me, and, while wounding, she would not soon have alienated me: through myself she could not in

He held his peace awhile. Never before had I seen so much fire and so little sunshine in Dr. John's blue eye as

'Lucy,' he recommenced, 'look well at my mother, and say, without fear or favour, in what light she now

'As she always does an English, middleclass gentlewoman; well, though gravely dressed, habitually

'So she seems to me bless her! The merry may laugh with mamma, but the weak only will laugh at her. She

shall not be ridiculed, with my consent at least; nor without my my scorn my antipathy my '

He stopped: and it was time for he was getting excited more it seemed than the occasion warranted. I did

not then know that he had witnessed double cause for dissatisfaction with Miss Fanshawe. The glow of his

complexion, the expansion of his nostril, the bold curve which disdain gave his wellcut under lip, showed

him in a new and striking phase. Yet the rare passion of the constitutionally suave and serene, is not a

pleasant spectacle; nor did I like the sort of vindictive thrill which passed through his strong, young frame.

'For this reason,' he muttered in my ear. 'Ginevra is neither a pure angel nor a pureminded woman.'

'Too much for me. I can see where you are blind. Now dismiss the subject. Let me amuse myself by teasing

'John, I will certainly rouse you if you are not better conducted. Will you and Lucy be silent, that I may hear

They were then thundering in a chorus, under cover of which all the previous dialogue had taken place.

'You hear the singing, mamma! Now, I will wager my studs which are genuine against your paste brooch

'I am cheated in fewer things than you imagine. How do you happen to be acquainted with young ladies of

the court, John? I have observed two of them pay you no small attention during the last half hour.'

'Why not? Because one of them satirically levels her eyeglass at me? She is a pretty, silly girl: but are you

'The sensible, admirable old lady! Mother, you are better to me than ten wives yet.'

'Don't be demonstrative, John, or I shall faint, and you will have to carry me out; and if that burden were laid

upon you, you would reverse your last speech, and exclaim, "Mother, ten wives could hardly be worse to me

The concert over, the Lottery 'au bénéfice des pauvres' came next: the interval between was one of general

relaxation, and the pleasantest imaginable stir and commotion. The white flock was cleared from the

platform; a busy throng of gentlemen crowded it instead, making arrangements for the drawing; and amongst

these the busiest of all reappeared that certain wellknown form, not tall but active, alive with the energy

and movement of three tall men. How M. Paul did work! How he issued directions, and, at the same time, set

his own shoulder to the wheel! Halfadozen assistants were at his beck to remove the pianos, etc.; no

matter, he must add to their strength his own. The redundancy of his alertness was halfvexing,

halfludicrous: in my mind I both disapproved and derided most of this fuss. Yet, in the midst of prejudice

and annoyance, I could not, while watching, avoid perceiving a certain not disagreeable naïveté in all he did

and said; nor could I be blind to certain vigorous characteristics of his physiognomy, rendered conspicuous

now by the contrast with a throng of tamer faces: the deep, intent keenness of his eye, the power of his

forehead, pale, broad and full the mobility of his most flexible mouth. He lacked the calm of force, but its

Meantime the whole hall was in a stir; most people rose and remained standing, for a change; some walked

about, all talked and laughed. The crimson compartment presented a peculiarly animated scene. The long

cloud of gentlemen, breaking into fragments, mixed with the rainbow line of ladies; two or three officerlike

men approached the King and conversed with him. The Queen, leaving her chair, glided along the rank of

young ladies, who all stood up as she passed; and to each in turn I saw her vouchsafe some token of kindness

a gracious word, look, or smile. To the two pretty English girls, Lady Sara and Ginevra Fanshawe, she

addressed several sentences; as she left them, both, and specially the latter, seemed to glow all over with

gratification. They were afterwards accosted by several ladies, and a little circle of gentlemen gathered round

'This room is stiflingly hot;' said Dr. Bretton, rising with sudden impatience. 'Lucy mother will you come

Willingly would I have kept mine also, but Graham's desire must take precedence of my own; I accompanied

We found the night air keen; or at least I did: he did not seem to feel it; but it was very still, and the

starsown sky spread cloudless. I was wrapped in a fur shawl. We took some turns on the pavement; in

'Not at all: so be of good cheer as I am. Whenever I die, Lucy, my persuasion is that it will not be of

heartcomplaint. I may be stung, I may seem to droop for a time, but no pain or malady of sentiment has yet

'I am glad she laughed at my mother. I would not give the old lady for a dozen beauties. That sneer did me all

the good in the world. Thank you, Miss Fanshawe!' And he lifted his hat from his waved locks, and made a

'Yes,' he said. 'I thank her. She has made me feel that nine parts in ten of my heart have always been sound as

a bell; and the tenth bled from a mere puncture: a lancet prick that will heal in a trice.'

'You are angry just now, heated and indignant; you will think and feel differently tomorrow.'

'I heated and indignant! You don't know me. On the contrary, the heat is gone: I am as cool as the night

'Not it: or if it be, there are good reasons for it two good reasons: I have told you one. But now let us

We did not easily regain our seats; the lottery was begun, and all was excited confusion; crowds blocked the

sort of corridor along which we had to pass: it was necessary to pause for a time. Happening to glance round

indeed I half fancied I heard my name pronounced I saw quite near, the ubiquitous, the inevitable M.

Paul. He was looking at me gravely and intently: at me, or rather at my pink dress sardonic comment on

which gleamed in his eye. Now it was his habit to indulge in strictures on the dress, both of the teachers and

pupils, at Madame Beck's a habit which the former, at least, held to be an offensive impertinence: as yet I

had not suffered from it my sombre daily attire not being calculated to attract notice. I was in no mood to

permit any new encroachment tonight: rather than accept his banter, I would ignore his presence, and

accordingly steadily turned my face to the sleeve of Dr. John's coat; finding in that same black sleeve a

prospect more redolent of pleasure and comfort, more genial, more friendly, I thought, than was offered by

the dark little Professor's unlovely visage. Dr. John seemed unconsciously to sanction the preference by

'Ay, keep close to my side, Lucy: these crowding burghers are no respecters of persons.'

I could not, however, be true to myself. Yielding to some influence, mesmeric or otherwise an influence

unwelcome, displeasing, but effective I again glanced round to see if M. Paul was gone. No, there he stood

on the same spot, looking still, but with a changed eye: he had penetrated my thought, and read my wish to

shun him. The mocking but not illhumoured gaze was turned to a swarthy frown, and when I bowed, with a

'Whom have you made angry, Lucy?' whispered Dr. Bretton, smiling. 'Who is that savagelooking friend of

'He looks mighty cross just now: what have you done to him? What is it all about? Ah, Lucy, Lucy! tell me

'No mystery, I assure you. M. Emanuel is very exigeant, and because I looked at your coat sleeve, instead of

'The little ' began Dr. John: I know not what more he would have added, for at that moment I was nearly

thrown down amongst the feet of the crowd. M. Paul had rudely pushed past, and was elbowing his way with

such utter disregard to the convenience and security of all around, that a very uncomfortable pressure was the

'I think he is what he himself would call "méchant,"' said Dr. Bretton. I thought so, too.

Slowly and with difficulty we made our way along the passage, and at last regained our seats. The drawing of

the lottery lasted nearly an hour; it was an animating and amusing scene; and as we each held tickets, we

shared in the alternations of hope and fear raised by each turn of the wheel. Two little girls, of five and six

years old, drew the numbers: and the prizes were duly proclaimed from the platform. These prizes were

numerous, though of small value. It so fell out that Dr. John and I each gained one: mine was a cigarcase,

his a lady's headdress a most airy sort of blue and silver turban, with a streamer or plumage on one side,

like a snowy cloud. He was excessively anxious to make an exchange; but I could not be brought to hear

reason and to this day I keep my cigarcase: it serves, when I look at it, to remind me of old times, and one

Dr. John, for his part, held his turban at arm's length between his finger and thumb, and looked at it with a

mixture of reverence and embarrassment highly provocative of laughter. The contemplation over, he was

about coolly to deposit the delicate fabric on the ground between his feet; he seemed to have no shadow of an

idea of the treatment or stowage it ought to receive: if his mother had not come to the rescue, I think he would

finally have crushed it under his arm like an opera hat; she restored it to the bandbox whence it had issued.

Graham was quite cheerful all the evening, and his cheerfulness seemed natural and unforced. His

demeanour, his look, is not easily described; there was something in it peculiar, and, in its way, original. I

read in it no common mastery of the passions, and a fund of deep and healthy strength which, without any

exhausting effort, bore down Disappointment and extracted her fang. His manner now, reminded me of

qualities I had noticed in him when professionally engaged amongst the poor, the guilty, and the suffering, in

the BasseVille: he looked at once determined, enduring and sweettempered. Who could help liking him?

He betrayed no weakness which harassed all your feelings with considerations as to how its faltering must be

propped; from him broke no irritability which startled calm and quenched mirth; his lips let fall no caustic

that burned to the bone; his eye shot no morose shafts that went cold, and rusty, and venomed through your

And yet he had neither forgiven nor forgotten Miss Fanshawe. Once angered, I doubt if Dr. Bretton were to

be soon propitiated once alienated, whether he were ever to be reclaimed. He looked at her more than once;

not stealthily or humbly, but with a movement of hardy, open observation. De Hamal was now a fixture

beside her; Mrs. Cholmondeley sat near, and they and she were wholly absorbed in the discourse, mirth and

excitement, with which the crimson seats were as much astir as any plebeian part of the hall. In the course of

some apparently animated discussion, Ginevra once or twice lifted her hand and arm; a handsome bracelet

gleamed upon the latter. I saw that its gleam flickered in Dr. John's eye quickening therein a derisive, ireful

'I think,' he said, 'I will lay my turban on my wonted altar of offerings; there, at any rate, it would be certain

to find favour: no grisette has a more facile faculty of acceptance. Strange! for after all, I know she is a girl of

'But you don't know her education, Dr. John,' said I. 'Tossed about all her life from one foreign school to

another, she may justly proffer the plea of ignorance in extenuation of most of her faults. And then, from

what she says, I believe her father and mother were brought up much as she has been brought up.'

'I always understood she had no fortune; and once I had pleasure in the thought,' said he.

'She tells me,' I answered, 'that they are poor at home; she always speaks quite candidly on such points: you

never find her lying, as these foreigners will often lie. Her parents have a large family: they occupy such a

station and possess such connections as, in their opinion, demand display; stringent necessity of

circumstances and inherent thoughtlessness of disposition combined, have engendered reckless

unscrupulousness as to how they obtain the means of sustaining a good appearance. This is the state of things,

'I believe it and I thought to mould her to something better: but, Lucy to speak the plain truth, I have felt a

new thing tonight, in looking at her and de Hamal. I felt it before noticing the impertinence directed at my

mother. I saw a look interchanged between them immediately after their entrance, which threw a most

'Ay, flirtation! That might be an innocent girlish wile to lure on the true lover; but what I refer to was not

flirtation: it was a look marking mutual and secret understanding it was neither girlish nor innocent. No

woman, were she as beautiful as Aphrodite, who could give or receive such a glance, shall ever be sought in

marriage by me: I would rather wed a paysanne in a short petticoat and high cap and be sure that she was

I could not help smiling. I felt sure he now exaggerated the case: Ginevra, I was certain, was honest enough,

with all her giddiness. I told him so. He shook his head, and said he would not be the man to trust her with his

'The only thing,' said I, 'with which you may safely trust her. She would unscrupulously damage a husband's

purse and property, recklessly try his patience and temper: I don't think she would breathe, or let another

'You are becoming her advocate,' said he. 'Do you wish me to resume my old chains?'

'No: I am glad to see you free, and trust that free you will long remain. Yet be, at the same time, just.'

'I am so: just as Rhadamanthus, Lucy. When once I am thoroughly estranged, I cannot help being severe. But

look! the King and Queen are rising. I like that Queen: she has a sweet countenance. Mamma, too, is

'I tired, John?' cried Mrs. Bretton, looking at least as animated and as wideawake as her son, 'I would

undertake to sit you out yet: leave us both here till morning, and we should see which would look the most

'I should not like to try the experiment; for, in truth, mamma, you are the most unfading of evergreens and the

freshest of matrons. It must then be on the plea of your son's delicate nerves and fragile constitution that I

'Indolent young man! You wish you were in bed, no doubt; and I suppose you must be humoured. There is

Lucy, too, looking quite done up. For shame, Lucy! At your age, a week of evenings out would not have

made me a shade paler. Come away, both of you; and you may laugh at the old lady as much as you please,

Which she did accordingly. I offered to relieve her, but was shaken off with kindly contempt: my godmother

opined that I had enough to do to take care of myself. Not standing on ceremony now, in the midst of the gay

'confusion worse confounded' succeeding to the King and Queen's departure, Mrs. Bretton preceded us, and

promptly made us a lane through the crowd. Graham followed, apostrophising his mother as the most

flourishing grisette it had ever been his good fortune to see charged with carriage of a bandbox; he also

desired me to mark her affection for the skyblue turban, and announced his conviction that she intended one

The night was now very cold and very dark, but with little delay we found the carriage. Soon we were packed

in it, as warm and as snug as at a fireside; and the drive home was, I think, still pleasanter than the drive to

the concert. Pleasant it was, even though the coachman having spent in the shop of a 'marchand de vin' a

portion of the time we passed at the concert drove us along the dark and solitary chaussée, far past the turn

leading down to La Terrasse; we, who were occupied in talking and laughing, not noticing the aberration till,

at last, Mrs. Bretton intimated that though she had always thought the château a retired spot, she did not know

it was situated at the world's end, as she declared seemed now to be the case, for she believed we had been an

Then Graham looked out, and perceiving only dimspread fields, with unfamiliar rows of pollards and limes

ranged along their else invisible sunk fences, began to conjecture how matters were, and calling a halt and

descending, he mounted the box and took the reins himself. Thanks to him, we arrived safe at home about an

Martha had not forgotten us; a cheerful fire was burning, and a neat supper spread in the diningroom: we

were glad of both. The winter dawn was actually breaking before we gained our chambers. I took off my pink

dress and lace mantle, with happier feelings than I had experienced in putting them on. Not all, perhaps, who

had shone brightly arrayed at that concert could say the same; for not all had been satisfied with friendship

Yet three days, and then I must go back to the pensionnat. I almost numbered the moments of these days

upon the clock; fain would I have retarded their flight; but they glided by while I watched them: they were

'Lucy will not leave us today,' said Mrs. Bretton, coaxingly at breakfast; 'she knows we can procure second

'I would not ask for one if I might have it for a word,' said I. 'I long to get the goodbye over, and to be

settled in the Rue Fossette again. I must go this morning: I must go directly; my trunk is packed and corded.'

It appeared, however, that my going depended upon Graham; he had said he would accompany me, and it so

fell out that he was engaged all day, and only returned home at dusk. Then ensued a little combat of words.

Mrs. Bretton and her son pressed me to remain one night more. I could have cried so irritated and eager was I

to be gone. I longed to leave them as the criminal on the scaffold longs for the axe to descend: that is, I

wished the pang over How much I wished it, they could not tell. On these points, mine was a state of mind

It was dark when Dr. John handed me from the carriage at Madame Beck's door. The lamp above was lit; it

rained a November drizzle, as it had rained all day: the lamplight gleamed on the wet pavement. Just such a

night was it as that on which, not a year ago, I had first stopped at this very threshold just similar was the

scene. I remembered the very shapes of the pavingstone which I had noted with idle eye, while; with a

thickbeating heart, I waited the unclosing of that door at which I stood a solitary and a suppliant. On that

night, too, I had briefly met him who now stood with me. Had I ever reminded him of that rencontre, or

explained it? I had not, nor ever, felt the inclination to do so: it was a pleasant thought, laid by in my own

Graham rung the bell. The door was instantly opened, for it was just that period of the evening when the

'Don't come in,' said I to him; but he stepped a moment into the welllighted vestibule. I had not wished him

to see that 'the water stood in my eyes,' for his was too kind a nature ever to be needlessly shown such sins of

sorrow. He always wished to heal to relieve when, physician as he was, neither cure nor alleviation were,

'Keep up your courage, Lucy. Think of my mother and myself as true friends. We will not forget you.'

My trunk was now brought in. We had shaken hands; he had turned to go, but he was not satisfied: he had not

'Well, my mother will soon call to see you; and, meantime, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll write just any

'Good, gallant heart!' thought I to myself; but I shook my head, smiling, and said, 'Never think of it: impose

He was gone. The heavy door crashed to: the axe had fallen the pang was experienced.

Allowing myself no time to think or feel swallowing tears as if they had been wine I passed to Madame's

sittingroom to pay the necessary visit of ceremony and respect. She received me with perfectly wellacted

cordiality was even demonstrative, though brief, in her welcome. In ten minutes I was dismissed. From the

salleàmanger I proceeded to the refectory, where pupils and teachers were now assembled for evening

study: again I had a welcome, and one not, I think, quite hollow. That over, I was free to repair to the

'And will Graham really write?' I questioned, as I sank tired on the edge of the bed.

Reason, coming stealthily up to me through the twilight of that long, dim chamber, whispered sedately

'He may write once. So kind is his nature, it may stimulate him for once to make the effort. But it cannot be

continued it may not be repeated. Great were that folly which should build on such a promise insane that

credulity which should mistake the transitory rain pool, holding in its hollow one draught, for the perennial

I bent my head: I sat thinking an hour longer. Reason still whispered me, laying on my shoulder a withered

'If,' muttered she, 'if he should write, what then? Do you meditate pleasure in replying? Ah, fool! I warn you!

Brief be your answer. Hope no delight of heart no indulgence of intellect: grant no expansion to feeling

give holiday to no single faculty: dally with no friendly exchange: foster no genial intercommunion. . . .'

'No,' said she, 'I needed not. Talk for you is good discipline. You converse imperfectly. While you speak,

there can be no oblivion of inferiority no encouragement. to delusion: pain, privation, penury stamp your

'But,' I again broke in, 'where the bodily presence is weak and the speech contemptible, surely there cannot be

error in making written language the medium of better utterance than faltering lips can achieve?'

Reason only answered, 'At your peril you cherish that idea, or suffer its influence to animate any writing of

I groaned under her bitter sternness. Never never oh, hard word! This hag, this Reason, would not let me

look up, or smile, or hope: she could not rest unless I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken in and broken

down. According to her, I was born only to work for a piece of bread, to await the pains of death, and steadily

through all life to despond. Reason might be right; yet no wonder we are glad at times to defy her, to rush

from under her rod and give a truant hour to Imagination her soft, bright foe, our sweet Help, our divine

Hope. We shall and must break bounds at intervals, despite the terrible revenge that awaits our return. Reason

is vindictive as a devil; for me she was always envenomed as a stepmother. If I have obeyed her it has

chiefly been with the obedience of fear, not of love. Long ago I should have died of her illusage: her stint,

her chill, her barren board, her icy bed, her savage, ceaseless blows; but for that kinder Power who holds my

secret and sworn allegiance. Often has Reason turned me out by night, in midwinter, on cold snow, flinging

for sustenance the gnawed bones dogs had forsaken. Sternly has she vowed her stores held nothing more for

me harshly denied my right to ask better things. . . . Then, looking up, have I seen in the sky a head amidst

circling stars, of which the midmost and the brightest lent a ray sympathetic and attent. A spirit, softer and

better than Human Reason, has descended with quiet flight to the waste bringing all round her a sphere of

air borrowed of eternal summer; bringing perfume of flowers which cannot fade fragrance of trees whose

fruit is life; bringing breezes pure from a world whose day needs no sun to lighten it. My hunger has this

good angel appeased with food, sweet and strange, gathered amongst gleaning angels, garnering their

dewwhite harvest in the first fresh hour of a heavenly day; tenderly has she assuaged the insufferable tears

which weep away life itself kindly given rest to deadly weariness generously lent hope and impulse to

paralysed despair. Divine, compassionate, succourable influence! When I bend the knee to other than God, it

shall be at thy white and winged feet, beautiful on mountain or on plain. Temples have been reared to the Sun

altars dedicated to the Moon. Oh, greater glory! To thee neither hands build, nor lips consecrate: but hearts,

through ages, are faithful to thy worship. A dwelling thou hast, too wide for walls, too high for dome a

temple whose floors are space rites whose mysteries transpire in presence, to the kindling, the harmony of

Sovereign complete! thou hadst, for endurance, thy great army of martyrs; for achievement, thy chosen band

This daughter of Heaven remembered me tonight; she saw me weep, and she came with comfort: 'Sleep,'

She kept her word, and watched me through a night's rest; but at dawn Reason relieved the guard. I awoke

with a sort of start: the rain was dashing against the panes, and the wind uttering a peevish cry at intervals;

the nightlamp was dying on the black circular stand in the middle of the dormitory: day had already broken.

How I pity those whom mental pain stuns instead of rousing! This morning the pang of waking snatched me

out of bed like a hand with a giant's gripe. How quickly I dressed in the cold of the raw dawn! How deeply I

drank of the icecold water in my carafe. This was always my cordial, to which, like other dramdrinkers, I

Ere long the bell rang its réveillée to the whole school. Being dressed, I descended alone to the refectory,

where the stove was lit and the air was warm; through the rest of the house it was cold, with the nipping

severity of a continental winter: though now but the beginning of November, a north wind had thus early

brought a wintry blight over Europe. I remember the black stoves pleased me little when I first came; but now

I began to associate with them a sense of comfort, and liked them, as in England we like a fireside.

Sitting down before this dark comforter, I presently fell into a deep argument with myself on life and its

chances, on destiny and her decrees. My mind, calmer and stronger now than last night, made for itself some

imperious rules, prohibiting under deadly penalties all weak retrospect of happiness past; commanding a

patient journeying through the wilderness of the present, enjoining a reliance on faith a watching of the

cloud and pillar which subdue while they guide, and awe while they illumine hushing the impulse to fond

idolatry, checking the longing outlook for a faroff promised land whose rivers are, perhaps, never to be

reached save in dying dreams, whose sweet pastures are to be viewed but from the desolate and sepulchral

By degrees, a composite feeling of blended strength and pain wound itself wirily round my heart, sustained,

or at least restrained, its throbbings; and made me fit for the day's work. I lifted my head.

As I said before, I was sitting near the stove, let into the wall beneath the refectory and the carré; and thus

sufficing to heat both apartments. Piercing the same wall, and close beside the stove, was a window, looking

also into the carré; as I looked up a captassel, a brow, two eyes, filled a pane of that window; the fixed gaze

of those two eyes hit right against my own glance: they were watching me. I had not till that moment known

This was a strange house, where no corner was sacred from intrusion, where not a tear could be shed, nor a

thought pondered, but a spy was at hand to note and divine. And this new, this outdoor, this male spy, what

business had brought him to the premises at this unwonted hour? What possible right had he to intrude on me

thus? No other professor would have dared to cross the carré before the classbell rang. M. Emanuel took no

account of hours nor of claims: there was some book of reference in the firstclasse library which he had

occasion to consult; he had come to seek it: on his way he passed the refectory. It was very much his habit to

wear eyes, before, behind, and on each side of him: he had seen me through the little window he now

'Vous êtes malade de coeur et d'humeur,' he pursued. 'You are at once mournful and mutinous. I see on your

cheek two tears which I know are hot as two sparks, and salt as two crystals of the sea. While I speak you eye

'Monsieur, I shall be called away to prayers shortly; my time for conversation is very scant and brief at this

'I excuse everything,' he interrupted; 'my mood is so meek, neither rebuff nor, perhaps, insult could ruffle it.

You remind me, then, of a young she wild creature, new caught, untamed, viewing with a mixture of fire and

Unwarrantable accost! rash and rude if addressed to a pupil; to a teacher inadmissible. He thought to

provoke a warm reply; I had seen him vex the passionate to explosion before now. In me his malice should

'You look,' said he, 'like one who would snatch at a draught of sweet poison, and spurn wholesome bitters

'Indeed, I never liked bitters, nor do I believe them wholesome. And to whatever is sweet, be it poison or

food, you cannot, at least, deny its own delicious quality sweetness. Better, perhaps, to die quickly a

'Yet,' said he, 'you should take your bitter dose duly and daily, if I had the power to administer it; and, as to

I sharply turned my head away, partly because his presence utterly displeased me, and partly because I

wished to shun questions: lest, in my present mood, the effort of answering should overmaster

'Come,' said he, more softly, 'tell me the truth you grieve at being parted from friends is it not so?'

The insinuating softness was not more acceptable than the inquisitorial curiosity. I was silent. He came into

the room, sat down on the bench about two yards from me, and persevered long, and, for him, patiently, in

attempts to draw me into conversation attempts necessarily unavailing, because I could not talk. At last I

entreated to be let alone. In uttering the request, my voice faltered, my head sank on my arms and the table. I

wept bitterly, though quietly. He sat a while longer. I did not look up nor speak, till the closing door and his

I had time to bathe my eyes before breakfast, and I suppose I appeared at that meal as serene as any other

person: not, however, quite as jocundlooking as the young lady who placed herself in the seat opposite

mine, fixed on me a pair of somewhat small eyes twinkling gleefully, and frankly stretched across the table a

white hand to be shaken. Miss Fanshawe's travels, gaieties and flirtations agreed with her mightily; she had

become quite plump, her cheeks looked as round as apples. I had seen her last in elegant evening attire. I

don't know that she looked less charming now in her school dress, a kind of careless peignoir of a dark blue

material, dimly and dingily plaided with black. I even think this dusky wrapper gave her charms a triumph;

enhancing by contrast the fairness of her skin, the freshness of her bloom, the golden beauty of her tresses.

'I am glad you are come back, Timon,' said she. Timon was one of her dozen names for me. 'You don't know

'Oh, have you? Then, of course, if you wanted me, you have something for me to do: stockings to mend,

perhaps.' I never gave Ginevra a minute's or a farthing's credit for disinterestedness.

'Crabbed and crusty as ever!' said she. 'I expected as much: it would not be you if you did not snub one. But

now, come, grandmother, I hope you like coffee as much, and pistolets as little as ever: are you disposed to

This way consisted in a habit she had of making me convenient. She did not like the morning cup of coffee;

its school brewage not being strong or sweet enough to suit her palate; and she had an excellent appetite, like

any other healthy schoolgirl, for the morning pistolets or rolls, which were new baked and very good, and of

which a certain allowance was served to each. This allowance being more than I needed, I gave half to

Ginevra; never varying in my preference, though many others used to covet the superfluity; and she in return

would sometimes give me a portion of her coffee. This morning I was glad of the draught; hunger I had none,

and with thirst I was parched. I don't know why I chose to give my bread rather to Ginevra than to another:

nor why, if two had to share the convenience of one drinking vessel, as sometime happened for instance,

when we took a long walk into the country, and halted for refreshment at a farm I always contrived that she

should be my convive, and rather liked to let her take the lion's share, whether of the white, beer, the sweet

wine, or the new milk: so it was, however, and she knew it; and, therefore, while we wrangled daily, we were

After breakfast my custom was to withdraw to the first classe, and sit and read, or think (oftenest the latter)

there alone, till the nine o'clock bell threw open all doors, admitted the gathered rush of externes and

demipensionnaires, and gave the signal for entrance on that bustle and business to which, till five p.m., there

'Pardon, mademoiselle,' said a pensionnaire, entering gently; and having taken from her desk some necessary

book or paper, she withdrew on tiptoe, murmuring as she passed me, 'Que mademoiselle est appliquée!'

Appliquée, indeed! The means of application were spread before me, but I was doing nothing; and had done

nothing, and meant to do nothing. Thus does the world give us credit for merits we have not. Madame Beck

herself deemed me a regular basbleu, and often and solemnly used to warn me not to study too much, 'lest

the blood should all go to my head.' Indeed, everybody in the Rue Fossette held a superstition that 'Meess

Lucie' was learned; with the notable exception of M. Emanuel, who, by means peculiar to himself, and quite

inscrutable to me, had obtained a not inaccurate inkling of my real qualifications, and used to take quiet

opportunities of chuckling in my ear his malign glee over their scant measure. For my part, I never troubled

myself about this penury. I dearly like to think my own thoughts; I had great pleasure in reading a few books,

but not many: preferring always those on whose style or sentiment the writer's individual nature was plainly

stamped; flagging inevitably over characterless books, however clever and meritorious: perceiving well that,

as far as my own mind was concerned, God had limited its powers and its action thankful, I trust, for the

gift bestowed, but unambitious of higher endowments, not restlessly eager after higher culture.

The polite pupil was scarcely gone, when unceremoniously, without tap, in burst a second intruder. Had I

been blind I should have known who this was. A constitutional reserve of manner had by this time told with

wholesome and, for me, commodious effect, on the manners of my coinmates; rarely did I now suffer from

rude or intrusive treatment. When I first came, it would happen once and again that a blunt German would

clap me on the shoulder, and ask me to run a race; or a riotous Labassecourienne seize me by the arm and

drag me towards the playground: urgent proposals to take a swing at the 'Pas de Géant,' or to join in a certain

romping hideandseek game called 'Un, deux, trois,' were formerly also of hourly occurrence; but all these

little attentions had ceased some time ago ceased, too, without my finding it necessary to be at the trouble

of pointblank cutting them short. I had now no familiar demonstration to dread or endure, save from one

quarter; and as that was English I could bear it. Ginevra Fanshawe made no scruple of at times catching

me as I was crossing the carré, whirling me round in a compulsory waltz, and heartily enjoying the mental

and physical discomfiture her proceeding induced. Ginevra Fanshawe it was who now broke in upon 'my

'Go to your practising,' said I to her at once: 'away with you to the little salon!'

'Not till I have had a talk with you, chère amie. I know where you have been spending your vacation, and

how you have commenced sacrificing to the graces, and enjoying life like any other belle. I saw you at the

concert the other night, dressed, actually, like anybody else. Who is your tailleuse?'

'Tittle tattle: how prettily it begins! My tailleuse! a fiddlestick! Come, sheer off, Ginevra. I really don't want

'But when I want yours so much, ange farouche, what does a little reluctance on your part signify? Dieu

merci! we know how to manoevre with our gifted compatriote the learned "ourse Britannique." And so,

'Oh, hush!' (putting her fingers, in her ears) 'you crack my tympanums with your rude Anglicisms. But, how

is our well beloved John? Do tell me about him. The poor man must be in a sad way. What did he say to my

'It was a delightful evening. Oh, that divine De Hamal! And then to watch the other sulking and dying in the

distance; and the old lady my future mammainlaw! But I am afraid I and Lady Sara were a little rude in

'Lady Sara never quizzed her at all; and for what you did, don't make yourself in the least uneasy: Mrs.

'She may: old ladies are tough; but that poor son of hers! Do tell me what he said: I saw he was terribly cut

'Did he?' she cried with delight. 'He noticed that? How charming! I thought he would be mad with jealousy?'

'Ginevra, have you seriously done with Dr. Bretton? Do you want him to give you up?'

'How ever, indeed! Have you no pity on his poor mother and me? Fancy us holding him tight down in the

carriage, and he raving between us, fit to drive everybody delirious. The very coachman went wrong,

'I assure you it is fact and fact, also, that Dr. Bretton would not stay in the carriage; he broke from us, and

'Fun for you, Miss Fanshawe? but' (with stern gravity) 'you know the proverb "What is sport to one may be

'Good! In that case, you will be able to conceive Dr. Graham Bretton rejecting his supper in the first instance

the chicken, the sweetbread prepared for his refreshment, left on the table untouched. Then but it is of

no use dwelling at length on the harrowing details. Suffice it to say, that never, in the most stormy fits and

moments of his infancy, had his mother such work to tuck the sheets about him as she had that night.'

'He wouldn't lie still: there it was. The sheets might be tucked in, but the thing was to keep them tucked in.'

'Say! Can't you imagine him demanding his divine Ginevra, anathematising that demon, De Hamal raving

'Saw the bracelet? Yes, as plain as I saw it: and, perhaps, for the first time, he saw also the brand mark with

which its pressure has encircled your arm. Ginevra' (rising, and changing my tone), 'come, we will have an

'You had better not wait until I do tell you all. Such extra communicativeness could give you no pleasure.

'Cross thing!' said she; but she obeyed: and, indeed, the first classe was my territory, and she could not there

Yet, to speak the truth, never had I been less dissatisfied with her than I was then. There was pleasure in

thinking of the contrast between the reality and my description to remember Dr. John enjoying the drive

home, eating his supper with relish, and retiring to rest with Christian composure. It was only when I saw him

really unhappy that I felt really vexed with the fair, frail cause of his suffering.

A fortnight passed; I was getting once more inured to the harness of school, and lapsing from the passionate

pain of change to the palsy of custom. One afternoon, in crossing the carré, on my way to the first classe,

where I was expected to assist at a lesson of 'style and literature,' I saw, standing by one of the long and large

windows, Rosine, the portress. Her attitude, as usual, was quite nonchalante. She always 'stood at ease;' one

of her hands rested in her apron pocket, the other at this moment held to her eyes a letter, whereof

A letter! The shape of a letter similar to that had haunted my brain in its very core for seven days past. I had

dreamed of a letter last night. Strong magnetism drew me to that letter now; yet, whether I should have

ventured to demand of Rosine so much as a glance at that white envelope, with the spot of red wax in the

middle, I know not. No; I think I should have sneaked past in terror of a rebuff from disappointment: my

heart throbbed now as if I already heard the tramp of her approach. Nervous mistake! It was the rapid step of

the Professor of Literature measuring the corridor. I fled before him. Could I but be seated quietly at my desk

before his arrival, with the class under my orders all in disciplined readiness, he would, perhaps, exempt me

from notice; but, if caught lingering in the carré, I should be sure to come in for a special harangue. I had time

to get seated, to enforce perfect silence, to take out my work, and to commence it amidst the profoundest and

best trained hush, ere M. Emanuel entered with his vehement burst of latch and panel, and his deep redundant

As usual he broke upon us like a clap of thunder; but instead of flashing lightningwise from the door to the

estrade, his career halted midway at my desk. Setting his face toward me and the window, his back to the

pupils and the room, he gave me a look such a look as might have licensed me to stand straight up and

'Voilà! pour vous,' said he, drawing his hand from his waistcoat, and placing on my desk a letter the very

letter I had seen in Rosine's hand the letter whose face of enamelled white and single Cyclop's eye of

vermilion red had printed themselves so clear and perfect on the retina of an inward vision. I knew it, I felt it

to be the letter of my hope, the fruition of my wish, the release from my doubt, the ransom from my terror.

This letter M. Paul, with his unwarrantably interfering habits, had taken from the portress, and now delivered

I might have been angry, but had not a second for the sensation. Yes: I held in my hand not a slight note, but

an envelope, which must, at least, contain a sheet: it felt not flimsy, but firm, substantial, satisfying. And here

was the direction, 'Miss Lucy Snowe,' in a clear, equal, decided hand; and here was the seal, round, full deftly

dropped by untremulous fingers, stamped with the wellcut impress of initials, 'J. G. B.' I experienced a

happy feeling a glad emotion which went warm to my heart, and ran lively through all my veins. For once a

hope was realised. I held in my hand a morsel of real solid joy: not a dream, not an image of the brain, not

one of those shadowy chances imagination pictures, and on which humanity starves but cannot live; not a

mess of that manna I drearily eulogised awhile ago which, indeed, at first melts on the lips with an

unspeakable and preternatural sweetness, but which, in the end, our souls full surely loathe; longing

deliriously for natural and earthgrown food, wildly praying Heaven's Spirits to reclaim their own spiritdew

and essence an aliment divine, but for mortals deadly. It was neither sweet hail nor small corianderseed

neither slight wafer, nor luscious honey, I had lighted on; it was the wild, savoury mess of the hunter,

nourishing and salubrious meat, forestfed or desertreared, fresh, healthful and lifesustaining. It was what

the old dying patriarch demanded of his son Esau, promising in requital the blessing of his last breath. It was

a godsend; and I inwardly thanked the God who had vouchsafed it. Outwardly I only thanked man, crying.

Monsieur curled his lip, gave me a vicious glance of the eye, and strode to his estrade M. Paul was not at all a

Did I read my letter there and then? Did I consume the venison at once and with haste, as if Esau's shaft flew

I knew better. The cover with its address the seal, with its three clear letters was bounty and abundance

for the present. I stole from the room, I procured the key of the great dormitory which was kept locked by

day. I went to my bureau; with a sort of haste and trembling lest Madame should creep upstairs and spy me, I

opened a drawer, unlocked a box, and took out a case, and having feasted my eyes with one more look, and

approached the seal with a mixture of awe and shame and delight, to my lips I folded the untasted treasure,

yet all fair and inviolate, in silver paper, committed it to the case, shut up box and drawer, reclosed, relocked

the dormitory, and returned to classe feeling as if fairy tales were true and fairy gifts no dream. Strange,

sweet insanity! And this letter, the source of my joy, I had not yet read: did not yet know the number of its

When I reentered the schoolroom, behold M. Paul raging like a pestilence! Some pupil had not spoken

audibly or distinctly enough to suit his ear and taste, and now she arid others were weeping, and he was

raving from his estrade almost livid. Curious to mention, as I appeared, he fell on me.

'Was I the mistress of these girls? Did I profess to teach them the conduct befitting ladies? and did I permit

and, he doubted not, encourage them to strangle their mothertongue in their throats, to mince and mash it

between their teeth, as if they had some base cause to be ashamed of the words they uttered? Was this

modesty? He knew better. It was a vile pseudosentiment the offspring or the forerunner of evil. Rather

than submit to this mopping and mowing, this mincing and grimacing, this grinding of a noble tongue, this

general affectation and sickening stubbornness of the pupils of the first classe, he would throw them up for a

set of insupportable petites maïtresses, and confine himself to teaching the A B C to the babies of the third

What could I say to all this? Really nothing; and I hoped he would allow me to be silent. The storm

'Every answer to his queries was then refused? It seemed to be considered in that place that conceited

boudoir of a first classe, with its pretentious bookcases, its greenbaized desks, its rubbish of flowerstands,

its trash of framed pictures and maps, and its foreign surveillante, forsooth! it seemed to be the fashion to

think there that the Professor of Literature was not worthy of a reply! These were new ideas; imported, he did

not doubt, straight from "la Grande Bretagne": they savoured of island insolence and arrogance.'

Lull the second the girls, not one of whom was ever known to weep a tear for the rebukes of any other

master, now all melting like snow statues before the intemperate heat of M. Emanuel: I not yet much shaken,

Something either in my continued silence or in the movement of my hand, stitching transported M.

Emanuel beyond the last boundary of patience; he actually sprang from his estrade. The stove stood near my

desk, he attacked it; the little iron door was nearly dashed from its hinges, the fuel was made to fly.

'Estce que vous avez l'intention de m'insulter?' said he to me, in a low, furious voice, as he thus outraged,

'Mais, Monsieur,' said I, 'I would not insult you for the world. I remember too well that you once said we

I did not intend my voice to falter, but it did: more, I think, through the agitation of late delight than in any

spasm of present fear. Still there certainly was something in M. Paul's anger a kind of passion of emotion

that specially tended to draw tears. I was not unhappy, nor much afraid, yet I wept.

'Allons, allons!' said he presently, looking round and seeing the deluge universal. 'Decidedly I am a monster

and a ruffian. I have only one pockethandkerchief,' he added, 'but if I had twenty, I would offer you each

And he took forth and held out to me a clean silk handkerchief. Now a person who did not know M. Paul,

who was unused to him and his impulses, would naturally have bungled at this offer declined accepting the

same etcetera. But I too plainly felt this would never do; the slightest hesitation would have been fatal to

the incipient treaty of peace. I rose and met the handkerchief half way, received it with decorum, wiped

therewith my eyes, and, resuming my seat, and retaining the flag of truce in my hand and on my lap, took

especial care, during the remainder of the lesson, to touch neither needle nor thimble, scissors nor muslin.

Many a jealous glance did M. Paul cast at these implements; he hated them mortally, considering sewing a

source of distraction from the attention due to himself. A very eloquent lesson he gave, and very kind and

friendly was he to the close. Ere he had done, the clouds were dispersed and the sun shining out tears were

'Ah! it is too good to read at once; you save it, as, when I was a boy, I used to save a peach whose bloom was

The guess came so near the truth, I could not prevent a suddenly rising warmth in my face from revealing as

'You promise yourself a pleasant moment,' said he, 'in reading that letter; you will open it when alone n'est

ce pas? Ah! a smile answers. Well, well! one should not be too harsh; "la jeunesse n'a qu'un temps."'

'Monsieur, monsieur!' I cried or rather whispered after him, as he turned to go, 'do not leave me under a

mistake. This is merely a friend's letter. Without reading it, I can vouch for that.'

'Je conçois; je conçois: on sait ce que c'est qu'un ami. Bonjour, mademoiselle!'

'Keep it, keep it, till the letter is read, then bring it me; I shall read the billet's tenor in your eyes.'

When he was gone, the pupils having already poured out of the schoolroom into the berceau, and thence into

the garden and court to take their customary recreation before the five o'clock dinner, I stood a moment

thinking, and absently twisting the handkerchief round my arm. For some reason gladdened, I think, by a

sudden return of the golden glimmer of childhood, roused by an unwonted renewal of its buoyancy, made

merry by the liberty of the closing hour, and, above all, solaced at heart by the joyous consciousness of that

treasure in the case, box, drawer upstairs I fell to playing with the handkerchief as if it were a ball, casting

it into the air and catching it as it fell. The game was stopped by another hand than mine a hand emerging

from a paletôt sleeve and stretched over my shoulder; it caught the extemporised plaything and bore it away

Really that little man was dreadful: a mere sprite of caprice and ubiquity: one never knew either his whim or

When all was still in the house; when dinner was over and the noisy recreation hour past; when darkness had

set in, and the quiet lamp of study was lit in the refectory; when the externes were gone home, the clashing

door and clamorous bell hushed for the evening; when Madame was safely settled in the salleàmanger in

company with her mother and some friends; I then glided to the kitchen, begged a bougie for one half hour

for a particular occasion, found acceptance of my petition at the hands of my friend Goton, who answered

'Mais certainement, chouchou, vous en aurez deux, si vous voulez.' And, light in hand, I mounted noiseless

Great was my chagrin to find in that apartment a pupil gone to bed indisposed greater when I recognised

amid the muslin nightcap borders, the 'figure chiffonnée' of Mistress Ginevra Fanshawe; supine at this

moment, it is true but certain to wake and overwhelm me with chatter when the interruption would be least

acceptable: indeed, as I watched her, a slight twinkling of the eyelids warned me that the present appearance

of repose might be but a ruse, assumed to cover sly vigilance over 'Timon's' movements; she was not to be

trusted. And I had so wished to be alone, just to read my precious letter in peace.

Well, I must go to the classes. Having sought and found my prize in its casket, I descended. Illluck pursued

me. The classes were undergoing sweeping and purification by candlelight according to hebdomadal custom:

benches were piled on desks, the air was dim with dust, damp coffeegrounds (used by Labassecourien

housemaids instead of tealeaves) darkened the floor; all was hopeless confusion. Baffled, but not beaten, I

Taking a key whereof I knew the repository, I mounted three staircases in succession, reached a dark, narrow,

silent landing, opened a wormeaten door, and dived into the deep, black, cold garret. Here none would

follow me none interrupt not Madame herself. I shut the garret door; I placed my light on a doddered and

mouldy chest of drawers; I put on a shawl, for the air was icecold; I took my letter, trembling with sweet

'Will it be long will it be short?' thought I, passing my hand across my eyes to dissipate the silvery dimness

To my checked, bridled, disciplined expectation, it seemed very kind: to my longing and famished thought it

So little had I hoped, so much had I feared; there was a fulness of delight in this taste of fruition such,

perhaps, as many a human being passes through life without ever knowing. The poor English teacher in the

frosty garret, reading by a dim candle guttering in the wintry air, a letter simply goodnatured nothing

more; though that goodnature then seemed to me godlike was happier than most queens in palaces.

Of course, happiness of such shallow origin could be but brief; yet, while it lasted it was genuine and

exquisite; a bubble but a sweet bubble of real honeydew: Dr. John had written to me at length; he had

written to me with pleasure; he had written with benignant mood, dwelling with sunny satisfaction on scenes

that had passed before his eyes and mine on places we had visited together on conversations we had held

on all the little subject matter, in short, of the last few halcyon weeks. But the cordial core of the delight

was, a conviction the blithe, genial language generously imparted, that it had been poured out not merely to

content me but to gratify himself. A gratification he might never more desire, never more seek an

hypothesis in every point of view approaching the certain; but that concerned the future. This present moment

had no pain, no blot no want; full, pure, perfect, it deeply blessed me. A passing seraph seemed to have rested

beside me, leaned towards my heart, and reposed on its throb a softening, cooling, healing, hallowing wing.

Dr. John, you pained me afterwards: forgiven be every ill freely forgiven for the sake of that one dear

Are there wicked things, not human, which envy human bliss? Are there evil influences haunting the air, and

Something in that vast solitary garret sounded strangely. Most surely and certainly I heard, as it seemed, a

stealthy foot on that floor: a sort of gliding out from the direction of the black recess haunted by the

malefactor cloaks. I turned: my light was dim; the room was long but as I live! I saw in the middle of that

ghostly chamber a figure all black or white; the skirts straight, narrow, black; the head bandaged, veiled,

Say what you will, reader tell me I was nervous or mad; affirm that I was unsettled by the excitement of

that letter; declare that I dreamed; this I vow I saw there in that room on that night an image like a

I cried out; I sickened. Had the shape approached me I might have swooned. It receded: I made for the door.

How I descended all the stairs I know not. By instinct I shunned the refectory, and shaped my course to

'There is something in the grenier: I have been there: I saw something. Go and look at it, all of you!'

I said, 'All of you;' for the room seemed to me full of people, though in truth there were but four present

Madame Beck; her mother, Madame Kint, who was out of health, and now staying with her on a visit; her

brother, M. Victor Kint, and another gentleman: who, when I entered the room, was conversing with the old

My mortal fear and faintness must have made me deadly pale. I felt cold and shaking. They all rose in

consternation; they surrounded me. I urged them to go to the grenier; the sight of the gentlemen did me good

and gave me courage; it seemed as if there were some help and hope, with men at hand. I turned to the door,

beckoning them to follow. They wanted to stop me, but I said they must come this way: they must see what I

had seen something strange, standing in the middle of the garret. And now, I remembered my letter, left on

the drawers with the light. This precious letter Flesh or spirit must be defied for its sake. I flew upstairs,

Lo! When I reached the garret door, all within was dark as a pit: the light was out. Happily some one

Madame, I think, with her usual calm sense had brought a lamp from the room; speedily, therefore, as they

came up, a ray pierced the opaque blackness. There stood the bougie quenched on the drawers; but where was

'My letter! my letter!' I panted and plained, almost beside myself. I groped on the floor, wringing my hands

wildly. Cruel, cruel doom! To have my bit of comfort preternaturally snatched from me, ere I had well tasted

I don't know what the others, were doing; I could not watch them: they asked me questions I did not answer;

they ransacked all corners; they prattled about this and that disarrangement of cloaks, a breach or crack in the

skylight I know not what. 'Something or somebody has been here,' was sagely averred.

'What letter, Lucy? My dear girl, what letter?' asked a known voice in my ear. Could I believe that ear? No:

and I looked up. Could I trust my eyes? Had I recognised the tone? Did I now look on the face of the writer of

that very letter? Was this gentleman near me in this dim garret, John Graham Dr. Bretton himself?

Yes: it was. He had been called in that very evening to prescribe for some access of illness in old Madame

'Your own: yours the letter you wrote to me. I had come here to read it quietly. I could not find another spot

where it was possible to have it to myself. I had saved it all day never opened it till this evening: it was

'Hush! don't cry and distress yourself so cruelly. What is it worth? Hush! Come out of this cold room; they

are going to send for the police now to examine further: we need not stay here come, we will go down.'

A warm hand, taking my cold fingers, led me down to a room where there was a fire. Dr. John and I sat

before the stove. He talked to me and soothed me with unutterable goodness, promising me twenty letters for

the one lost. If there are words and wrongs like knives, whose deep inflicted lacerations never heal cutting

injuries and insults of serrated and poisondripping edge so, too, there are consolations of tone too fine for

the ear not fondly and for ever to retain their echo: caressing kindnesses loved, lingered over through a

whole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven

cloud foreshadowing Death himself. I have been told since that Dr. Bretton was not nearly so perfect as I

thought him: that his actual character lacked the depth, height, compass and endurance it possessed in my

creed. I don't know: he was as good to me as the well is to the parched wayfarer as the sun to the shivering

He asked me, smiling, why I cared for his letter so very much. I thought, but did not say, that I prized it like

'I read it, but only once. I wanted to read it again. I am sorry it is lost.' And I could not help weeping afresh.

'Lucy, Lucy, my poor little godsister (if there be such a relationship), here here is your letter. Why is it not

Curious, characteristic manoeuvre! His quick eye had seen the letter on the floor where I sought it; his hand,

as quick, had snatched it up. He had hidden it in his waistcoat pocket. If my trouble had wrought with a whit

less stress and reality, I doubt whether he would ever have acknowledged or restored it. Tears of temperature

Pleasure at regaining made me forget merited reproach for the teasing torment; my joy was great; it could not

be concealed: yet I think it broke out more in countenance than language. I said little.

'Well, then,' he proceeded, 'how do you feel physically? Are you growing calmer? Not much; for you tremble

It seemed to me, however, that I was sufficiently calm: at least I felt no longer terrified. I expressed myself

'You are able, consequently, to tell me what you saw? Your account was quite vague, do you know? You

looked as white as the wall; but you only spoke of "something," not defining what. Was it a man? Was it an

'I never will tell exactly what I saw,' said I, 'unless some one else sees it too, and then I will give

corroborative testimony; but otherwise, I shall be discredited and accused of dreaming.'

'Tell me,' said Dr. Bretton; 'I will hear it in my professional character: I look on you now from a professional

point of view, and I read, perhaps, all you would conceal in your eye, which is curiously vivid and restless:

in your cheek, which the blood has forsaken: in your hand, which you cannot steady. Come, Lucy, speak and

'I will again take away that single epistle: being mine, I think I have a right to reclaim it.'

I felt raillery in his words: it made me grave and quiet; but I folded up the letter and covered if from sight.

'You may hide it, but I can possess it any moment I choose. You don't know my skill in sleight of hand: I

might practise as a conjuror if I liked. Mamma says sometimes, too, that I have an harmonising property of

'Indeed indeed when you were a mere boy I used to see both: far more then than now for now you are

strong, and strength dispenses with subtlety. But still, Dr. John, you have what they call in this country "un

'And liked it,' said he, laughing, 'because she has it herself. But, Lucy, give me that letter you don't really

To this provocative speech I made no answer. Graham in mirthful mood must not be humoured too far. Just

now there was a new sort of smile playing about his lips very sweet, but it grieved me somehow a new

sort of light sparkling in his eyes: not hostile, but not reassuring. I rose to go I bid him goodnight a little

His sensitiveness that peculiar, apprehensive, detective faculty of his felt in a moment the unspoken

complaint the scarcethought reproach. He asked quietly if I was offended. I shook my head as implying a

'Permit me, then to speak a little seriously to you before you go. You are in a highly nervous state. I feel sure

from what is apparent in your look and manner, however well controlled, that whilst alone this evening in

that dismal perishing, sepulchral garret that dungeon under the leads, smelling of damp and mould, rank

with phthisis and catarrh: a place you never ought to enter that you saw, or thought you saw, some

appearance peculiarly calculated to impress the imagination. I know that you are not, nor ever were, subject

to material terrors, fears of robbers, etc. I am not so sure that a visitation, bearing a spectral character,

would not shake your very mind. Be calm now. This is all a matter of the nerves, I see: but just specify the

'Nobody most certainly. You may trust me as implicitly as you did Père Silas. Indeed, the doctor is perhaps

'Perhaps, I may, to do you good: but not in scorn. Lucy, I feel as a friend towards you, though your timid

He now looked like a friend: that indescribable smile and sparkle were gone; those formidable arched curves

of lip, nostril, eyebrow, were depressed; repose marked his attitude attention sobered his aspect. Won to

confidence, I told him exactly what I had seen: ere now I had narrated to him the legend of the house

whiling away with that narrative an hour of a certain mild October afternoon, when he and I rode through

'Are they going to interrupt?' said he, glancing at the door with an annoyed expression.

'They will not come here,' I answered; for we were in the little salon where Madame never sat in the evening,

and where it was by mere chance that heat was still lingering in the stove. They passed the door and went on

'Now,' he pursued, 'they will talk about thieves, burglars, and so on: let them do so mind you say nothing,

and keep your resolution of describing your nun to nobody. She may appear to you again: don't start.'

'You think then,' I said, with secret horror, 'she came out of my brain, and is now gone in there, and may glide

'I think it a case of spectral illusion: I fear, following on and resulting from longcontinued mental conflict.'

'Oh, Doctor John I shudder at the thought of being liable to such an illusion! It seemed so real. Is there no

No mockery in this world ever sounds to me so hollow as that of being told to cultivate happiness. What does

such advice mean? Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould and tilled with manure. Happiness is

glory shining far down upon us out of heaven. She is a divine dew which the soul, on certain of its summer

mornings, feels dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and golden fruitage of paradise.

'Cultivate happiness!' I said briefly to the doctor: 'do you cultivate happiness? How do you manage?'

'I am a cheerful fellow by nature: and then illluck has never dogged me. Adversity gave me and my mother

one passing scowl and brush, but we defied her, or rather laughed at her, and she went by.'

If a laughing eye with a lively light, and a face bright with beaming and healthy energy, could attest that he

'And why, Lucy, can't you look and feel as I do buoyant, courageous, and fit to defy all the nuns and flirts

in Christendom? I would give gold on the spot just to see you snap your fingers. Try the manoeuvre.'

'I vow, Lucy, she should not move me; or, she should move me but by one thing true, yes, and passionate

'Transformed, Lucy: transformed! Remember, you once called me a slave! but I am a free man now!'

He stood up: in the port of his head, the carriage of his figure, in his beaming eye and mien, there revealed

itself a liberty which was more than ease a mood which was disdain of his past bondage.

'Miss Fanshawe,' he pursued, 'has led me through a phase of feeling which is over: I have entered another

condition, and am now much disposed to exact love for love passion for passion and good measure of it,

'Ah, Doctor! Doctor! you said it was your nature to pursue Love under difficulties to be charmed by a

He laughed, and answered, 'My nature varies: the mood of one hour is sometimes the mockery of the next.

Well, Lucy' (drawing on his gloves), 'will the nun come again tonight, think you?'

'Give her my compliments, if she does Dr. John's compliments and entreat her to have the goodness to

wait a visit from him. Lucy, was she a pretty nun? Had she a pretty face? You have not told me that yet; and

'Confusion to her goblin trappings!' cried he, irreverently: 'but at least she had handsome eyes bright and

'No, no, we'll none of her: she shall not haunt you, Lucy. Give her that shake of the hand, if she comes again.

I thought it too kind and cordial for a ghost to stand: and so was the smile which matched it, and

And had there been anything in the garret? What did they discover? I believe, on the closest examination,

their discoveries amounted to very little. They talked, at first, of the cloaks being disturbed; but Madame

Beck told me afterwards she thought they hung much as usual: and as for the broken pane in the skylight, she

affirmed that aperture was rarely without one or more panes broken or cracked: and besides, a heavy

hailstorm had fallen a few days ago. Madame questioned me very closely as to what I had seen, but I only

described an obscure figure clothed in black: I took care not to breathe the world 'nun,' certain that this word

would at once suggest to her mind an idea of romance and unreality. She charged me to say nothing on the

subject to any servant, pupil, or teacher, and highly commended my discretion in coming to her private

salleàmanger, instead of carrying the tale of horror to the school refectory. Thus the subject dropped. I was

left secretly and sadly to wonder, in my own mind, whether that strange thing was of this world, or of a realm

beyond the grave; or whether indeed it was only the child of malady, and I of that malady the prey.

To wonder sadly, did I say? No: a new influence began to act upon my life, and sadness, for a certain space,

was held at bay. Conceive a dell, deephollowed in forest secrecy; it lies in dimness and mist: its turf is dank,

its herbage pale and humid. A storm or an axe makes a wide gap amongst the oak trees; the breeze sweeps in;

the sun looks down; the sad, cold dell becomes a deep cup of lustre; high summer pours her blue glory and

her golden light out of that beauteous sky, which till now the starved hollow never saw.

It was three weeks since the adventure of the garret, and I possessed in that case, box, drawer upstairs,

casketed with that first letter, four companions like to it, traced by the same firm pen, sealed with the same

clear seal, full of the same vital comfort. Vital comfort it seemed to me then: I read them in after years; they

were kind letters enough pleasing letters, because composed by one well pleased; in the two last there were

three or four closing lines half gay, half tender, 'by feeling touched, but not subdued.' Time, dear reader,

mellowed them to a beverage of this mild quality; but when I first tasted their elixir, fresh from the fount so

honoured, it seemed juice of a divine vintage. a draught which Hebe might fill, and the very gods approve.

Does the reader, remembering what was said some pages back, care to ask how I answered these letters:

whether under the dry, stinting check of Reason, or according to the full, liberal impulse of Feeling?

To speak truth, I compromised matters; I served two masters: I bowed down in the house of Rimmon, and

lifted the heart at another shrine. I wrote to these letters two answers one for my own relief, the other for

To begin with: Feeling and I turned Reason out of doors, drew against her bar and bolt, then we sat down,

spread our paper, dipped in the ink an eager pen, and, with deep enjoyment, poured out our sincere heart.

When we had done when two sheets were covered with the language of a strongly adherent affection, a

rooted and active gratitude (once, for all, in this parenthesis, I disclaim, with the utmost scorn, every

sneaking suspicion of what are called 'warmer feelings:' women do not entertain these 'warmer feelings'

where, from the commencement, through the whole progress of an acquaintance, they have never once been

cheated of the conviction that to do so would be to commit a mortal absurdity: nobody ever launches into

Love unless he has seen or dreamed the rising of Hope's star over love's troubled waters) when, then, I had

given expression to a closely clinging and deeply honouring attachment an attachment that wanted to attract

to itself and take to its own lot all that was painful in the destiny of its object; that would, if it could have

absorbed and conducted away all storms and lightnings from an existence viewed with a passion of solicitude

then, just at that moment, the doors of my heart would shake, bolt and bar would yield, Reason would leap

in vigorous and revengeful, snatch the bull sheets, read, sneer, erase, tear up rewrite, fold, seal, direct, and

I did not live on letters only: I was visited, I was looked after; once a week I was taken out to La Terrasse;

always I was made much of. Dr. Bretton failed not to tell me why he was so kind: 'To keep away the nun,' he

said: 'he was determined to dispute with her her prey. He had taken,' he declared, 'a thorough dislike to her,

chiefly on account of that white face cloth, and those cold grey eyes: the moment he heard of those odious

particulars,' he affirmed, 'consummate disgust had incited him to oppose her; he was determined to try

whether he or she was the cleverest, and he only wished she would once more look in upon me when he was

present': but that she never did. In short he regarded me scientifically in the light of a patient, and at once

exercised his professional skill, and gratified his natural benevolence, by a course of cordial and attentive

One evening, the first in December, I was walking by myself in the carré; it was six o'clock; the classe doors

were closed; but within, the pupils, rampant in the license of evening recreation, were counterfeiting a

miniature chaos. The carré was quite dark, except a red light shining under and about the stove; the wide

glass doors and the long windows were frosted over; a crystal sparkle of starlight, here and there spangling

this blanched winter veil, and breaking with scattered brilliance the paleness of its embroidery, proved it a

clear night, though moonless. That I should dare to remain thus alone in darkness, showed that my nerves

were regaining a healthy tone: I thought of the nun, but hardly feared her; though the staircase was behind

me, leading up, through blind, black night, from landing to landing, to the haunted grenier. Yet I own my

heart quaked, my pulse leaped, when I suddenly heard breathing and rustling, and turning, saw in the deep

shadow of the steps a deeper shadow still a shape that moved and descended. It paused a while at the classe

door, and then it glided before me. Simultaneously came a clangour of the distant door bell. Lifelike sounds

bring lifelike feelings: this shape was too round and low for my gaunt nun: it was only Madame Beck on

'Mademoiselle Lucy!' cried Rosine, bursting in, lamp in hand, from the corridor, 'On est là pour vous au

Madame saw me, I saw Madame, Rosine saw us both: there was no mutual recognition. I made straight for

the salon. There I found what I own I anticipated I should find Dr. Bretton; but he was in evening dress.

'The carriage is at the door,' said he; 'my mother has sent it to take you to the theatre; she was going herself

but an arrival has prevented her: she immediately said, "Take Lucy in my place." Will you go?'

'You have halfanhour to dress. I should have given you notice, but I only determined on going since five

o'clock, when I heard there was to be a genuine régale in the presence of a great actress.'

And he mentioned a name that thrilled me a name that; in those days, could thrill Europe. It is hushed now:

its once restless echoes are all still; she who bore it went years ago to her rest: night and oblivion long since

closed above her; but then her day a day of Sirius stood at its full height, light and fervour.

'I'll go; I will be ready in ten minutes,' I vowed. And away I flew, never once checked, reader, by the thought

which perhaps at this moment checks you: namely that to go anywhere with Graham and without Mrs.

Bretton could be objectionable. I could not have conceived, much less have expressed to Graham, such

thought such scruple without risk of exciting a tyrannous selfcontempt; of kindling an inward fire of

shame so quenchless, and so devouring, that I think it would soon have licked up the very life in my veins.

Besides, my godmother, knowing her son, and knowing me, would as soon have thought of chaperoning a

sister with a brother, as of keeping anxious guard over our incomings and outgoings.

The present was no occasion for showy array; my dun mist crape would suffice, 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 and

reforms, and some innovating hand had pruned this same crowded wardrobe, and carried divers garments to

the grenier my crape amongst the rest. I must fetch it. I got the key, and went aloft fearless, almost

thoughtless. I unlocked the door, I plunged in. The reader may believe it or not, but when I thus suddenly

entered that garret was not wholly dark as it should have been: from one point there shone a solemn light, like

a star, but broader. So plainly it shone, that it revealed the deep alcove with a portion of the tarnished scarlet

curtain drawn over it. Instantly, silently, before my eyes, it vanished; so did the curtain and alcove: all that

end of the garret became black as night. I ventured no research; I had not time nor will; snatching my dress,

which hung on the wall, happily near the door, I rushed out, relocked the door with convulsed haste, and

But I trembled too much to dress myself: impossible to arrange hair or fasten hooks and eyes with such

fingers, so I called Rosine and bribed her to help me. Rosine liked a bribe, so she did her best, smoothed and

plaited my hair as well as a coiffeur would have done, placed the lace collar mathematically straight, tied the

neck ribbon accurately in short, did her work like the neathanded Phillis she could be when she chose.

Having given me my handkerchief and gloves, she took the candle and lighted me downstairs. After all, I had

forgotten my shawl; she ran back to fetch it; and I stood with Dr. John in the vestibule, waiting.

'What is this, Lucy?' said he, looking down at me narrowly. 'Here is the old excitement. Ha! the nun again?'

But I utterly denied the charge: I was vexed to be suspected of a second illusion. He was sceptical.

'She has been, as sure as I live,' said he; 'her figure crossing your eyes leaves on them a peculiar gleam and

'She has not been,' I persisted: for, indeed, I could deny her apparition with truth.

'The old symptoms are there,' he affirmed; 'a particular pale, and what the Scotch call a "raised" look.'

He was so obstinate, I thought it better to tell him what I really had seen. Of course with him it was held to be

another effect of the same cause: it was all optical illusion nervous malady, and so on. Not one bit did I

believe him; but I dared not contradict: doctors are so selfopinionated, so immovable in their dry, materialist

The theatre was full crammed to its roof: royal and noble were there: palace and hotel had emptied their

inmates into those tiers so thronged and so hushed. Deeply did I feel myself privileged in having a place

before that stage; I longed to see a being of whose powers I had heard reports which made me conceive

peculiar anticipations. I wondered if she would justify her renown: with strange curiosity, with feelings

severe and austere, yet of riveted interest, I waited. She was a study of such nature as had not encountered my

eyes yet: a great and new planet she was: but in what shape? I waited her rising.

She rose at nine that December night; above the horizon I saw her come. She could shine yet with pale

grandeur and steady might; but that star verged already on its judgment day. Seen near it was a chaos

I had heard this woman termed 'plain,' and I expected bony harshness and grimness something large,

angular, sallow. What I saw was the shadow of a royal Vashti: a queen, fair as the day once, turned pale now

For a while a long while I thought it was only a woman, though an unique woman, who moved in might

and grace before this multitude. Byandby I recognised my mistake. Behold! I found upon her something

neither of woman nor of man: in each of her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces bore her through the tragedy,

kept up her feeble strength for she was but a frail creature; and as the action rose and the stir deepened, how

wildly they shook her with their passions of the pit! They wrote HELL on her straight, haughty brow. They

tuned her voice to the note of torment. They writhed her regal face to a demoniac mask. Hate, and Murder,

Swordsmen thrust through, and dying in their blood on the arena sand; bulls goring horses disembowelled,

made a meeker vision for the public a milder condiment for a people's palate than Vashti torn by seven

devils: devils which cried sore and rent the tenement they haunted, but still refused to be exorcised.

Suffering had struck that stage empress; and she stood before her audience neither yielding to, nor enduring,

nor in finite measure, resenting it: she stood locked in struggle, rigid in resistance. She stood, not dressed, but

draped in pale antique folds, long and regular like sculpture. A background and entourage and flooring of

deepest crimson threw her out, white like alabaster like silver: rather, be it said, like Death.

Where was the artist of the Cleopatra? Let him come and sit down and study this different vision. Let him

seek here the mighty brawn, the muscle, the abounding blood, the fullfed flesh he worshipped; let all

I have said that she does not resent her grief. No; the weakness of that word would make it a lie. To her, what

hurts becomes immediately embodied: she looks on it as a thing that can be attacked, worried down, torn in

shreds. Scarcely a substance herself she grapples to conflict with abstractions. Before calamity she is a

tigress; she rends her woes, shivers them in convulsed abhorrence. Pain, for her, has no result in good; tears

water no harvest of wisdom: on sickness, on death itself, she looks with the eye of a rebel. Wicked, perhaps,

she is, but also she is strong; and her strength has conquered Beauty, has overcome Grace, and bound both at

her side, captives peerlessly fair, and docile as fair. Even in the uttermost frenzy of energy is each mænad

movement royally, imperially, incedingly upborne. Her hair, flying loose in revel or war, is still an angel's

hair, and glorious under a halo. Fallen, insurgent, banished, she remembers the heaven where she rebelled.

Heaven's light, following her exile, pierces its confines, and discloses their forlorn remoteness.

Place now the Cleopatra, or any other slug, before her as an obstacle, and see her cut through the pulpy mass

as the scimitar of Saladin clove the down cushion. Let Paul Peter Rubens wake from the dead, let him rise out

of his cerements, and bring into this presence all the army of his fat women; the magian power or prophet

virtue gifting that slight rod of Moses, could, at one waft, release and remingle a sea spellparted, whelming

Vashti was not good, I was told; and I have said she did not look good: though a spirit, she was a spirit out of

Tophet. Well, if so much of unholy force can arise from below, may not an equal efflux of sacred essence

For long intervals I forgot to look how he demeaned himself, or to question what he thought. The strong

magnetism of genius drew my heart out of its wonted orbit; the sunflower turned from the south to a fierce

light, not solar a rushing, red, cometary light hot on vision and to sensation. I had seen acting before, but

never anything like this: never anything which astonished Hope and hushed Desire; which outstripped

Impulse and paled Conception; which, instead of merely irritating imagination with the thought of what

might be done, at the same time fevering the nerves because it was not done disclosed power like a deep,

swollen winter river, thundering in cataract; and bearing the soul, like a leaf, on the steep and steely sweep of

Miss Fanshawe, with her usual ripeness of judgment, pronounced Dr. Bretton, a serious, impassioned man,

too grave and too impressible. Not in such light did I ever see him: no such faults could I lay to his charge.

His natural attitude was not the meditative, nor his natural mood the sentimental; impressionable he was as

dimpling water, but, almost, as water, unimpressible: the breeze, the sun, moved him metal could not grave,

Dr. John could think and think well, but he was rather a man of action than of thought; he could feel, and feel

vividly in his way, but his heart had no chord for enthusiasm: to bright, soft, sweet influences his eyes and

lips gave bright, soft, sweet welcome, beautiful to see as dyes of rose and silver, pearl and purple, embuing

summer clouds; for what belonged to storm, what was wild and intense, dangerous, sudden and flaming, he

had no sympathy, and held with it no communion. When I took time and regained inclination to glance at

him, it amused and enlightened me to discover that he was watching that sinister and sovereign Vashti, not

with wonder, nor worship, nor yet dismay, but simply with intense curiosity. Her agony did not pain him, her

wild moan worse than a shriek did not much move him; her fury revolted him somewhat, but not to the

point of horror. Cool young Briton! The pale cliffs of his own England do not look down on the tides of the

Looking at his face, I longed to know his exact opinions, and at last I put a question tending to elicit them. At

the sound of my voice he awoke as if out of a dream; for he had been thinking, and very intently thinking, his

'Hmmm,' was the first scarce articulate but expressive answer; and then such a strange smile went

wandering round his lips, a smile so critical, so almost callous! I suppose that for natures of that order his

sympathies were callous. In a few terse phrases he told me his opinion of, and feeling towards, the actress: he

That night was already marked in my book of life, not with white, but with a deep red cross. But I had not

done with it yet; and other memoranda were destined to be set down in characters of tint indelible.

Towards midnight, when the deepening tragedy blackened to the death scene, and all held their breath, and

even Graham bit his under lip, and knit his brow, and sat still and struck when the whole theatre was

hushed, when the vision of all eyes centred in one point, when all ears listened towards one quarter nothing

being seen but the white form sunk on a seat, quivering in conflict with her last, her worsthated, her

visiblyconquering foe nothing heard but her throes, her gaspings, breathing yet of mutiny, panting still

defiance; when, as it seemed, an inordinate will, convulsing a perishing mortal frame, bent it to battle with

doom and death, fought every inch of ground, sold every drop of blood, resisted to the latest the rape of every

faculty, would see, would hear, would breathe, would live, up to, within, wellnigh beyond the moment when

Just then a stir, pregnant with omen, rustled behind the scenes feet ran, voices spoke. What was it?

'Fire!' rang through the gallery. 'Fire!' was repeated, reechoed, yelled forth: and then, faster than pen can set

And Dr. John? Reader, I see him yet, with his look of comely courage and cordial calm.

'Lucy will sit still, I know,' said he, glancing down at me with the same serene goodness, the same repose of

firmness that I have seen in him when sitting at his side amid the secure peace of his mother's hearth. Yes,

thus adjured, I think I would have sat still under a rocking crag: but, indeed, to sit still in actual circumstances

was my instinct; and at the price of my very life, I would not have moved to give him trouble, thwart his will,

or make demands on his attention. We were in the stalls, and for a few minutes there was a most terrible,

'How terrified are the women!' said he; 'but if the men were not equally so, order might be maintained. This is

a sorry scene: I see fifty selfish brutes at this moment, each of whom, if I were near, I could conscientiously

knock down. I see some women braver than some men. There is one yonder Good God!'

While Graham was speaking, a young girl who had been very quietly and steadily clinging to a gentleman

before us, was suddenly struck from her protector's arms by a big, butcherly intruder, and hurled under the

feet of the crowd. Scarce two seconds lasted her disappearance. Graham rushed forwards; he and the

gentleman, a powerful man though greyhaired, united their strength to thrust back the throng; her head and

'If you have no lady with you, be it so,' was the answer. 'Hold her, and I will force a passage: we must get her

'I have a lady,' said Graham; 'but she will be neither hindrance nor incumbrance.'

He summoned me with his eye: we were separated. Resolute, however, to rejoin him, I penetrated the living

Our pioneer proved strong and adroit; he opened the dense mass like a wedge; with patience and toil he at last

bored through the flesh and blood rock so solid, hot and suffocating and brought us to the fresh, freezing

'You are an Englishman?' said he, turning shortly on Dr. Bretton, when we got into the street.

'Tell him I am not hurt, except just in my shoulder. Oh, my shoulder! They trod just here.'

'Dislocation, perhaps!' muttered the Doctor 'let us hope there is no worse injury done. Lucy, lend a hand one

And I assisted while he made some arrangement of drapery and position for the ease of his suffering burden.

'She is very light,' said Graham, 'like a child!' and he asked in my ear, 'is a she a child, Lucy? Did you notice

'I am not a child I am a person of seventeen,' responded the patient, demurely and with dignity. Then,

The carriage drove up; her father relieved Graham; but in the exchange from one bearer to another she was

'My darling!' said the father, tenderly; then turning to Graham, 'You said, sir, you are a medical man?'

'Be pleased, then, to follow us.' And he named his address: 'The Hôtel Crécy, in the Rue Crécy.'

We followed, the carriage drove fast; myself and Graham were silent. This seemed like an adventure.

Some little time being lost in seeking our own equipage, we reached, the hotel perhaps about ten minutes

after these strangers. It was an hotel in the foreign sense: a collection of dwellinghouses, not an inn a vast,

lofty pile, with a huge arch to its street door, leading through a vaulted covered way into a square all built

We alighted, passed up a wide, handsome public staircase, and stopped at Numéro 2 on the second landing;

the first floor comprising the abode of I know not what 'prince Russe,' as Graham informed me. On ringing

the bell at a second great door, we were admitted to a suite of very handsome apartments. Announced by a

servant in livery, we entered a drawingroom whose hearth glowed with an English fire, and whose walls

gleamed with foreign mirrors. Near the hearth appeared a little group: a slight form sunk in a deep armchair,

'Where is Harriet? I wish Harriet would come to me,' said the girlish voice, faintly.

'Where is Mrs. Hurst?' demanded the gentleman impatiently and somewhat sternly of the manservant who

'I am sorry to say she is gone out of town, sir; my young lady gave her leave till tomorrow.'

'Yes I did I did. She is gone to see her sister; I said she might go: I remember now,' interposed the young

lady; 'but I am so sorry, for Manon and Louison cannot understand a word I say, and they hurt me without

Dr. John and the gentleman now interchanged greetings; and while they passed a few minutes in consultation,

I approached the easychair, and seeing what the faint and sinking girl wished to have done, I did it for her.

I was still occupied in the arrangement, when Graham drew near; he was no less skilled in surgery than

medicine, and, on examination, found that no further advice than his own was necessary to the treatment of

the present case. He ordered her to be carried to her chamber, and whispered to me:

'Go with the women, Lucy; they seem but dull; you can at least direct their movements, and thus spare her

The chamber was a room shadowy with pale blue hangings, vaporous with curtainings and veilings of

muslin; the bed seemed to me like snowdrift and mist spotless, soft and gauzy. Making the women stand

apart, I undressed their mistress, without their wellmeaning but clumsy aid. I was not in a sufficiently

collected mood to note with separate distinctness every detail of the attire I removed, but I received a general

impression of refinement, delicacy and perfect personal cultivation; which, in a period of afterthought,

offered in my reflections a singular contrast to notes retained of Miss Ginevra Fanshawe's appointments.

This girl was herself a small, delicate creature, but made like a model. As I folded back her plentiful yet fine

hair, so shining and soft, and so exquisitely tended, I had under my observation a young, pale, weary, but

highbred face. The brow was smooth and clear; the eyebrows were distinct but soft, and melting to a mere

trace at the temples; the eyes were a rich gift of nature fine and full, large, deep, seeming to hold dominion

over the slighter subordinate features capable, probably, of much significance at another hour and under

other circumstances than the present, but now languid and suffering. Her skin was perfectly fair, the neck and

hands veined finely like the petals of a flower; a thin glazing of the ice of pride, polished this delicate

exterior, and her lip wore a curl I doubt not inherent and unconscious, but which, if I had seen it first with

the accompaniments of health and state, would have struck me as unwarranted, and proving in the little lady a

Her demeanour under the Doctor's hands at first excited a smile; it was not puerile rather, on the whole,

patient and firm but yet, once or twice she addressed him with suddenness and sharpness, saying that he

hurt her, and must contrive to give her less pain; I saw her large eyes, too, settle on his face like the solemn

eyes of some pretty, wondering child. I know not whether Graham felt this examination: if he did, he was

cautious not to check or discomfort it by any retaliatory look. I think he performed his work with extreme

care and gentleness, sparing her what pain he could; and she acknowledged as much, when he had done, by

'Thank you, Doctor, and goodnight,' very gratefully pronounced: as she uttered them, however; it was with a

repetition of the serious, direct gaze, I thought, peculiar in its gravity and intentness.

The injuries, it seems, were not dangerous: an assurance which her father received with a smile that almost

made one his friend it was so glad and gratified. He now expressed his obligations to Graham with as much

earnestness as was befitting an Englishman addressing one who has served him, but is yet a stranger; he also

I opened the curtain with a smile, and looked in at her. She lay now at comparative ease; she looked pretty,

though pale; her face was delicately designed, and if at first sight it appeared proud, I believe custom might

'I thank the lady very sincerely,' said her father: 'I fancy she has been very good to my child. I think we

scarcely dare tell Mrs. Hurst who has been her substitute and done her work; she will feel at once ashamed

And thus, in the most friendly spirit, parting greetings were interchanged; and refreshment having been

hospitably offered, but by us, as it was late, refused, we withdrew from the Hôtel Crécy.

On our way back we repassed the theatre. All was silence and darkness: the roaring, rushing crowd all

vanished and gone the lamps, as well as the incipient fire, extinct and forgotten. Next morning's papers

explained that it was but some loose drapery on which a spark had fallen, and which had blazed up and been

Those who live in retirement, whose lives have fallen amid the seclusion of schools or of other walledin and

guarded dwellings, are liable to be suddenly and for a long while dropped out of the memory of their friends,

the denizens of a freer world. Unaccountably, perhaps, and close upon some space of unusually frequent

intercourse some congeries of rather exciting little circumstances, whose natural sequel would rather seem

to be the quickening than the suspension of communication there falls a stilly pause, a wordless silence, a

long blank of oblivion. Unbroken always is this blank; alike entire and unexplained. The letter, the message

once frequent, are cut off: the visit, formerly periodical, ceases to occur; the book, paper, or other token that

Always there are excellent reasons for these lapses, if the hermit but knew them. Though he is stagnant in his

cell, his connections without are whirling in the very vortex of life. That void interval which passes for him

so slowly that the very clocks seem at a stand, and the wingless hours plod by in the likeness of tired tramps

prone to rest at milestones that same interval, perhaps, teems with events, and pants with hurry for his

The hermit if he be a sensible hermit will swallow his own thoughts, and lock up his own emotions

during these weeks of inward winter. He will know that Destiny designed him to imitate, on occasion, the

dormouse, and he will be conformable: make a tidy ball of himself creep into a hole of life's wall, and submit

decently to the drift which blows in and soon blocks him up, preserving him in ice for the season.

Let him say, 'It is quite right: it ought to be so, since so it is.' And, perhaps, one day his snow sepulchre will

open, spring's softness will return, the sun and south wind will reach him; the budding of hedges, and

carolling of birds, and singing of liberated streams, will call him to kindly resurrection. Perhaps this may be

the case, perhaps not: the frost may get into his heart and never thaw more; when spring comes, a crow or a

pie may pick out of the wall only his dormouse bones. Well, even in that case, all will be right: it is to be

supposed he knew from the first he was mortal, and must one day go the way of all flesh, 'As well soon as

Following that eventful evening at the theatre, came for me seven weeks as bare as seven sheets of blank

About the middle of that time I entertained fancies that something had happened to my friends at La Terrasse.

The mid blank is always a beclouded point for the solitary: his nerves ache with the strain of long expectancy;

the doubts hitherto repelled gather now to a mass and strong in accumulation roll back upon him with a

force which savours of vindictiveness. Night, too, becomes an unkindly time, and sleep and his nature cannot

agree: strange starts and struggles harass his couch; the sinister band of bad dreams, with horror of calamity,

and sick dread of entire desertion at their head, join the league against him. Poor wretch! He does his best to

Towards the last of these long seven weeks I admitted, what through the other six I had jealously excluded

the conviction that these blanks were inevitable: the result of circumstances, the fiat of fate, a part of my life's

lot, and above all a matter about whose origin no question must ever be asked, for whose painful

sequence no murmur ever uttered. Of course I did not blame myself for suffering: I thank God I had a truer

sense of justice than to fall into any imbecile extravagance of selfaccusation; and as to blaming others for

silence, in my reason I well knew them blameless, and in my heart acknowledged them so: but it was a rough

I tried different expedients to sustain and fill existence: I commenced an elaborate piece of lacework, I

studied German pretty hard, I undertook a course of regular reading of the driest and thickest books in the

library; in all my efforts I was as orthodox as I knew how to be. Was there error somewhere? Very likely. I

only know the result was as if I had gnawed a file to satisfy hunger, or drank brine to quench thirst.

My hour of torment was the posthour. Unfortunately, I knew it too well, and tried as vainly as assiduously

to cheat myself of that knowledge; dreading the rack of expectation, and the sick collapse of disappointment

I suppose animals kept in cages, and so scantily fed as to be always upon the verge of famine, await their

food as I awaited a letter. Oh! to speak truth, and drop that tone of a false calm which long to sustain,

outwears nature's endurance I underwent in those seven weeks bitter fears and pains, strange inward trials,

miserable defections of hope, intolerable encroachments of despair. This last came so near me sometimes that

her breath went right through me. I used to feel it like a baleful air or sigh, penetrate deep, and make motion

pause at my heart, or proceed only under unspeakable oppression. The letter the wellbeloved letter

In the very extremity of want, I had recourse again, and yet again, to the little packet in the case the five

letters. How splendid that month seemed whose skies had beheld the rising of these five stars! It was always

at night I visited them, and not daring to ask every evening for a candle in the kitchen, I bought a wax taper

and matches to light it, and at the study hour stole up to the dormitory and feasted on my crust from the

Barmecide's loaf. It did not nourish me: I pined on it, and got as thin as a shadow: otherwise I was not ill.

Reading there somewhat late one evening, and feeling that the power to read was leaving me for the letters

from incessant perusal were losing all sap and significance: my gold was withering to leaves before my eyes,

and I was sorrowing over the disillusion suddenly a quick tripping foot ran up the stairs. I knew Ginevra

Fanshawe's step: she had dined in town that afternoon; she was now returned, and would come here to

Yes: in she came, dressed in bright silk, with her shawl falling from her shoulders, and her curls, half

uncurled in the damp of night, drooping careless and heavy upon her neck. I had hardly time to recasket my

treasures and lock them up when she was at my side: her humour seemed none of the best.

'He is not a foreigner. The man is English enough, goodness knows; and had an English name till three or

four years ago; but his mother was a foreigner, a De Bassompierre, and some of her family are dead and have

'Don't I know what mamma says about him? He is not my own uncle, but married mamma's sister. Mamma

detests him; she says he killed aunt Ginevra with unkindness: he looks like a bear. Such a dismal evening!'

she went on. 'I'll go no more to his big hotel. Fancy me walking into a room alone, and a great man fifty years

old coming forwards, and after a few minutes' conversation actually turning his back upon me, and then

abruptly going out of the room. Such odd ways! I daresay his conscience smote him, for they all say at home

I am the picture of Aunt Ginevra. Mamma often declares the likeness is quite ridiculous.'

'The only visitor? Yes, then there was missy, my cousin: little spoiled, pampered thing.'

She yawned. Throwing herself without ceremony on my bed, she added, 'It seems Mademoiselle was nearly

'Oh, you have? Really. You go everywhere in these days. I suppose Mother Bretton took you. She and

Esculapius have the entrée of the Dc Bassompierre apartments: it seems "my son John" attended missy on the

occasion of her accident Accident? Bah! All affectation! I don't think she was squeezed more than she

richly deserves for her airs. And now there is quite an intimacy sprung up: I heard something about "auld lang

'Ay, ay! as large as life; and missy played the hostess. What a conceited doll it is!'

Soured and listless, Miss Fanshawe was beginning to disclose the causes of her prostrate condition. There had

been a retrenchment of incense, a diversion or a total withholding of homage and attention: coquetry had

failed of effect, vanity had undergone mortification. She lay fuming in the vapours.

'As well as you or I, no doubt; but she is an affected little thing, and gave herself invalid airs to attract

medical notice. And to see the old dowager making her recline on a couch, and "my son John" prohibiting

'It would not have been so if the object of attention had been changed: if you had taken Miss de

'"My son John!" whom do you indicate by that name? Dr. Bretton's mother never calls him so.'

'You violate the truth in saying so; and as the whole of my patience is now spun off the distaff, I peremptorily

'Passionate thing! Your face is the colour of a coquelicot. I wonder what always makes you so mighty testy ô

l'endroit du gros Jean? "John Anderson, my jo, John!" Oh, the distinguished name!'

Thrilling with exasperation, to which it would have been sheer folly to have given vent for there was no

contending with that unsubstantial feather, that mealywinged moth I extinguished my taper, locked my

bureau, and left her, since she would not leave me. Smallbeer as she was, she had turned insufferably acid.

The morrow was Thursday and a halfholiday. Breakfast was over; I had withdrawn to the first classe. The

dreaded hour, the posthour, was nearing, and I sat waiting it, much as a ghostseer might wait his spectre.

Less than ever was a letter probable; still, strive as I would, I could not forget that it was possible. As the

moments lessened, a restlessness and fear almost beyond the average assailed me. It was a day of winter east

wind, and I had now for some time entered into that dreary fellowship with the winds and their changes, so

little known, so incomprehensible to the healthy. The north and east owned a terrific influence, making all

pain more poignant, all sorrow sadder. The south could calm, the west sometimes cheer: unless, indeed, they

brought on their wings the burden of thunderclouds, under the weight and warmth of which all energy died.

Bitter and dark as was this January day, I remember leaving the classe, and running down without bonnet to

the bottom of the long garden, and then lingering amongst the stripped shrubs, in the forlorn hope that the

postman's ring might occur while I was out of hearing, and I might thus be spared the thrill which some

particular nerve or nerves, almost gnawed through with the unremitting tooth of a fixed idea, were becoming

wholly unfit to support. I lingered as long as I dared without fear of attracting attention by my absence. I

muffled my head in my apron, and stopped my ears in terror of the torturing clang, sure to be followed by

such blank silence, such barren vacuum for me. At last I ventured to reenter the first classe, where, as it was

not yet nine o'clock, no pupils had been admitted. The first thing seen was a white object on my black desk a

white, flat object. The post had, indeed, arrived; by me unheard. Rosine had visited my cell, and, like some

angel, had left behind her a bright token of her presence. That shining thing on the desk was indeed a letter, a

real letter: I saw so much at the distance of three yards, and as I had but one correspondent on earth, from that

one it must come. He remembered me yet. How deep a pulse of gratitude sent new life through my heart.

Drawing near, bending and looking on the letter, in trembling but almost certain hope of seeing a known

hand, it was my lot to find, on the contrary, an autograph for the moment deemed unknown a pale female

scrawl, instead of a firm, masculine character. I then thought fate was too hard for me, and I said, audibly,

But I got over that pain also. Life is still life, whatever its pangs: our eyes and ears and their use remain with

us, though the prospect of what pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of what consoles be quite

I opened the billet: by this time I had recognised its handwriting as perfectly familiar. It was dated 'La

'DEAR LUCY, It occurs to me to inquire what you have been doing with yourself for the last month or

two? Not that I suspect you would have the least difficulty in giving an account of your proceedings. I

daresay you have been just as busy and as happy as ourselves at La Terrasse. As to Graham, his professional

connection extends daily: he is so much sought after, so much engaged, that I tell him he will grow quite

conceited. Like a right good mother, as I am, I do my best to keep him down: no flattery does he get from me,

as you know. And yet, Lucy, he is a fine fellow: his mother's heart dances at the sight of him. After being

hurried here and there the whole day, and passing the ordeal of fifty sorts of tempers, and combating a

hundred caprices, and sometimes witnessing cruel sufferings perhaps, occasionally, as I tell him, inflicting

them at night he still comes home to me in such kindly, pleasant mood, that, really, I seem to live in a sort

of moral antipodes, and on these January evenings my day rises when other people's night sets in.

'Still he needs keeping in order, and correcting, and repressing, and I do him that good service; but the boy is

so elastic there is no such thing as vexing him thoroughly. When I think I have at last driven him to the

sullens, he turns on me with jokes for retaliation: but you know him and all his iniquities, and I am but an

'As for me, I have had my old Bretton agent here on a visit, and have been plunged over head and ears in

business matters. I do so wish to regain for Graham at least some part of what his father left him. He laughs

to scorn my anxiety on this point, bidding me look and see how he can provide for himself and me too, and

asking what the old lady can possibly want that she has not; hinting about sky blue turbans; accusing me of

an ambition to wear diamonds, keep livery servants, have an hotel, and lead the fashion amongst the English

'Talking of sky blue turbans, I wish you had been with us the other evening He had come in really tired; and

after I had given him his tea, he threw himself into my chair with his customary presumption. To my great

delight he dropped asleep. (You know how he teases me about being drowsy: I, who never, by any chance,

close an eye by daylight.) While he slept, I thought he looked very bonny, Lucy: fool as I am to be so proud

of him; but who can help it? Show me his peer. Look where I will, I see nothing like him in Villette. Well, I

took it into my head to play him a trick: so I brought out the sky blue turban, and handling it with gingerly

precaution, I managed to invest his brows with this grand adornment. I assure you it did not at all misbecome

him; he looked quite Eastern, except that he is so fair. Nobody, however, can accuse him of having red hair

now it is genuine chestnut a dark, glossy chestnut; and when I put my large Cashmere about him, there

'It was good entertainment; but only half enjoyed, since I was alone: you should have been there.

'In due time my lord awoke: the lookingglass above the fireplace soon intimated to him his plight: as you

'But to come to the gist of my letter. I know Thursday is a halfholiday in the Rue Fossette: be ready, then,

by five in the afternoon, at which hour I will send the carriage to take you out to La Terrasse. Be sure to

come: you may meet some old acquaintance. Goodbye, my wise, dear, grave little goddaughter. Very

Now, a letter like that sets one to rights! I might still be sad after reading that letter, but I was more

composed; not exactly cheered, perhaps, but relieved. My friends, at least, were well and happy: no accident

had occurred to Graham; no illness had seized his mother calamities that had so long been my dream and

thought. Their feelings for me too were as they had been. Yet, how strange it was to look on Mrs. Bretton's

seven weeks and contrast them with my seven weeks! Also, how very wise it is in people placed in an

exceptional position to hold their tongues and not rashly declare how such position galls them! The world can

understand well enough the process of perishing for want of food: perhaps few persons can enter into or

follow out that of going mad from solitary confinement. They see the longburied prisoner disinterred, a

maniac or an idiot how his senses left him how his nerves, first inflamed, underwent nameless agony, and

then sunk to palsy is a subject too intricate for examination, too abstract for popular comprehension. Speak

of it! you might almost as well stand up in an European marketplace, and propound dark sayings in that

language and mood wherein Nebuchadnezzar, the imperial hypochondriac, communed with his baffled

Chaldeans. And long, long may the minds to whom such themes are no mystery by whom their bearings are

sympathetically seized be few in number, and rare of rencounter. Long may it be generally thought that

physical privations alone merit compassion, and that the rest is a figment. When the world was younger and

haler than now, moral trials were a deeper mystery still: perhaps in all the land of Israel there was but one

The keen, still cold of the morning was succeeded, later in the day, by a sharp breathing from Russian wastes:

the cold zone sighed over the temperate zone, and froze it fast. A heavy firmament, dull and thick with snow,

sailed up from the north, and settled over expectant Europe. Towards afternoon began the descent. I feared no

carriage would come, the white tempest raged so dense and wild. But trust my godmother! Once having

asked, she would have her guest. About six o'clock I was lifted from the carriage over the already blockedup

Running through the vestibule, and upstairs to the drawingroom, there I found Mrs. Bretton a summer day

in her own person. Had I been twice as cold I was, her kind kiss and cordial clasp would have warmed me.

Inured now for so long a time to rooms with bare boards, black benches, desks and stoves, the blue saloon

seemed to me gorgeous. In its Christmaslike fire alone there was a clear and crimson splendour which quite

When my godmother had held my hand for a little while, and chatted with me, and scolded me for having

become thinner than when she last saw me, she professed to discover that the snowwind had disordered my

Repairing to my own little seagreen room, there also I found a bright fire, and candles too were lit: a tall

waxlight stood on each side the great lookingglass; but between the candles, and before the glass, appeared

something dressing itself an airy, fairy thing small, slight, white a winter spirit.

I declare, for one moment I thought of Graham and his spectral illusions With distrustful eye I noted the

details of this new vision. It wore white sprinkled slightly with drops of scarlet; its girdle was red; it had

something in its hair leafy, yet shining a little wreath with an evergreen gloss. Spectral or not, here truly

Turning quick upon me, a large eye, under long lashes, flashed over me the intruder: the lashes were as dark

'Ah! you are come!' she breathed out, in a soft, quiet voice, and she smiled slowly, and gazed intently.

I knew her now. Having only once seen that sort of face, with that cast of fine and delicate featuring, I could

'No,' was the reply, 'not Miss de Bassompierre for you.' I did not inquire who then she might be, but waited

'You are changed, but still you are yourself' she said, approaching nearer. 'I remember you well your

I had moved to the fire, and she stood opposite, and gazed into me; and as she gazed, her face became

gradually more and more expressive of thought and feeling, till at last a dimness quenched her clear vision.

'It makes me almost cry to look so far back,' said she; 'but as to being sorry, or sentimental, don't think it: on

Interested, yet altogether at fault, I knew not what to say. At last I stammered, 'I think I never met you till that

She smiled. 'You have forgotten then that I have sat on your knee, been lifted in your arms, even shared your

pillow? You no longer remember the night when I came crying like a naughty little child as I was, to your

bedside, and you took me in? You have no memory for the comfort and protection by which you soothed an

How time can change! Little Polly wore in her pale small features, her fairy symmetry, her varying

expression, a certain promise of interest and grace; but Paulina Mary was become beautiful not with the

beauty that strikes the eye like a rose orbed, ruddy and replete; not with the plump, and pink, and flaxen

attributes of her blond cousin Ginevra; but her seventeen years had brought her a refined and tender charm

which did not lie in complexion, though hers was fair and clear; nor in outline, though her features were

sweet, and her limbs perfectly turned; but, I think, rather in a subdued glow from the soul outward. This was

not an opaque vase, of material however costly, but a lamp chastely lucent, guarding from extinction, yet not

hiding from worship, a flame vital and vestal. In speaking of her attractions, I would not exaggerate language;

but, indeed, they seemed to me very real and engaging. What though all was on a small scale, it was the

perfume which gave this white violet distinction, and made it superior to the broadest camellia the fullest

'Better,' said she, 'better, perhaps, than you. I remember it with minute distinctness: not only the time, but the

'You were then a little creature of quick feelings: you must, long ere this, have outgrown the impressions with

which joy and grief affection and bereavement, stamped your mind ten years ago?'

'You think I have forgotten whom I liked, and in what degree I liked them when a child?'

'The sharpness must be gone the point, the poignancy the deep imprint must be softened away, and

She looked as if she had. Her eyes were the eyes of one who can remember; one whose childhood does not

fade like a dream, nor whose youth vanish like a sunbeam. She would not take life, loosely and incoherently,

in parts, and let one season slip as she entered on another: she would retain and add; often review from the

commencement, and so grow in harmony and consistency as she grew in years. Still I could not quite admit

the conviction that all the pictures which now crowded upon me were vivid and visible to her. Her fond

attachments, her sports and contests with a wellloved playmate, the patient, true devotion of her child's

heart, her fears, her delicate reserves, her little trials, the last piercing pain of separation. . . . I retraced these

things, and shook my head incredulous. She persisted. 'The child of seven years lives yet in the girl of

'You used to be excessively fond of Mrs. Bretton,' I remarked, intending to test her. She set me right at once.

'Not excessively fond,' said she; 'I liked her: I respected her, as I should do now: she seems to me very little

'There are several things here that used to be at Bretton. I remember that pincushion and that lookingglass.'

Evidently, she was not deceived in her estimate of her own memory; not, at least, so far.

'I perfectly remembered her; the turn of her features, her olive complexion, and black hair, her height, her

'Dr. Bretton, of course,' I pursued, 'would be out of the question: and, indeed, as I saw your first interview

'They exchanged cards. The names Graham Bretton and Home de Bassompierre gave rise to questions and

explanations. That was on the second day; but before then I was beginning to know something.'

'Why,' she said, 'how strange it is that most people seem so slow to feel the truth not to see, but feel! When

Dr. Bretton had visited me a few times, and sat near and talked to me; when I had observed the look in his

eyes, the expression about his mouth, the form of his chin, the carriage of his head, and all that we do observe

in persons who approach us how could I avoid being led by association to think of Graham Bretton?

Graham was slighter than he, and not grown so tall, and had a smoother face, and longer and lighter hair, and

spoke not so deeply more like a girl; but yet he is Graham, just as I am little Polly, or you are Lucy

I thought the same, but I wondered to find my thoughts hers: there are certain things in which we so rarely

'I have not asked him: few things would surprise me so much as to find that he did. I suppose his disposition

'I scarcely remember him in any other light. Sometimes he was studious; sometimes he was merry; but

whether busy with his books or disposed for play, it was chiefly the books or game he thought of; not much

'Partial to me? Oh, no! he had other playmates his schoolfellows; I was of little consequence to him, except

on Sundays: yes, he was kind on Sundays. I remember walking with him hand in hand to St. Mary's, and his

finding the places in my prayerbook; and how good and still he was on Sunday evenings! So mild for such a

proud, lively boy; so patient with all my blunders in reading; and so wonderfully to be depended on, for he

never spent those evenings from home: I had a constant fear that he would accept some invitation and forsake

us; but he never did, nor seemed ever to wish to do it. Thus, of course, it can be no more. I suppose Sunday

'Children, come down!' here called Mrs. Bretton from below. Paulina would still have lingered, but I inclined

Cheerful as my godmother naturally was, and entertaining as, for our sakes she made a point of being, there

was no true enjoyment that evening at La Terrasse, till, through the wild howl of the winter night, were heard

the signal sounds of arrival. How often, while women and girls sit warm at snug firesides their hearts and

imaginations are doomed to divorce from the comfort surrounding their persons, forced out by night to

wander through dark ways, to dare stress of weather, to contend with the snow blast, to wait at lovely gates

and stiles in wildest storms, watching and listening to see and hear the father, the son, the husband coming

Father and son came at last to the château: the Count de Bassompierre that night accompanied Dr. Bretton. I

know not which of our trio heard the horses first; the asperity, the violence of the weather warranted our

running down into the hall to meet and greet the two riders as they came in; but they warned us to keep our

distance: both were white two mountains of snow; and indeed Mrs. Bretton, seeing their condition, ordered

them instantly to the kitchen, prohibiting them, at their peril, from setting foot on her carpeted staircase till

they had severally put off that mask of Old Christmas they now affected. Into the kitchen, however, we could

not help following them: it was a large old Dutch kitchen, picturesque and pleasant. The little white Countess

The bear shook himself and the little sprite fled far from the frozen shower. Back she came, however,

laughing, and eager to aid in removing the arctic disguise. The Count, at last issuing from his dreadnought,

'Come, then,' said she, bending to invite the fall, and when it was playfully advanced above her head,

Her movements had the supple softness, the velvet grace of a kitten; her laugh was clearer than the ring of

silver and crystal; as she took her sire's cold hands and rubbed them, and stood on tiptoe to reach his lips for a

kiss, there seemed to shine round her a halo of loving delight. The grave and reverend signior looked down

'Mrs. Bretton,' said he: 'what am I to do with this daughter or daughterling of mine? She neither grows in

wisdom nor in stature. Don't you find her pretty nearly as much the child as she was ten years ago?'

'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 she deemed advisable, and which he resisted. He stood leaning against the Dutch

'Come, mamma,' said he, 'by way of compromise, and to secure for us inward as well as outward warmth, let

So, while the Count stood by the fire, and Paulina Mary still danced to and fro happy in the liberty of the

wide halllike kitchen Mrs. Bretton herself instructed Martha to spice and heat the wassailbowl, and,

pouring the draught into a Bretton flagon, it was served round, reaming hot, by means of a small silver vessel,

'Here's to Auld Lang Syne!' said the Count; holding the glancing cup on high. Then, looking at Mrs. Bretton:

'Scotch! Scotch!' cried Paulina; 'papa is talking Scotch: and Scotch he is partly. We are Home and De

'And is that a Scotch reel you are dancing, you Highland fairy?' asked her father. 'Mrs. Bretton, there will be a

green ring growing up in the middle of your kitchen shortly. I would not answer for her being quite cannie:

Mr. Home (there was still quite as much about him of plain Mr. Home as of proud Count de Bassompierre)

held his hand out to me, saying kindly, 'he remembered me well; and, even had his own memory been less

trustworthy my name was so often on his daughter's lips, and he had listened to so many long tales about me,

Every one now had tasted the wassailcup except Paulina, whose pas de fée, ou de fantaisie, nobody thought

of interrupting to offer so profanatory a draught; but she was not to be overlooked, nor baulked of her mortal

'Let me taste,' said she to Graham, as he was putting the cup on the shelf of the dresser out of her reach.

Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home were now engaged in conversation. Dr. John had not been unobservant of the

fairy's dance; he had watched it, and he had liked it. To say nothing of the softness and beauty of the

movements, eminently grateful to his graceloving eye, that ease in his mother's house charmed him for it set

him at ease: again she seemed a child for him again, almost his playmate. I wondered how he would speak

to her; I had not yet seen him address her; his first words proved that the old days of 'little Polly' had been

'Couldn't consent to a step of the kind on any account. Sorry for it, but couldn't do it.'

'Why? I am quite well now: it can't break my collarbone again, or dislocate my shoulder. Is it wine?'

And he took it down, administered to himself a second dose of this mighty elixir, expressed in his

mischievous eyes extreme contentment with the same, and solemnly replaced the cup on the shelf.

'I should like a little,' said Paulina, looking up; 'I never had any "old October": is it sweet?'

She continued to look up exactly with the countenance of a child that longs for some prohibited dainty. At

last the Doctor relented, took it down, and indulged himself in the gratification of letting her taste from his

hand; his eyes, always expressive in the revelation of pleasurable feelings, luminously and smilingly avowed

that it was a gratification; and he prolonged it by so regulating the position of the cup that only a drop at a

'A little more a little more,' said she, petulantly touching his hand with the forefinger, to make him incline

the cup more generously and yieldingly. 'It smells, of spice and sugar, but I can't taste it; your wrist is so stiff,

He indulged her, whispering, however, with gravity: 'Don't tell my mother or Lucy; they wouldn't approve.'

'Nor do I,' said she, passing into another tone and manner as soon as she had fairly assayed the beverage, just

as if it had acted upon her like some disenchanting draught, undoing the work of a wizard: 'I find it anything

but sweet; it is bitter and hot, and takes away my breath. Your old October was only desirable while

And, with a slight bend careless, but as graceful as her dance she glided from him and rejoined her father.

Graham looked after her a little baffled, a little puzzled; his eye was on her a good deal during the rest of the

As we ascended to the drawingroom for tea, she took her father's arm: her natural place seemed to be at his

side; her eyes and her ears were dedicated to him. He and Mrs. Bretton were the chief talkers of our little

party, and Paulina was their best listener, attending closely to all that was said, prompting the repetition of

'And where were you at such a time, papa? And what did you say then? And tell Mrs. Bretton what happened

She did not again yield to any effervescence of glee; the infantine sparkle was exhaled for the night: she was

soft, thoughtful and docile. It was pretty to see her bid goodnight; her manner to Graham was touched with

dignity in her very slight smile and quiet bow spoke the Countess, and Graham could not but look grave, and

bend responsive. I saw he hardly knew how to blend together in his ideas the dancing fairy and delicate dame.

Next day, when we were all assembled round the breakfasttable, shivering and fresh from the morning's

chill ablutions, Mrs. Bretton pronounced a decree that nobody, who was not forced by dire necessity, should

Indeed, egress seemed next to impossible; the drift darkened the lower panes of the casement, and, on looking

out, one saw the sky and air vexed and dim, the wind and snow in angry conflict. There was no fall now, but

what had already descended was torn up from the earth, whirled round by brief shrieking gusts, and cast into

'Papa shall not go out,' said she, placing a seat for herself beside her father's armchair. 'I will look after him.

'Ay, and No,' was the answer. 'If you and Mrs. Bretton are very good to me, Polly kind, you know, and

attentive; if you pet me in a very nice manner, and make much of me, I may possibly be induced to wait an

hour after breakfast and see whether this razoredged wind settles. But, you see, you give me no breakfast;

'Quick! please, Mrs. Bretton, and pour out the coffee,' entreated Paulina, 'whilst I take care of the Count de

Bassompierre in other respects: since he grew into a Count, he has needed so much attention.'

'There, papa, are your "pistolets" charged!' said she. 'And there is some marmalade, just the same sort of

marmalade we used to have at Bretton, and which you said was as good as if it had been conserved in

'And which your little ladyship used to beg for my boy do you remember that?' interposed Mrs. Bretton.

'Have you forgotten how you would come to my elbow and touch my sleeve with the whisper, "Please,

'No, mamma,' broke in Dr. John, laughing, yet reddening; 'it surely was not so: I could not have cared for

'Never blush for it, John,' said Mr. Home, encouragingly. 'I like them myself yet, and always did. And Polly

showed her sense in catering for a friend's material comforts: it was I who put her into the way of such good

manners nor do I let her forget them. Polly, offer me a small slice of that tongue.'

'There, papa: but remember you are only waited upon with this assiduity on condition of being persuadable,

'Mrs. Bretton,' said the Count, 'I want to get rid of my daughter to send her to school. Do you know of any

'I am a teacher,' I said, and was rather glad of the opportunity of saying this. For a little while I had been

feeling as if placed in a false position. Mrs. Bretton and son knew my circumstances; but the Count and his

daughter did not. They might choose to vary by some shades their hitherto cordial manner towards me, when

aware of my grade in society. I spoke then readily: but a swarm of thoughts I had not anticipated not invoked,

rose dim at the words, making me sigh involuntarily. Mr. Home did not lift his eyes from his breakfast plate

for about two minutes, nor did he speak; perhaps he had not caught the words perhaps he thought that on a

confession of that nature, politeness would interdict comment: the Scotch are proverbially proud; and homely

as was Mr. Home in look, simple in habits and tastes, I have all along intimated that he was not without his

share of the national quality. Was his a pseudopride? was it real dignity? I leave the question undecided in

its wide sense. Where it concerned me individually I can only answer: then, and always, he showed himself a

By nature he was a feeler and a thinker; over his emotions and his reflections spread a mellowing of

melancholy; more than a mellowing: in trouble and bereavement it became a cloud. He did not know much

about Lucy Snowe; what he knew, he did not very accurately comprehend: indeed his misconceptions of my

character often made me smile; but he saw my walk in life lay rather on the shady side of the hill; he gave me

credit for doing my endeavour to keep the course honestly straight; he would have helped me if he could:

having no opportunity of helping, he still wished me well. When he did look at me, his eye was kind; when

'Yours,' said he, 'is an arduous calling. I wish you health and strength to win in it success.'

His fair little daughter did not take the information quite so composedly: she fixed on me a pair of eyes wide

'Are you a teacher?' cried she. Then, having paused on the unpalatable idea, 'Well, I never knew what you

Her father looked at, and, I feared, was going to check her; but he only said, 'Proceed, Polly, proceed with

that catechism prove yourself the little wiseacre you are. If Miss Snowe were to blush and look confused, I

should have to bid you hold your tongue; and you and I would sit out the present meal in some disgrace; but

she only smiles, so push her hard, multiply the crossquestions. Well, Miss Snowe, why do you go on with

'Not then from motives of pure philanthropy? Polly and I were clinging to that hypothesis as the most lenient

'No no, sir. Rather for the roof of shelter I am thus enabled to keep over my head; and for the comfort of

mind it gives me to think that while I can work for myself I am spared the pain of being a burden to anybody.'

'Take up that pity, Miss de Bassompierre; take it up in both hands, as you might a little callow gosling

squattering out of bounds without leave; put it back in the warm nest of a heart whence it issued, and receive

in your ear this whisper. If my Polly ever came to know by experience the uncertain nature of this world's

goods, I should like her to act as Lucy acts: to work for herself, that she might burden neither kith nor kin.'

'Yes, papa,' said she, pensively and tractably. 'But poor Lucy! I thought she was a rich lady and had rich

'You thought like a little simpleton. I never thought so. When I had time to consider Lucy's manner and

aspect, which was not often, I saw she was one who had to guard and not be guarded; to act and not be

served: and this lot has, I imagine, helped her to an experience for which, if she live long enough to realise its

full benefit, she may yet bless Providence. But this school,' he pursued, changing his tone from grave to gay:

I said, there needed but to try Madame; it would soon be seen: she was fond of English pupils. 'If you, sir,' I

added, 'will but take Miss de Bassompierre in your carriage this very afternoon, I think I can answer for it that

Rosine, the portress, will not be very slow in answering your ring; and Madame, I am sure, will put on her

'In that case,' responded Mr. Home, 'I see no sort of necessity there is for delay. Mrs. Hurst can send what she

calls her young lady's "things" after her; Polly can settle down to her hornbook before night; and you, Miss

Lucy, I trust, will not disdain to cast an occasional eye upon her, and let me know, from time to time, how

The Countess hemmed and hesitated. 'I thought,' said she, 'I thought I had finished my education '

'That only proves how much we may be mistaken in our thoughts: I hold a far different opinion, as most of

these will who have been auditors of your profound knowledge of life this morning. Ah, my little girl, thou

hast much to learn; and papa ought to have taught thee more than he has done! Come, there is nothing for it

but to try Madame Beck; and the weather seems settling, and I have finished my breakfast '

'It is enormous, papa; it can never be got over; it is as large as you in your greatcoat, and the snowdrift on the

'No! it is of too too solid flesh; it is just your own self. Miss Lucy, warn Madame Beck not to listen to any

overtures about taking me, because, in the end, it would turn out that she would have to take papa too: as he is

so teasing, I will just tell tales about him. Mrs. Bretton and all of you listen: About five years ago, when I was

twelve years old, he took it into his head that he was spoiling me; that I was growing unfitted for the world,

and I don't know what, and nothing would serve or satisfy him, but I must go to school. I cried, and so on; but

M. de Bassompierre proved hardhearted, quite firm and flinty, and to school I went. What was the result? In

the most admirable manner, papa came to school likewise: every other day he called to see me. Madame

Aigredoux grumbled, but it was of no use; and so, at last, papa and I were both, in a manner, expelled. Lucy

can just tell Madame Beck this little trait: it is only fair to let her know what she has to expect.'

Mrs. Bretton asked Mr. Home what he had to say in answer to this statement. As he made no defence,

But she had other moods besides the arch and naive. After breakfast, when the two elders withdrew I

suppose to talk over certain of Mrs. Bretton's business matters and the Countess, Dr. Bretton, and I, were

for a short time alone together all the child left her; with us, more nearly her companions in age, she rose at

once to the little lady: her very face seemed to alter; that play of feature, and candour of look, which, when

she spoke to her father, made it quite dimpled and round, yielded to an aspect more thoughtful, and lines

No doubt Graham noted the change as well as I. He stood for some minutes near the window, looking out at

the snow; presently he approached the hearth, and entered into conversation, but not quite with his usual ease:

fit topics did not seem to rise to his lips, he chose them fastidiously, hesitatingly and consequently

infelicitously: he spoke vaguely of Villette its inhabitants, its notable sights and buildings. He was

answered by Miss de Bassompierre in quite womanly sort; with intelligence, with a manner not indeed

wholly disindividualised: a tone, a glance, a gesture, here and there, rather animated and quick than measured

and stately, still recalled little Polly; but yet there was so fine and even a polish, so calm and courteous a

grace, gilding and sustaining these peculiarities, that a less sensitive man than Graham would not have

Yet while Dr. Bretton continued subdued, and, for him, sedate, he was still observant. Not one of those petty

impulses and natural breaks escaped him. He did not miss one characteristic movement, one hesitation in

language, or one lisp in utterance. At times, in speaking fast, she still lisped; but coloured whenever such

lapse occurred, and in a painstaking, conscientious manner, quite as amusing as the slight error, repeated the

Whenever she did this, Dr. Bretton smiled. Gradually; as they conversed, the restraint on each side slackened:

might the conference have but been prolonged, I believe it would soon have become genial: already to

Paulina's lip and cheek returned the wreathing, dimpling smile; she lisped once, and forgot to correct herself.

And Dr. John, I know not how he changed, but change he did. He did not grow gayer no raillery, no levity

sparkled across his aspect but his position seemed to become one of more pleasure to himself, and he spoke

his augmented comfort in readier language, in tones more suave. Ten years ago this pair had always found

abundance to say to each other; the intervening decade had not narrowed the experience or impoverished the

intelligence of either: besides, there are certain natures of which the mutual influence is such, that the more

they say, the more they have to say. For these, out of association grows adhesion, and out of adhesion,

Graham, however, must go: his was a profession whose claims are neither to be ignored or deferred. He left

the room; but before he could leave the house there was a return. I am sure he came back not for the paper,

or card in his desk, which formed his ostensible errand but to assure himself, by one more glance, that

Paulina's aspect was really such as memory was bearing away: that he had not been viewing her somehow by

a partial, artificial light and making a fond mistake. No! he found the impression true rather indeed, he

gained than lost by his return: he took away with him a parting look shy, but very soft as beautiful, as

innocent, as any little fawn could lift out of its cover of fern, or any lamb from its meadowbed.

Being left alone, Paulina and I kept silence for some time; we both took out some work, and plied a mute and

diligent task. The white wood workbox of old days was now replaced by one inlaid with precious mosaic, and

furnished with implements of gold; the tiny and trembling fingers that could scarce guide the needle, though

tiny still, were now swift and skilful; but there was the same busy knitting of the brow, the same little dainty

mannerisms, the same quick turns and movements now to replace a stray tress, and anon to shake from the

That morning I was disposed for silence: the austere fury of the winter day had on me an awing, hushing

influence. That passion of January, so white and so bloodless, was not yet spent: the storm had raved itself

hoarse, but seemed no nearer exhaustion. Had Ginevra Fanshawe been my companion in that drawingroom,

she would not have suffered me to muse and listen undisturbed. The presence just gone from us would have

been her theme; and how she would have rung the changes on one topic! how she would have pursued and

pestered me with questions and surmises worried and oppressed me with comments and confidences I did

Paulina Mary cast once or twice towards me a quiet but penetrating glance of her dark, full eye; her lips half

opened, as if to the impulse of coming utterance; but she saw and delicately respected my inclination for

'This will not hold long,' I thought to myself, for I was not accustomed to find in women or girls any power of

selfcontrol or strength of selfdenial. As far as I knew them, the chance of a gossip about their usually

trivial secrets, their often very washy and paltry feelings, was a treat not to be readily forgone.

The little Countess promised an exception: she sewed till she was tired of sewing, and then she took a book.

As chance would have it, she had sought it in Dr. Bretton's own compartment of the bookcase; and it proved

to be an old Bretton book some illustrated work of natural history. Often had I seen her standing at

Graham's side, resting that volume on his knee, and reading to his tuition; and, when the lesson was over,

begging, as a treat, that he would tell her all about the pictures. I watched her keenly: here was a true test of

Faithful? It could not be doubted. As she turned the leaves, over her face passed gleam after gleam of

expression, the least intelligent of which was a full greeting to the Past. And then she turned to the titlepage,

and looked at the name written in the schoolboy hand. She looked at it long; nor was she satisfied with

merely looking: she gently passed over the characters the tips of her fingers, accompanying the action with an

unconscious but tender smile, which converted the touch into a caress. Paulina loved the Past; but the

peculiarity of this little scene was, that she said nothing: she could feel without pouring out her feelings in a

She now occupied herself at the bookcase for nearly an hour; taking down volume after volume, and

renewing her acquaintance with each. This done, she seated herself on a low stool, rested her cheek on her

The sound of the front door opened below, a rush of cold wind, and her father's voice speaking to Mrs.

Bretton in the hall, startled her at last. She sprang up: she was downstairs in one second.

And then I heard M. de Bassompierre showing to her how he was well provided against the weather; and how

he was going to have the carriage, and to be quite snugly sheltered; and, in short, proving that she need not

'But you will promise to come back here this evening, before it is quite dark; you and Dr. Bretton, both, in

'Well, if I see the Doctor, I will tell him a lady has laid on him her commands to take care of his precious

'Yes, you must say a lady; and he will think it is his mother, and be obedient. And, papa, mind to come soon,

The door closed, and the carriage rolled softly through the snow; and back returned the Countess, pensive and

She did listen, and watch, when evening closed; but it was in stillest sort: walking the drawingroom with

quite noiseless step. She checked at intervals her velvet march; inclined her ear, and consulted the night

sounds: I should rather say, the night silence; for now, at last, the wind was fallen. The sky, relieved of its

avalanche, lay naked and pale: through the barren boughs of the avenue we could see it well, and note also

the polar splendour of the newyear moon an orb white as a world of ice. Nor was it late when we saw also

Paulina had no dance of welcome for this evening. It was with a sort of gravity that she took immediate

possession of her father as he entered the room; but she at once made him her entire property, led him to the

seat of her choice, and, while softly showering round him honeyed words of commendation for being so good

and coming, home so soon, you would have thought it was entirely by the power of her little hands he was

put into his chair, and settled and arranged; for the strong man seemed to take pleasure in wholly yielding

Graham did not appear till some minutes after the Count. Paulina half turned when his step was heard: they

spoke, but only a word or two: their fingers met a moment, but obviously with slight contact. Paulina

remained beside her father; Graham threw himself into a seat on the other side of the room.

It was well that Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home had a great deal to say to each other almost an inexhaustible

fund of discourse in old recollections; otherwise, I think, our party would have been but a still one that

After tea, Paulina's quick needle and pretty golden thimble were busily plied by the lamplight, but her

tongue rested, and her eyes seemed reluctant to raise often their lids so smooth and so fullfringed. Graham,

too, must have been tired with his day's work: he listened dutifully to his elders and betters, said very little

himself and followed with his eye the gilded glance of Paulina's thimble, as if it had been some bright moth

From this date my life did not want variety; I went out a good deal, with the entire consent of Madame Beck,

who perfectly approved the grade of my acquaintance. That worthy directress had never from the first treated

me otherwise than with respect; and when she found that I was liable to frequent invitations from a château

Not that she was fulsome about it: Madame, in all things worldly, was in nothing weak; there was measure

and sense in her hottest pursuit of selfinterest, calm and considerateness in her closest clutch of gain;

without, then, laying herself open to my contempt as a timeserver and a toadie, she marked with tact that she

was pleased people connected with her establishment should frequent such associates as must cultivate and

elevate, rather than those who might deteriorate and depress. She never praised either me or my friends; only

once when she was sitting in the sun in the garden, a cup of coffee at her elbow and the Gazette in her hand,

looking very comfortable, and I came up and asked leave of absence for the evening, she delivered herself in

'Oui, oui, ma bonne amie: je vous donne la permission de coeur et de gré. Votre travail dans ma maison a

toujours été admirable, rempli de zèle et de discrétion: vous avez bien le droit de vous amuser. Sortez donc

tant que vous voudrez. Quant à votre choix de connaissances, j'en suis contente; c'est sage, digne, laudable.'

The reader will not too gravely regard the little circumstance that about this time the triplyenclosed packet

of five letters temporarily disappeared from my bureau. Blank dismay was naturally my first sensation on

'Patience!' whispered I to myself. 'Let me say nothing, but wait peaceably; they will come back again.'

And they did come back: they had only been on a short visit to Madame's chamber; having passed their

I wonder what she thought of my correspondence. What estimate did she form of Dr. John Bretton's

epistolary powers? In what light did the often very pithy thoughts, the generally sound, and sometimes

original opinions, set, without pretension, in an easilyflowing, spirited style, appear to her? How did she like

that genial, halfhumorous vein, which to me gave such delight? What did she think of the few kind words

scattered here and there not thickly, as the diamonds were scattered in the valley of Sindbad, but sparely, as

those gems lie in unfabled beds? Oh, Madame Beck! how seemed these things to you?

I think in Madame Beck's eyes the five letters found a certain favour. One day after she had borrowed them

of me (in speaking of so suave a little woman, one ought to use suave terms), I caught her examining me with

a steady contemplative gaze, a little puzzled, but not at all malevolent. It was during that brief space between

lessons, when the pupils turned out into the court for a quarter of an hour's recreation; she and I remained in

the first classe alone: when I met her eye, her thoughts forced themselves partially through her lips.

'II y a,' said she, 'quelque chose de bien remarquable dans le caractère anglais.'

'Je ne saurais vous dire "how"; mais, enfin, les Anglais ont des idées à eux, en amitié, en amour, en tout. Mais

au moins il n'est pas besoin de les surveiller,' she added, getting up and trotting away like the compact little

'Then I hope,' murmured I to myself 'you will graciously let alone my letters for the future.'

Alas! something came rushing into my eyes, dimming utterly their vision, blotting from sight the schoolroom,

the garden, the bright winter sun, as I remembered that never more would letters, such as she had read, come

to me. I had seen the last of them. That goodly river on whose banks I had sojourned, of whose waves a few

reviving drops had trickled to my lips, was bending to another course: it was leaving my little hut and field

forlorn and sanddry, pouring its wealth of waters far away. The change was right, just natural; not a word

could be said: but I loved my Rhine, my Nile; I had almost worshipped my Ganges, and I grieved that the

grand tide should roll estranged, should vanish like a false mirage. Though stoical, I was not quite a stoic;

drops streamed fast on my hands, on my desk: I wept one sultry shower, heavy and brief.

But soon I said to myself, 'the Hope I am bemoaning suffered and made me suffer much: it did not die till it

Welcome I endeavoured to make it. Indeed, long pain had made patience a habit. In the end I closed the eyes

The letters, however, must be put away, out of sight: people who have undergone bereavement always

jealously gather together and lock away mementos: it is not supportable to be stabbed to the heart each

One vacant holiday afternoon (the Thursday) going to my treasure, with intent to consider its final disposal, I

perceived and this time with a strong impulse of displeasure that it had been again tampered with: the

packet was there, indeed, but the ribbon which secured it had been untied and retied; and by other symptoms I

This was a little too much. Madame Beck herself was the soul of discretion, besides having as strong a brain

and sound a judgment as ever furnished a human head; that she should know the contents of my casket, was

not pleasant, but might be borne. Little Jesuit inquisitress as she was, she could see things in a true light, and

understand them in an unperverted sense; but the idea that she had ventured to communicate information,

thus gained, to others; that she had perhaps, amused herself with a companion over documents, in my eyes

most sacred, shocked me cruelly. Yet, that such was the case I now saw reason to fear; I even guessed her

confidant. Her kinsman, M. Paul Emanuel, had spent yesterday evening with her: she was much in the habit

of consulting him, and of discussing with him matters she broached to no one else. This very morning, in

class, that gentleman had favoured me with a glance which he seemed to have borrowed from Vashti, the

actress; I had not at the moment comprehended that blue, yet lurid flash out of his angry eye, but I read its

meaning now. He, I believed, was not apt to regard what concerned me from a fair point of view, nor to judge

me with tolerance and candour: I had always found him severe and suspicious: the thought that these letters,

mere friendly letters as they were, had fallen once, and might fall again, into his hands, jarred my very soul.

What should I do to prevent this? In what corner of this strange house was it possible to find security or

In the grenier? No, I did not like the grenier. Besides, most of the boxes and drawers there were mouldering,

and did not lock. Rats, too, gnawed their way through the decayed wood; and mice made nests amongst the

litter of their contents: my dear letters (most dear still, though Ichabod was written on their covers) might be

consumed by vermin; certainly the writing would soon become obliterated by damp. No; the grenier would

While pondering this problem, I sat in the dormitory windowseat. It was a fine frosty afternoon; the winter

sun, already setting, gleamed pale on the tops of the garden shrubs in the 'allée défendue.' One great old pear

tree the nun's pear tree stood up a tall dryad skeleton, grey, gaunt and stripped. A thought struck me one

of those queer fantastic thoughts that will sometimes strike solitary people. I put on my bonnet, cloak and

Bending my steps to the old historical quarter of the town, whose hoary and overshadowed precincts I always

sought by instinct in melancholy moods, I wandered on from street to street, till, having crossed a half

deserted 'place' or square, I found myself before a sort of broker's shop; an ancient place, full of ancient

What I wanted was a metal box which might be soldered, or a thick glass jar or bottle which might be

stoppered or sealed hermetically. Amongst miscellaneous heaps, I found and purchased the latter article.

I then made a little roll of my letters, wrapped them in oiled silk, bound them with twine, and, having put

them in the bottle, got the old Jew broker to stopper, seal and make it airtight. While obeying my directions,

he glanced at me now and then suspiciously from his frostwhite eyelashes. I believe he thought there was

some evil deed on hand. In all this I had a dreary something not pleasure but a sad, lonely satisfaction.

The impulse under which I acted, the mood controlling me, were similar to the impulse and the mood which

had induced me to visit the confessional. With quick walking I regained the pensionnat just at dark, and in

At seven o'clock the moon rose. At halfpast seven, when the pupils and teachers were at study, and Madame

Beck was with her mother and children in the salleàmanger, when the halfboarders were all gone home,

Rosine had left the vestibule, and all was still I shawled myself and, taking the sealed jar, stole out through

Methusaleh, the pear tree, stood at the further end of this walk, near my seat: he rose up, dim and gray, above

the lower shrubs round him. Now Methusaleh, though so very old, was of sound timber still; only there was a

hole, or rather a deep hollow, near his root. I knew there was such a hollow, hidden partly by ivy and creepers

growing thick round; and there I meditated hiding my treasure. But I was not only going to hide a treasure I

meant also to bury a grief. That grief over which I had lately been weeping, as I wrapped it in its

Well, I cleared away the ivy, and found the hole; it was large enough to receive the jar, and I thrust it deep in.

In a toolshed at the bottom of the garden, lay the relics of building materials, left by masons lately employed

to repair a part of the premises. I fetched thence a slate and some mortar, put the slate on the hollow, secured

it with cement, covered the whole with black mould, and, finally, replaced the ivy. This done, I rested,

leaning against the tree; lingering, like any other mourner, beside a newlysodded grave.

The air of the night was very still, but dim with a peculiar mist, which changed the moonlight into a luminous

haze. In this air, or this mist, there was some quality electrical, perhaps which acted in strange sort upon

me I felt then as I had felt a year ago in England on a night when the aurora borealis was streaming and

sweeping round heaven, when, belated in lonely fields, I had paused to watch that mustering of an army with

banners that quivering of serried lances that swift ascent of messengers from below the north star to the

dark, high keystone of heaven's arch. I felt, not happy, far otherwise, but strong with reinforced strength.

If life be a war, it seemed my destiny to conduct it singlehanded. I pondered now how to break up my

winter quarters to leave an encampment where food and forage failed. Perhaps, to effect this change,

another pitched battle must be fought with fortune; if so, I had a mind to the encounter: too poor to lose, God

On this question I was still pausing, when the moon, so dim hitherto seemed to shine out somewhat brighter:

a ray gleamed even white before me and a shadow became distinct and marked, I looked more narrowly, to

make out the cause of this welldefined contrast appearing a little suddenly in the obscure alley: whiter and

blacker it grew on my eye: it took shape with instantaneous transformation. I stood about three yards from a

She stood mute. She had no face no features: all below her brow was masked with a white cloth; but she

I felt, if not brave, yet a little desperate; and desperation will often suffice to fill the post and do the work of

courage. I advanced one step. I stretched out my hand, for I meant to touch her. She seemed to recede. I drew

nearer: her recession, still silent, became swift. A mass of shrubs, fullleaved ever greens, laurel and dense

yew, intervened between me and what I followed Having passed that obstacle, I looked and saw nothing. I

waited. I said 'If you have any errand to men, come back and deliver it.' Nothing spoke or reappeared.

This time there was no Dr. John to whom to have recourse: there was no one to whom I dared whisper the

Paulina Mary sought my frequent presence in the Rue Crécy. In the old Bretton days, though she had never

professed herself fond of me, my society had soon become to her a sort of unconscious necessary. I used to

notice that if I withdrew to my room, she would speedily come trotting after me, and opening the door and

'Leave the Rue Fossette,' she said, 'and come and live with us. Papa would give you far more than Madame

Mr. Home himself offered me a handsome sum thrice my present salary if I would accept the office of

companion to his daughter. I declined. I think I should have declined had I been poorer than I was, and with

scantier fund of resource, more stinted narrowness of future prospect. I had not that vocation. I could teach; I

could give lessons; but to be either a private governess or a companion was unnatural to me. Rather than fill

the former post in any great house, I would deliberately have taken a housemaid's place, bought a strong pair

of gloves, swept bedrooms and staircases, and cleaned stoves and locks, in peace and independence. Rather

I was no bright lady's shadow not Miss de Bassompierre's. Overcast enough it was my nature often to be; of

a subdued habit I was: but the dimness and depression must both be voluntary such as kept me docile at my

desk, in the midst of my now wellaccustomed pupils in Madame Beck's first classe; or alone, at my own

bedside, in her dormitory, or in the alley and seat which were called mine, in her garden: my qualifications

were not convertible, nor adaptable; they could not be made the foil of any gem, the adjunct of any beauty,

the appendage of any greatness in Christendom. Madame Beck and I, without assimilating, understood each

other well. I was not her companion, nor her children's governess; she left me free: she tied me to nothing

not to herself not even to her interests: once, when she had for a fortnight been called from home by a near

relation's illness, and on her return, all anxious and full of care about her establishment, lest something in her

absence should have gone wrong finding that matters had proceeded much as usual, and that there was no

evidence of glaring neglect she made each of the teachers a present, in acknowledgment of steadiness. To

my bedside she came at twelve o'clock at night, and told me she had no present for me. 'I must make fidelity

advantageous to the St. Pierre,' said she; 'if I attempt to make it advantageous to you, there will arise

misunderstanding between us perhaps separation. One thing, however, I can do to please you leave you

She kept her word. Every slight shackle she had ever laid on me, she, from that time, with quiet hand

removed. Thus I had pleasure in voluntarily respecting her rules: gratification in devoting double time, in

As to Mary de Bassompierre, I visited her with pleasure, though I would not live with her. My visits soon

taught me that it was unlikely even my occasional and voluntary society would long be indispensable to her.

M. de Bassompierre, for his part, seemed impervious to this conjecture, blind to this possibility; unconscious

as any child to the signs, the likelihoods, the fitful beginnings of what, when it drew to an end, he might not

Whether or not he would cordially approve, I used to speculate. Difficult to say. He was much taken up with

scientific interests; keen, intent and somewhat oppugnant in what concerned his favourite pursuits, but

unsuspicious and trustful in the ordinary affairs of life. From all I could gather, he seemed to regard his

'daughterling' as still but a child, and probably had not yet admitted the notion that others might look on her

in a different light: he would speak of what should be done when 'Polly' was a woman, when she should be

grown up; and 'Polly', standing beside his chair, would sometimes smile and take his honoured head between

her little hands, and kiss his irongrey locks; and, at other times, she would pout and toss her curls: but she

She had different moods for different people. With her father she really was still a child, or childlike,

affectionate, merry and playful. With me she was serious, and as womanly as thought and feeling could make

her. With Mrs. Bretton she was docile and reliant, but not expansive. With Graham she was shy, at present

very shy; at moments she tried to be cold; on occasion she endeavoured to shun him. His step made her start;

his entrance hushed her; when he spoke, her answers failed of fluency; when he took leave, she remained

'My little Polly,' he said once, 'you live too retired a life; if you grow to be a woman with these shy manners,

you will hardly be fitted for society. You really make quite a stranger of Dr. Bretton: how is this? Don't you

'Then rub it off Polly: rub the rust and the strangeness off. Talk away when he is here, and have no fear of

'Then tell him some day not to mind my being silent. Say that it is my way, and that I have no unfriendly

'Your way, you little chatterbox? So far from being your way, it is only your whim!'

And very pretty was the grace with which, the next day, she tried to keep her word. I saw her make the effort

to converse affably with Dr. John on general topics. The attention called into her guest's face a pleasurable

glow; he met her with caution, and replied to her in his softest tones, as if there was a kind of gossamer

happiness hanging in the air which he feared to disturb by drawing too deep a breath. Certainly, in her timid

yet earnest advance to friendship, it could not be denied that there was a most exquisite and fairy charm.

'My Polly behaved like a queen. I shall become quite proud of her if this improvement continues. By and by

we shall see her receiving my guests with quite a calm, grand manner. Miss Lucy and I will have to look

about us, and polish up all our best airs and graces lest we should be thrown into the shade. Still, Polly, there

is a little flutter, a little tendency to stammer now and then, and even to lisp as you lisped when you were six

'I appeal to Miss Lucy. Did she not, in answering Dr. Bretton's question as to whether she had ever seen the

palace of the Prince of Bois l'Etang, say "yeth," she had been there "theveral" times.'

'Papa, you are satirical, you are méchant! I can pronounce all the letters of the alphabet as clearly as you can.

But tell me this: you are very particular in making me be civil to Dr. Bretton, do you like him yourself?'

'To be sure: for old acquaintance sake I like him: then he is a very good son to his mother; besides being a

kindhearted fellow and clever in his profession: yes, the callant is well enough.'

'Callant! Ah, Scotchman! Papa, is it the Edinburgh or the Aberdeen accent you have?'

'Both, my pet, both: and doubtless the Glaswegian into the bargain: it is that which enables me to speak

'Well, Polly, you must persuade Miss Snowe to undertake both you and me, to make you steady and

The light in which M. de Bassompierre evidently regarded 'Miss Snowe,' used to occasion me much inward

edification. What contradictory attributes of character we sometimes find ascribed to us according to the eye

with which we are viewed! Madame Beck esteemed me learned and blue; Miss Fanshawe caustic, ironic and

cynical; Mr. Home, a model teacher, the essence of the' sedate and discreet: somewhat conventional, perhaps,

too strict, limited and scrupulous, but still the pink and pattern of governess correctness; whilst another

person, Professor Paul Emanuel, to wit, never lost an opportunity of intimating his opinion that mine was

rather a fiery and rash nature adventurous, indocile and audacious. I smiled at them all. If any one knew me

As I would not be Paulina's nominal and paid companion, genial and harmonious as I began to find her

intercourse, she persuaded me to join her in some study, as a regular and settled means of sustaining

communication: she proposed the German language, which like myself she found difficult of mastery. We

agreed to take our lessons in the Rue Crécy of the same mistress; this arrangement threw us together for some

hours of every week. M. de Bassompierre seemed quite pleased: it perfectly met his approbation, that

Madame Minerva Gravity should associate a portion of her leisure with that of his fair and dear child.

That other selfelected judge of mine, the professor in the Rue Fossette, discovering by some surreptitious

spying means, that I was no longer so stationary as hitherto, but went out regularly at certain hours of certain

days, took it upon himself to place me under surveillance. People said M. Emanuel had been brought up

amongst Jesuits. I should more readily have accredited this report had his manoeuvres been better masked. As

it was, I doubted it. Never was a more undisguised schemer, a franker, looser intriguer. He would analyse his

own machinations: elaborately contrive plots, and forthwith indulge in explanatory boasts of their skill. I

know not whether I was more amused or provoked, by his stepping up to me one morning and whispering

solemnly that he 'had his eye on me: he at least would discharge the duty of a friend, and not leave me

entirely to my own devices. My proceedings seemed at present very unsettled: he did not know what to make

of them: he thought his cousin Beck very much to blame in suffering this sort of fluttering inconsistency in a

teacher attached to her house. What had a person devoted to a serious calling, that of education, to do with

Counts and Countesses, hôtels and châteaux? To him, I seemed altogether "en l'air." On his faith, be believed

I said, 'Monsieur exaggerated. I certainly had enjoyed the advantage of a little change lately, but not before it

'Necessary! How was it necessary? I was well enough, he supposed? Change necessary! He would

recommend me to look at the Catholic "religieuses," and study their lives. They asked no change.'

I am no judge of what expression crossed my face when he thus spoke, but it was one which provoked him:

he accused me of being reckless, worldly and epicurean; ambitious of greatness, and feverishly athirst for the

pomps and vanities of life. It seems I had no 'dévouement,' no 'recueillement' in my character; no spirit of

grace, faith, sacrifice, or selfabasement. Feeling the inutility of answering these charges, I mutely continued

'He could see in me nothing Christian: like many other Protestants, I revelled in the pride and selfwill of

A vague sound grumbled between his teeth; it could not surely be a 'juron': he was too religious for that; but I

am certain I heard the word sacré. Grievous to relate, the same word was repeated, with the unequivocal

addition of mille something, when I passed him about two hours afterwards in the corridor, prepared to go

and take my German lesson in the Rue Crécy. Never was a better little man, in some points, than M. Paul:

Our German mistress, Fräulein Anna Braun, was a worthy, hearty woman of about fortyfive; she ought,

perhaps, to have lived in the days of queen Elizabeth, as she habitually consumed, for her first and second

breakfasts, beer and beef: also, her direct and downright Deutsch nature seemed to suffer a sensation of cruel

restraint from what she called our English reserve; though we thought we were very cordial with her: but we

did not slap her on the shoulder, and if we consented to kiss her cheek, it was done quietly and without any

explosive smack. These omissions oppressed and depressed her considerably; still, on the whole, we got on

very well. Accustomed to instruct foreign girls, who hardly ever will think and study for themselves who

have no idea of grappling with a difficulty, and overcoming it by dint of reflection or application our

progress, which in truth was very leisurely, seemed to astound her. In her eyes, we were a pair of glacial

The young Countess was a little proud, a little fastidious; and perhaps, with her native delicacy and beauty,

she had a right to these feelings; but I think it was a total mistake to ascribe them to me. I never evaded the

morning salute, which Paulina would slip when she could; nor was a certain little manner of still disdain a

weapon known in my armoury of defence; whereas, Paulina always kept it clear, fine and bright, and any

Honest Anna Braun, in some measure, felt this difference; and while she halffeared, halfworshipped

Paulina as a sort of dainty nymph an Undine she took refuge with me, as a being all mortal, and of easier

A book we liked well to read and translate was Schiller's Ballads; Paulina soon learned to read them

beautifully; the Fräulein would listen to her with a broad smile of pleasure, and say her voice sounded like

music. She translated them, too, with a facile flow of language, and in a strain of kindred and poetic fervour:

her cheek would flush, her lips tremblingly smile, her beauteous eyes kindle or melt as she went on. She

learnt the best by heart, and would often recite them when we were alone together. One she liked well was

'Des Mädchens Klage': that is, she liked well to repeat the words, she found plaintive melody in the sound;

the sense she would criticise. She murmured as we sat over the fire one evening:

'Lived and loved!' said she, 'is that the summit of earthly happiness, the end of life to love? I don't think it

is. It may be the extreme of mortal misery, it may be sheer waste of time, and fruitless torture of feeling. If

Schiller had said to be loved, he might have come nearer the truth. Is not that another thing, Lucy, to be

'I suppose it may be: but why consider the subject? What is love to you? What do you know about it?'

'Now, Lucy,' she said. 'I won't take that from you. It may be well for papa to look on me as a baby: I rather

prefer that he should thus view me; but you know and shall learn to acknowledge that I am verging on my

'No matter if it were your twentyninth; we will anticipate no feelings by discussion and conversation: we

'Indeed, indeed!' said she all in hurry and heat 'you may think to check and hold me in, as much as you

please; but I have talked about it, and heard about it too; and a great deal and lately, and disagreeably and

And the vexed, triumphant, pretty, naughty being laughed. I could not discern what she meant, and I would

not ask her: I was nonplussed. Seeing however, the utmost innocence in her countenance combined with

'Who talks to you disagreeably and detrimentally on such matters? Who that has near access to you would

'Lucy,' replied she more softly, 'it is a person who makes me miserable sometimes; and I wish she would keep

'It is it is my cousin Ginevra. Every time she has leave to visit Mrs. Cholmondeley she calls here, and

whenever she finds me alone she begins to talk about her admirers. Love, indeed! You should hear all she has

'Oh, I have heard it,' said I, quite coolly; 'and on the whole, perhaps it is as well you should have heard it too:

it is not to be regretted, it is all right. Yet, surely, Ginevra's mind cannot influence yours. You can look over

'She does influence me very much. She has the art of disturbing my happiness and unsettling my opinions.

'What does she say, Paulina? Give me some idea. There may be counteraction of the damage done.'

'The people I have longest and most esteemed are degraded by her. She does not spare Mrs. Bretton she

'No, I dare say: and how does she mix up these with her sentiment and her . . . love? She does mix them, I

'Lucy, she is insolent; and I believe, false. You know Dr. Bretton. We both know him. He may be careless

and proud; but when was he ever mean or slavish? Day after day she shows him to me kneeling at her feet,

pursuing her like a shadow. She repulsing him with insult, and he imploring her with infatuation. Lucy, is it

'It may be true that he once thought her handsome: does she give him out as still her suitor?'

'It is these tales which have caused that reserve in your manner towards Graham which your father noticed.'

'They have certainly made me all doubtful about his character. As Ginevra speaks, they do not carry with

them the sound of unmixed truth: I believe she exaggerates perhaps invents but I want to know how far.'

'Suppose we bring Miss Fanshawe to some proof? Give her an opportunity of displaying the power she

'I could do that tomorrow. Papa has asked some gentlemen to dinner, all savants. Graham, who, papa is

beginning to discover, is a savant, too skilled, they say, in more than one branch of science is among the

number. Now I should be miserable to sit at table unsupported, amidst such a party. I could not talk to

Messieurs A and Z, the Parisian Academicians: all my new credit for manner would be put in peril. You

'Yes; then I will carry a message of invitation, and she shall have the chance of justifying her character for

The morrow turned out a more lively and busy day than we or than I, at least had anticipated. It seems it

was the birthday of one of the young princes of Labassecour the eldest, I think, the Duc de Dindonneaux,

and a general holiday was given in his honour at the schools, and especially at the principal 'Athénée,' or

college. The youth of that institution had also concocted, and were to present a loyal address; for which

purpose they were to be assembled in the public building where the yearly examinations were conducted, and

the prizes distributed. After the ceremony of presentation, an oration, or 'discours,' was to follow from one of

Several of M. de Bassompierre's friends the savants being more or less connected with the Athénée, they

were expected to attend on this occasion; together with the worshipful municipality of Villette, M. le

Chevalier Staas, the burgomaster, and the parents and kinsfolk of the Athenians in general. M. de

Bassompierre was engaged by his friends to accompany them; his fair daughter would, of course, be of the

party, and she wrote a little note to Ginevra and myself bidding us come early that we might join her.

As Miss Fanshawe and I were dressing in the dormitory of the Rue Fossette, she (Miss F.) suddenly burst into

'What now?' I asked; for she had suspended the operation of arranging her attire, and was gazing at me.

'It seems so odd,' she replied, with her usual halfhonest halfinsolent unreserve, 'that you and I should now

be so much on a level, visiting in the same sphere; having the same connections.'

'Why, yes,' said I; 'I had not much respect for the connections you chiefly frequented a while ago Mrs.

'Who are you, Miss Snowe?' she inquired, in a tone of such undisguised and unsophisticated curiosity, as

made me laugh in my turn. 'You used to call yourself a nursery governess; when you first came here you

really had the care of the children in this house: I have seen you carry little Georgette in your arms, like a

bonne few governesses would have condescended so far and now Madame Beck treats you with more

courtesy than she treats the Parisienne, St. Pierre; and that proud chit, my cousin, makes you her bosom

'Wonderful!' I agreed, much amused at her mystification. 'Who am I indeed? Perhaps a personage in disguise.

'I wonder you are not more flattered by all this,' she went on; 'you take it with strange composure. If you

'The nobody you once thought me!' I repeated, and my face grew a little hot; but I would not be angry: of

what importance was a schoolgirl's crude use of the terms nobody and somebody? I confined myself,

therefore, to the remark that I had merely met with civility; and asked 'what she saw in civility to throw the

When she took my arm, she always leaned upon me her whole weight; and, as I was not a gentleman, or her

'There, again!' she cried. 'I thought, by offering to take your arm, to intimate approbation of your dress and

'You did? You mean, in short, to express that you are not ashamed to be seen in the street with me? That if

Mrs. Cholmondeley should be fondling her lapdog at some window, or Colonel de Hamal picking his teeth in

a balcony, and should catch a glimpse of us, you would not quite blush for your companion?'

'Yes,' said she, with that directness which was her best point which gave an honest plainness to her very

fibs when she told them which was, in short, the salt, the sole preservative ingredient of a character

I delegated the trouble of commenting on this 'yes' to my countenance; or rather, my underlip voluntarily

anticipated my tongue: of course, reverence and solemnity were not the feelings expressed in the look I gave

'Scornful, sneering creature!' she went on, as we crossed a great square, and entered the quiet, pleasant park,

our nearest way to the Rue Crécy. 'Nobody in this world was ever such a Turk to me as you are!'

'You bring it on yourself: let me alone: have the sense to be quiet: I will let you alone.'

'The mystery and peculiarity being entirely the conception of your own brain maggots neither more nor

'But are you anybody?' persevered she, pushing her hand, in spite of me, under my arm; and that arm pressed

itself with inhospitable closeness against my side, by way of keeping out the intruder.

'Yes,' I said, 'I am a rising character: once an old lady's companion, then a nurserygoverness, now a

'Do do tell me who you are? I'll not repeat it,' she urged, adhering with ludicrous tenacity to the wise notion

of an incognito she had got hold of; and she squeezed the arm of which she had now obtained full possession,

and coaxed 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, by her obstinate credulity, or incredulity, her incapacity to

conceive how any person not bolstered up by birth or wealth, not supported by some consciousness of name

or connection, could maintain an attitude of reasonable integrity. As for me, it quite sufficed to my mental

tranquillity that I was known where it imported that known I should be; the rest sat on me easily: pedigree,

social position, and recondite intellectual acquisition, occupied about the same space and place in my

interests and thoughts; they were my thirdclass lodgers to whom could be assigned only the small

sittingroom and the little back bedroom: even if the dining and drawingrooms stood empty, I never

confessed it to them, as thinking minor accommodations better suited to their circumstances. The world, I

soon learned, held a different estimate: and I make no doubt, the world is very right in its view, yet believe

There are people whom a lowered position degrades morally, to whom loss of connection costs loss of

selfrespect: are not these justified in placing the highest value on that station and association which is their

safeguard from debasement? If a man feels that he would become contemptible in his own eyes were it

generally known that his ancestry were simple and not gentle, poor and not rich, workers and not capitalists,

would it be right severely to blame him for keeping these fatal facts out of sight for starting, trembling,

quailing at the chance which threatens exposure? The longer we live, the more our experience widens, the

less prone are we to judge our neighbour's conduct, to question the world's wisdom: wherever an

accumulation of small defences is found, whether surrounding the prude's virtue or the man of the world's

We reached the Hôtel Crécy; Paulina was ready; Mrs. Bretton was with her; and, under her escort and that of

M. de Bassompierre, we were soon conducted to the place of assembly, and seated in good seats, at a

convenient distance from the Tribune. The youth of the Athénée were marshalled before us, the municipality

and their bourgmestre were in places of honour, the young princes, with their tutors, occupied a conspicuous

position, and the body of the building was crowded with the aristocracy and first burghers of the town.

Concerning the identity of the professor by whom the 'discours' was to be delivered, I had as yet entertained

neither care nor question. Some vague expectation I had that a savant would stand up and deliver a formal

The Tribune was yet empty when we entered, but in ten minutes after it was filled; suddenly, in a second of

time, a head, chest and arms grew above the crimson desk. This head I knew: its colour, shape, port,

expression were familiar both to me and Miss Fanshawe; the blackness and closeness of cranium, the

amplitude and paleness of brow, the blueness and fire of glance, were details so domesticated in the memory,

and so knit with many a whimsical association, as almost by this their sudden apparition, to tickle fancy to a

laugh. Indeed, I confess, for my part, I did laugh till I was warm; but then I bent my head, and made my

I think I was glad to see M. Paul; I think it was rather pleasant than otherwise, to behold him set up there,

fierce and frank, dark and candid, testy and fearless, as when regnant on his estrade in class. His presence was

such a surprise: I had not once thought of expecting him, though I knew he filled the chair of Belles Lettres in

the college. With him in that Tribune, I felt sure that neither formalism nor flattery would be our doom; but

for what was vouchsafed us, for what was poured suddenly, rapidly, continuously on our heads I own I was

He spoke to the princes, the nobles, the magistrates and the burghers with just the same ease, with almost the

same pointed, choleric earnestness, with which he was wont to harangue the three divisions of the Rue

Fossette. The collegians he addressed, not as schoolboys, but as future citizens and embryo patriots. The

times which have since come on Europe had not been foretold yet, and M. Emanuel's spirit seemed new to

me. Who would have thought the flat and fat soil of Labassecour could yield political convictions and

national feelings, such as were now strongly expressed? Of the bearing of his opinions I need here give no

special indication; yet it may be permitted me to say that I believed the little man not more earnest than right

in what he said: with all his fire he was severe and sensible; he trampled Utopian theories under his heel; he

rejected wild dreams with scorn but, when he looked in the face of tyranny oh, then there opened a light

in his eye worth seeing; and when he spoke of injustice, his voice gave no uncertain sound, but reminded me

I do not think his audience were generally susceptible of sharing his flame in its purity; but some of the

college youth caught fire as he eloquently told them what should be their path and endeavour in their

country's and in Europe's future. They gave him a long, loud, ringing cheer as he concluded: with all his

As our party left the Hall, he stood at the entrance; he saw and knew me, and lifted his hat; he offered his

hand in passing, and uttered the words, 'Qu'en dîtesvous?' question eminently characteristic, and

reminding me, even in this his moment of triumph, of that inquisitive restlessness, that absence of what I

considered desirable selfcontrol, which were amongst his faults. He should not have cared just then to ask

what I thought, or what anybody thought; but he did care, and he was too natural to conceal, too impulsive to

repress his wish. Well! if I blamed his overeagerness, I liked his naïveté. I would have praised him: I had

plenty of praise in my heart; but, alas! no words on my lips. Who has words at the right moment? I

stammered some lame expressions; but was truly glad when other people, coming up with profuse

A gentleman introduced him to M. de Bassompierre; and the Count, who had likewise been highly gratified,

asked him to join his friends (for the most part M. Emanuel's likewise), and to dine with them at the Hôtel

Crécy. He declined dinner, for he was a man always somewhat shy at meeting the advances of the wealthy:

there was a strength of sturdy independence in the stringing of his sinews not obtrusive, but pleasant

enough to discover as one advanced in knowledge of his character; he promised, however, to step in with his

At dinner that day, Ginevra and Paulina each looked, in her own way, very beautiful; the former, perhaps,

boasted the advantage in material charms, but the latter shone preeminent for attractions more subtle and

spiritual: for light and eloquence of eye, for grace of mien, for winning variety of expression. Ginevra's dress

of deep crimson relieved well her light curls, and harmonised with her roselike bloom. Paulina's attire in

fashion close, though faultlessly neat, but in texture clear and white made the eye grateful for the delicate

life of her complexion, for the soft animation of her countenance, for the tender depth of her eyes, for the

brown, shadow and bounteous flow of her hair darker than that of her Saxon cousin, as were also her

eyebrows, her eyelashes, her full irids, and large mobile pupils. Nature having traced all these details slightly,

and with a careless hand, in Miss Fanshawe's case; and in Miss de Bassompierre's, wrought them to a high

Paulina was awed by the savants, but not quite to mutism: she conversed modestly, diffidently; not without

effort, but with so true a sweetness, so fine and penetrating a sense, that her father more than once suspended

his own discourse to listen, and fixed on her an eye of proud delight. It was a polite Frenchman, M. Z, a

very learned, but quite a courtly man, who had drawn her into discourse. I was charmed with her French; it

was faultless the structure correct, the idioms true, the accent pure; Ginevra, who had lived half her life on

the Continent, could do nothing like it: not that words ever failed Miss Fanshawe, but real accuracy and

purity she neither possessed, nor in any number of years would acquire. Here, too, M. de Bassompierre was

Another listener and observer there was; one who, detained by some exigency of his profession, had come in

late to dinner. Both ladies were quietly scanned by Dr. Bretton, at the moment of taking his seat at the table;

and that guarded survey was more than once renewed. His arrival roused Miss Fanshawe, who had hitherto

appeared listless: she now became smiling and complacent, talked though what she said was rarely to the

purpose or rather, was of a purpose somewhat mortifyingly below the standard of the occasion. Her light,

disconnected prattle might have gratified Graham once; perhaps it pleased him still: perhaps it was only fancy

which suggested the thought that, while his eye was filled and his ear fed, his taste, his keen zest, his lively

intelligence, were not equally consulted and regaled. It is certain that, restless and exacting as seemed the

demand on his attention, he yielded courteously all that was required: his manner showed neither pique nor

coolness: Ginevra was his neighbour, and to her, during dinner, he almost exclusively confined his notice.

Yet, no sooner had we reached that place of refuge, than she again became flat and listless: throwing herself

on a couch, she denounced both the 'discours' and the dinner as stupid affairs and inquired of her cousin how

she could hear such a set of prosaic grosbonnets as her father gathered about him. The moment the

gentlemen were heard to move, her railings ceased: she started up, flew to the piano, and dashed at it with

spirit. Dr. Bretton entering, one of the first, took up his station beside her. I thought he would not long

maintain that post: there was a position near the hearth to which I expected to see him attracted: this position

he only scanned with his eye; while he looked, others drew in. The grace and mind of Paulina charmed these

thoughtful Frenchmen: the fineness of her beauty, the soft courtesy of her manner, her immature, but real and

inbred tact, pleased their national taste; they clustered about her, not indeed to talk science, which would have

rendered her dumb, but to touch on many subjects in letters, in arts, in actual life, on which it soon appeared

that she had both read and reflected. I listened. I am sure that though Graham stood aloof, he listened too: his

hearing as well as his vision was very fine, quick, discriminating. I knew he gathered the conversation; I felt

that the mode in which it was sustained suited him exquisitely pleased him almost to pain.

In Paulina there was more force, both of feeling and character than most people thought than Graham

himself imagined than she would ever show to those who did not wish to see it. To speak truth, reader,

there is no excellent beauty, no accomplished grace, no reliable refinement without strength as excellent, as

complete, as trustworthy. As well might you look for good fruit and blossom on a rootless and sapless tree, as

for charms that will endure in a feeble and relaxed nature. For a little while, the blooming semblance of

beauty may flourish round weakness; but it cannot bear a blast: it soon fades, even in serenest sunshine.

Graham would have started had any suggestive spirit whispered of the sinew and the stamina sustaining that

delicate nature; but I who had known her as a child, knew or guessed by what a good and strong root her

While Dr. Bretton listened, and waited an opening in the magic circle, his glance, 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. de

Bassompierre, who, as usual, were engaged in what Mr. Home called 'a twohanded crack': what the Count

would have interpreted as a têteàtête. Graham smiled recognition, crossed the room, asked me how I was,

told me I looked pale. I also had my own smile at my own thought: it was now about three months since Dr.

John had spoken to me a lapse of which he was not even conscious. He sat down, and became silent. His

wish was rather to look than converse. Ginevra and Paulina were now opposite to him: he could gaze his fill:

Several new guests, ladies as well as gentlemen, had entered the room since dinner, dropping in for the

evening conversation; and amongst the gentlemen, I may incidentally observe, I had already noticed by

glimpses, a severe, dark, professorial outline, hovering aloof in an inner saloon, seen only in vista. M.

Emanuel knew many of the gentlemen present, but I think was a stranger to most of the ladies, excepting

myself; in looking towards the hearth, he could not but see me, and naturally made a movement to approach;

seeing, however, Dr. Bretton also, he changed his mind and held back. If that had been all, there would have

been no cause for quarrel; but not satisfied with holding back, he puckered up his eyebrows, protruded his lip,

and looked so ugly that I averted my eyes from the displeasing spectacle. M. Joseph Emanuel had arrived, as

well as his austere brother, and at this very moment was relieving Ginevra at the piano. What a mastertouch

succeeded her schoolgirl jingle! In what grand, grateful tones the instrument acknowledged the hand of the

'Lucy,' began Dr. Bretton, breaking silence and smiling, as Ginevra glided before him, casting a glance as she

'I agree with you, Lucy: you and I do often agree in opinion, in taste, I think; or at least in judgment.'

'I believe if you had been a boy, Lucy, instead of a girl my mother's godson instead of her goddaughter,

we should have been good friends: our opinions would have melted into each other.'

He had assumed a bantering air: a light, halfcaressing, halfironic, shone aslant in his eye. Ah, Graham! I

have given more than one solitary moment to thoughts and calculations of your estimate of Lucy Snowe: was

it always kind or just? Had Lucy been intrinsically the same, but possessing the additional advantages of

wealth and station, would your manner to her, your value for her, have been quite what they actually were?

And yet by these questions I would not seriously infer blame. No; you might sadden and trouble me

sometimes; but then mine was a soondepressed, an easilyderanged temperament it fell if a cloud crossed

the sun. Perhaps before the eye of severe equity I should stand more at fault than you.

Trying, then, to keep down the unreasonable pain which thrilled my heart, on thus being made to feel that

while Graham could devote to others the most grave and earnest, the manliest interest, he had no more than

'We each have an observant faculty. You, perhaps, don't give me credit for the possession; yet I have it.'

'But you were speaking of tastes: we may see the same objects, yet estimate them differently?'

'Let us bring it to the test. Of course, you cannot but render homage to the merits of Miss Fanshawe: now,

what do you think of others in the room my mother, for instance; or the lions yonder, Messieurs A and

'You know what I think of your mother. I have not thought of Messieurs A and Z.'

'I think she is, as you say, a pale little lady pale, certainly, just now, when she is fatigued with

'I had forgotten her; but it is noticeable, that circumstances, persons, even words and looks, that had slipped

your memory, may, under certain conditions, certain aspects of your own or another's mind, revive.'

'Yet,' he continued, 'the revival is imperfect needs confirmation, partakes so much of the dim character of a

dream, or of the airy one of a fancy, that the testimony of a witness becomes necessary for corroboration.

Were you not a guest at Bretton ten years ago, when Mr. Home brought his little girl, whom we then called

'Rather a peculiar child, was she not? I wonder how I treated her. Was I fond of children in those days? Was

there anything gracious or kindly about me great, reckless schoolboy as I was? But you don't recollect me,

'You have seen your own picture at La Terrasse. It is like you personally. In manner, you were almost the

'But, Lucy, how is that? Such an oracle really whets my curiosity. What am I today? What was I the

'Why, had I been Nero himself, I could not have tormented a being inoffensive as a shadow.'

I smiled; but I also hushed a groan. Oh! I just wished he would let me alone cease allusion to me. These

epithets these attributes I put from me. His 'quiet Lucy Snowe,' his 'inoffensive shadow,' I gave him back;

not with scorn, but with extreme weariness: theirs was the coldness and the pressure of lead: let him whelm

'On what terms were "little Polly" and I? Unless my recollections deceive me, we were not foes '

'Oh! we don't talk of "little Polly" now. Pray say, Miss de Bassompierre, and, of course, such a stately

personage remembers nothing of Bretton. Look at her large eyes, Lucy; can they read a word in the page of

memory? Are they the same which I used to direct to a hornbook? She does not know that I partly taught

'She has a calm, delicate, rather fine profile now: once what a little restless, anxious countenance was hers!

What a thing is a child's preference what a bubble! Would you believe it? that lady was fond of me!'

'You don't remember then? I had forgotten; but I remember now. She liked me the best of whatever there was

'I quite well recall it. I wish I could tell her all I recall; or rather, I wish some one, you for instance, would go

behind and whisper it all in her ear, and I could have the delight here, as I sit of watching her look under

the intelligence. Could you manage that, think you, Lucy, and make me ever grateful?'

'Could I manage to make you ever grateful?' said I. 'No, I could not.' And I felt my fingers work and my

hands interlock: I felt, too, an inward courage warm and resistant. In this matter I was not disposed to gratify

Dr. John: not at all. With now welcome force, I realised his entire misapprehension of my character and

nature. He wanted always to give me a rôle not mine. Nature and I opposed him. He did not at all guess what

I felt: he did not read my eyes, or face, or gestures; though, I doubt not, all spoke. Leaning towards me

And I would have contented, or, at least, I would clearly have enlightened him, and taught him well never

again to expect of me the part of officious soubrette in a love drama; when, following, his soft, eager murmur,

meeting almost his pleading, mellow 'Do content me, Lucy!' a sharp hiss pierced my ear on the other side.

'Petite chatte, doucerette, coquette!' sibilated the sudden boaconstrictor; 'vous avez l'air bien triste, soumise,

rêveuse, mais vous ne l'êtes pas: c'est moi qui vous le dis: Sauvage! la flamme à l'âme, l'éclair aux yeux!'

'Oui; j'ai la flamme à l'âme, et je dois l'avoir!' retorted I, turning in just wrath; but Professor Emanuel had

The worst of the matter was, that Dr. Bretton, whose ears, as I have said, were quick and fine, caught every

word of this apostrophe; he put his handkerchief to his face, and laughed till he shook.

'Well done, Lucy,' cried he; 'capital! petite chatte, petite coquette! Oh, I must tell my mother! Is it true, Lucy,

or half true? I believe it is: you redden to the colour of Miss Fanshawe's gown. And really, by my word, now

I examine him, that is the same little man who was so savage with you at the concert: the very same, and in

his soul he is frantic at this moment because he sees me laughing. Oh! I must tease him.'

And Graham, yielding to his bent for mischief, laughed, jested and whispered on till I could bear no more,

Suddenly he was sobered: a vacant space appeared near Miss de Bassompierre; the circle surrounding her

seemed about to dissolve. This movement was instantly caught by Graham's eye evervigilant, even while

laughing; he rose, took his courage in both hands, crossed the room, and made the advantage his own. Dr.

John, throughout his whole life, was a man of luck a man of success. And why? Because he had the eye to

see his opportunity, the heart to prompt to welltimed action, the nerve to consummate a perfect work. And

no tyrant passion dragged him back; no enthusiasms, no foibles encumbered his way. How well he looked at

this very moment! When Paulina looked up as he reached her side, her glance mingled at once with an

encountering glance, animated, yet modest; his colour, as he spoke to her, became half a blush, half a glow.

He stood in her presence brave and bashful: subdued and unobtrusive, yet decided in his purpose and devoted

in his ardour. I gathered all this by one view. I did not prolong my observation time failed me, had

inclination served: the night wore late; Ginevra and I ought already to have been in the Rue Fossette. I rose,

I know not whether Professor Emanuel had noticed my reluctant acceptance of Dr. Bretton's badinage, or

whether he perceived that I was pained, and that, on the whole, the evening had not been one flow of exultant

enjoyment for the volatile, pleasureloving Mademoiselle Lucie; but, as I was leaving the room, he stepped

up and inquired whether I had any one to attend me to the Rue Fossette. The professor now spoke politely;

and even deferentially, and he looked apologetic and repentant; but I could not recognise his civility at a

word, not meet his contrition with crude, premature oblivion. Never hitherto had I felt seriously disposed to

resent his brusqueries, or freeze before his fierceness; what he had said tonight, however, I considered

unwarranted: my extreme disapprobation of the proceeding must be marked, however slightly I merely said:

Which was true, as Ginevra and I were to be sent home in the carriage; and I passed him with the sliding

obeisance with which he was wont to be saluted in classe by pupils crossing his estrade.

Having sought my shawl, I returned to the vestibule. M. Emanuel stood there as if waiting. He observed that

'Is it?' I said, with a tone and manner whose consummate chariness and frostiness I could not but applaud. It

was so seldom I could properly act out my own resolution to be reserved and cool where I had been grieved

or hurt, that I felt almost proud of this one successful effort. That 'Is it?' sounded just like the manner of other

people. I had heard hundreds of such little minced, docked, dry phrases, from the pursedup coral lips of a

score of selfpossessed, selfsufficing misses and mesdemoiselles. That M. Paul would not stand any

prolonged experience of this sort of dialogue I knew; but he certainly merited a sample of the curt and arid. I

believe he thought so himself for he took the dose quietly. He looked at my shawl and objected to its

lightness. I decidedly told him it was as heavy as I wished. Receding aloof and standing apart, I leaned on the

banister of the stairs, folded my shawl about me, and fixed my eyes on a dreary religious painting darkening

Ginevra was long in coming: tedious seemed her loitering. M. Paul was still there; my ear expected from his

lips an angry tone. He came nearer. 'Now for another hiss!' thought I: had not the action been too uncivil I

could have stopped my ears with my fingers in terror of the thrill. Nothing happens as we expect: listen for a

coo or a murmur; it is then you will hear a cry of prey or pain. Await a piercing shriek, an angry threat, and

'Friends,' said he, 'do not quarrel for a word. Tell me, was it I or ce grand fat d'Anglais' (so he profanely

denominated Dr. Bretton), 'who made your eyes so humid, and your cheeks so hot as they are even now?'

'I am not conscious of you, monsieur, or of any other having excited such emotions as you indicate,' was my

answer; and in giving it, I again surpassed my usual self and achieved a neat frosty, falsehood.

'But what did I say?' he pursued, 'tell me: I was angry: I have forgotten my words; what were they?'

'Then it was my words which wounded you? Consider them unsaid: permit my retractation; accord my

'Let me hear you say, in the voice natural to you, and not in that alien tone, "Mon ami, je vous pardonne."'

He made me smile. Who could help smiling at his wistfulness, his simplicity, his earnestness?

'I will have no monsieur: speak the other word, or I shall not believe you sincere: another effort mon ami,

Now, 'my friend' had rather another sound and significancy than 'mon ami'; 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 say

without difficulty. This distinction existed not for him, however, and he was quite satisfied with the English

phrase. He smiled. You should have seen him smile, reader; and you should have marked the difference

between his countenance now, and that he wore halfanhour ago. I cannot affirm that I had ever witnessed

the smile of pleasure, or content, or kindness round M. Paul's lips, or in his eyes before. The ironic, the

sarcastic, the disdainful, the passionately exultant, I had hundreds of times seen him express by what he

called a smile, but any illuminated sign of milder or warmer feelings struck me as wholly new in his visage. It

changed it as from a mask to a face: the deep lines left his features; the very complexion seemed clearer and

fresher; that swart, sallow, southern darkness which spoke his Spanish blood, became displaced by a lighter

hue. I know not that I have ever seen in any other human face an equal metamorphosis from a similar cause.

He now took me to the carriage: at the same moment M. de Bassompierre came out with his niece.

In a pretty humour was Mistress Fanshawe; she had found the evening a grand failure: completely upset as to

temper, she gave way to the most uncontrolled moroseness as soon as we were seated, and the carriage door

closed. Her invectives against Dr. Bretton had something venomous in them. Having found herself impotent

either to charm or sting him, hatred was her only resource; and this hatred she expressed in terms so

unmeasured and proportion so monstrous, that, after listening for a while with assumed stoicism, my outraged

sense of justice at last and suddenly caught fire. An explosion ensued: for I could be passionate, too;

especially with my present fair but faulty associate, who never failed to stir the worst dregs of me. Is was well

that the carriage wheels made a tremendous rattle over the flinty Choseville pavement, for I can assure the

reader there was neither dead silence nor calm discussion within the vehicle. Half in earnest, half in seeming,

I made it my business to storm down Ginevra. She had set out rampant from the Rue Crécy; it was necessary

to tame her before we reached the Rue Fossette: to this end it was indispensable to show up her sterling value

and high deserts; and this must be done in language of which the fidelity and homeliness might challenge

comparison with the compliments of a John Knox to a Mary Stuart. This was the right discipline for Ginevra;

it suited her. I am quite sure she went to bed that night all the better and more settled in mind and mood, and

M. Paul Emanuel owned an acute sensitiveness to the annoyance of interruption, from whatsoever cause

occurring, during his lessons: to pass through the classe under such circumstances was considered by the

teachers and pupils of the school, individually and collectively, to be as much as a woman's or girl's life was

Madame Beck herself if forced to the enterprise, would 'skurry' through, retrenching her skirts, and carefully

coasting the formidable estrade, like a ship dreading breakers. As to Rosine, the portress on whom, every

half hour, devolved the fearful duty of fetching pupils out of the very heart of one or other of the divisions to

take their music lessons in the oratory, the great or little saloon, the salleàmanger, or some other piano

station she would, upon her second or third attempt, frequently become almost tonguetied from excess of

consternation a sentiment inspired by the unspeakable looks levelled at her through a pair of dartdealing

One morning I was sitting in the carré; at work upon a piece of embroidery which one of the pupils had

commenced but delayed to finish, and while my fingers wrought at the frame, my ears regaled themselves

with listening to the crescendos and cadences of a voice haranguing in the neighbouring classe, in tones that

waxed momentarily more unquiet, more ominously varied. There was a good strong partition wall between

me and the gathering storms, as well as a facile means of flight through the glass door to the court, in case it

swept this way; so I am afraid I derived more amusement than alarm from these thickening symptoms. Poor

Rosine was not safe: four times that blessed morning had she made the passage of peril; and now, for the fifth

time, it became her dangerous duty to snatch, as it were, a brand from the burning a pupil from under M.

'Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!' cried she. 'Que vaisje devenir? Monsieur va me tuer, je suis sûre; car il est d'une

'Mademoiselle La Malle au piano!' was her cry. Ere she could make good her retreat, or quite close the door,

'Dès ce moment! la classe est défendue. La première qui ouvrira cette porte, ou passera par cette division,

Ten minutes had not succeeded the promulgation of this decree, when Rosine's French pantoufles were again

'Mademoiselle,' said she, 'I would not for a fivefranc piece go into that classe again just now: Monsieur's

lunettes are really terrible; and here is a commissionaire come with a message from the Athénée. I have told

'Me? No, that is rather too bad! It is not in my line of duty. Come, come, Rosine! bear your own burden. Be

'I, Mademoiselle? impossible! Five times I have crossed him this day. Madame must really hire a gendarme

'Precisely of the kind with which monsieur least likes to be pestered: an urgent summons to go directly to the

Athénée, as there is an official visitor inspector I know not what arrived, and monsieur must meet him:

Yes, I knew well enough. The restless little man detested spur or curb: against whatever was urgent or

obligatory, he was sure to revolt. However, I accepted the responsibility not certainly, without fear; but fear

blent with other sentiments, curiosity amongst them. I opened the door, I entered, I closed it behind me as

quickly and quietly as a rather unsteady hand would permit; for to be slow or bustling, to rattle a latch or

leave a door gaping wide, were aggravations of crime often more disastrous in result than the main crime

itself. There I stood then, and there he sat; his humour was visibly bad almost at its worst; he had been

giving a lesson in arithmetic for he gave lessons on any and every subject that struck his fancy and

arithmetic being a dry subject invariably disagreed with him: not a pupil but trembled when he spoke of

figures. He sat, bent above his desk: to look up at the sound of a entrance, at the occurrence of a direct breach

of his will and law, was an effort he could not for the moment bring himself to make. It was quite as well: I

thus gained time to walk up the long classe; and it suited my idiosyncracy far better to encounter the near

At his estrade I paused, just in front; of course I was not worthy of immediate attention: he proceeded with

Not being quite tall enough to lift my head over his desk, elevated upon the estrade, and thus suffering eclipse

in my present position, I ventured to peep round, with the design, at first, of merely getting a better view of

his face, which had struck me when I entered as bearing a close and picturesque resemblance to that of a

black and sallow tiger. Twice did I enjoy this side view with impunity, advancing and receding unseen; the

third time my eye had scarce dawned beyond the obscuration of the desk, when it was caught and transfixed

through its very pupil transfixed by the lunettes. Rosine was right; these utensils had in them a blank and

I now found the advantage of proximity: these shortsighted lunettes were useless for the inspection of a

criminal under Monsieur's nose; accordingly, he doffed them, and he and I stood on more equal terms.

I am glad I was not really much afraid of him that, indeed, close in his presence, I felt no terror at all; for

upon his demanding cord and gibbet to execute the sentence recently pronounced, I was able to furnish him

with a needleful of embroidering thread with such accommodating civility as could not but allay some

portion at least of his surplus irritation. Of course I did not parade this courtesy before public view; I merely

handed the thread round the angle of the desk, and attached it, ready noosed, to the barred back of the

'Que me voulezvous?' said he in a growl of which the music was wholly confined to his chest and throat, for

he kept his teeth clenched, and seemed registering to himself an inward vow that nothing earthly should

'Monsieur,' I said, je veux l'impossible, des choses inouïes;' and thinking it best not to mince matters, but to

administer the 'douche' with decision, in a low but quick voice, I delivered the Athenian message, floridly

Of course, he would not hear a word of it. 'He would not go; he would not leave his present classe, let all the

officials of Villette send for him. He would not put himself an inch out of his way at the bidding of king,

I knew, however, that he must go; that, talk as he would, both his duty and interest commanded an immediate

and literal compliance with the summons: I stood, therefore, waiting in silence, as if he had not yet spoken.

I ventured to stretch my hand to the bonnetgrec which lay in grim repose on the windowsill. He followed

this daring movement with his eye, no doubt in mixed pity and amazement at its presumption.

'Ah!' he muttered, 'if it came to that if Miss Lucy meddled with his bonnetgrec she might just put it on

herself, turn garçon for the occasion, and benevolently go to the Athènèe in his stead.'

With great respect, I laid the bonnet on the desk, where its tassel seemed to give me an awful nod.

Knowing well it would not do, I gently pushed the bonnet towards his hand. Thus impelled, it slid down the

polished slope of the varnished and unbaized desk, carried before it the light steelframed 'lunettes', and,

fearful to relate, they fell to the estrade. A score of times ere now had I seen them fall and receive no damage

this time, as Lucy Snowe's hapless luck would have it, they so fell that each clear pebble became a shivered

Now, indeed, dismay seized me dismay and regret. I knew the value of these 'lunettes'; M. Paul's sight was

peculiar, not easily fitted, and these glasses suited him. I had heard him call them his treasures: as I picked

them up, cracked and worthless, my hand trembled. Frightened through all my nerves I was to see the

mischief I had done, but I think I was even more sorry than afraid. For some seconds I dared not look the

'Là!' said he: 'me voilà veuf de mes lunettes! I think Mademoiselle Lucy will now confess that the cord and

gallows are amply earned; she trembles in anticipation of her doom. Ah, traitress! traitress! You are resolved

I lifted my eyes: his face, instead of being irate, lowering and furrowed, was overflowing with the smile,

coloured with the bloom I had seen brightening it that evening at the Hôtel Crécy. He was not angry not

even grieved. For the real injury he showed himself full of clemency; under the real provocation, patient as a

saint. This event, which seemed so untoward which I thought had ruined at once my chance of successful

persuasion proved my best help. Difficult of management so long as I 'had done him no harm, he became

graciously pliant as soon as I stood in his presence a conscious and contrite offender.

Still gently railing at me as 'une forte femme une Anglaise terrible une petite casetout' he declared that

he dared not but obey one who had given such an instance of her dangerous prowess; it was absolutely like

the 'grand Empereur smashing the vase to inspire dismay.' So, at last, crowning himself with his bonnetgrec,

and taking his ruined lunettes from my hand with a clasp of kind pardon and encouragement, he made his

After all this amiabillty, the reader will be sorry for my sake to hear that I was quarrelling with M. Paul again

It was his occasional custom and a very laudable, acceptable custom, too to arrive of an evening, always

à l'improviste, unannounced, burst in on the silent hour of study, establish a sudden despotism over us and

our occupations, cause books to be put away, workbags to be brought out, and, drawing forth a single thick

volume, or a handful of pamphlets, substitute for the besotted 'lecture pieuse', drawled by a sleepy pupil,

some tragedy made grand by grand reading, ardent by fiery action some drama, whereof for my part, I

rarely studied the intrinsic merit; for M. Emanuel made it a vessel for an outpouring, and filled it with his

native verve and passion like a cup with a vital brewage. Or else he would flash through our conventual

darkness a reflex of a brighter world, show us a glimpse of the current literature of the day, read us passages

from some enchanting tale, or the last witty feuilleton which had awakened laughter in the salons of Paris;

taking care always to expunge, with the severest band, whether from tragedy, melodrama, tale or essay,

whatever passage, phrase, or word, could be deemed unsuited to an audience of jeunes filles.' I noticed more

than once, that where retrenchment without substitute would have left unmeaning vacancy, or introduced

weakness, he could, and did, improvise whole paragraphs, no less vigorous than irreproachable: the dialogue

Well, on the evening in question, we were sitting silent as nuns in a 'retreat,' the pupils studying, the teachers

working. I remember my work; it was a slight matter of fancy, and it rather interested me; it had a purpose; I

was not doing it merely to kill time; I meant it when finished as a gift; and the occasion of presentation being

We heard the sharp bellpeal which we all knew; then the rapid step familiar to each ear: the words 'Voilà

Monsieur!' had scarcely broken simultaneously from every lip, when the twoleaved door split (as split it

always did for his admission such a slow word as 'open' is inefficient to describe his movements), and he

There were two study tables, both long and flanked with benches; over the centre of each hung a lamp;

beneath this lamp, on either side the table, sat a teacher; the girls were arranged to the right hand and the left;

the eldest and most studious nearest the lamps or tropics; the idlers and little ones towards the north and south

poles. Monsieur's habit was politely to hand a chair to some teacher, generally Zélie St. Pierre, the senior

mistress; then to take her vacated seat; and thus avail himself of the full beam of Cancer or Capricorn, which,

As usual, Zélie rose with alacrity, smiling to the whole extent of her mouth, and the full display of her upper

and under rows of teeth that strange smile which passes from ear to ear, and is marked only by a sharp thin

curve, which fails to spread over the countenance, and neither dimples the cheek nor lights the eye. I suppose

Monsieur did not see her, or he had taken a whim that he would not notice her, for he was as capricious as

women are said to be; then his lunettes (he had got another pair) served him as an excuse for all sorts of little

oversights and shortcomings. Whatever might be his reason, he passed by Zélie, came to the other side of the

table, and before I could start up to clear the way, whispered, 'Ne bougez pas,' and established himself

between me and Miss Fanshawe, who always would be my neighbour, and have her elbow in my side,

It was easy to say, 'Ne bougez pas'; but how could I help it? I must make him room, and I must request the

pupils to recede that I might recede. It was very well for Ginevra to be gummed to me, 'keeping herself

warm,' as she said, on the winter evenings, and harassing my very heart with her fidgetings and pokings,

obliging me, indeed, sometimes to put an artful pin in my girdle by way of protection against her elbow; but I

suppose M. Emanuel was not to be subjected to the same kind of treatment, so I swept away my working

materials, to clear space for his book, and withdrew myself to make room for his person; not, however,

leaving more than a yard of interval, just what any reasonable man would have regarded as a convenient,

respectful allowance of bench. But M. Emanuel never was reasonable; flint and tinder that he was! he struck

'Vous ne voulez pas de moi pour voisin,' he growled: 'vous vous donnez des airs de caste; vous me traitez en

The girls rose. He made them all file off the other table. He then placed me at one extremity of the long

bench, and having duly and carefully brought me my workbasket, silk, scissors, all my implements, he fixed

At this arrangement, highly absurd as it was, not a soul in the room dared to laugh; luckless for the giggler

would have been the giggle. As for me, I took it with entire coolness. There I sat, isolated and cut off from

human intercourse; I sat and minded my work, and was quiet, and not at all unhappy.

'Vous savez bien que non. C'est vous qui avez créé ce vide immense: moi je n'y ai pas mis la main.'

For his misfortune he had chosen a French translation of what he called 'un drame de Williams Shackspire; le

faux dieu,' he further announced, 'de ces sots païens, les Anglais.' How far otherwise he would have

Of course, the translation being French, was very inefficient; nor did I make any particular effort to conceal

the contempt which some of its forlorn lapses were calculated to excite. Not that it behoved or beseemed me

to say anything; but one can occasionally look the opinion it is forbidden to embody in words. Monsieur's

lunettes being on the alert, he gleaned up every stray look; I don't think he lost one: the consequence was, his

eyes soon discarded a screen, that their blaze might sparkle free, and he waxed hotter at the north pole to

which he had voluntarily exiled himself than, considering the general temperature of the room, it would have

The reading over, it appeared problematic whether he would depart with his anger unexpressed, or whether

he would give it vent. Suppression was not much in his habits; but still, what had been done to him definite

enough to afford matter for overt reproof? I had not uttered a sound, and could not justly be deemed

amenable to reprimand or penalty for having permitted a slightly freer action than usual to the muscles about

The supper, consisting of bread, and milk diluted with tepid water, was brought in. In respectful consideration

of the Professor's presence, the rolls and glasses were allowed to stand instead of being immediately handed

'Take your supper, ladies,' said he, seeming to be occupied in making marginal notes to his 'Williams

Shackspire.' They took it. I also accepted a roll and glass, but being now more than ever interested in my

work, I kept my seat of punishment, and wrought while I munched my bread and sipped my beverage, the

whole with easy sang froid; with a certain snugness of composure, indeed, scarcely in my habits, and

pleasantly novel to my feelings. It seemed as if the presence of a nature so restless, chafing, thorny as that of

M. Paul absorbed all feverish and unsettling influences like a magnet, and left me none but such as were

He rose. 'Will he go away without saying another word?' Yes; he turned to the door.

No: he returned on his steps; but only, perhaps, to take his pencilcase, which had been left on the table.

He took it shut the pencil in and out, broke its point against the wood, recut and pocketed it, and . . . walked

The girls and teachers, gathered round the other table, were talking pretty freely: they always talked at meals;

and, from the constant habit of speaking fast and loud at such times, did not now subdue their voices much.

M. Paul came and stood behind me. He asked at what I was working; and I said I was making a watchguard.

M. Paul stooped down and proceeded as novelwriters say, and, as was literally true in his case to 'hiss'

He said that, of all the women he knew, I was the one who could make herself the most consummately

unpleasant: I was she with whom it was least possible to live on friendly terms. I had a 'caractère intraitable,'

and perverse to a miracle. How I managed it, or what possessed me, he, for his part, did not know; but with

whatever pacific and amicable intentions a person accosted me crac! I turned concord to discord, goodwill

to enmity. He was sure, he M. Paul wished me well enough; he had never done me any harm that he

knew of; he might, at least, he supposed, claim a right to be regarded as a neutral acquaintance, guiltless of

hostile sentiments: yet, how I behaved to him! With what pungent vivacities what an impetus of mutiny

Here I could not avoid opening my eyes somewhat wide, and even slipping in a slight interjectional

'Chut! à l'instant! There! there I went vive comme la poudre!' He was sorry he was very sorry: for my

sake he grieved over the hapless peculiarity. This 'emportement,' this 'chaleur' generous, perhaps, but

excessive would yet, he feared, do me a mischief. It was a pity: I was not he believed, in his soul

wholly without good qualities; and would I but hear reason, and be more sedate, more sober, less 'en l'air,'

less 'coquette,' less taken by show, less prone to set an undue value on outside excellence to make much of

the attentions of people remarkable chiefly for so many feet of stature, 'des couleurs de poupée,' 'un nez plus

ou moins bien fait,' and an enormous amount of fatuity I might yet prove a useful, perhaps an exemplary

character. But as it was And here, the little man's voice was for a minute choked.

I would have looked up at him, or held out my hand, or said a soothing word; but I was afraid, if I stirred, I

should either laugh or cry; so odd, in all this, was the mixture of the touching and the absurd.

I thought he had nearly done: but no; he sat down that he might go on at his ease.

'While he, M. Paul, was on these painful topics, he would dare my anger for the sake of my good, and would

venture to refer to a change he had noticed in my dress. He was free to confess that when he first knew me

or rather, was in the habit of catching a passing glimpse of me from time to time I satisfied him on this

point: the gravity, the austere simplicity, obvious in this particular, were such as to inspire the highest hopes

for my best interests. What fatal influence had impelled me lately to introduce flowers under the brim of my

bonnet, to wear "des cols brodés," and even to appear on one occasion in a scarlet gown he might indeed

Again I interrupted, and this time not without an accent at once indignant and horror struck.

'Scarlet, Monsieur Paul? It was not scarlet! It was pink, and pale pink, too: and further subdued by black lace.'

'Pink or scarlet, yellow or crimson, pea green or sky blue; it was all one: these were all flaunting, giddy

colours; and as to the lace I talked of, that was but a "colifichet de plus."' And he sighed over my degeneracy.

'He could not, he was sorry to say, be so particular on this theme as he could wish: not possessing the exact

names of these "babioles," he might run into small verbal errors which would not fail to lay him open to my

sarcasm, and excite my unhappily sudden and passionate disposition. He would merely say, in general terms

and in these general terms he knew he was correct that my costume had of late assumed "des façons

What façons mondaines' he discovered in my present winter merino and plain white collar, I own it puzzled

me to guess: and when I asked him, he said it was all made with too much attention to effect and besides,

'And if you condemn a bow of ribbon for a lady, monsieur, you would necessarily disapprove of a thing like

this for a gentleman?' holding up my bright little chainlet of silk and gold. His sole reply was a groan I

After sitting some minutes in silence, and watching the chain, at which I now wrought more assiduously than

'Whether what he had just said would have the effect of making me entirely detest him?'

I hardly remember what answer I made, or how it came about; I don't think I spoke at all, but I know we

managed to bid goodnight on friendly terms: and, even after M: Paul had reached the door, he turned back

just to explain, 'that he would not be understood to speak in entire condemnation of the scarlet dress' ('Pink!

pink!' I threw in); 'that he had no intention to deny it the merit of looking rather well' (the fact was, M.

Emanuel's taste in colours decidedly leaned to the brilliant); 'only he wished to counsel me, whenever I wore

it, to do so in the same spirit as if its material were "bure," and its hue "gris de poussière."'

'And the flowers under my bonnet, monsieur?' I asked. 'They are very little ones ?'

'Well done, Lucy Snowe!' cried I to myself; 'you have come in for a pretty lecture brought on yourself a

"rude savon," and all through your wicked fondness for worldly vanities! Who would have thought it? You

deemed yourself a melancholy sobersides enough! Miss Fanshawe there regards you as a second Diogenes.

M. de Bassompierre, the other day, politely turned the conversation when it ran on the wild gifts of the

actress Vashti, because, as he kindly said, "Miss Snowe looked uncomfortable." Dr. John Bretton knows you

only as "quiet Lucy" "a creature inoffensive as a shadow"; he has said, and you have heard him say it:

"Lucy's disadvantages spring from overgravity in tastes and manner want of colour in character and

costume." Such are your own and your friends' impressions; and behold! there starts up a little man, differing

diametrically from all these, roundly charging you with being too airy and cheery too volatile and versatile

too flowery and coloury. This harsh little man this pitiless censor gathers up all your poor scattered sins

of vanity, your luckless chiffon of rosecolour, your small fringe of a wreath, your small scrap of ribbon,

your silly bit of lace, and calls you to account for the lot, and for each item. You are well habituated to be

passed by as a shadow in Life's sunshine: it is a new thing to see one testily lifting his hand to screen his eyes,

I was up the next morning an hour before daybreak, and finished my guard, kneeling on the dormitory floor

beside the centre stand, for the benefit of such expiring glimmer as the nightlamp afforded in its last watch.

All my materials my whole stock of beads and silk were used up before the chain assumed the length

and richness I wished; I had wrought it double, as I knew, by the rule of contraries, that to suit the particular

taste whose gratification was in view, an effective appearance was quite indispensable. As a finish to the

ornament, a little gold clasp was needed; fortunately I possessed it in the fastening of my sole necklace; I

duly detached and reattached it, then coiled compactly the completed guard, and enclosed it in a small box I

had bought for its brilliancy, made of some tropic shell of the colour called 'nacarat,' and decked with a little

coronal of sparkling blue stones. Within the lid of the box, I carefully graved with my scissors' point certain

The reader will, perhaps, remember the description of Madame Beck's fête; nor will he have forgotten that at

each anniversary, a handsome present was subscribed for and offered by the school. The observance of this

day was a distinction accorded to none but Madame, arid, in a modified form, to her kinsman and counsellor,

M. Emanuel. In the latter case it was an honour spontaneously awarded, not plotted and contrived

beforehand, and offered an additional proof, amongst many others, of the estimation in which despite his

partialities, prejudices and irritabilities the professor of literature was held by his pupils. No article of

value was offered to him: he distinctly gave it to be understood, that he would accept neither plate nor

jewellery. Yet he liked a slight tribute; the cost, the moneyvalue, did not touch him: a diamond ring, a gold

snuffbox, presented with pomp, would have pleased him less than a flower, or a drawing, offered simply

and with sincere feelings. Such was his nature. He was a man, not wise in his generation, yet could he claim a

M. Paul's fête fell on the first of March and a Thursday. It proved a fine sunny day, and being likewise the

morning on which it was customary to attend mass; being also otherwise distinguished by the half holiday

which permitted the privilege of walking out, shopping, or paying visits in the afternoon: these combined

considerations induced a general smartness and freshness of dress. Clean collars were in vogue; the ordinary

dingy woollen classe dress was exchanged for something lighter and clearer. Mademoiselle Zélie St. Pierre,

on this particular Thursday, even assumed a 'robe de soie,' deemed in economical Labassecour an article of

hazardous splendour and luxury; nay, it was remarked that she sent for a coiffeur to dress her hair that

morning; there were pupils acute enough to discover that she had bedewed her handkerchief and her hand

with a new and fashionable perfume. Poor Zélie! It was much her wont to declare about this time, that she

was tired to death of a life of seclusion and labour; that she longed to have the means and leisure for

relaxation; to have some one to work for her a husband who would pay her debts (she was woefully

encumbered with debt), supply her wardrobe, and leave her at liberty, as she said, to 'goûter on peu les

plaisirs.' It had long been rumoured, that her eye was upon M. Emanuel. Monsieur Emanuel's eye was

certainly often upon her. He would sit and watch her perseveringly for minutes together. I have seen him give

her a quarter of an hour's gaze, while the class was silently composing, and he sat throned on his estrade,

unoccupied. Conscious always of this basilisk attention, she would writhe under it, halfflattered,

halfpuzzled, and monsieur would follow her sensations, sometimes looking appallingly acute; for in some

cases, he had the terrible unerring penetration of instinct, and pierced in its hidingplace the last lurking

thought of the heart, and discerned under florid veilings the bare, barren places of the spirit: yes, and its

perverted tendencies, and its hidden false curves all that men and women would not have known the

twisted spine, the malformed limb that was born with them, and far worse, the stain or disfigurement they

have perhaps brought on themselves. No calamity so accursed but M. Emanuel could pity and forgive, if it

were acknowledged candidly; but where his questioning eyes met dishonest denial where his ruthless

researches found deceitful concealment oh, then, he could be cruel, and I thought wicked! he would

exultantly snatch the screen from poor shrinking wretches, passionately hurry them to the summit of the

mount of exposure, and there show them all naked, all false poor living lies the spawn of that horrid

Truth which cannot be looked on unveiled. He thought he did justice; for my part I doubt whether man has a

right to do such justice on man: more than once in these his visitations, I have felt compelled to give tears to

his victims, and not spared ire and keen reproach to himself. He deserved it; but it was difficult to shake him

Breakfast being over and mass attended, the school bell rang and the rooms filled: a very pretty spectacle was

presented in classe. Pupils and teachers sat neatly arrayed, orderly and expectant, each bearing in her hand the

bouquet of felicitation the prettiest spring flowers, all fresh and filling the air with their fragrance: I only

had no bouquet. I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please. I look on

them as things rootless and perishable: their likeness to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I

love; I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me. Mademoiselle St. Pierre marked my empty hands

she could not believe I had been so remiss; with avidity her eye roved over and round me: surely I must

have some solitary symbolic flower somewhere: some small knot of violets, something to win myself praise

for taste, commendation for ingenuity. The unimaginative 'Anglaise' proved better than the Parisienne's fears:

she sat literally unprovided, as bare of bloom or leaf as the winter tree. This ascertained, Zélie smile, well

'How wisely you have acted to keep your money, Miss Lucie,' she said: 'silly I have gone and thrown away

But hush! a step: the step. It came prompt, as usual, but with a promptitude, we felt disposed to flatter

ourselves, inspired by other feelings than mere excitability of nerve and vehemence of intent. We thought our

Professor's 'footfall' (to speak romantically) had in it a friendly promise this morning; and so it had.

He entered in a mood which made him as good as a new sunbeam to the already welllit first classe. The

morning light playing amongst our plants and laughing on our walls caught an added lustre from M. Paul's

allbenignant salute. Like a true Frenchman (though I don't know why I should say so, for he was of strain

neither French nor Labassecourien), he had dressed for the 'situation' and the occasion. Not by the vague

folds, sinister and conspiratorlike, of his sootdark paletôt were the outlines of his person obscured; on the

contrary, his figure (such as it was, I don't boast of it) was well set off by a civilised coat and a silken vest

quite pretty to behold. The defiant and pagan bonnetgrec had vanished: bareheaded he came upon us,

carrying a Christian hat in his gloved hand. The little man looked well, very well; there was a clearness of

amity in his blue eye, and a glow of good feeling on his dark complexion, which passed perfectly in the place

of beauty: one really did not care to observe that his nose, though far from small, was of no particular shape,

his cheek thin, his brow marked and square, his mouth no rosebud: one accepted him as he was, and felt his

He passed to his desk; he placed on the same his hat and gloves. 'Bon jour, mes amies,' said he, in a tone that

somehow made amends to some amongst us for many a sharp snap and savage snarl: not a jocund,

goodfellow tone, still less an unctuous priestly accent, but a voice he had belonging to himself a voice

used when his heart passed the words to his lips. That same heart did speak sometimes; though an irritable, it

was not an ossified organ: in its core was a place, tender beyond a man's tenderness; a place that humbled

him to little children, that bound him to girls and women: to whom, rebel as he would, he could not disown

his affinity, nor quite deny that, on the whole, he was better with them than with his own sex.

'We all wish monsieur a good day, and present to him our congratulations on the anniversary of his fête,' said

Mademoiselle Zélie, constituting herself spokeswoman of the assembly; and advancing with no more twists

of affectation than were with her indispensable to the achievement of motion, she laid her costly bouquet

The long train of offerings followed: all the pupils, sweeping past with the gliding step foreigners practise,

left their tributes as they went by. Each girl so dexterously adjusted her separate gift, that when the last

bouquet was laid on the desk, it formed the apex to a blooming pyramid a pyramid blooming, spreading,

and towering with such exuberance as, in the end, to eclipse the hero behind it. This ceremony over, seats

I suppose five minutes might have elapsed, and the hush remained unbroken; ten and there was no sound.

Many present began, doubtless, to wonder for what monsieur waited: as well they might. Voiceless and

viewless, stirless and wordless, he kept his station behind the pile of flowers.

At last there issued forth a voice, rather deep, as if it spoke out of a hollow:

Yes; they had all given their nosegays, from the eldest to the youngest, from the tallest to the most

'Estce là tout?' was reiterated in an intonation which, deep before, had now descended some notes lower.

'Monsieur,' said Mademoiselle St. Pierre, rising, and this time speaking with her own sweet smile, 'I have the

honour to tell you that, with a single exception, every person in classe has offered her bouquet. For Meess

Lucie, monsieur will kindly make allowance; as a foreigner she probably did not know our customs, or did

not appreciate their significance. Meess Lucie has regarded this ceremony as too frivolous to be honoured by

'Famous!' I muttered between my teeth: 'you are no bad speaker, Zélie, when you begin.'

The answer vouchsafed to Mademoiselle St. Pierre from the estrade was given in the gesticulation of a hand

from behind the pyramid. This manual action seemed to deprecate words, to enjoin silence.

A form, ere long, followed the hand. Monsieur emerged from his eclipse; and producing himself on the front

of his estrade, and gazing straight and fixedly before him at a vast 'mappemonde' covering the wall opposite,

I might yet have made all right, by stepping forwards and slipping into his hand the ruddy little shell box I at

that moment held tight in my own. It was what I had fully purposed to do; but first, the comic side of

monsieur's behaviour had tempted me to delay, and now, Mademoiselle St. Pierre's affected interference

provoked contumacity. The reader not having hitherto had any cause to ascribe to Miss Snowe's character the

most distant pretensions to perfection, will be scarcely surprised to learn that she felt too perverse to defend

herself from any imputation the Parisienne might choose to insinuate: and besides, M. Paul was so tragic, and

took my defection so seriously, he deserved to be vexed. I kept, then, both my box and my countenance, and

'It is well!' dropped at length from the lips of M. Paul; and having uttered this phrase, the shadow of some

great paroxysm the swell of wrath, scorn, resolve passed over his brow, rippled his lips, and lined his

cheeks. Gulping down all further comment, he launched into his customary 'discours'.

I can't at all remember what his 'discours' was; I did not listen to it: the gulpingdown process, the abrupt

dismissal of his mortification or vexation, had given me a sensation which halfcounteracted the ludicrous

Towards the close of the speech there came a pleasing diversion; my attention was again amusingly arrested.

Owing to some little accidental, movement I think I dropped my thimble on the floor, and in stooping to

regain it, hit the crown of my head against the sharp corner of my desk; which casualties (exasperating to me,

by rights, if to anybody) naturally made a slight bustle M. Paul became irritated, and dismissing his forced

equanimity, and casting to the winds that dignity and selfcontrol with which he never cared long to

encumber himself, he broke forth into the strain best calculated to give him ease.

I don't know how, in the progress of his 'discours,' he had contrived to cross the channel and land on British

Casting a quick, cynical glance round the room a glance which scathed, or was intended to scathe, as it

Never have I heard English women handled as M. Paul that morning handled them: he spared nothing

neither their minds, morals, manners, nor personal appearance. I specially remember his abuse of their tall

stature, their long necks, their thin arms, their slovenly dress, their pedantic education, their impious

scepticism (!), their insufferable pride, their pretentious virtue: over which he ground his teeth malignantly,

and looked as if had he dared, he would have said singular things. Oh! he was spiteful, acrid, savage; and, as

'Little, wicked, venomous man!' thought I; 'am I going to harass myself with fears of displeasing you, or

hurting your feeling? No, indeed; you shall be indifferent to me, as the shabbiest bouquet in your pyramid.'

I grieve to say I could not quite carry out this resolution. For some time the abuse of England and the English

found and left me stolid: I bore it some fifteen minutes stoically enough; but this hissing cockatrice was

determined to sting, and he said such things at last fastening not only upon our women, but upon our

greatest names and best men; sullying the shield of Britannia, and dabbling the union jack in mud that I

was stung. With vicious relish he brought up the most spicy current continental historical falsehoods than

which nothing can be conceived more offensive. Zélie, and the whole class, became one grin of vindictive

delight; for it is curious to discover how these clowns of Labassecour secretly hate England. At last, I struck a

'Vive l'Angleterre, l'Histoire et les Héros! A bas la France, la Fiction et les Faquins!'

The classe was struck of a heap. I suppose they thought me mad. The Professor put up his handkerchief and

fiendishly smiled into its folds. Little monster of malice! He now thought he had got the victory, since he had

made me angry. In a second he became goodhumoured. With great blandness, he resumed the subject of his

flowers; talked poetically and symbolically of their sweetness, perfume, purity, etcetera; made Frenchified

comparisons between the 'jeunes filles' and the sweet blossoms before him; paid Mademoiselle St. Pierre a

very fullblown compliment on the superiority of her bouquet; and ended by announcing that the first really

fine, mild, and balmy morning in spring, he intended to take the whole classe out to breakfast in the country.

'Such of the classe, at least,' he added, with emphasis, 'as he could count amongst the number of his friends.'

'Soit!' was his response, and gathering his flowers in his arms, he flashed out of classe; while I, consigning

my work, scissors, thimble, and the neglected little box, to my desk, swept upstairs. I don't know whether he

Yet with a strange evanescent anger, I had not sat an hour on the edge of my bed, picturing and repicturing

his look, manner, words, ere I smiled at the whole scene. A little pang of regret I underwent that the box had

In the course of the afternoon, remembering that desks in classe were by no means inviolate repositories, and

thinking that it was as well to secure the box, on account of the initials in the lid, P. C. D. E., for Paul Carl (or

Carlos) David Emanuel such was his full name these foreigners must always have a string of

It slept in holiday repose. The daypupils were all gone home, the boarders were out walking, the teachers,

except the surveillante of the week, were in town, 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 of manybranched chandeliers,

and its horizontal grand piano closed, silent, enjoying its midweek Sabbath. I rather wondered to find the

first classe door ajar; this room being usually locked when empty, and being then inaccessible to any save

Madame Beck and myself who possessed a duplicate key. I wondered still more, on approaching, to hear a

vague movement as of life a step, a chair stirred, a sound like the opening of a desk.

'It is only Madame Beck doing inspection duty,' was the conclusion following a moment's reflection. The

partiallyopened door gave opportunity for assurance on this point. I looked. Behold! not the inspecting garb

of Madame Beck the shawl and the clean cap but the coat, and the closeshorn, dark head of a man.

This person occupied my chair; his olive hand held my desk open, his nose was lost to view amongst my

papers. His back was towards me, but there could not be a moment's question about identity. Already was the

attire of ceremony discarded: the cherished and inkstained paletôt was resumed; the perverse bonnetgrec lay

Now I knew, and I, had long known, that that hand of M. Emanuel's was on the most intimate terms with my

desk; that it raised and lowered the lid, ransacked and arranged the contents, almost as familiarly as my own.

The fact was not dubious, nor did he wish it to be so: he left signs of each visit palpable and unmistakeable;

hitherto, however, I had never caught him in the act: watch as I would, I could not detect the hours and

moments of his coming. I saw the brownie's work in exercises left overnight full of faults, and found next

morning carefully corrected: I profited by his capricious goodwill in loans full welcome and refreshing.

Between a sallow dictionary and wornout grammar would magically grow a fresh interesting new work, or a

classic, mellow and sweet in its ripe age. Out of my workbasket would laughingly peep a romance, under it

would lurk the pamphlet, the magazine, whence last evening's reading had been extracted. Impossible to

doubt the source whence these treasures flowed: had there been no other indication, one condemning and

traitor peculiarity common to them all, settled the question they smelt of cigars . This was very shocking,

of course: I thought so at first, and used to open the window with some bustle, to air my desk, and with

fastidious finger and thumb, to hold the peccant brochures forth to the purifying breeze. I was cured of that

formality suddenly. Monsieur caught me at it one day, understood the inference, instantly relieved my hand

of its burden, and, in another moment, would have thrust the same into the glowing stove. It chanced to be a

book, on the perusal of which I was bent; so for once I proved as decided and quicker than himself;

recaptured the spoil, and having saved this volume never hazarded a second. With all this, I had never

yet been able to arrest in his visits the freakish, friendly, cigarloving phantom.

But now at last I had him: there he was the very brownie himself; and there, curling from his lips, was the

pale blue breath of his Indian darling: he was smoking into my desk: it might well betray him. Provoked at

this particular, and yet pleased to surprise him pleased, that is, with the mixed feeling of the housewife

who discovers at last her strange elfin ally busy in the dairy at the untimely churn I softly stole forward,

My heart smote me to see that after this morning's hostility, after my seeming remissness, after the

puncture experienced by his feelings, and the ruffling undergone by his temper he, allwilling to forget

and forgive, had brought me a couple of handsome volumes, of which the title and authorship were

guarantees for interest. Now, as he sat bending above the desk, he was stirring up its contents; but with gentle

and careful hand; disarranging indeed, but not harming. My heart smote me: as I bent over him, as he sat

unconscious, doing me what good he could, and I daresay not feeling towards me unkindly, my morning's

I think he heard me breathe. He turned suddenly: his temperament was nervous, yet he never started, and

'I thought you were gone into town with the other teachers,' said he, taking a grim gripe of his

selfpossession, which half escaped him 'It is as well you are not. Do you think I care for being caught?

'You find a brochure or tome now and then; but you don't read them, because they have passed under this?'

'Monsieur has seen me reading them a hundred times, and knows I have not so many recreations as to

'I mean well; and, if you see that I mean well, and derive some little amusement from my efforts, why can we

'This morning,' he continued, 'I awoke in a bright mood, and came into classe happy; you spoiled my day.'

'Unintentionally! No. It was my fête day; everybody wished me happiness but you. The little children of the

third division gave each her knot of violets, lisped each her congratulation: you nothing. Not a bud, leaf,

'Then you really did not know our custom? You were unprepared? You would willingly have laid out a few

centimes on a flower to give me pleasure, had you been aware that it was expected? Say so, and all is

'I did know that it was expected: I was prepared; yet I laid out no centimes on flowers.'

'It is well you do right to be honest. I should almost have hated you had you flattered and lied. Better

declare at once "Paul Carl Emanuel je te déteste, mon garçon!" than smile an interest, look an

affection, and be false and cold at heart. False and cold I don't think you are; but you have made a great

mistake in life, that I believe: I think your judgment is warped that you are indifferent where you ought to

be grateful and perhaps devoted and infatuated, where you ought to be cool as your name. Don't suppose

that I wish you to have a passion for me, Mademoiselle; Dieu vous en garde! What do you start for? Because

I said passion? Well, I say it again. There is such a word, and there is such a thing though not within these

walls, thank Heaven! You are no child that one should not speak of what exists; but I only uttered the word

the thing, I assure you, is alien to my whole life and views. It died in the past in the present it lies

buried its grave is deepdug, wellheaped, and many winters old: in the future there will be a

resurrection, as I believe to my soul's consolation; but all will then be changed form and feeling: the

mortal will have put on immortality it will rise, not for earth, but heaven; All I say to you, Miss Lucy

'Tell me,' he pursued, 'when it is your fête day, and I will not grudge a few centimes for a small offering.'

'You will be like me, Monsieur: this cost more than a few centimes, and I did not grudge its price.'

'It lay ready in my lap this morning,' I continued; 'and if Monsieur had been rather more patient, and

Mademoiselle St. Pierre less interfering perhaps I should say, too, if I had been calmer and wiser I

He looked at the box: I saw its clear warm tint and bright azure circlet pleased his eyes I told him to open it.

'My initials!' said he, indicating the letters in the lid. 'Who told you I was called Carl David?'

'Does it fly from me to you? Then one can tie a message under its wing when needful.'

He took out the chain a trifle indeed as to value, but glossy with silk and sparkling with beads. He liked

'Then it is not necessary that I should cut out any portion saying, this part is not mine: it was plaited under

Straightway Monsieur opened his paletôt, arranged the guard splendidly across his chest, displaying as much

and suppressing as little as he could: for he had no notion of concealing what he admired and thought

decorative. As to the box, he pronounced it a superb bonbonnière he was fond of bonbons, by the way

and as he always liked to share with others what pleased himself, he would give his 'dragées' as freely as he

lent his books. Amongst the kind brownie's gifts left in my desk, I forgot to enumerate many a paper of

chocolate comfits. His tastes in these matters were southern, and what we think infantine. His simple lunch

consisted frequently of a 'brioche', which, as often as not, he shared with some child of the third division.

'A présent c'est un fait accompli,' said he, readjusting his paletôt; and we had no more words on the subject.

After looking over the two volumes he had brought, and cutting away some pages with his penknife (he

generally pruned before lending his books, especially if they were novels, and sometimes I was a little

provoked at the severity of his censorship, the retrenchments interrupting the narrative), he rose, politely

We might have quarrelled again that very same evening, but, wonderful to relate! failed, for once, to make

Contrary to all expectation, M. Paul arrived at the study hour. Having seen so much of him in the morning,

we did not look for his presence at night. No sooner were we seated at lessons, however, than he appeared. I

own I was glad to see him, so glad that I could not help greeting his arrival with a smile; and when he made

his way to the same seat about which so serious a misunderstanding had formerly arisen, I took good care not

to make too much room for him; he watched with a jealous, sidelong look, to see whether I shrank away,

but I did not, though the bench was a little crowded. I was losing the early impulse to recoil from M. Paul.

Habituated to the paletôt and bonnetgrec, the neighbourhood of these garments seemed no longer

uncomfortable, or very formidable. I did not now sit restrained, 'asphyxiée' (as he used to say) at his side; I

stirred when I wished to stir, coughed when it was necessary, even yawned when I was tired did, in short,

what I pleased, blindly reliant upon his indulgence. Nor did my temerity, this evening at least, meet the

punishment it perhaps merited; he was both indulgent and goodnatured; not a cross glance shot from his

eyes, not a hasty word left his lips. Till the very close of the evening, he did not indeed address me at all, yet I

felt, somehow, that he was full of friendliness. Silence is of different kinds, and breathes different meanings;

no words could inspire a pleasanter content than did M. Paul's wordless presence. When the tray came in and

the bustle of supper commenced, he just said, as he retired, that he wished me a good night and sweet dreams;

Yet the reader is advised not to be in any hurry with his kindly conclusions, or to suppose, with an overhasty

charity, that from that day M. Paul became a changed character easy to live with, and no longer apt to

No; he was naturally a little man, of unreasonable moods. When overwrought, which he often was, he

became acutely irritable; and, besides, his veins were dark with a livid belladonna tincture, the essence of

jealousy. I do not mean merely the tender jealousy of the heart, but that sterner, narrower sentiment whose

I used to think, as I sat looking at M. Paul, while he was knitting his brow or protruding his lip over some

exercise of mine, which had not as many faults as he wished (for he liked me to commit faults: a knot of

blunders was sweet to him as a cluster of nuts), that he had points of resemblance to Napoleon Bonaparte. I

In a shameless disregard of magnanimity, he resembled the great Emperor. M. Paul would have quarrelled

with twenty learned women, would have unblushingly carried on a system of petty bickering and

recrimination with a whole capital of coteries, never troubling himself about loss or lack of dignity. He would

have exiled fifty Madame de Staëls, if they had annoyed, offended, outrivalled or opposed him.

I well remember a hot episode of his with a certain Madame Panache a lady temporarily employed by

Madame Beck to give lessons in history. She was clever that is, she knew a good deal; and besides,

thoroughly possessed the art of making the most of what she knew; of words and confidence she held

unlimited command. Her personal appearance was far from destitute of advantages; I believe many people

would have pronounced her 'a fine woman; and yet there were points in her robust and ample attractions, as

well as in her bustling and demonstrative presence, which, it appeared, the nice and capricious tastes of M.

Paul could not away with. The sound of her voice, echoing through the carré, would put him into a strange

taking: her long, free step almost stride along the corridor, would often make him snatch up his papers

With malicious intent he bethought himself one day, to intrude on her class; as quick as lightning he gathered

her method of instruction; it differed from a pet plan of his own. With little ceremony, and less courtesy, he

pointed out what he termed her errors. Whether he expected submission and attention, I know not; he met an

acrid opposition, accompanied by a round reprimand for his certainly unjustifiable interference.

Instead of withdrawing with dignity, as he might still have done, he threw down the gauntlet of defiance.

Madame Panache, bellicose as a Penthesilea, picked it up in a minute. She snapped her fingers in the

intermeddler's face; she rushed upon him with a storm of words. M. Emanuel was eloquent; but Madame

Panache was voluble. A system of fierce antagonism ensued. Instead of laughing in his sleeve at his fair foe,

with all her sore amourpropre and loud selfassertion, M. Paul detested her with intense seriousness; he

honoured her with his earnest fury; he pursued her vindictively and implacably, refusing to rest peaceably in

his bed, to derive due benefit from his meals, or even serenely to relish his cigar, till she was fairly rooted out

of the establishment. The Professor conquered, but I cannot say that the laurels of his victory shadowed

gracefully his temples. Once I ventured to hint as much. To my great surprise he allowed that I might be

right, but averred that when brought into contact with either men or women of the coarse, selfcomplacent

quality, whereof Madame Panache was a specimen, he had no control over his own passions; an unspeakable

Three months afterwards, hearing that his vanquished foe had met with reverses, and was likely to be really

distressed for want of employment, he forgot his hatred, and, alike active in good and evil, he moved heaven

and earth till he found her a place. Upon her coming to make up former differences, and thank him for his

recent kindness, the old voice a little loud the old manner a little forward so acted upon him that

in ten minutes he started up and bowed her, or rather himself out of the room, in a transport of nervous

To pursue a somewhat audacious parallel, in a love of power, in an eager grasp after supremacy, M. Emanuel

was like Bonaparte. He was a man not always to be submitted to. Sometimes it was needful to resist; it was

right to stand still, to look up into his eyes and tell him that his requirements went beyond reason that his

The dawnings, the first developments of peculiar talent appearing within his range, and under his rule,

curiously excited, even disturbed him. He watched its struggle into life with a scowl; he held back his hand

When the pang and peril of the first conflict were over, when the breath of life was drawn, when he saw the

lung expand and contract, when he felt the heart beat and discovered life in the eye, he did not yet offer to

'Prove yourself true ere I cherish you,' was his ordinance; and how difficult he made that proof! What thorns

and briars, what flints he strewed in the path of feet not inured to rough travel! He watched tearlessly

ordeals that he exacted should be passed through fearlessly. He followed footprints that, as they

approached the bourne, were sometimes marked in blood followed them grimly, holding the austerest

policewatch over the painpressed pilgrim. And when at last he allowed a rest, before slumber might close

the eyelids, he opened those same lids wide, with pitiless finger and thumb, and gazed deep through the pupil

and the irids into the brain, into the heart, to search if Vanity, or Pride, or Falsehood, in any of its subtlest

forms, was discoverable in the furthest recess of existence. If; at last, he let the neophyte sleep, it was but a

moment; he woke him suddenly up to apply new tests: he sent him on irksome errands when he was

staggering with weariness; he tried the temper, the sense, and the health; and it was only when every severest

test had been applied and endured, when the most corrosive aquafortis had been used, and failed to tarnish the

ore, that he admitted it genuine and, still in clouded silence, stamped it with his deep brand of approval.

Till the date at which the last chapter closes, M. Paul had not been my professor he had not given me

lessons, but about that time, accidentally hearing me one day acknowledge an ignorance of some branch of

education (I think it was arithmetic) which would have disgraced a charityschool boy, as he very truly

remarked, he took me in hand, examined me first, found me, I need not say, abundantly deficient, gave me

He did this at first with pleasure, indeed with unconcealed exultation, condescending to say that he believed I

was 'bonne et pas trop faible' (i.e. well enough disposed, and not wholly destitute of parts) but, owing he

supposed to adverse circumstances, 'as yet in a state of wretchedly imperfect mental development.'

The beginning of all effort has indeed with me been marked by preternatural imbecility. I never could, even

in forming a common acquaintance, assert or prove a claim to average quickness. A depressing and difficult

So long as this passage lasted, M. Paul was very kind, very good, very forbearing; he saw the sharp pain

inflicted, and felt the weighty humiliation imposed by my own sense of incapacity; and words can hardly do

justice to his tenderness and helpfulness. His own eyes would moisten, when tears of shame and effort

clouded mine; burdened as he was with work, he would steal half his brief space of recreation to give to me.

But, strange grief! when that heavy and overcast dawn began at last to yield to day; when my faculties began

to struggle themselves free, and my time of energy and fulfilment came; when I voluntarily doubled, trebled,

quadrupled the tasks he set, to please him as I thought, his kindness became sternness; the light changed in

his eyes from a beam to a spark; he fretted, he opposed, he curbed me imperiously; the more I did, the harder

I worked, the less he seemed content. Sarcasms of which the severity amazed and puzzled me, harassed my

ears; then flowed out the bitterest innuendoes against the 'pride of intellect.' I was vaguely threatened with I

know not what doom, if I ever trespassed the limits proper to my sex, and conceived a contraband appetite for

unfeminine knowledge. Alas! I had no such appetite. What I loved, it joyed me by any effort to content: but

the noble hunger for science in the abstract the godlike thirst after discovery these feelings were

Yet, when M. Paul sneered at me, I wanted to possess them more fully; his injustice stirred in me ambitious

In the beginning, before I had penetrated to motives, that uncomprehended sneer of his made my heart ache,

but by and by it only warmed the blood in my veins, and sent added action to my pulses. Whatever my

powers feminine or the contrary God had given them, and I felt resolute to be ashamed of no faculty of

The combat was very sharp for a time. I seemed to have lost M. Paul's affection; he treated me strangely. In

his most unjust moments he would insinuate that I had deceived him when I appeared, what he called 'faible'

that is incompetent; be said I had feigned a false capacity. Again, he would turn suddenly round and

accuse me of the most farfetched imitations and impossible plagiarisms, asserting that I had extracted the

pith out of books I had not so much as heard of and over the perusal of which I should infallibly have

Once, upon his preferring such an accusation, I turned upon him I rose against him. Gathering an armful

of his books out of my desk, I filled my apron and poured them in a heap upon his estrade, at his feet.

'Take them away, M. Paul,' I said, 'and teach me no more. I never asked to be made learned, and you compel

And returning to my desk, I laid my head on my arms, nor would I speak to him for two days afterwards. He

pained and chagrined me. His affection had been very sweet and dear a pleasure new and incomparable:

The books, however, were not taken away; they were all restored with careful hand to their places, and he

came as usual to teach me. He made his peace somehow too readily, perhaps; I ought to have stood out

longer, but when he looked kind and good, and held out his hand with amity, memory refused to reproduce

On a certain morning a message came from my godmother, inviting me to attend some notable lecture to be

delivered in the same public rooms before described. Dr. John had brought the message himself and delivered

it verbally to Rosine, who had not scrupled to follow the steps of M. Emanuel, then passing to the first classe,

and, in his presence, stand 'carrément' before my desk, hand in apronpocket, and rehearse the same, saucily

'Qu'il est vraiment beau, mademoiselle, ce jeune docteur! Quels yeux quel regard! Tenez! J'en ai le coeur

When she was gone, my professor demanded of me why I suffered 'cette fille effrontée, cette créature sans

I had no pacifying answer to give. The terms were precisely such as Rosine a young lady in whose skull

the organs of reverence and reserve were not largely developed was in the constant habit of using.

Besides, what she said about the young doctor was true enough. Graham was handsome; he had fine eyes and

a thrilling glance. An observation to that effect actually formed itself into sound on my lips.

The lesson to which we had that day to submit was such as to make us very glad when it terminated. At its

close, the released pupils rushed out, halftrembling, halfexultant. I, too, was going. A mandate to remain

arrested me. I muttered that I wanted some fresh air sadly the stove was in a glow, the classe overheated.

An inexorable voice merely recommended silence; and this salamander for whom no room ever seemed

too hot sitting down between my desk and the stove a situation in which he ought to have felt broiled,

In M. Emanuel's soul rankled a chronic suspicion that I knew both Greek and Latin. As monkeys are said to

have the power of speech if they would but use it, and are reported to conceal this faculty in fear of its being

turned to their detriment, so to me was ascribed a fund of knowledge which I was supposed criminally and

craftily to conceal. The privileges of a 'classical education,' it was insinuated, had been mine; on flowers of

Hymettus I had revelled; a golden store, hived in memory, now silently sustained my efforts, and privily

A hundred expedients did M. Paul employ to surprise my secret to wheedle, to threaten, to startle it out of

me. Sometime he placed Greek and Latin books in my way, and then watched me, as Joan of Arc's jailors

tempted her with the warrior's accoutrements and lay in wait for the issue. Again he quoted I know not what

authors and passages, and while rolling out their sweet and sounding lines (the classic tones fell musically

from his lips for he had a good voice remarkable for compass, modulation and matchless expression),

he would fix on me a vigilant, piercing and often malicious eye. It was evident he sometimes expected great

demonstrations; they never occurred, however; not comprehending, of course, I could neither be charmed nor

Baffled almost angry he still clung to his fixed idea; my susceptibilities were pronounced marble

my face a mask. It appeared as if he could not be brought to accept the homely truth, and take me for what I

was: men, and women, too, must have delusion of some sort; if not made ready to their hand, they will invent

At moments I did wish that his suspicions had been better founded. There were times when I would have

given my right hand to possess the treasures he ascribed to me. He deserved condign punishment for his testy

crotchets. I could have gloried in bringing home to him his worst apprehensions astoundingly realised. I

could have exulted to burst on his vision, confront and confound his lunettes, one blaze of acquirements. Oh!

why did nobody undertake to make me clever while I was young enough to learn; that I might, by one grand,

sudden, inhuman revelation one cold, cruel, overwhelming triumph have for ever crushed the mocking

Alas! no such feat was in my power. Today, as usual, his quotations fell ineffectual: he soon shifted his

'Women of intellect' was his next theme: here he was at home. A 'woman of intellect,' it appeared, was a sort

of 'lusus naturæ,' a luckless accident, a thing for which there was neither place nor use in creation, wanted

neither as wife nor worker. Beauty anticipated her in the first office. He believed in his soul that lovely,

placid and passive feminine mediocrity was the only pillow on which manly thought and sense could find rest

for its aching temples; and as to work, male mind alone could work to any good practical result hein?

This 'hein?' was a note of interrogation intended to draw from me contradiction or objection. However, I only

'Cela ne me regarde pas: je ne m'en soucie pas;' and presently added 'May I go, monsieur? They have rung

'Indeed I was,' I said: 'I had had nothing since breakfast, at seven, and should have nothing till dinner, at five,

And he broke in two the brioche, intended for his own refreshment, and gave me half. Truly his bark was

worse than his bite; but the really formidable attack was yet to come. While eating his cake, I could not

forbear expressing my secret wish that I really knew all of which he accused me.

If I had replied meekly by an unqualified affirmative, I believe he would have stretched out his hand, and we

'Not exactly. I am ignorant, monsieur, in the knowledge you ascribe to me, but I sometimes, not always, feel

Unable to answer this question in a breath, I evaded it by change of subject. He had now finished his half of

the brioche: feeling sure that on so trifling a fragment he could not have satisfied his appetite, as indeed I had

not appeased mine, and inhaling the fragrance of baked apples afar from the refectory, I ventured to inquire

whether he did not also perceive that agreeable odour. He confessed that he did. I said if he would let me out

by the garden door, and permit me just to run across the court, I would fetch him a plateful; and added that I

believed they were excellent, as Goton had a very good method of baking, or rather stewing fruit, putting in a

'Petite gourmande!' said he, smiling, 'I have not forgotten how pleased you were with the pâ té à la crême I

once gave you, and you know very well, at this moment, that to fetch the apples for me will be the same as

And at last he liberated me on parole. My own plan was to go and return with speed and good faith, to put the

plate in at the door, and then to vanish incontinent, leaving all consequences for future settlement.

That intolerably keen instinct of his seemed to have anticipated my scheme: he met me at the threshold,

hurried me into the room, and fixed me in a minute in my former seat. Taking the plate of fruit from my hand,

he divided the portion intended only for himself; and ordered me to eat my share. I complied with no good

grace, and vexed, I suppose, by my reluctance, he opened a masked and dangerous battery. All he had yet

said, I could count as mere sound and fury, signifying nothing: not so of the present attack.

It consisted in an unreasonable proposition with which he had before afflicted me: namely, that on the next

public examination day I should engage foreigner as I was to take my place on the first form of

firstclasse pupils, and with them improvise a composition in French, on any subject any spectator might

I knew what the result of such an experiment would be. I, to whom nature had denied the impromptu faculty;

who, in public, was by nature a cypher; whose time of mental activity, even when alone, was not under the

meridian sun; who needed the fresh silence of morning, or the recluse peace of evening, to win from the

Creative Impulse one evidence of his presence, one proof of his force; I, with whom that Impulse was the

most intractable, the most capricious, the most maddening of masters (him before me always excepted) a

deity which sometimes, under circumstances apparently propitious, would not speak when questioned, would

not hear when appealed to, would not, when sought, be found; but would stand, all cold, all indurated, all

granite, a dark Baal with carven lips and blank eyeballs, and breast like the stone face of a tomb; and again,

suddenly, at some turn, some sound, some longtrembling sob of the wind, at some rushing past of an unseen

stream of electricity, the irrational demon would wake unsolicited, would stir strangely alive, would rush

from its pedestal like a perturbed Dagon, calling to its votary for a sacrifice, whatever the hour to its

victim for some blood or some breath, whatever the circumstance or scene rousing its priest, treacherously

promising vaticination, perhaps filling its temple with a strange hum of oracles, but sure to give half the

significance to fateful winds, and grudging to the desperate listener even a miserable remnant yielding it

sordidly, as though each word had been a drop of the deathless ichor of its own dark veins. And this tyrant I

was to compel into bondage, and make it improvise a theme, on a school estrade, between a Mathilde and a

Coralie, under the eye of a Madame Beck, for the pleasure, and to the inspiration of a bourgeois of

Upon this argument M. Paul and I did battle more than once strong battle, with confused noise of demand

On this particular day I was soundly rated. 'The obstinacy of my whole sex,' it seems, was concentrated in

me; I had an 'orgueil de diable.' I feared to fail, forsooth! What did it matter whether I failed or not? Who was

I that I should not fail, like my better? It would do me good to fail. He wanted to see me worsted (I knew he

'Never would I be tractable in this matter. Law itself should not compel me. I would pay a fine, or undergo an

imprisonment, rather than write for a show and to order, perched up on a platform.'

'Not a whit, not a hairbreadth. No form of friendship under the sun had a right to exact such a concession.

He supposed then (with a sneer M. Paul could sneer supremely, curling his lip, opening his nostrils,

contracting his eyelids) he supposed there was but one form of appeal to which I would listen, and of that

'Under certain persuasions, from certain quarters, je vous vois d'ici,' said he, 'eagerly subscribing to the

'Making a simpleton, a warning and an example of myself; before a hundred and fifty of the "papas" and

And here, losing patience, I broke out afresh with a cry that I wanted to be liberated to get out into the air

'Chut!' said the inexorable, 'this was a mere pretext to run away; he was not hot, with the stove close at his

'I did not understand his constitution. I knew nothing of the natural history of salamanders. For my own part,

I was a phlegmatic islander, and sitting in an oven did not agree with me; at least, might I step to the well,

He went to fetch the water. Of course, with a door only on the latch behind me, I lost not my opportunity. Ere

The spring was advancing, and the weather had turned suddenly warm. This change of temperature brought

with it for me, as probably for many others, temporary decrease of strength. Slight exertion at this time left

One Sunday afternoon, having walked the distance of half a league to the Protestant church, I came back

weary and exhausted; and taking refuge in my solitary sanctuary, the first classe, I was glad to sit down, and

Awhile I listened to the lullaby of bees humming in the berceau, and watched, through the glass door and the

tender, lightlystrewn spring foliage, Madame Beck and a gay party of friends, whom she had entertained

that day at dinner after morning mass, walking in the centre alley under orchard boughs dressed at this season

in blossom, and wearing a colouring as pure and warm as mountain snow at sunrise.

My principal attraction towards this group of guests lay, I remember, in one figure that of a handsome

young girl whom I had seen before as a visitor at Madame Beck's, and of whom I had been vaguely told that

she was a 'filleule,' or goddaughter, of M. Emanuel's, and that between her mother, or aunt or some other

female relation of hers, and the Professor had existed of old a special friendship. M. Paul was not of the

holiday band today, but I had seen this young girl with him ere now, and as far as distant observation could

enable me to judge, she seemed to enjoy him with the frank ease of a ward with an indulgent guardian. I had

seen her run up to him, put her arm through his, and hang upon him. Once, when she did so, a curious

sensation had struck through me a disagreeable anticipatory sensation one of the family of

presentiments, I suppose but I refused to analyse or dwell upon it. While watching this girl, Mademoiselle

Sauveur, by name, and following the gleam of her bright silk robe (she was always richly dressed, for she

was said to be wealthy) through the flowers and the glancing leaves of tender emerald, my eyes became

dazzled they closed; my lassitude, the warmth of the day, the hum of bees and birds, all lulled me, and at

Two hours stole over me. Ere I woke, the sun had declined out of sight behind the towering houses, the

garden and the room were grey, bees had gone homeward, and the flowers were closing; the party of guests,

On waking, I felt much at ease not chill, as I ought to have been after sitting so still for at least two hours;

my cheek and arms were not benumbed by pressure against the hard desk. No wonder. Instead of the bare

wood on which I had laid them, I found a thick shawl, carefully folded, substituted for support, and another

shawl (both taken from the corridor where such things hung) wrapped warmly round me.

Who had done this? Who was my friend? Which of the teachers? Which of the pupils? None, except St.

Pierre, was inimical to me; but which of them had the art, the thought, the habit, of benefiting thus tenderly?

Which of them had a step so quiet, a hand so gentle, but I should have heard or felt her, if she had approached

As to Ginevra Fanshawe, that bright young creature was not gentle at all, and would certainly have pulled me

out of my chair, if she had meddled in the matter. I said at last: 'It is Madame Beck's doing; she has come in,

seen me asleep, 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 me needlessly injured. And now,' methought, 'I'll take a

I went to my own alley: had it been dark, or even dusk, I should have hardly ventured there, for I had not yet

forgotten the curious illusion of vision (if illusion it were) experienced in that place some months ago. But a

ray of the setting sun burnished still the grey crown of Jean Baptiste; nor had all the birds of the garden yet

vanished into their nests amongst the tufted shrubs and thick wallivy. I paced up and down, thinking almost

the same thoughts I had pondered that night when I buried my glass jar how I should make some advance

in life, take another step towards an independent position; for this train of reflection, though not lately

pursued, had never by me been wholly abandoned, and whenever a certain eye was averted from me, and a

certain countenance grew dark with unkindness and injustice, into that track of speculation did I at once

'Living costs little,' said I to myself 'in this economical town of Villette, where people are more sensible than

I understand they are in dear old England infinitely less worried about appearance and less emulous of

display where nobody is in the least ashamed to be quite as homely and saving as he finds convenient.

House rent, in a prudently chosen situation, need not be high. When I shall have saved one thousand francs, I

will take a tenement with one large room, and two or three smaller ones, furnish the first with a few benches

and desks, a black tableau, an estrade for myself; upon it a chair and table, with a sponge and some white

chalks; begin with taking daypupils, and so work my way upwards. Madame Beck's commencement was

as I have often heard her say from no higher startingpoint, and where is she now? All these premises and

this garden are hers, bought with her money; she has a competency already secured for old age, and a

flourishing establishment under her direction, which will furnish a career for her children.

'Courage, Lucy Snowe! With selfdenial and economy now, and steady exertion byandby, an object in life

need not fail you. Venture not to complain that such an object is too selfish, too limited, and lacks interest; be

content to labour for independence until you have proved, by winning that prize, your right to look higher.

But afterwards, is there nothing more for me in life no true home nothing to be dearer to me than

myself and by its paramount preciousness, to draw from me better things than I care to culture for myself

only? Nothing, at whose feet I can willingly lay down the whole burden of human egotism, and gloriously

take up the nobler charge of labouring and living for others? I suppose, Lucy Snowe, the orb of your life is

not to be so rounded: for you the crescentphase must suffice. Very good. I see a huge mass of my

fellowcreatures in no better circumstances. I see that a great many men, and more women, hold their span of

life on conditions of denial and privation. I find no reason why I should be of the few favoured. I believe in

some blending of hope and sunshine sweetening the worst lots. I believe that this life is not all; neither the

So this subject is done with. It is right to look our life accounts bravely in the face now and then, and settle

them honestly. And he is a poor selfswindler who lies to himself while he reckons the items, and sets down

under the head happiness that which is misery. Call anguish anguish, and despair despair; write

both down in strong characters with a resolute pen: you will the better pay your debt to Doom. Falsify; insert

'privilege' where you should have written 'pain'; and see if your mighty creditor will allow the fraud to pass,

or accept the coin with which you would cheat him. Offer to the strongest if the darkest angel of God's

host water, when he has asked blood will he take it? Not a whole pale sea for one red drop. I settled

Pausing before Methusaleh the giant and patriarch of the garden and leaning my brow against his

knotty trunk, my foot rested on the stone sealing the small sepulchre at his root; and I recalled the passage of

feeling therein buried; I recalled Dr. John; my warm affection for him; my faith in his excellence; my delight

in his grace. What was become of that curious onesided friendship which was half marble and half life; only

Was this feeling dead? I do not know, but it was buried. Sometimes I thought the tomb unquiet, and dreamed

strangely of disturbed earth, and of hair, still golden and living, obtruded through coffinchinks.

Had I been too hasty? I used to ask myself; and this question would occur with a cruel sharpness after some

brief chance interview with Dr. John. He had still such kind looks, such a warm hand; his voice still kept so

pleasant a tone for my name; I never liked 'Lucy' so well as when he uttered it. But I learned in time that this

benignity, this cordiality, this music, belonged in no shape to me: it was a part of himself; it was the honey of

his temper: it was the balm of his mellow mood; he imparted it, as the ripe fruit rewards with sweetness the

rifling bee; diffused it about him, as sweet plants shed their perfume. Does the nectarine love either the bee or

'Goodnight, Dr. John; you are good, you are beautiful; but you are not mine. Goodnight, and God bless

Thus I closed my musings. 'Goodnight' left my lips in sound; I heard the words spoken, and then I heard an

'Goodnight, mademoiselle; or rather, goodevening the sun is scarce set; I hope you slept well?'

'You may well inquire when where. It seems you turn day into night, and choose a desk for a pillow;

'It was softened for me, monsieur, while I slept. That unseen, giftbringing thing which haunts my desk,

'Then you have more need of a careful friend. I scarcely know anyone, Miss Lucy, who needs a friend more

absolutely than you; your very faults imperatively require it. You want so much checking, regulating and

This idea of 'keeping down' never left M. Paul's head; the most habitual subjugation would, in my case, have

failed to relieve him of it. No matter; what did it signify? I listened to him, and did not trouble myself to be

too submissive; his occupation would have been gone had I left him nothing to 'keep down.'

'You need watching, and watching over,' he pursued; 'and it is well for you that I see this, and do my best to

discharge both duties. I watch you and others pretty closely, pretty constantly, nearer and oftener than you or

'That,' said he 'is a room I have hired, nominally for a study virtually for a post of observation. There I sit

and read for hours together: it is my way my taste. My book is this garden; its contents are human nature

female human nature. I know you all by heart. Ah! I know you well St. Pierre, Parisienne cette

'Comment? It is not right? By whose creed? Does some dogma of Calvin or Luther condemn it? What is that

to me? I am no Protestant. My rich father (for, though I have known poverty, and once starved for a year in a

garret in Rome starved wretchedly, often on a meal a day, and sometimes not that yet I was born to

wealth) my rich father was a good Catholic; and he gave me a priest and a Jesuit for a tutor. I retain his

'Puritaine! I doubt it not. Yet see how my Jesuit's system works. You know the St. Pierre?'

He laughed. 'You say right "partially"; whereas I know her thoroughly; there is the difference. She played

before me the amiable; offered me patte de velours; caressed, flattered, fawned on me. Now, I am accessible

to a woman's flattery accessible against my reason. Though never pretty, she was when I first knew her

young, or knew how to look young. Like all her countrywomen, she had the art of dressing she had a

certain cool, easy, social assurance, which spared me the pain of embarrassment '

'Monsieur, that must have been unnecessary. I never saw you embarrassed in my life.'

'Mademoiselle, you know little of me; I can be embarrassed as a petite pensionnaire; there is a fund of

'Monsieur, I have observed you in public on platforms, in tribunes, before titles and crowned heads

'Mademoiselle, neither titles nor crowned heads excite my modesty; and publicity is very much my element. I

like it well, and breathe in it quite freely; but but in short, here is the sentiment brought into action, at

this very moment; however, I disdain to be worsted by it. If mademoiselle, I were a marrying man (which I

am not; and you may spare yourself the' trouble of any sneer you may be contemplating at the thought) and

found it necessary to ask a lady whether she could look upon me in the light of a future husband, then would

I quite believed him now; and, in believing, I honoured him with a sincerity of esteem which made my heart

'As to the St. Pierre,' he went on, recovering himself; for his voice had altered a little, 'she once intended to be

Madame Emanuel; and I don't know whither I might have been led, but for yonder little lattice with the light.

Ah, magic lattice! what miracles of discovery hast thou wrought! Yes,' he pursued, 'I have seen her rancours,

her vanities, her levities not only here, but elsewhere: I have witnessed what bucklers me against all her

'And my pupils,' he presently recommenced, 'those blondes jeunes filles so mild and meek I have seen

the most reserved romp like boys, the demurest snatch grapes from the walls, shake pears from the

trees. When the English teacher came I saw her, marked her early preference for this alley, noted her taste for

seclusion, watched her well, long before she and I came to speaking terms; do you recollect my once coming

silently and offering you a little knot of white violets when we were strangers?'

'It pleased me when you took them peacefully and promptly, without prudery that sentiment which I ever

dread to excite, and which, when it is revealed in eye or gesture, I vindictively detest. To return. Not only did

I watch you, but often especially at eventide another guardian angel was noiselessly hovering near:

night after night my cousin Beck has stolen down yonder steps and glidingly pursued your movements when

'But, monsieur, you could not from the distance of that window see what passed in this garden at night?'

'By moonlight I possibly might with a glass I use a glass but the garden itself is open to me. In the

shed, at the bottom, there is a door leading into a court, which communicates with the college; of that door I

possess the key, and thus come and go at pleasure. This afternoon I came through it, and found you asleep in

I could not help saying, 'If you were a wicked, designing man, how terrible would all this be!'

His attention seemed incapable of being arrested by this view of the subject: he lit his cigar, and while he

puffed it, leaning against a tree, and looking at me in a cool, amused way he had when his humour was

tranquil, I thought proper to go on sermonising him: he often lectured me by the hour together I did not

see why I should not speak my mind for once. So I told him my impressions concerning his Jesuit system.

'The knowledge it brings you is bought too dear, monsieur; this coming and going by stealth degrades your

'My dignity!' he cried, laughing; 'when did you ever see me trouble my head about my dignity? It is you, Miss

Lucy, who are "digne." How often in your high insular presence have I taken a pleasure in trampling upon,

what you are pleased to call, my dignity; tearing it, scattering it to the winds, in those mad transports you

witness with such hauteur, and which I know you think very like the ravings of a thirdrate London actor.'

'Monsieur, I tell you every glance you cast from that lattice is a wrong done to the best part of your own

nature. To study the human heart thus is to banquet secretly and sacrilegiously on Eve's apples. I wish you

Indifferent to the wish, he smoked on. After a space of smiling yet thoughtful silence, he said, rather suddenly

Taking the weed from his lips, he threw the remnant amongst the shrubs, where, for a moment, it lay glowing

'I have seen, Miss Lucy, things to me unaccountable, that have made me watch all night for a solution, and I

'Are you afraid? Whether is it of my words or that red jealous eye just winking itself out?'

'I am cold, the night grows dark and late, and the air is changed; it is time to go in.'

'It is little past eight, but you shall go in soon. Answer me only this question.'

Yet he paused ere he put it. The garden was truly growing dark; dusk had come on with clouds, and drops of

rain began to patter through the trees. I hoped he would feel this, but, for the moment, he seemed too much

'There is a difference of theory and belief on this point amongst Protestants as amongst other sects,' I

'I am constitutionally nervous. I dislike the discussion of such subjects. I dislike it the more because '

'Bon! I am glad of it. I knew it, somehow, before you told me. I was conscious of rapport between you and

myself. You are patient, and I am choleric; you are quiet and pale, and I am tanned and fiery; you are a strict

Protestant, and I am a sort of lay Jesuit: but we are alike there is affinity between us. Do you see it,

mademoiselle, when you look in the glass? Do you observe that your forehead is shaped like mine that

your eyes are cut like mine? Do you hear that you have some of my tones of voice? Do you know that you

have many of my looks? I perceive all this, and believe that you were born under my star. Yes, you were born

under my star! Tremble! for where that is the case with mortals, the threads of their destinies are difficult to

disentangle; knottings and catchings occur sudden breaks leave damage in the web. But these

"impressions", as you say, with English caution. I, too, have had my "impressions."'

'I desire no better, and intend no less. You know the legend of this house and garden?'

'I know it. Yes. They say that hundreds of years ago a nun was buried here alive at the foot of this very tree,

'Something comes and goes here: there is a shape frequenting this house by night, different to any forms that

show themselves by day. I have indisputably seen a something, more than once; and to me its conventual

weeds were a strange sight, saying more than they can do to any other living being. A nun!'

'I anticipated that. Whether this nun be flesh and blood, or something that remains when blood is dried, and

flesh is wasted, her business is as much with you as with me, probably. Well, I mean to make it out; it has

Instead of telling what he meant, he raised his head suddenly; I made the same movement in the same instant;

we both looked to one point the high tree shadowing the great berceau, and resting some of its boughs on

the roof of the first classe. There had been a strange and inexplicable sound from that quarter, as if the arms

of that tree had swayed of their own motion, and its weight of foliage had rushed and crushed against the

massive trunk. Yes; there scarce stirred a breeze, and that heavy tree was convulsed; whilst the feathery

shrubs stood still. For some minutes amongst the wood and leafage a rending and heaving went on. Dark as it

was, it seemed to me that something more solid than either night shadow, or branch shadow, blackened out of

the boles. At last the struggle ceased. What birth succeeded this travail? What Dryad was born of these

throes? We watched fixedly. A sudden bell rang in the house the prayer bell. Instantly into our alley there

came, out of the berceau, an apparition, all black and white. With a sort of angry rush close, close past our

faces swept swiftly the very NUN herself! Never had I seen her so clearly. She looked tall of stature, and

fierce of gesture. As she went, the wind rose sobbing; the rain poured wild and cold; the whole night seemed

Where, it becomes time to inquire, was Paulina Mary? How fared my intercourse with the sumptuous Hôtel

Crécy? That intercourse had, for an interval, been suspended by absence; M. and Miss de Bassompierre had

been travelling, dividing some weeks between the provinces and capital of France. Chance apprised me of

I was walking one mild afternoon on a quiet boulevard, wandering slowly on, enjoying the benign April sun,

and some thoughts not unpleasing, when I saw before me a group of riders, stopping as if they had just

encountered, and exchanging greetings in the midst of the broad, smooth, lindenbordered path; on one side a

middleaged gentleman and young lady, on the other a young and handsome man. Very graceful was the

lady's mien, choice her appointments, delicate and stately her whole aspect. Still, as I looked, I felt they were

known to me, and, drawing a little nearer, I fully recognised them all: the Count Home de Bassompierre, his

How animated was Graham's face! How true, how warm, yet how retiring the joy it expressed! This was the

state of things, this the combination of circumstances, at once to attract and enchain, to subdue and excite Dr.

John. The pearl he admired was in itself of great price and truest purity, but he was not the man who, in

appreciating the gem, could forget its setting. Had he seen Paulina with the same youth, beauty, and grace,

but on foot, alone, unguarded, and in simple attire, a dependent worker, a demigrisette, he would have

thought her a pretty little creature, and would have loved with his eye her movements and her mien, but it

required other than this to conquer him as he was now vanquished, to bring him safe under dominion as now,

without loss, and even with gain to his manly honour one saw that he was reduced; there was about Dr.

John all the man of the world; to satisfy himself did not suffice; society must approve the world must

admire what he did; or he counted his measures false and futile. In his victrix he required all that was here

visible the imprint of high cultivation, the consecration of a careful and authoritative protection, the

adjuncts that Fashion decrees, Wealth purchases, and Taste adjusts; for these conditions his spirit stipulated

ere it surrendered: they were here to the utmost fulfilled; and now, proud, impassioned, yet fearing, he did

homage to Paulina as his sovereign. As for her, the smile of feeling, rather than of conscious power, slept soft

They parted. He passed me at speed, hardly feeling the earth he skimmed, and seeing nothing on either hand.

'Papa, there is Lucy!' cried a musical, friendly voice, 'Lucy, dear Lucy do come here!'

I hastened to her. She threw back her veil, and stooped from her saddle to kiss me.

'I was coming to see you tomorrow,' said she; 'but now tomorrow you will come and see me.'

The morrow's evening found me with her she and I shut into her own room. I had not seen her since that

occasion when her claims were brought into comparison with those of Ginevra Fanshawe, and had so signally

prevailed; she had much to tell me of her travels in the interval. A most animated, rapid speaker was she in

such a têteàtête, a most lively describer; yet with her artless diction and clear soft voice, she never seemed

to speak too fast or to say too much. My own attention I think would not soon have flagged, but byandby,

she herself seemed to need some change of subject; she hastened to wind up her narrative briefly. Yet why

she terminated with so concise an abridgment did not immediately appear; silence followed a restless

silence, not without symptoms of abstraction. Then, turning to me, in a diffident, halfappealing voice

'But of course she still thinks of Dr. Bretton? She cannot have changed her mind on that point, because it was

'There was a little misunderstanding that evening, certainly; does she seem unhappy?'

'Not she. To change the subject. Have you heard or seen nothing of, or from Graham during your absence?'

'Papa had letters from him once or twice about business, I think. He undertook the management of some

affair which required attention, while we were away. Dr. Bretton seems to respect papa, and to have pleasure

'Yes: you met him yesterday on the boulevard; you would be able to judge from his aspect that his friends

'Papa seems to have thought with you. I could not help smiling. He is not particularly observant, you know,

because he is often thinking of other things than what pass, before his eyes; but he said, as Dr. Bretton rode

away, "Really, it does a man good to see the spirit and energy of that boy." He called Dr. Bretton a boy; I

believe he almost thinks him so, just as he thinks me a little girl; he was not speaking to me, but dropped that

Again fell the appealing accent, and at the same instant she left her chair, and came and sat on the stool at my

I liked her. It is not a declaration I have often made concerning my acquaintance, in the course of this book:

the reader will bear with it for once. Intimate intercourse, close inspection, disclosed in Paulina only what

was delicate, intelligent, and sincere; therefore my regard for her lay deep. An admiration more superficial

But there was no courage in her eye; as it met mine, it fell; and there was no coolness on her cheek not a

transient surfaceblush, but a gathering inward excitement raised its tint and its temperature.

'Lucy, I do wish to know your thoughts of Dr. Bretton. Do, do give me your real opinion of his character, his

'And his disposition? Tell me about his disposition,' she urged; 'you know him well.'

'You know his home side. You have seen him with his mother; speak of him as a son.'

'He is a finehearted son; his mother's comfort and hope, her pride and pleasure.'

She held my hand between hers, and at each favourable word gave it a little caressing stroke.

'Dr. Bretton is benevolent humanely disposed towards all his race. Dr. Bretton would have benignity for

'I heard some gentlemen, some of papa's friends, who were talking about him, say the same. They say many

of the poor patients at the hospitals, who tremble before some pitiless and selfish surgeons, welcome him.'

'They are right; I have witnessed as much. He once took me over a hospital; I saw how he was received: your

The softest gratitude animated her eye as she lifted it a moment. She had yet more to say, but seemed

hesitating about time and place. Dusk was beginning to reign; her parlour fire already glowed with twilight

'Do we? Yes; it is a still evening, and I shall not be called down to tea; papa is dining out.'

Still holding my hand, she played with the fingers unconsciously, dressed them, now in her own rings, and

now circled them with a twine of her beautiful hair; she patted the palm against her hot cheek, and at last;

'You must think it rather strange that I should talk so much about Dr. Bretton, ask so many questions, take

'And if I did,' said she, with slight quickness, 'is that a reason why I should talk? I suppose you think me

'If I thought you one whit like Madame Ginevra, I would not sit here waiting for your communications. I

would get up, walk at my ease about the room, and anticipate all you had to say by a round lecture. Go on.'

'I mean to go on,' retorted she; 'what else do you suppose I mean to do?' And she looked and spoke the

little Polly of Bretton petulant, sensitive. 'If,' said she, emphatically, 'if I liked Dr. John till I was fit to die

for liking him, that alone could not license me to be otherwise than dumb dumb as the grave dumb as

you, Lucy Snowe you know it and you know you would despise me if I failed in selfcontrol, and

'It is true I little respect women or girls who are loquacious either in boasting the triumphs, or bemoaning the

mortifications, of feelings. But as to you, Paulina, speak, for I earnestly wish to hear you. Tell me all it will

'And I love you. I had an odd content in being with you even when I was a little, troublesome, disobedient

girl; it was charming to me then to lavish on you my naughtiness and whims. Now you are acceptable to me,

And she settled herself, resting against my arm resting gently, not with honest Mistress Fanshawe's

'A few minutes since you asked whether we had not heard from Graham during our absence, and I said there

were two letters for papa on business; this was true, but I did not tell you all.'

'I shuffled and equivocated, you know. However, I am going to speak the truth now; it is getting darker; one

can talk at one's ease. Papa often lets me open the letterbag and give him out the contents. One morning,

about three weeks ago, you don't know how surprised I was to find, amongst a dozen letters for M. de

Bassompierre, a note addressed to Miss de Bassompierre. I spied it at once, amidst all the rest; the

handwriting was not strange; it attracted me directly. I was going to say, "Papa, here is another letter from Dr.

Bretton;" but the "Miss" struck me mute. I actually never received a letter from a gentleman before. Ought I

to have shown it to papa, and let him open it and read it first? I could not for my life, Lucy. I know so well

papa's ideas about me: he forgets my age; he thinks I am a mere schoolgirl; he is not aware that other people

see I am grown up as tall as I shall be; so, with a curious mixture of feelings, some of them selfreproachful,

and some so fluttering and strong, I cannot describe them, I gave papa his twelve letters his herd of

possessions and kept back my one, my ewe lamb. It lay in my lap during breakfast, looking up at me with

an inexplicable meaning, making me feel myself a thing doubleexistent a child to that dear papa, but no

more a child to myself. After breakfast I carried my letter upstairs, and having secured myself by turning the

key in the door, I began to study the outside of my treasure: it was some minutes before I could get over the

direction and penetrate the seal; one does not take a strong place of this kind by instant storm one sits

down a while before it, as beleaguers say. Graham's hand is like himself, Lucy, and so is his seal all clear,

firm, and rounded no slovenly splash of wax a full, solid, steady drop a distinct impress; no pointed

turns harshly pricking the optic nerve, but a clean, mellow, pleasant manuscript, that soothes you as you read.

It is like his face just like the chiselling of his features: do you know his autograph?'

'The seal was too beautiful to be broken, so I cut it round with my scissors. On the point of reading the letter

at last, I once more drew back voluntarily; it was too soon yet to drink that draught the sparkle in the cup

was so beautiful I would watch it yet a minute. Then I remembered all at once that I had not said my

prayers that morning. Having heard papa go down to breakfast a little earlier than usual, I had been afraid of

keeping him waiting, and had hastened to join him as soon as dressed, thinking no harm to put off prayers till

afterwards. Some people would say I ought to have served God first and then man; but I don't think heaven

could be jealous of anything I might do for papa. I believe I am superstitious. A voice seemed now to say that

another feeling than filial affection was in question to urge me to pray before I dared to read what I so

longed to read to deny myself yet a moment, and remember first a great duty. I have had these impulses

ever since I can remember. I put the letter down and said my prayers, adding, at the end, a strong entreaty that

whatever happened, I might not be tempted or led to cause papa any sorrow, and might never, in caring for

others, neglect him. The very thought of such a possibility so pierced my heart that it made me cry. But still,

Lucy, I felt that in time papa would have to be taught the truth, managed and induced to hear reason.

'I read the letter. Lucy, life is said to be all disappointment. I was not disappointed. Ere I read, and while I

read, my heart did more than throb it trembled fast every quiver seemed like the pant of an animal

athirst, laid down at a well and drinking; and the well proved quite full, gloriously clear; it rose up

munificently of its own impulse; I saw the sun through its gush, and not a mote, Lucy, no moss, no insect, no

'Life,' she went on, 'is said to be full of pain to some. I have read biographies where the wayfarer seemed to

journey on from suffering to suffering; where Hope flew before him fast, never alighting so near, or lingering

so long, as to give his hand a chance of one realising grasp. I have read of those who sowed in tears; and

whose harvest, so far from being reaped in joy, perished by untimely blight, or was borne off by sudden

whirlwind; and, alas! some of these met the winter with empty garners, and died of utter want in the darkest

'Not always their fault. Some of them were good endeavouring people. I am not endeavouring, nor actively

good, yet God has caused me to grow in sun, due moisture, and safe protection, sheltered, fostered, taught, by

'Graham spoke with deep respect of papa, but implied that he dare not approach that quarter as yet; he must

first prove his worth: he added that he must have some light respecting myself and my own feelings ere he

'I replied briefly, but I did not repulse him. Yet I almost trembled for fear of making the answer too cordial:

Graham's tastes are so fastidious. I wrote it three times chastening and subduing the phrases at every

rescript; at last, having confected it till it seemed to me to resemble a morsel of ice flavoured with ever so

'Do not manage at all. Wait now. Only maintain no further correspondence till your father knows all, and

'Dr. Bretton wrote one other letter, deeply grateful for my calm, brief note; but I anticipated your advice, by

saying, that while my sentiments continued the same, I could not, without my father's knowledge, write

'You acted as you ought to have done; so Dr. Bretton will feel: it will increase his pride in you, his love for

you, if either be capable of increase. Paulina, that gentle hoarfrost of yours, surrounding so much pure, fine

'You see I feel Graham's disposition,' said she. 'I feel that no delicacy can be too exquisite for his treatment.'

'It is perfectly proved that you comprehend him, and then whatever Dr. Bretton's disposition, were he one

who expected to be more nearly met you would still act truthfully, openly, tenderly, with your father.'

'Lucy, I trust I shall thus act always. Oh, it will be pain to wake papa from his dream, and tell him I am no

'Be in no hurry to do so, Paulina. Leave the revelation to Time and your kind Fate. I also have noticed the

gentleness of her cares for you: doubt not she will benignantly order the circumstances, and fitly appoint the

hour. Yes; I have thought over your life just as you have yourself thought it, over; I have made comparisons

like those to which you adverted. We know not the future, but the past has been propitious.

'As a child I feared for you; nothing that has life was ever more susceptible than your nature in infancy: under

harshness or neglect, neither your outward nor your inward self. would have ripened to what they now are.

Much pain, much fear, much struggle, would have troubled the very lines of your features, broken their

regularity, would have harassed your nerves into the fever of habitual irritation; you would have lost in health

and cheerfulness, in grace and sweetness. Providence has protected and cultured you, not only for your own

sake, but I believe for Graham's. His star, too, was fortunate: to develop fully the best of his nature, a

companion like you was needed: there you are, ready. You must be united. I knew it the first day I saw you

together at La Terrasse. In all that mutually concerns you and Graham there seems to me promise, plan,

harmony. I do not think the sunny youth of either will prove the forerunner of stormy age. I think it is deemed

good that you two should live in peace and be happy not as angels, but as few are happy amongst mortals.

Some lives are thus blessed: it is God's will: it is the attesting trace and lingering evidence of Eden. Other

lives run from the first another course. Other travellers encounter weather fitful and gusty, wild and variable

breast adverse winds, are belated and overtaken by the early closing winter night. Neither can this happen

without the sanction of God; and I know that, amidst His boundless works, is somewhere stored the secret of

this last fate's justice: I know that His treasures contain the proof as the promise of its mercy.'

On the first of May, we had all i.e., the twenty boarders and the four teachers notice to rise at five

o'clock of the morning, to be dressed and ready by six, to put ourselves under the command of M. le

Professeur Emanuel, who was to head our march forth from Villette, for it was on this day he proposed to

fulfil his promise of taking us to breakfast in the country. I, indeed, as the reader may perhaps remember, had

not had the honour of an invitation when this excursion was first projected rather the contrary; but on my

now making allusion to this fact, and wishing to know how it was to he, my ear received a pull, of which I

'Je vous conseille de vous faire prier,' said M. Emanuel, imperially menacing the other ear. One Napoleonic

The morning broke calm as summer, with singing of birds in the garden, and a light dewmist that promised

heat. We all said it would be warm, and we all felt pleasure in folding away heavy garments, and in assuming

the attire suiting a sunny season. The clean fresh print dress, and the light straw bonnet, each made and

trimmed as the French workwoman alone can make and trim, so as to unite the utterly unpretending with the

perfectly becoming, was the rule of costume. Nobody flaunted in faded silk; nobody wore a secondhand

At six the bell rang merrily, and we poured down the staircase, through the carré; along the corridor, into the

vestibule. There stood our Professor, wearing not his savagelooking paletôt and severe bonnetgrec, but a

younglooking belted blouse and cheerful straw hat. He had for us all the kindest goodmorrow, and most of

us for him had a thanksgiving smile. We were marshalled in order and soon started.

The streets were yet quiet, and the boulevards were fresh and peaceful as fields. I believe we were very happy

as we walked along. This chief of ours had the secret of giving a certain impetus to happiness when he would;

He did not lead nor follow us, but walked along the line, giving a word to every one, talking much to his

favourites, and not wholly neglecting even those he disliked. It was rather my wish, for a reason I had, to

keep slightly aloof from notice, and being paired with Ginevra Fanshawe, bearing on my arm the dear

pressure of that angel's not unsubstantial limb (she continued in excellent case, and I can assure the reader

it was no trifling business to bear the burden of her loveliness; many a time in the course of that warm day I

wished to goodness there had been less of the charming commodity) however, having her, as I said, I tried

to make her useful by interposing her always between myself and M. Paul, shifting my place, according as I

heard him coming up to the right hand or the left. My private motive for this manoeuvre might be traced to

the circumstance of the new print dress I wore being pink in colour a fact which, under our present

convoy, made me feel something as I have felt, when, clad in a shawl with a red border, necessitated to

For a while, the shifting system, together with some modifications in the arrangement of a black silk scarf,

answered my purpose; but, byandby, he found out, that whether he came to this side or to that, Miss

Fanshawe was still his neighbour. The course of acquaintance between Ginevra and him had never run so

smooth that his temper did not undergo a certain crisping process whenever he heard her English accent:

nothing in their dispositions fitted; they jarred if they came in contact; he held her empty and affected; she

At last, when he had changed his place for about the sixth time, finding still the same untoward result to the

experiment he thrust his head forward, settled his eyes, on mine, and demanded with impatience

The words were hardly out of his mouth, however, ere, with his customary quickness, he seized the root of

this proceeding: in vain I shook out the long, fringe, and spread forth the broad end of my scarf. 'A h

h! c'est la robe rose!' broke from his lips, affecting me very much like the sudden and irate low of some lord

'It is only cotton,' I alleged, hurriedly; 'and cheaper, and washes better than any other colour.'

'Et Mademoiselle Lucy est coquette comme dix Parisiennes,' he answered. 'Aton jamais vu une Anglaise

pareille. Regardez plutôt son chapeau, et ses gants, et ses brodequins!' These articles of dress were just like

what my companions wore; certainly not one whit smarter perhaps rather plainer than most but

Monsieur had now got hold of his text, and I began to chafe under the expected sermon. It went off however,

as mildly as the menace of a storm sometimes passes on a summer day. I got but one flash of sheet lightning

'Courage! à vrai dire je ne suis pas fâché, peutêtre même suisje content qu'on s'est fait si belle pour ma

'J'aime la propreté,' said he. In short, he was not to be dissatisfied; the sun of good humour was to triumph on

And now we were in the country, amongst what they called 'les bois et les petits sentiers.' These woods and

lanes a month later would offer but a dusty and doubtful seclusion: now, however, in their May greenness and

We reached a certain well, planted round, in the taste of Labassecour, with an orderly circle of limetrees:

here a halt was called: on the green swell of ground surrounding this well, we were ordered to be seated,

monsieur taking his place in our midst, and suffering us to gather in a knot round him. Those who liked him

more than they feared, came close, and these were chiefly little ones; those who feared more than they liked,

kept somewhat aloof; those in whom much affection had given, even to what remained of fear, a pleasurable

He began to tell us a story. Well could he narrate: in such a diction as children love, and learned men

emulate; a diction simple in its strength, and strong in its simplicity. There were beautiful touches in that little

tale; sweet glimpses of feeling and hues of description that, while I listened, sunk into my mind, and since

have never faded. He tinted a twilight scene I hold it in memory still such a picture I have never

I have said that, for myself I had no impromptu faculty; and perhaps that very deficiency made me marvel the

more at one who possessed it in perfection. M. Emanuel was not a man to write books; but I have heard him

lavish, with careless, unconscious prodigality, such mental wealth as books seldom boast; his mind was

indeed my library, and whenever it was opened to me, I entered bliss. Intellectually imperfect as I was, I

could read little; there were few bound and printed volumes that did not weary me whose perusal did not

fag and blind but his tomes of thought were collyrium to the spirit's eyes; over their contents, inward sight

grew clear and strong. I used to think what a delight it would be for one who loved him better than he loved

himself to gather and store up those handfuls of gold dust, so recklessly flung to heaven's reckless winds.

His story done, he approached the little knoll where I and Ginevra sat apart. In his usual mode of demanding

an opinion (he had not reticence to wait till it was voluntarily offered) he asked:

'I hate the mechanical labour; I hate to stoop and sit still. I could dictate it though, with pleasure to an

'Monsieur would be too quick; he would urge me, and be angry, if my pen did not keep pace with his lips.'

'Try some day; let us see the monster I can make of myself under the circumstances. But just now, there is no

question of dictation; I mean to make you useful in another office. Do you see yonder farm house?'

'There we are to breakfast; and while the good fermière makes the café au lait in a caldron, you and five

Having formed his troop into line once more, he marched us straight on the farm, which, on seeing our force,

Clean knives and plates, and fresh butter being provided, half a dozen of us, chosen by our Professor, set to

work under his directions, to prepare for jambon and confitures in addition, but that some of us, who

presumed perhaps upon our influence, insisted that it would be a most reckless waste of victual. He railed at

us for our pains, terming us 'des ménagères avares'; but we let him talk, and managed the economy of the

With what a pleasant countenance he stood on the farmkitchen hearth looking on! He was a man whom it

made happy to see others happy; he liked to have movement, animation, abundance and enjoyment round

him. We asked where he would sit. He told us, we knew well he was our slave, and we his tyrants, and that he

dared not so much as choose a chair without our leave; so we set him the farmer's great chair at the head of

Well might we like him, with all his passions and hurricanes, when he could be so benignant and docile at

times, as he was just now. Indeed, at the worst, it was only his nerves that were irritable, not his temper that

was radically bad; soothe, comprehend, comfort him, and he was a lamb; he would not harm a fly. Only to

the very stupid, perverse, or unsympathising, was he in the slightest degree dangerous.

Mindful always of his religion, he made the youngest of the party say a little prayer before we began

breakfast, crossing himself as devotedly as a woman. I had never seen him pray before, or make that pious

sign; he did it so simply, with such childlike faith, I could not help smiling pleasurably as I watched; his

'Donnezmoi la main! I see we worship the same God, in the same spirit, though by different rites.'

Most of M. Emanuel's brother professors were emancipated freethinkers, infidels, atheists; and many of them

men whose lives would not bear scrutiny: he was more like a knight of old, religious in his way, and of

spotless fame. Innocent childhood, beautiful youth were safe at his side. He had vivid passions, keen feelings,

but his pure honour and his artless piety were the strong charm that kept the lions couchant.

That breakfast was a merry meal, and the merriment was not mere vacant clatter: M. Paul originated, led,

controlled and heightened it; his social, lively temper played unfettered and unclouded; surrounded only by

women and children there was nothing to cross and thwart him; he had his own way, and a pleasant way it

The meal over, the party were free to run and play in the meadows; a few stayed to help the farmer's wife to

put away her earthenware. M. Paul called me from among these to come out and sit near him under a tree

whence he could view the troop gambolling over a wide pasture and read to him whilst he took his cigar.

He sat on a rustic bench, and I at the treeroot. While I read (a pocket classic a Corneille I did not like

it, but he did, finding therein beauties I never could be brought to perceive), he listened with a sweetness of

calm the more impressive from the impetuosity of his general nature; the deepest happiness filled his blue eye

and smoothed his broad forehead. I, too, was happy happy with the bright day, happier with his presence,

He asked, byandby, if I would not rather run to my companions than sit there? I said, no; I felt content to

be where he was. He asked whether, if I were his sister, I should always be content to stay with a brother such

I said, I believed I should; and I felt it. Again he inquired whether if he were to leave Villette and go far away

'That, monsieur, I can never tell, because I do not know how long it will be before I shall cease to remember

'If I were to go beyond seas for two three five years, should you welcome me on my return?'

I hid my face with the book, for it was covered with tears. I asked him why he talked so; and he said he

would talk so no more, and cheered me again with the kindest encouragement. Still, the gentleness with

which he treated me during the rest of the day went somehow to my heart. It was too tender. It was mournful.

When hot noon arrived for the day turned out as we had anticipated, glowing as June our shepherd

collected his sheep from the pasture, and proceeded to lead us all softly home. But we had a whole league to

walk, thus far from Villette was the farm where we had breakfasted; the children, especially, were tired with

their play; the spirits of most flagged at the prospect of this midday walk over chaussées flinty, glaring and

dusty. This state of things had been foreseen and provided for. Just beyond the boundary of the farm we met

two spacious vehicles coming to fetch us such conveyances as are hired out purposely for the

accommodation of school parties; here, with good management, room was found for all, and in another hour

M. Paul made safe consignment of his charge at the Rue Fossette. It had been a pleasant day: it would have

been perfect, but for the breathing of melancholy which had dimmed its sunshine a moment.

Just about sunset, I saw M. Emanuel come out of the front door, accompanied by Madame Beck. They paced

the centre alley for nearly an hour, talking earnestly: he looking grave, yet restless; she wearing an

I wondered what was under discussion; and when Madame Beck reentered the house as it darkened, leaving

'He called me "petite soeur" this morning. If he were really my brother, how I should like to go to him just

now and ask what it is that presses on his mind. See how he leans against that tree with his arms crossed and

his brow bent. He wants consolation I know: Madame does not console; she only remonstrates. What now

Starting from quiescence to action, M. Paul came striding erect and quick down the garden. The carré doors

were yet open: I thought he was probably going to water the orangetrees in the tubs, after his occasional

custom; on reaching the court, however, he took an abrupt turn and made for the berceau and the first classe

glass door. There, in that first classe I was, thence I had been watching him; but there I could not find courage

to await his approach. He had turned so suddenly, he strode so fast, he looked so strange; the coward within

me grew pale, shrank and not waiting to listen to reason, and hearing the shrubs crush and the gravel

Nor did I pause till I had taken sanctuary in the oratory, now empty. Listening there with beating pulses, and

an unaccountable, undefined apprehension, I heard him pass through all the schoolrooms, clashing the doors

impatiently as he went; I heard him invade the refectory which the 'lecture pieuse' was now holding under

And just as, summoning my courage, I was preparing to go down and do what, after all, I most wished to do

in the world viz., meet him the wiry voice of St. Pierre replied glibly and falsely, 'Elle est au lit.' And

he passed, with the stamp of vexation, into the corridor. There Madame Beck met, captured, chid, convoyed

As that street door closed, a sudden amazement at my own perverse proceeding struck like a blow upon me. I

felt from the first it was me he wanted me he was seeking and had not I wanted him too? What, then,

had carried me away? What had rapt me beyond his reach? He had something to tell: he was going to tell me

that something: my ear strained its nerve to hear it, and I had made the confidence impossible. Yearning to

listen and console, while I thought audience and solace beyond hope's reach no sooner did opportunity

suddenly and fully arrive, than I evaded it as I would have evaded the levelled shaft of mortality.

Well, my insane inconsistency had its reward. Instead of the comfort, the certain satisfaction, I might have

won could I but have put choking panic down, and stood firm two minutes here was dead blank, dark

Madame Beck called me on Thursday afternoon, and asked whether I had any occupation to hinder me from

Being disengaged, and placing myself at her service, I was presently furnished with a list of the wools, silks,

embroidering thread, etcetera, wanted in the pupils' work, and having equipped myself in a manner suiting

the threatening aspect of a cloudy and sultry day, I was just drawing the springbolt of the street door, in act

'Pardon, Meess Lucie!' cried she, in the seeming haste of an impromptu thought, 'I have just recollected one

Of course I 'confounded myself' in asseverations to the contrary; and Madame, running into the little salon,

brought thence a pretty basket, filled with fine hothouse fruit, rosy, perfect and tempting, reposing amongst

the dark green, waxlike leaves, and pale yellow stars of I know not what, exotic plant.

'There,' she said, 'it is not heavy, and will not shame your neat toilette, as if it were a household, servantlike

detail. Do me the favour to leave this little basket at the house of Madame Walravens, with my felicitations

on her fête. She lives down in the old town, Numéro 3, Rue des Mages. I fear you will find the walk rather

long, but you have the whole afternoon before you, and do not hurry; if you are not back in time for dinner, I

will order a portion to be saved, or Goton, with whom you are a favourite, will have pleasure in tossing up

some trifle, for your especial benefit. You shall not be forgotten, ma bonne Meess. And oh! Please!' (calling

me back once more) 'be sure to insist on seeing Madame Walravens herself and giving the basket into her

own hands, in order that there may be no mistake, for she is rather a punctilious personage. Adieu! Au

And at last I got away. The shop commissions took some time to execute, that choosing and matching of silks

and wools being always a tedious business, but at last I got through my list. The patterns for the slippers, the

bellropes, the cabas were selected the slides and tassels for the purses chosen the whole 'tripotage' in

short, was off my mind; nothing but the fruit and the felicitations remained to be attended to.

I rather liked the prospect of a long walk, deep into the old and grim BasseVille; and I liked it no worse

because the evening sky, over the city, was settling into a mass of blackblue metal, heated at the rim, and

I fear a high wind, because storm demands that exertion of strength and use of action I always yield with

pain; but the sullen downfall, the thick snow descent, or dark rush of rain, ask only resignation the quiet

abandonment of garments and person to be drenched. In return, it sweeps a great capital clean before you; it

makes you a quiet path through broad, grand streets; it petrifies a living city as if by eastern enchantment; it

transforms a Villette into a Tadmor. Let, then, the rains fall, and the floods descend only I must first get

An unknown clock from an unknown tower (Jean Baptiste's voice was now too distant to be audible) was

tolling the third quarter past five, when I reached that street and house whereof Madame Beck had given me

the address. It was no street at all; it seemed rather to be part of a square; it was quiet, grass grew between the

broad grey flags, the houses were large and looked very old behind them rose the appearance of trees,

indicating gardens at the back. Antiquity brooded above this region, business was banished thence. Rich men

had once possessed this quarter, and once grandeur had made her seat here. That church, whose dark,

halfruinous turrets overlooked the square, was the venerable and formerly opulent shrine of the Magi. But

wealth and greatness had long since stretched their gilded pinions and fled hence, leaving these their ancient

nests, perhaps to house Penury for a time, or perhaps to stand cold and empty, mouldering untenanted in the

As I crossed this deserted 'place,' on whose pavement drops almost as large as a fivefranc piece were now

slowly darkening, I saw, in its whole expanse, no symptom or evidence of life, except what was given in the

figure of an infirm old priest, who went past, bending and propped on a staff the type of eld and decay.

He had issued from the very house to which I was directed; and when I paused before the door just closed

after him, and rang the bell, he turned to look at me. Nor did he soon avert his gaze; perhaps he thought me,

with my basket of summer fruit, and my lack of the dignity age confers, an incongruous figure in such a

scene. I know, had a young ruddyfaced bonne opened the door to admit me, I should have thought such a

one little in harmony with her dwelling; but when I found myself confronted by a very old woman, wearing a

very antique peasant costume, a cap alike hideous and costly, with long flaps of native lace, a petticoat and

jacket of cloth, and sabots more like little boats than shoes, it seemed all right, and soothingly in character.

The expression of her face was not quite so soothing as the cut of her costume; anything more cantankerous I

have seldom seen; she would scarcely reply to my inquiry after Madame Walravens; I believe she would have

snatched the basket of fruit from my hand, had not the old priest hobbling up, checked her, and himself lent

His apparent deafness rendered it a little difficult to make him fully understand that I must see Madame

Walravens, and consign the fruit into her own hands. At last, however, he comprehended the fact that such

were my orders, and that duty enjoined their literal fulfilment. Addressing the aged bonne, not in French, but

in the aboriginal tongue of Labassecour, he persuaded her, at last, to let me cross the inhospitable threshold,

and himself escorting me upstairs, I was ushered into a sort of salon, and there left.

The room was large, and had a fine old ceiling, and almost churchlike windows of coloured glass; but it was

desolate, and in the shadow of a coming storm, looked strangely lowering. Within opened a smaller room;

there, however, the blind of the single casement was closed; through the deep gloom few details of furniture

were apparent. These few I amused myself by puzzling to make out; and, in particular, I was attracted by the

Byandby the picture seemed to give way: to my bewilderment, it shook, it sunk, it rolled back into

nothing; its vanishing left an opening arched, leading into an arched passage, with a mystic winding stair;

both passage and stair were of cold stone, uncarpeted and unpainted. Down this donjon stair descended a tap,

tap, like a stick; soon, there fell on the steps a shadow, and last of all, I was aware of a substance.

Yet, was it actual substance, this appearance approaching me? this obstruction, partially darkening the arch?

It drew near, and I saw it well. I began to comprehend where I was. Well might this old square be named

quarter of the Magi well might the three towers, overlooking it, own for godfathers three mystic sages of a

dead and dark art. Hoar enchantment here prevailed; a spell had opened for me elfland that celllike

room, that vanishing picture, that arch and passage, and stair of stone, were all parts of a fairy tale. Distincter

even than these scenic details stood the chief figure Cunegonde, the sorceress! Malevola, the evil fairy.

She might be three feet high, but she had no shape; her skinny hands rested upon each other, and pressed the

gold knob of a wandlike ivory staff. Her face was large, set, not upon her shoulders, but before her breast;

she seemed to have no neck; I should have said there was a hundred years in her features, and more perhaps

in her eyes her malign, unfriendly eyes, with thick grey brows above, and livid lids all round. How

This being wore a gown of brocade, dyed bright blue, fulltinted as the gentianella flower, and covered with

satin foliage in a large pattern; over the gown a costly shawl, gorgeously bordered, and so large for her that

its manycoloured fringe swept the floor. But her chief points were her jewels: she had long, clear earrings,

blazing with a lustre which could not be borrowed or false; she had rings on her skeleton hands, with thick

gold hoops, and stones purple, green and bloodred. Hunchbacked, dwarfish, and doting, she was adorned

'Que me voulezvous?' said she, hoarsely, with the voice rather of male than of female old age; and, indeed, a

'Truly, it was well worth while,' she answered. 'Return to Madame Beck, and tell her I can buy fruit when I

want it, et quant à ses félicitations, je m'en moque!' And this courteous dame turned her back.

Just as she turned, a peal of thunder broke, and a flash of lighting blazed broad over salon and boudoir. The

tale of magic seemed to proceed with due accompaniment of the elements. The wanderer, decoyed into the

What, in all this was I to think of Madame Beck? She owned strange acquaintance; she offered messages and

gifts to a unique shrine, and inauspicious seemed the bearing of the uncouth thing she worshipped. There

went that sullen Sidonia, tottering and trembling like palsy incarnate, tapping her ivory staff on the mosaic

Down washed the rain, deep lowered the welkin; the clouds, ruddy a while ago, had now, through all their

blackness, turned deadly pale, as if in terror. Notwithstanding my late boast about not fearing a shower, I

hardly liked to go out under this waterspout. Then the gleams of lightning were very fierce, the thunder

crashed very near; this storm had gathered immediately above Villette; it seemed to have burst at the zenith;

it rushed down prone; the forked, slant bolts pierced athwart vertical torrents; red zigzags interlaced a

descent blanched as white metal: and all broke from a sky heavily black in its swollen abundance.

Leaving Madame Walravens' inhospitable salon. I betook myself to her cold staircase; there was a seat on the

landing there I waited. Somebody came gliding along the gallery just above; it was the old priest.

'Indeed mademoiselle shall not sit there,' said he. 'It would displeasure our benefactor if he knew a stranger

And he begged me so earnestly to return to the salon, that, without discourtesy, I could not but comply. The

smaller room was better furnished and more habitable than the larger; thither he introduced me. Partially

withdrawing the blind, he disclosed what seemed more like an oratory than a boudoir, a very solemn little

chamber, looking as if it were a place rather dedicated to relics and remembrance, than designed for present

The good father sat down, as if to keep me company; but instead of conversing, he took out a book, fastened

on the page his eyes, and employed his lips in whispering what sounded like a prayer or litany. A yellow

electric light from the sky gilded his bald head; his figure remained in shade deep and purple; he sat still

as sculpture; he seemed to forget me for his prayers; he only looked up when a fiercer bolt, or a harsher,

closer rattle told of nearing danger; even then, it was not in fear, but in seeming awe, he raised his eyes. I too

was awestruck; being, however, under no pressure of slavish terror, my thoughts and observations were

To speak truth, I was beginning to fancy that the old priest resembled that Père Silas, before whom I had

kneeled in the church of the Béguinage. The idea was vague, for I had seen my confessor only in the dusk and

in profile, yet still I seemed to trace a likeness: I thought also I recognised the voice. While I watched him, he

betrayed, by one lifted look, that he felt my scrutiny; I turned to note the room; that too had its half mystic

Beside a cross of curiously carved old ivory, yellow with time, and sloped above a dark red priedieu,

furnished duly with rich missal and ebon rosary hung the picture whose dim outline had drawn my eyes

before the picture which moved, fell away with the wall and let in phantoms. Imperfectly seen, I had taken

it for a Madonna; revealed by clearer light, it proved to be a woman's portrait in a nun's dress. The face,

though not beautiful, was pleasing; pale, young, and shaded with the dejection of grief or illhealth. I say

again it was not beautiful; it was not even intellectual; its very amiability was the amiability of a weak frame,

inactive passions, acquiescent habits: yet I looked long at that picture, and could not choose but look.

The old priest, who at first had seemed to me so deaf and infirm, must yet have retained his faculties in

tolerable preservation; absorbed in his book as he appeared, without once lifting his head, or, as far as I knew,

turning his eyes, he perceived the point towards which my attention was drawn, and, in a slow distinct voice,

'By that aged lady, Madame Walravens?' I inquired, fancying that I had discovered in the incurable grief of

'No, no,' said he; 'a granddame's affection for her children's children may be great, and her sorrow for their

loss, lively; but it is only the affianced lover, to whom Fate, Faith and Death, have trebly denied the bliss of

I thought the father rather wished to be questioned, and therefore I inquired who had lost and who still

mourned 'Justine Marie.' I got, in reply, quite a little romantic narrative, told not unimpressively, with the

accompaniment of the now subsiding storm. I am bound to say it might have been made much more truly

impressive, if there had been less French, Rousseaulike sentimentalising and wiredrawing; and rather more

healthful carelessness of effect. But the worthy father was obviously a Frenchman born and bred (I became

more and more persuaded of his resemblance to my confessor) he was a true son of Rome; when he did

lift his eyes, he looked at me out of their corners, with more and sharper subtlety than, one would have

thought, could survive the wear and tear of seventy years. Yet, I believe, he was a good old man.

The hero of his tale was some former pupil of his, whom he now called his benefactor, and who, it appears,

had loved this pale Justine Marie, the daughter of rich parents, at a time when his own worldly prospects were

such as to justify his aspiring to a welldowered hand. The pupil's father once a rich banker had failed,

died, and left behind him only debts and destitution. The son was then forbidden to think of Marie, especially

that old witch of a granddame I had seen, Madame Walravens, opposed the match with all the violence of a

temper which defortuity made sometimes demoniac. The mild Marie had neither the treachery to be false, nor

the force to be quite staunch to her lover; she gave up her first suitor, but, refusing to accept a second with a

Lasting anguish, it seems, had taken possession of the faithful heart which worshipped her, and the truth of

that love and grief had been shown in a manner which touched even me, as I listened.

Some years after Justine Marie's death, ruin had come on her house too; her father, by nominal calling a

jeweller, but who also dealt a good deal on the Bourse, had been concerned in some financial transactions

which entailed exposure and ruinous fines. He died of grief for the loss, and shame for the infamy. His old

hunchbacked mother and his bereaved wife were left penniless, and might have died too of want: but their

lost daughter's oncedespised, yet most truehearted suitor, hearing of the condition of these ladies, came

with singular devotedness to the rescue. He took on their insolent pride the revenge of the purest charity

housing, caring for, befriending them, so as no son could have done it more tenderly and efficiently. The

mother on the whole a good woman died blessing him; the strange, godless, loveless, misanthrope

grandmother lived still, entirely supported by this selfsacrificing man. She who had been the bane of his life,

blighting his hope, and awarding him, for love and domestic happiness, long mourning and cheerless

solitude, he treated with the respect a good son might offer a kind mother. He had brought her to this house,

'and,' continued the priest, while genuine tears rose to his eyes, 'here, too, he shelters me, his old tutor, and

Agnes, a superannuated servant of his father's family. To our sustenance, and to other charities, I know he

devotes three parts of his income, keeping only the fourth to provide himself with bread and the most modest

accommodations. By this arrangement he has rendered it impossible to himself ever to marry: he has given

The father had wiped away his tears before he uttered these last words, and in pronouncing them, he for one

instant raised his eyes to mine. I caught this glance, despite its veiled character; the momentary gleam shot a

These Romanists are strange beings. Such a one among them whom you know no more than the last Inca

of Peru, or the first Emperor of China knows you and all your concerns; and has his reasons for saying to

you so and so, when you simply thought the communication sprang impromptu from the instant's impulse: his

plan in bringing it about that you shall come on such a day, to such a place, under such and such

circumstances, when the whole arrangement seems to your crude apprehension the ordinance of chance, or

the sequel of exigency. Madame Beck's suddenly recollected message and present, my artless embassy to the

Place of the Magi, the old priest accidentally descending the steps and crossing the square, his interposition

on my behalf with the bonne who would have sent me away, his reappearance on the staircase, my

introduction to this room, the portrait, the narrative so affably volunteered all these little incidents, taken

as they fell out, seemed each independent of its successor; a handful of loose beads: but threaded through by

that quickshot and crafty glance of a Jesuit eye, they dropped pendant in a long string, like that rosary on the

priedieu. Where lay the link of junction, where the little clasp of this monastic necklace? I saw or felt union,

Perhaps the musing fit into which I had by this time fallen, appeared somewhat suspicious in its abstraction;

'Mademoiselle,' said he, 'I trust you have not far to go through these inundated streets?'

'Donc' (clapping his hands), 'donc, vous devez connaître mon noble élève, mon Paul?'

A brief silence fell. The spring of junction seemed suddenly to have become palpable; I felt it yield to

'Was it of M. Paul you have been speaking?' I presently inquired. 'Was he your pupil and the benefactor of

'Yes, and of Agnes, the old servant: and moreover' (with a certain emphasis), 'he was and is the lover, true,

'And who, father, are you?' I continued; and though I accentuated the question, its utterance was wellnigh

'I, daughter, am Père Silas; that unworthy son of Holy Church whom you once honoured with a noble and

touching confidence, showing me the core of a heart, and the inner shrine of a mind whereof, in solemn truth,

I coveted the direction, in behalf of the only true faith. Nor have I for a day lost sight of you, nor for an hour

failed to take in you a rooted interest. Passed under the discipline of Rome, moulded by her high training,

inoculated with her salutary doctrines, inspired by the zeal she alone gives I realise what then might be

This struck me as a special state of things I halfrealised myself in that condition also; passed under

discipline, moulded, trained, inoculated, and so on. 'Not so,' thought I, but I restrained deprecation and sat

'I suppose M. Paul does not live here?' I resumed, pursuing a theme which I thought more to the purpose than

'No; he only comes occasionally to worship his beloved saint, to make his confession to me, and to pay his

respects to her he calls his mother. His own lodging consists of but two rooms: he has no servant, and yet he

will not suffer Madame Walravens to dispose of those splendid jewels with which you see her adorned, and

in which she takes a puerile pride as the ornaments of her youth, and the last relics of her son the jeweller's

'How often,' murmured I to myself 'has this man, this M. Emanuel, seemed to lack magnanimity in trifles, yet

I own I did not reckon amongst the proofs of his greatness, either the act of confession, or the saintworship.

'Twenty years. She was somewhat older than M. Emanuel; he was then very young, for he is not much

And now the sun broke out pallid and waterish; the rain yet fell, but there was no more tempest: that hot

firmament had cloven and poured out its lightnings. A longer delay would scarce leave daylight for my

return, so I rose, thanked the father for his hospitality and his tale, was benignantly answered by a 'pax

vobiscum,' which I made kindly welcome, because it seemed uttered with a true benevolence: but I liked less

'Daughter, you shall be what you shall be!' an oracle that made me shrug my shoulder as soon as I had got

outside the door. Few of us know what we are to come to certainly, but for all that had happened yet, I had

good hopes of living and dying a soberminded Protestant: there was a hollowness within, and a flourish

around 'Holy Church' which tempted me but moderately. I went on my way pondering many things.

Whatever Romanism may be, there are good Romanists: this man, Emanuel, seemed of the best; touched with

superstition, influenced by priestcraft, yet wondrous for fond faith, for pious devotion, for sacrifice of self, for

charity unbounded. It remained to see, how Rome, by her agents, handled such qualities; whether she

cherished them for their own sake and for God's, or put them out to usury and made booty of the interest.

By the time I reached home, it was sundown. Goton had kindly saved me a portion of dinner, which indeed I

needed. She called me into the little cabinet to partake of it, and there Madame Beck soon made her

'Well,' began she chuckling, 'and what sort of a reception did Madame Walravens give you? Elle est drôle,

I told her what had passed, delivering verbatim the courteous message with which I had been charged.

'Oh la singulière petite bossue!' laughed she. 'Et figurezvous qu'elle me déteste, parce qu'elle me croit

amoureuse de mon cousin Paul; ce petit devot qui n'ose pas bouger, à moins que son confesseur ne lui donne

la permission! Au reste' (she went on), 'if he wanted to marry ever so much soit moi, soit une autre he

could not do it; he has too large a family already on his hands; Mère Walravens, Père Silas, Dame Agnes, and

a whole troop of nameless paupers. There never was a man like him for laying on himself burdens greater

than he can bear, voluntarily incurring needless responsibilities. Besides, he harbours a romantic idea about

some palefaced Marie Justine personnage assez niaise à ce que je pense' (such was Madame's irreverent

remark), 'who has been an angel in heaven, or elsewhere, this score of years, and to whom he means to go,

free from all earthly ties, pure comme un lis à ce qu'il dit. Oh, you would laugh could you but know half M.

Emanuel's crotchets and eccentricities! But I hinder you from taking refreshment, ma bonne Mees, which you

must need; eat your supper, drink your wine, oubliez les anges, les bossues, et surtout, les Professeurs et

'Oubliez les Professeurs.' So said Madame Beck. Madame Beck was a wise woman, but she should not have

uttered those words. To do so was a mistake. That night she should have left me calm, not excited,

indifferent, not interested, isolated in my own estimation and that of others not connected, even in idea,

Forget him? Ah! they took a sage plan to make me forget him the wiseheads! They showed me how

good he was; they made of my dear little man a stainless little hero. And then they had prated about his

manner of loving. What means had I, before this day, of being certain whether he could love at all or not?

I had known him jealous, suspicious; I had seen about him certain tendernesses, fitfulnesses a softness

which came like a warm air, and a ruth which passed like early dew, dried in the heat of his irritabilities: this

was all I had seen. And they, Père Silas and Modeste Maria Beck (that these two wrought in concert I could

not doubt) opened up the adytum of his heart showed me one grand love, the child of this southern

nature's youth, born so strong and perfect, that it had laughed at Death himself, despised his mean rape of

matter, clung to immortal spirit, and, in victory and faith, had watched beside a tomb twenty years.

This had been done not idly: this was not a mere hollow indulgence of sentiment; he had proven his

fidelity by the consecration of his best energies to an unselfish purpose, and attested it by limitless personal

sacrifices: for those once dear to her he prized he had laid down vengeance, and taken up a cross.

Now, as for Justine Marie, I knew what she was as well as if I had seen her. I knew she was well enough;

there were girls like her in Madame Beck's school phlegmatics pale, slow, inert, but kindhearted,

If she wore angel's wings, I knew whose poetfancy conferred them. If her forehead shone luminous with the

reflex of a halo, I knew in the fire of whose irids that circlet of holy flame had generation.

Was I, then, to be frightened by Justine Marie? Was the picture of a pale dead nun to rise, an eternal barrier?

And what of the charities which absorbed his worldly goods? What of his heart sworn to virginity?

Madame Beck Père Silas you should not have suggested these questions. They were at once the

deepest puzzle, the strongest obstruction, and the keenest stimulus I had ever felt. For a week of nights and

days I fell asleep I dreamt, and I woke upon these two questions. In the whole world there was no answer

to them, except where one dark little man stood, sat, walked, lectured, under the headpiece of a bandit

bonnetgrec, and within the girth of a sorry paletôt, much beinked and no little adust.

After that visit to the Rue des Mages, I did want to see him again. I felt as if knowing what I now knew

his countenance would offer a page more lucid, more interesting than ever; I felt a longing to trace in it

the imprint of that primitive devotedness, the signs of that halfknightly, halfsaintly chivalry which the

priest's narrative imputed to his nature. He had become my Christian hero: under that character I wanted to

Nor was opportunity slow to favour; my new impressions underwent her test the next day. Yes: I was granted

an interview with my 'Christian hero' an interview not very heroic, or sentimental, or biblical, but lively

About three o'clock of the afternoon, the peace of the first classe safely established, as it seemed, under

the serene sway of Madame Beck, who, in propria persona, was giving one of her orderly and useful lessons

this peace, I say, suffered a sudden fracture by the wild inburst of a paletôt.

Nobody at the moment was quieter than myself. Eased of responsibility by Madame Beck's presence, soothed

by her uniform tones, pleased and edified with her clear exposition of the subject in hand (for she taught

well), I sat bent over my desk drawing that is, copying an elaborate line engraving, tediously working up

my copy to the finish of the original, for that was my practical notion of art; and, strange to say, I took

extreme pleasure in the labour, and could even produce curiously finical Chinese facsimiles of steel or

mezzotint plates things about as valuable as so many achievements in worsted work, but I thought pretty

What was the matter? My drawing, my pencils, my precious copy, gathered into one crushedup handful,

perished from before my sight; I myself appeared to be shaken or emptied out of my chair, as a solitary and

withered nutmeg might be emptied out of a spicebox by an excited cook. That chair and my desk, seized by

the wild paletôt, one under each sleeve, were borne afar; in a second, I followed the furniture; in two minutes

they and I were fixed in the centre of the grand salle a vast adjoining room, seldom used save for dancing

and choral singing lessons fixed with an emphasis which seemed to prohibit the remotest hope of our ever

Having partially collected my scared wits, I found myself in the presence of two men; gentlemen, I suppose I

should say one dark, the other light one having a stiff, halfmilitary air, and wearing a braided surtout;

the other partaking, in garb and bearing, more of the careless aspect of the student or artist class: both

flourishing in full magnificence of moustaches, whiskers and imperial. M. Emanuel stood a little apart from

these: his countenance and eyes expressed strong choler; he held forth his hand with his tribune gesture.

'Mademoiselle,' said he, 'your business is to prove to these gentlemen that I am no liar. You will answer, to

the best of your ability, such questions as they shall put. You will also write on such theme as they shall

select. In their eyes, it appears, I hold the position of an unprincipled impostor. I write essays; and, with

deliberate forgery, sign to them my pupils' names, and boast of them as their work. You will disprove this

Grand Ciel! Here was the showtrial, so long evaded, come upon me like a thunderclap. These two fine,

braided, moustachioed, sneering personages, were none other than dandy professors of the college

Messieurs Boissec and Rochemorte a pair of coldblooded fops and pedants, sceptics and scoffers. It

seems that M. Paul had been rashly exhibiting something I had written something he had never once

praised, or even mentioned, in my hearing, and which I deemed forgotten. The essay was not remarkable at

all; it only seemed remarkable, compared with the average productions of foreign schoolgirls; in an English

establishment it would have passed scarce noticed. Messieurs Boissec and Rochemorte had thought proper to

question its genuineness, and insinuate a cheat; I was now to bear my testimony to the truth, and to be put to

They began with classics. A dead blank. They went on to French history. I hardly knew Mérovée from

Pharamond. They tried me in various 'ologies, and still only got a shake of the head, and an unchanging 'Je

After an expressive pause, they proceeded to matters of general information, broaching one or two subjects

which I knew pretty well, and on which I had often reflected. M. Emanuel, who had hitherto stood looking

on, dark as the winter solstice, brightened up somewhat; he thought I should now show myself at least no

He learned his error. Though answers to the questions surged up fast, my mind filling like a rising well, ideas

were there, but not words. I either could not, or would not speak I am not sure which: partly, I think, my

I heard one of my examiners he of the braided surtout whisper to his coprofessor: 'Estelle donc

But I suffered suffered cruelly; I saw the damps gather on M. Paul's brow, and his eye spoke a passionate

yet sad reproach. He would not believe in my total lack of popular cleverness; he thought I could be prompt if

'Gentlemen, you had better let me go; you will get no good of me; as you say, I am an idiot.'

I wish I could have spoken with calm and dignity, or I wish my sense had sufficed to make me hold my

tongue; that traitor tongue tripped, faltered. Beholding the judges cast on Emanuel a hard look of triumph,

and hearing the distressed tremor of my own voice, out I burst in a fit of choking tears. The emotion was far

more of anger than grief; had I been a man and strong, I could have challenged that pair on the spot but it

The incapables! Could they not see at once the crude hand of a novice in that composition they called a

forgery? The subject was classical. When M. Paul dictated the trait on which the essay was to turn, I heard it

for the first time, the matter was new to me, and I had no material for its treatment. But I got books, read up

the facts, laboriously constructed a skeleton out of the dry bones of the real, and then clothed them, and tried

to breathe into them life, and in this last aim I had pleasure. With me it was a difficult and anxious time till

my facts were found, selected and properly jointed; nor could I rest from research and effort till I was

satisfied of correct anatomy; the strength of my inward repugnance to the idea of flaw or falsity sometimes

enabled me to shun egregious blunders; but the knowledge was not there in my head, ready and mellow; it

had not been sown in Spring, grown in Summer, harvested in Autumn, and garnered through Winter;

whatever I wanted I must go out and gather fresh; glean of wild herbs my lap full, and shred them green into

the pot. Messieurs Boissec and Rochemorte did not perceive this. They mistook my work for the work of a

They would not yet let me go: I must sit down and write before them. As I dipped my pen in the ink with a

shaking hand, and surveyed the white paper with eyes halfblinded and overflowing, one of my judges began

'Nous agissons dans l'intérêt de la vérité. Nous ne voulons pas vous blesser,' said he.

Human Justice! What was I to make of it? Blank, cold abstraction, unsuggestive to me of one inspiring idea;

and there stood M, Emanuel, sad as Saul, and stern as Joab, and there triumphed his accusers.

At these two I looked. I was gathering my courage to tell them that I would neither write nor speak another

word for their satisfaction, that their theme did not suit, nor their presence inspire me, and that,

notwithstanding, whoever threw the shadow of a doubt on M. Emanuel's honour, outraged that truth of which

they had announced themselves the champions: I meant to utter all this, I say, when suddenly a light darted

Those two faces looking out of the forest of long hair, moustache and whisker those two cold yet bold,

trustless yet presumptuous visages were the same faces; the very same that, projected in full gaslight from

behind the pillars of a portico, had half frightened me to death on the night of my desolate arrival in Villette.

These, I felt morally certain, were the very heroes who had driven a friendless foreigner beyond her

reckoning and her strength, chased her breathless over a whole quarter of the town.

'Pious mentors!' thought I. 'Pure guides for youth! If "Human Justice were what she ought to be, you two

An idea once seized, I fell to work. 'Human Justice' rushed before me in novel guise, a red, random beldame

with arms akimbo. I saw her in her house, the den of confusion: servants called to her for orders or help

which she did not give; beggars stood at the door waiting and starving unnoticed; a swarm of children, sick

and quarrelsome, crawled round her feet and yelled in her ears appeals for notice, sympathy, cure, redress.

The honest woman cared for none of these things. She had a warm seat of her own by the fire, she had her

own solace in a short black pipe, and a bottle of Mrs Sweeny's soothing syrup; she smoked and she sipped

and she enjoyed her paradise, and whenever a cry of the suffering souls about her pierced her ears too keenly

my jolly dame seized the poker or the hearthbrush: if the offender was weak, wronged and sickly, she

effectually settled him if he was strong, lively and violent, she only menaced, then plunged her hand in her

Such was the sketch of 'Human Justice,' scratched hurriedly on paper, and placed at the service of Messrs

Boissec and Rochemorte. M. Emanuel read it over my shoulder. Waiting no comment, I curtsied to the trio,

After school that day, M. Paul and I again met. Of course the meeting did not at first run smooth; there was a

crow to pluck with him; that forced examination could not be immediately digested. A crabbed dialogue

terminated in my being called, 'une petite moqueuse et sanscoeur,' and in Monsieur's temporary departure.

Not wishing him to go quite away, only desiring he should feel that such a transport as he had that day given

way to, could not be indulged with perfect impunity, I was not sorry to see him, soon after, gardening in the

berceau. He approached the glass door; I drew near also. We spoke of some flowers growing round it.

Byandby monsieur laid down his spade; byandby he recommenced conversation, passed to other

Conscious that his proceeding of that day was specially open to a charge of extravagance, M. Paul half

apologised; he half regretted, too, the fitfulness of his moods at all times, yet he hinted that some allowance

ought to be made for him. 'But,' said he, 'I can hardly expect it at your hands, Miss Lucy; you know neither

'No, monsieur,' I rejoined. 'Of course, as you say, I know neither your history, nor your position, nor your

sacrifices, nor any of your sorrows, or trials, or affections, or fidelities. Oh, no! I know nothing about you;

'You know, monsieur, I only see you in classe stern, dogmatic, hasty, imperious. I only hear of you in

town as active and wilful, quick to originate, hasty to lead, but slow to persuade, and hard to bend. A man

like you, without ties, can have no attachments; without dependants, no duties. All we, with whom you come

in contact, are machines, which you thrust here and there, inconsiderate of their feelings. You seek your

recreations in public, by the light of the evening chandelier: this school and yonder college are your

workshops; where you fabricate the ware called pupils. I don't so much as know where you live; it is natural

'I am judged,' said he. 'Your opinion of me is just what I thought it was. For you I am neither a man nor a

Christian. You see me void of affection and religion, unattached by friend or family, unpiloted by principle or

'You are a philosopher, monsieur; a cynic philosopher' (and I looked at his paletôt, of which he straightway

brushed the dim sleeve with his hand), 'despising the foibles of humanity above its luxuries

'Et vous, mademoiselle; vous êtes proprette et douillette, et affreusement insensible, pardessus le marché.'

'But, in short, monsieur, now I think of it, you must live somewhere? Do tell me where, and what

With a fearful projection of the under lip, implying an impetus of scorn the most decided, he broke out

'Je vis dans un trou! I inhabit a den, miss a cavern, where you would not put your dainty nose. Once, with

base shame of speaking the whole truth, I talked about my "study" in that college: know now that this "study"

is my whole abode; my chamber is there and my drawingroom. As for my "establishment of servants"

'Je fais mon lit et mon ménage; I seek my dinner in a restaurant; my supper takes care of itself; I pass days

laborious and loveless; nights long and lonely; I am ferocious, and bearded, and monkish; and nothing now

living in this world loves me, except some old hearts worn like my own, and some few beings, impoverished,

suffering, poor in purse and in spirit, whom the kingdoms of this world own not, but to whom a will and

'I know that you have a pleasant old house in a pleasant old square of the BasseVille why don't you go

'I liked it much, monsieur; with the steps ascending to the door, the grey flags in front, the nodding trees

behind real trees, not shrubs trees dark, high, and of old growth. And the boudoiroratoire you

He eyed me closely; he halfsmiled, halfcoloured. 'Where did you pick up all that? Who told you?' he

'Can I enter into your visions? Can I guess a woman's waking thoughts, much less her sleeping fantasies?'

'If I dreamt it, I saw in my dream human beings as well as a house. I saw a priest, old, bent and grey, and a

domestic old, too, and picturesque; and a lady, splendid but strange; her head would scarce reach to my

elbow her magnificence might ransom a duke. She wore a gown bright as lapislazuli a shawl worth a

thousand francs: she was decked with ornaments so brilliant, I never saw any with such a beautiful sparkle;

but her figure looked as if it had been broken in two and bent double; she seemed also to have outlived the

common years of humanity, and to have attained those which are only labour and sorrow. She was become

morose almost malevolent; yet somebody, it appears, cared for her in her infirmities somebody

forgave her trespasses, hoping to have his trespasses forgiven. They lived together, these three people the

mistress, the chaplain, the servant all old, all feeble, all sheltered under one kind wing.'

He covered with his hand the upper part of his face, but did not conceal his mouth, where I saw hovering an

So I told him how the commission on which I had been sent, the storm which had detained me, the

abruptness of the lady, the kindness of the priest. 'As I sat waiting for the rain to cease, Père Silas whiled

'Yes: begin at the beginning. Let me hear some of Miss Lucy's French her best or her worst I don't

much care which: let us have a good poignée of barbarisms, and a bounteous dose of the insular accent.'

'Monsieur is not going to be gratified by a tale of ambitious proportions, and the spectacle of the narrator

sticking fast in the midst. But I will tell him the title "The Priest's Pupil."'

'Bah!' said he, the swarthy flush again dyeing his dark cheek. 'The good old father could not have chosen a

'There was the pupil's youth, the pupil's manhood his avarice, his ingratitude, his implacability, his

inconstancy. Such a bad pupil, monsieur! so thankless, coldhearted, unchivalrous, unforgiving!'

'Et puis,' I pursued, 'he underwent calamities which one did not pity bore them in a spirit one did not

admire endured wrongs for which one felt no sympathy; finally took the unchristian revenge of heaping

'You have forgotten one that which touched on the pupil's lack of affection on his hard, cold, monkish

'True; I remember now. Père Silas did say that his vocation was almost that of a priest that his life was

'Now, Mademoiselle Lucy, look at me, and with that truth which I believe you never knowingly violate,

answer me one question. Raise your eyes; rest them on mine; have no hesitation; fear not to trust me I am

'Knowing me thoroughly now all my antecedents, all my responsibilities having long known my faults,

'But a close friend I mean intimate and real kindred in all but blood? Will Miss Lucy be the sister of a

I could not answer him in words, yet I suppose I did answer him; he took my hand, which found comfort in

the shelter of his. His friendship was not a doubtful, wavering benefit a cold, distant hope a sentiment

so brittle as not to bear the weight of a finger: I at once felt (or thought I felt) its support like that of some

'When I talk of friendship, I mean true friendship,' he repeated emphatically; and I could hardly believe that

words so earnest had blessed my ear; I hardly could credit the reality of that kind, anxious look he gave. If he

really wished for my confidence and regard, and really would give me his why, it seemed to me that life

could offer nothing more or better. In that case, I was become strong and rich in a moment I was made

'Is monsieur quite serious? Does he really think he needs me, and can take an interest in me as a sister?'

'Surely, surely,' said he; 'a lonely man like me, who has no sister, must be but too glad to find in some

'And dare I rely on monsieur's regard? Dare I speak to him when I am so inclined?'

'My little sister must make her own experiments,' said he; 'I will give no promises. She must tease and try her

wayward brother till she has drilled him into what she wished. After all, he is no inductile material in some

While he spoke, the tone of his voice, the light of his now affectionate eye, gave me such a pleasure as,

certainly, I had never felt. I envied no girl her lover, no bride her bridegroom, no wife her husband; I was

content with this my voluntary, selfoffering friend. If he would but prove reliable, and he looked reliable,

what, beyond his friendship, could I ever covet? But, if all melted like a dream, as once before had, happened

'Qu'estce donc? What is it?' said he, as this thought threw its weight on my heart, its shadow on my

countenance. I told him; and after a moment's pause, and a thoughtful smile, he showed me how an equal fear

lest I should weary of him, a man of moods so difficult and fitful had haunted his mind for more than

On hearing this, a quiet courage cheered me. I ventured a word of reassurance. That word was not only

tolerated; its repetition was courted. I grew quite happy strangely happy in making him secure,

content, tranquil. Yesterday, I could not have believed that earth held, or life afforded, moments like the few I

was now passing. Countless times it had been my lot to watch apprehended sorrow close darkly in; but to see

unhopedfor happiness take form, find place, and grow more real as the seconds sped, was indeed a new

'Lucy,' said M. Paul, speaking low and still holding my hand, 'did you see a picture in the boudoir of the old

'I thought of the apparition when I saw the portrait,' said I; which was true enough.

'You did not, nor will you fancy,' pursued he, 'that a saint in heaven perturbs herself with rivalries of earth?

'I know not what to think of this matter; but I believe a perfectly natural solution of this seeming mystery will

'Doubtless, doubtless. Besides, no good living woman much less a pure, happy spirit would trouble

Ere I could answer, Fifine Beck burst in, rosy and abrupt, calling out that I was wanted. Her mother was

going into town to call on some English family, who had applied for a prospectus: my services were needed

as interpreter. The interruption was not unseasonable: sufficient for the day is always the evil; for this hour,

its good sufficed. Yet I should have liked to ask M. Paul whether the 'morbid fancies,' against which he

Besides Fifine Beck's mother, another power had a word to say to M. Paul and me, before that covenant of

friendship could be ratified. We were under the surveillance of a sleepless eye; Rome watched jealously her

son through that mystic lattice at which I had knelt once, and to which M. Emanuel drew nigh month by

'Why were you so glad to be friends with M. Paul?' asks the reader. 'Had he not long been a friend to you?

Yes, he had; but still I liked to hear him say so earnestly that he was my close, true friend; I liked his

modest doubts, his tender deference that trust which longed to rest, and was grateful when taught how. He

had called me 'sister.' It was well. Yes; he might call me what he pleased, so long as he confided in me. I was

willing to be his sister, on condition that he did not invite me to fill that relation to some future wife of his;

and tacitly vowed as he was to celibacy, of this dilemma there seemed little danger.

Through most of the succeeding night I pondered that evening's interview. I wanted much the morning to

break, and then listened for the bell to ring; and, after rising and dressing, I deemed prayers and breakfast

slow, and all the hours lingering, till that arrived at last which brought me the lesson of literature. My wish

was to get a more thorough comprehension of this fraternal alliance: to note with how much of the brother he

would demean himself when we met again; to prove how much of the sister was in my own feelings; to

discover whether I could summon a sister's courage, and he a brother's frankness.

He came. Life is so constructed, that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation. The whole

day he never accosted me. His lesson was given rather more quietly than usual, more mildly and also more

gravely. He was fatherly to his pupils, but he was not brotherly to me. Ere he left the classe, I expected a

This distance, I argued, is accidental it is involuntary; patience, and it will vanish. It vanished not; it

continued for days; it increased. I suppressed my surprise, and swallowed whatever other feelings began to

Well might I ask when he offered fraternity 'Dare I rely on you?' Well might he, doubtless knowing

himself, withhold all pledge. True, he had bid me make my own experiments tease and try him. Vain

injunction! Privilege nominal and unavailable! Some women might use it! Nothing in my powers or instinct

placed me amongst this brave band. Left alone, I was passive; repulsed, I withdrew; forgotten my lips

would not utter, nor my eyes dart a reminder. It seemed there had been an error somewhere in my

But the day came when, as usual, he was to give me a lesson. One evening in seven he had long generously

bestowed on me, devoting it to the examination of what had been done in various studies during the past

week, and to the preparation of work for the week in prospect. On these occasions my schoolroom was

anywhere, wherever the pupils and the other teachers happened to be, or in their close vicinage, very often in

the large second division, where it was easy to choose a quiet nook when the crowding day pupils were

absent, and the few boarders gathered in a knot about the surveillante's estrade.

On the customary evening, hearing the customary hour strike, I collected my books and papers, my pen and

In classe there was no one, and it lay all in cool deep shadow; but through the open double doors was seen the

carré, filled with pupils and with light; over hall and figures blushed the westering sun. It blushed so ruddily

and vividly, that the hues of the walls and the variegated tints of the dresses seemed all fused in one warm

glow. The girls were seated, working or studying; in the midst of their circle stood M. Emanuel, speaking

goodhumouredly to a teacher. His dark paletôt, his jetty hair, were tinged with many a reflex of crimson; his

Spanish face, when he turned it momentarily, answered the sun's animated kiss with an animated smile. I took

The orange trees, and several plants, full and bright with bloom, basked also in the sun's laughing bounty;

they had partaken it the whole day, and now asked water. M. Emanuel had a taste for gardening; he liked to

tend and foster plants. I used to think that working amongst shrubs with a spade or a wateringpot soothed

his nerves; it was a recreation to which he often had recourse; and now he looked to the orange trees, the

geraniums, the gorgeous cactuses, and revived them all with the refreshment their drought needed. His lips

meantime sustained his precious cigar, that (for him) first necessary and prime luxury of life; its blue wreaths

curled prettily enough amongst the flowers, and in the evening light. He spoke no more to the pupils, nor to

the mistresses, but gave many an endearing word to a small spanieless (if one may coin a word), that

nominally belonged to the house, but virtually owned him as master, being fonder of him than any inmate. A

delicate, silky, loving and lovable little doggie she was, trotting at his side, looking with expressive, attached

eyes into his face: and whenever he dropped his bonnetgrec or his handkerchief, which he occasionally did

in play, crouching beside it with the air of a miniature lion guarding a kingdom's flag.

There were many plants, and as the amateur gardener fetched all the water from the well in the court, with his

own active hands, his work spun on to some length. The great school clock ticked on. Another hour struck.

The carré and the youthful group lost the illusion of sunset. Day was drooping. My lesson, I perceived, must

tonight be very short; but the orange trees, the cacti, the camellias were all served now. Was it my turn?

Alas! in the garden were more plants to be looked after favourite rose bushes, certain choice flowers; little

Sylvie's glad bark and whine followed the receding paletôt down the alleys. I put up some of my books; I

should not want them all; I sat and thought and waited, involuntarily deprecating the creeping invasion of

Sylvie, gaily frisking, emerged into view once more, heralding the returning paletôt; the wateringpot was

deposited beside the well; it had fulfilled its office; how glad I was! Monsieur washed his hands in a little

stone bowl. There was no longer time for a lesson now; ere long the prayer bell must ring; but still we should

meet; he would speak; a chance would be offered of reading in his eyes the riddle of his shyness. His

ablutions over, he stood, slowly rearranging his cuffs, looking at the horn of a young moon, set pale in the

opal sky, and glimmering faint on the oriel of Jean Baptiste. Sylvie watched the mood contemplative; its

He stooped, lifted her in his arms, sauntered across the court, within a yard of the line of windows near one of

which I sat: he sauntered lingeringly, fondling the spaniel in his bosom, called her tender names in a tender

voice. On the front door steps he turned: once again he looked at the moon, at the grey cathedral, over the

remoter spires and houseroofs fading into a blue sea of night mist; he tasted the sweet breath of dusk, and

noted the folded bloom of the garden; he suddenly looked round; a keen beam out of his eye rased the white

façade of the classes, swept the long line of croisées. I think he bowed; if he did, I had no time to return the

courtesy. In a moment he was gone; the moonlit threshold lay pale and shadowless before the closed front

Gathering in my arms all that was spread on the desk, before me, I carried back the unused heap to its place

The morrow would not restore him to the Rue Fossette, that day being devoted entirely to his college. I got

through my teaching; I got over the intermediate hours; I saw evening approaching, and armed myself for its

heavy ennuis. Whether it was worse to stay with my coinmates, or to sit alone, I had not considered; I

naturally took up the latter alternative; if there was a hope of comfort for any moment, the heart or head of no

human being in this house could yield it; only under the lid of my desk could it harbour, nestling between the

leaves of some book, gilding a pencil point, the nib of a pen, or tinging the black fluid in that ink glass. With

One by one, wellaccustomed books, volumes sewn in familiar covers, were taken out and put back hopeless;

they had no charm; they could not comfort. Is this something new, this pamphlet in lilac? I had not seen it

before, and I rearranged my desk this very day this very afternoon; the tract must have been introduced

It was neither tale nor poem, neither essay nor history; it neither sung, nor related, nor discussed. It was a

I lent to it my ear very willingly, for, small as it was, it possessed its own spell, and bound my attention at

once. It preached Romanism; it persuaded to conversion. The voice of that sly little book was a honeyed

voice; its accents were all unction and balm. Here roared no utterance of Rome's thunders, no blasting of the

breath of her displeasure. The Protestant was to turn Papist, not so much in fear of the heretic's hell, as on

account of the comfort, the indulgence, the tenderness Holy Church offered; far be it from her to threaten or

coerce; her wish was to guide and win. She persecute? Oh dear no! Not on any account!

This meek volume was not addressed to the hardened and worldly; it was not even strong meat for the strong:

it was milk for babes; the mild effluence of a mother's love towards her tenderest and her youngest; intended

wholly and solely for those whose head is to be reached through the heart. Its appeal was not to intellect; it

sought to win the affectionate through their affections, the sympathising through their sympathies: St.

I remember one capital inducement to apostacy was held out in the fact that the Catholic who had lost dear

friends by death could enjoy the unspeakable solace of praying them out of purgatory. The writer did not

touch on the firmer peace of those whose belief dispenses with purgatory altogether: but I thought of this,

The little book amused, and did not painfully displease me. It was a canting, sentimental, shallow little book,

yet something about it cheered my gloom and made me smile: I was amused with the gambols of this

unlicked wolfcub muffled in the fleece, and mimicking the bleat of a guileless lamb. Portions of it reminded

me of certain Wesleyan Methodist tracts I had once read when a child; they were flavoured with about the

same seasoning of excitation to fanaticism. He that had written it was no bad man, and while perpetually

betraying the trained cunning the cloven hoof of his system I should pause before accusing himself of

I smiled then over this dose of maternal tenderness, coming from the ruddy old lady of the Seven Hills;

smiled, too, at my own disinclination, not to say disability, to meet these melting favours. Glancing at the

titlepage, I found the name of 'Père Silas.' A flyleaf bore in small, but clear and wellknown pencil

characters: 'From P.C. D. E. to Ly.' And when I saw this I laughed: but not in my former spirit. I was

A mortal bewilderment cleared suddenly from my head and vision; the solution of the, Sphynxriddle was

won; the conjunction of those two names, Père Silas and Paul Emanuel, gave the key to all. The penitent had

been with his director; permitted to withhold nothing; suffered to keep no corner of his heart sacred to God

and to himself; the whole narrative of our late interview had been drawn from him; he had avowed the

covenant of fraternity, and spoken of his adopted sister. How could such a covenant, such adoption, be

sanctioned by the Church? Fraternal communion with a heretic! I seemed to hear Père Silas annulling the

unholy pact; warning his penitent of its perils; entreating, enjoining reserve, nay, by the authority of his

office, and in the name, and by the memory of all M. Emanuel held most dear and sacred, commanding the

enforcement of that new system whose frost had pierced to the marrow of my bones.

These may not seem pleasant hypotheses; yet, by comparison, they were welcome. The vision of a ghostly

troubler hovering in the background, was as nothing, matched with the fear of spontaneous change arising in

At this distance of time, I cannot be sure how far the above conjectures were selfsuggested: or in what

measure they owed their origin and confirmation to another quarter. Help was not wanting.

This evening there was no bright sunset: west and east were one cloud: no summer nightmist, blue, yet

rosetinged, softened the distance; a clammy fog from the marshes crept grey round Villette. Tonight the

wateringpot might rest in its niche by the well; a small rain had been drizzling all the afternoon, and still it

fell fast and quietly. This was no weather for rambling in the wet alleys, under the dripping trees; and I

started to hear Sylvie's sudden bark in the garden her bark of welcome. Surely she was not accompanied;

and yet this glad, quick bark was never uttered, save in homage to one presence.

Through the glass door and the arching berceau, I commanded the deep vista of the allée défendue: thither

rushed Sylvie, glistening through its gloom like a white guelder rose. She ran to and fro, whining, springing,

harassing little birds amongst the bushes. I watched five minutes; no fulfilment followed the omen. I returned

to my books; Sylvie's sharp bark suddenly ceased. Again I looked up. She was standing not many yards

distant, wagging her white, feathery tail as fast as the muscle would work, and intently watching the

operations of a spade, plied fast by an indefatigable hand. There was M. Emanuel, bent over the soil digging

in the wet mould amongst the rainladen and streaming shrubs, working as hard as if his day's pittance were

In this sign I read a ruffled mood. He would dig thus in frozen snow on the coldest winter day, when urged

inwardly by painful emotion, whether of nervous excitation, or sad thoughts of selfreproach. He would dig

by the hour, with knit brow and set teeth, nor once lift his head, or open his lips.

Sylvie watched till she was tired. Again scampering devious, bounding here, rushing there, snuffing and

sniffing everywhere; she at last discovered me in classe. Instantly she flew barking at the panes, as if to urge

me forth to share her pleasure or her master's toil; she had seen me occasionally walking in that alley with M.

She made such a bustle that M. Paul at last looked up, and of course perceived why, and at whom she barked.

He whistled to call her off; she only barked the louder. She seemed quite bent upon having the glass door

opened Tired, I suppose, with her importunity, he threw down his spade, approached and pushed the door

ajar. Sylvie burst in all impetuous, sprang to my lap and with her paws at my neck, and her little nose and

tongue somewhat overpoweringly busy about my face, mouth and eyes, flourished her bushy tail over the

M. Emanuel advanced to still the clamour and repair the disarrangement. Having gathered up the books, he

captured Sylvie, and stowed her away under his paletôt, where she nestled as quiet as a mouse, her head just

peeping forth. She was very tiny, and had the prettiest little innocent face, the silkiest long ears, the finest

dark eyes in the world. I never saw her, but I thought of Paulina de Bassompierre: forgive the association,

M. Paul petted and patted her; the endearments she received were not to be wondered at; she invited affection

While caressing the spaniel, his eye roved over the papers and books just replaced; it settled on the religious

tract. His lips moved; he half checked the impulse to speak. What! had he promised never to address me

more? If so, his better nature pronounced the vow 'more honoured in the breach than in the observance,' for

'You have not yet read the brochure, I presume? It is not sufficiently inviting?'

He waited, as if wishing me to give an opinion upon it unasked. Unasked, however, I was in no mood to do or

say anything. If any concessions were to be made if any advances were demanded that was the affair

of the very docile pupil of Père Silas, not mine. His eye settled upon me gently; there was mildness at the

moment in its blue ray there was solicitude a shade of pathos; there were meanings composite and

contrastedreproach melting into remorse. At the moment probably, he would have been glad to see

something emotional in me. I could not show it. In another minute, however, I should have betrayed

confusion, had I not bethought myself to take some quill pens from my desk, and begin soberly to mend

I knew that action would give a turn to his mood. He never liked to see me mend pens; my knife was always

dulledged my hand, too, was unskilful; I hacked and chipped. On this occasion I cut my own finger

half on purpose. I wanted to restore him to his natural state, to set him at his ease, to get him to chide.

He put Sylvie down, making her lie quiet beside his bonnetgrec, and, depriving me of the pens and

penknife, proceeded to slice, nib and point with the accuracy and celerity of a machine.

(After a pause) 'Allons donc! It was of no use taking that tone with him. Bad as I was and he should be

sorry to have to name all my faults at a breath God and nature had given me "trop de sensibilité et de

'Indeed!' I responded, rousing myself quickly, 'I was not affected at all not a whit.'

And in proof I drew from my pocket a perfectly dry handkerchief still clean and in its folds.

Hereupon I was made the object of a string of strictures rather piquant than polite. I listened with zest. After

those two days of unnatural silence, it was better than music to hear M. Paul haranguing again just in his old

fashion. I listened, and meantime solaced myself and Sylvie with the contents of a bonbonnière, which M.

Emanuel's gifts kept well supplied with chocolate comfits. It pleased him to see even a small matter from his

hand duly appreciated. He looked at me and the spaniel while we shared the spoil; he put up his penknife.

'Ditesdonc, petite soeur, speak frankly what have you thought of me during the last two days?'

But of this question I would take no manner of notice; its purport made my eyes fill. I caressed Sylvie

'I called myself your brother,' he said: 'I hardly know what I am brother friend I cannot tell. I know

I think of you I feel I wish you well but I must check myself; you are to be feared. My best friends

'It is your religion your strange, selfreliant, invulnerable creed, whose influence seems to clothe you in, I

know not what, unblessed panoply. You are good Père Silas calls you good, and loves you but your

terrible, proud, earnest Protestantism, there is the danger. It expresses itself by your eye at times; and again, it

gives you certain tones and certain gestures that make my flesh creep. You are not demonstrative, and yet,

'Not respect that tract? But it is the pure essence of faith, love, charity! I thought it would touch you: in its

gentleness, I trusted that it could not fail. I laid it in your desk with a prayer. I must indeed be a sinner:

Heaven will not hear the petitions that come warmest from my heart. You scorn my little offering. Oh, cela

'Monsieur, I don't scorn it at least, not as your gift. Monsieur, sit down; listen to me. I am not a heathen, I

am not hardhearted, I am not unchristian, I am not dangerous, as they tell you; I would not trouble your

'But do you believe in the Bible? Do you receive Revelation? What limits are there to the wild, careless

By dint of persuasion, I made him halfdefine these hints; they amounted to crafty Jesuit slanders. That night

M. Paul and I talked seriously and closely. He pleaded, he argued. I could not argue a fortunate

incapacity; it needed but triumphant, logical opposition to effect all the director wished to be effected; but I

could talk in my own way the way M. Paul was used to and of which he could follow the meanderings

and fill the hiatus, and pardon the strange stammerings, strange to him no longer. At ease with him, I could

defend my creed and faith in my own fashion; in some degree I could lull his prejudices. He was not satisfied

when he went away, hardly was he appeased; but he was made thoroughly to feel that Protestants were not

necessarily the irreverent Pagans his director had insinuated; he was made to comprehend something of their

mode of honouring the Light, the Life, the Word; he was enabled partly to perceive that, while their

veneration for things venerable was not quite like that cultivated in his Church, it had its own, perhaps,

I found that Père Silas (himself, I must repeat, not a bad man, though the advocate of a bad cause) had darkly

stigmatised Protestants in general, and myself by inference, with strange names, had ascribed to us strange

'isms'; Monsieur Emanuel revealed all this in his frank fashion, which knew not secretiveness, looking at me

as he spoke with a kind, earnest fear, almost trembling lest there should be truth in the charges. Père Silas, it

seems, had closely watched me, had ascertained that I went by turns, and indiscriminately, to the three

Protestant Chapels of Villette the French, German and English id est, the Presbyterian, Lutheran,

Episcopalian. Such liberality argued in the Father's eyes profound indifference who tolerates all, he

reasoned, can be attached to none. Now, it happened that I had often secretly wondered at the minute and

unimportant character of the differences between these three sects at the unity and identity of their vital

doctrines: I saw nothing to hinder them from being one day fused into one grand Holy Alliance, and I

respected them all, though I thought that in each there were faults of form; incumbrances, and trivialities. Just

what I thought, that did I tell M. Emanuel, and explained to him that my own last appeal, the guide to which I

looked, and the teacher which I owned, must always be the Bible itself, rather than any sect, of whatever

He left me soothed, yet full of solicitude, breathing a wish as strong as a prayer, that if I were wrong, Heaven

would lead me right. I heard, poured forth on the threshold, some fervid murmurings to 'Marie, Reine du Ciel'

Strange! I had no such feverish wish to turn him from the faith of his fathers. I thought Romanism wrong, a

great mixed image of gold and clay; but it seemed to me that this Romanist held the purer elements of his

The preceding conversation passed between eight and nine o'clock of the evening, in a schoolroom of the

quiet Rue Fossette, opening on a sequestered garden. Probably about the same, or a somewhat later hour of

the succeeding evening, its echoes, collected by holy obedience, were breathed verbatim in an attent ear, at

the panel of a confessional, in the hoary church of the Magi. It ensued that Père Silas paid a visit to Madame

Beck, and stirred by I know not what mixture of motives, persuaded her to let him undertake for a time the

Hereupon I was put through a course of reading that is, I just glanced at the 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

upstairs, under my pillow, whereof certain chapters satisfied my needs in the article of spiritual lore,

furnishing such precept and example as, to my hearts core, I was convinced could not be improved on.

Then Père Silas showed me the fair side of Rome, her good works, and bade me judge the tree by its fruits.

In answer, I felt and I avowed that these works were not the fruits of Rome; they were but her abundant

blossoming, but the fair promise she showed the world. That bloom, when set, savoured not of charity; the

apple full formed was ignorance, abasement and bigotry. Out of men's afflictions and affections were forged

the rivets of their servitude. Poverty was fed and clothed, and sheltered, to bind it by obligation to 'the

Church'; orphanage was reared and educated that it might grow up in the fold of 'the Church'; sickness was

tended that it might die after the formula and in the ordinance of 'the Church'; and men were overwrought,

and women most murderously sacrificed, and all laid down a world God made pleasant for his creatures'

good, and took up a cross, monstrous in its galling weight, that they might serve Rome, prove her sanctity,

For man's good was little done; for God's glory, less. A thousand ways were opened with pain, with

bloodsweats, with lavishing of life; mountains were cloven through their breasts, and rocks were split to

their base; and all for what? That a Priesthood might march straight on and straight upward to an all

dominating eminence, whence they might at last stretch the sceptre of their Moloch 'Church.'

It will not be. God is not with Rome, and, were human sorrows still for the Son of God, would He not mourn

over her cruelties and ambitions, as once He mourned over the crimes and woes of doomed Jerusalem!

Oh, lovers of power! Oh, mitred aspirants for this world's kingdoms! an hour will come, even to you, when it

will be well for your hearts pausing faint at each broken beat that there is a Mercy beyond human

compassions a Love stronger than this strong death which even you must face, and before it fall; a Charity

more potent than any sin, even yours; a Pity which redeems worlds nay, absolves Priests.

My third temptation was held out in the pomp of Rome the glory of her kingdom. I was taken to the

churches on Solemn occasions days of fête and state; I was shown the Papal ritual and ceremonial. I

Many people men and women no doubt far my superiors in a thousand ways, have felt this display

impressive, have declared that though their Reason protested, their Imagination was subjugated. I cannot say

the same. Neither full procession, nor high mass, nor swarming tapers, nor swinging censers, nor

ecclesiastical millinery, nor celestial jewellery, touched my imagination a whit. What I saw struck me as

This I did not tell Père Silas; he was old, he looked venerable, through every abortive experiment, under

every repeated disappointment, he remained personally kind to me, and I felt tender of hurting his feelings.

But on the evening of a certain day when, from the balcony of a great house, I had been made to witness a

huge mingled procession of the church and the army priests with relics, and soldiers with weapons, an

obese and aged archbishop, habited in cambric and lace, looking strangely like a grey daw in

birdofparadise plumage, and a band of young girls fantastically robed and garlanded then I spoke my

'I did not like it,' I told him, 'I did not respect such ceremonies; I wished to see no more.'

And having relieved my conscience by this declaration, I was able to go on, and, speaking more currently and

clearly than my wont, to show him that I had a mind to keep to my reformed creed; the more I saw of Popery

the closer I clung to Protestantism; doubtless there were errors in every Church, but I now perceived by

contrast how severely pure was my own, compared with her whose painted and meretricious face had been

unveiled for my admiration. I told him how we kept fewer forms between us and God; retaining, indeed, no

more than, perhaps, the nature of mankind in the mass rendered necessary for due observance. I told him I

could not look on flowers and tinsel, on waxlights and embroidery, at such times and under such

circumstances as should be devoted to lifting the secret vision to Him whose home is Infinity, and His being

Eternity. That when I thought of sin and sorrow, of earthly corruption, moral depravity, weighty temporal

woe I could not care for chanting priests or mumming officials; that when the pains of existence and the

terrors of dissolution pressed before me when the mighty hope and measureless doubt of the future arose

in view then, even the scientific strain, or the prayer in a language learned and dead, harassed with

When I had so spoken, so declared my faith, and so widely severed myself from him I addressed then, at

last, came a tone accordant, an echo responsive, one sweet chord of harmony in two conflicting spirits.

'Whatever say priests or controversialists,' murmured M. Emanuel, 'God is good, and loves all the sincere.

Believe, then, what you can; believe it as you can; one prayer, at least, we have in common; I also cry "O

'How seem in the eyes of that God who made all firmaments, from whose nostrils issued whatever of life is

here, or in the stars shining yonder how seem the differences of man? But as Time is not for God, nor

Space, so neither is Measure, nor Comparison. We abase ourselves in our littleness, and, we do right; yet it

may be that the constancy of one heart, the truth and faith of one mind according to the light He has

appointed, import as much to Him as the just motion of satellites about their planets, of planets about their

suns, of suns around that mighty unseen centre incomprehensible, irrealisable, with strange mental effort only

It was very well for Paulina to decline further correspondence with Graham till her father had sanctioned the

intercourse. But Dr. Bretton could not live within a league of the Hôtel Crécy, and not contrive to visit there

often. Both lovers meant at first, I believe, to be distant; they kept their intention so far as demonstrative

All that was best in Graham sought Paulina; whatever in him was noble, awoke, and grew in her presence.

With his past admiration of Miss Fanshawe, I suppose his intellect had little to do, but his whole intellect, and

his highest tastes, came in question now. These, like all his faculties, were active eager for nutriment, and

I cannot say that Paulina designedly led him to talk of books, or formally proposed to herself for a moment

the task of winning him to reflection, or planned the improvement of his mind, or so much as fancied his

mind. could in any one respect be improved. She thought him very perfect; it was Graham himself who, at

first by the merest chance, mentioned some book he had been reading, and when in her response sounded a

welcome harmony of sympathies, something pleasant to his soul, he talked on, more and better perhaps than

he had ever talked before on such subjects. She listened with delight, and answered with animation. In each

successive answer, Graham heard a music waxing finer and finer to his sense; in each he found a suggestive,

persuasive, magic accent that opened a scarce known treasurehouse within, showed him unsuspected power

in his own mind, and what was better, latent goodness in his heart. Each liked the way in which the other

talked; the voice, the diction, the expression pleased; each keenly relished the flavour of the other's wit; they

met each other's meaning with strange quickness, their thoughts often matched like carefully chosen pearls.

Graham had wealth of mirth by nature; Paulina possessed no such inherent flow of animal spirits

unstimulated, she inclined to be thoughtful and pensive but now she seemed merry as a lark; in her lover's

genial presence she glanced like some soft glad light. How beautiful she grew in her happiness, I can hardly

express, but I wondered to see her. As to that gentle ice of hers that reserve on which she had depended;

where was it now? Ah! Graham would not long bear it; he brought with him a generous influence that soon

Now were the old Bretton days talked over; perhaps brokenly at first, with a sort of smiling diffidence, then

with opening candour and still growing confidence. Graham had made for himself a better opportunity than

that he had wished me to give; he had earned independence of the collateral help that disobliging Lucy had

refused; all his reminiscences of 'little Polly' found their proper expression in his own pleasant tones, by his

More than once when we were alone, Paulina would tell me how wonderful and curious it was to discover the

richness and accuracy of his memory in this matter. How, while he was looking at her, recollections would

seem to be suddenly quickened in his mind. He reminded her that she had once gathered his head in her arms,

caressed his leonine graces, and cried out, 'Graham, I do like you!' He told her how she would set a footstool

beside him, and climb by its aid to his knee. At this day he said he could recall the sensation of her little

hands smoothing his cheek, or burying themselves in his thick mane. He remembered the touch of her small

forefinger, placed half tremblingly, half curiously, in, the cleft in his chin, the lisp, the look with which she

would name it 'a pretty dimple,' then seek his eyes and question why they pierced so telling him he had a

'nice, strange face; far nicer, far stranger than either his mamma or Lucy Snowe.'

'Child, as I was,' remarked Paulina, 'I wonder how I dared be so venturous. To me he seems now all sacred,

his locks are inaccessible, and Lucy, I feel a sort of fear when I look at his firm, marble chin, at his straight

Greek features. Women are called beautiful, Lucy; he is not like a woman therefore I suppose he is not

beautiful,. but what is he, then? Do other people see him with my eyes? Do you admire him?'

'I'll tell you what I do, Paulina,' was once my answer to her many questions. 'I never see him. I looked at him

twice or thrice about a year ago, before he recognised me, and then I shut my eyes; and if he were to cross

their balls twelve times between each day's sunset and sunrise, except from memory, I should hardly know

'I mean that I value vision, and dread being struck stone blind.' It was best to answer her strongly at once, and

to silence for ever the tender, passionate confidences which left her lips sweet honey, and sometimes dropped

Yet speak of him she would; sometimes shyly in quiet, brief phrases; sometimes with a tenderness of

cadence, and music of voice exquisite in itself; but which chafed me at times miserably; and then, I know, I

gave her stern looks and words; but cloudless happiness had dazzled her native clear sight, and she only

'Spartan girl! Proud Lucy!' she would say, smiling at me. 'Graham says you are the most peculiar, capricious

'You both think you know not what,' said I. 'Have the goodness to make me as little the subject of your

'I shall share no man's or woman's life in this world, as you understand sharing. I think I have one friend of

'Yes; it is sadness. Life, however, has worse than that. Deeper than melancholy lies heartbreak.'

There is in lovers, a certain infatuation of egotism; they will have a witness of their happiness, cost that

witness what it may. Paulina had forbidden letters, yet Dr. Bretton wrote; she had resolved against

correspondence, yet she answered were it only to chide. She showed me these letters; with something of the

spoiled child's wilfulness and of the heiress's imperiousness, she made me read them. As I read Graham's, I

scarce wondered at her exaction, and understood her pride: they were fine letters manly and fond

modest and gallant. Hers must have appeared to him beautiful. They had not been written to show her talents;

still less, I think to express her love. On the contrary, it appeared that she had proposed to herself the task of

hiding that feeling, and bridling her lover's ardour. But how could such letters serve such a purpose? Graham

was become dear as her life; he drew her like a powerful magnet. For her there was influence unspeakable in

all he uttered, wrote, thought, or looked. With this unconfessed confession, her letters glowed; it kindled

'I wish papa knew; I do wish papa knew!' began now to be her anxious murmur. 'I wish, and yet I fear. I can

hardly keep Graham back from telling him. There is nothing I long for more than to have this affair settled

to speak out candidly; and yet I dread the crisis. I know, I am certain, papa will be angry at the first; I fear he

will dislike me almost: it will seem to him an untoward business; it will be a surprise, a shock: I can hardly

The fact was her father, long calm, was beginning to be a little stirred: long blind on one point, an

To her, he said nothing; but when she was not looking at, or perhaps thinking of him, I saw him gaze and

One evening Paulina was in her dressingroom, writing, I believe, to Graham; she had left me in the

library, reading M. de Bassompierre came in; he sat down: I was about to withdraw; he requested me to

remain gently, yet in a manner which showed he wished compliance. He had taken his seat near the

window, at a distance from me; he opened a desk; he took from it what looked like a memorandumbook; of

'It seems so. This old pocketbook tells me she was born on the 5th of May, in the year 18, eighteen years

ago. It is strange; I had lost the just reckoning of her age. I thought of her as twelve fourteen an

'My little jewel!' said M. de Bassompierre, in a tone which penetrated like some of his daughter's accents.

'Sir, don't grieve,' I said; for I knew his feelings, utterly unspoken as they were.

'She is the only pearl I have,' he said; 'and now others will find out that she is pure and of price: they will

I made no answer. Graham Bretton had dined with us that day; he had shone both in converse and looks: I

know not what pride of bloom embellished his aspect and mellowed his intercourse. Under the stimulus of a

high hope, something had unfolded in his whole manner which compelled attention I think he had purposed

on that day to indicate the origin of his endeavours and the aim of his ambition. M. de Bassompierre had

found himself forced in a manner, to descry the direction and catch the character of his homage. Slow in

remarking, he was logical in reasoning: having once seized the thread, it had guided him through a long

'None but such as she can show me. And sir she they have long wanted to consult you.'

'Ah, M. de Bassompierre not so that can't be! But Paulina must speak for herself: and Dr. Bretton, too,

Invested by fate with the part of confidante and mediator, I was obliged to go on:

'Hundreds of times has Dr. Bretton been on the point of appealing to you, sir; but, with all his high courage,

'He may well he may well fear me. He has touched the best thing I have. Had he but let her alone, she

'It is well for you, Miss Snowe, to talk and think with that propriety which always characterises you; but this

matter is a grief to me; my little girl was all I had: I have no more daughters and no son; Bretton might as

well have looked elsewhere; there are scores of rich and pretty women who would not, I dare say, dislike

him: he has looks, and conduct, and connection. Would nothing serve him but my Polly?'

'If he had never seen your "Polly," others might and would have pleased him your niece, Miss Fanshawe,

'Ah! I would have given him Ginevra with all my heart; but Polly! I can't let him have her. No I

can't. He is not her equal,' he affirmed, rather gruffly. 'In what particular is he her match? They talk of

fortune! I am not an avaricious or interested man, but the world thinks of these things and Polly will be

'Would you, sir, think anyone Paulina's match? Would you prefer any other to Dr. Bretton? Do you think

higher rank or more wealth would make much difference in your feelings towards a future soninlaw?'

'I am told many of these persons think about her, sir,' I went on, gaining courage on finding that I met

attention rather than repulse. 'Other suitors will come, therefore, if Dr. Bretton is refused. Wherever you go, I

suppose, aspirants will not be wanting. Independent of heiressship, it appears to me that Paulina charms

'Nonsense! begging your pardon, Miss Snowe, but I think you are too partial. I like Polly: I like all her

ways and all her looks but then I am her father; and even I never thought about beauty. She is amusing,

'She attracts, sir: she would attract without the advantages of your wealth and position.'

'Dr. Bretton knows these points perfectly, as you may be sure, Mr. de Bassompierre, and values them as any

gentleman would as you would yourself under the same circumstances but they are not his baits. He

loves your daughter very much; he feels her finest qualities, and they influence him worthily.'

'Ah, sir! did you observe her that evening when so many men of eminence and learning dined here?'

'I certainly was rather struck and surprised with her manner that day; its womanliness made me smile.'

'And did you see those accomplished Frenchmen gather round her in the drawingroom?'

'I did; but I thought it was by way of relaxation as one might amuse oneself with a pretty infant.'

'Sir, she demeaned herself with distinction; and I heard the French gentlemen say she was "pétrie d'esprit et

'She is a good, dear child, that is certain; and I do believe she has some character. When I think of it, I was

once ill; Polly nursed me; they thought I should die; she, I recollect, grew at once stronger and tenderer as I

grew worse in health. And as I recovered, what a sunbeam she was in my sickroom! Yes; she played about

my chair as noiselessly and as cheerful as light. And now she is sought in marriage! I don't want to part with

'You have known Dr. and Mrs. Bretton so long,' I suggested, 'it would be less like separation to give her to

'True. I have long known Louisa Bretton,' he murmured. 'She and I are indeed old, old friends; a sweet, kind

girl she was when she was young. You talk of beauty, Miss Snowe! she was handsome, if you will tall,

straight and blooming not the mere child or elf my Polly seems to me: at eighteen, Louisa had a carriage

and stature fit for a princess. She is a comely and a good woman now. The lad is like her; I have always

thought so, and favoured and wished him well. Now he repays me by this robbery! My little treasure used to

love her old father dearly and truly. It is all over now, doubtless I am an incumbrance.'

The door opened his 'little treasure' came in. She was dressed, so to speak in evening beauty; that

animation which sometimes comes with the close of day, warmed her eye and cheek; a tinge of summer

crimson heightened her complexion; her curls fell full and long on her lily neck; her white dress suited the

heat of June. Thinking me alone, she had brought in her hand the letter just written brought it folded but

unsealed. I was to read it. When she saw her father, her tripping step faltered a little, paused a moment the

'Polly,' said M. de Bassompierre, in a low voice, with a grave smile, 'do you blush at seeing papa? That is

'I don't blush I never do blush,' affirmed she, while another eddy from the heart sent up its scarlet. 'But I

'You thought I was with John Graham Bretton, I suppose? But he has just been called out: he will be back

soon, Polly. He can post your letter for you; it will save Matthieu a "course," as he calls it.'

Both her mind and gesture seemed to hesitate a second to say, 'Shall I come?' but she approached.

'How long is it since you became a letterwriter, Polly? It only seems yesterday when you were at your

'Papa, they are not letters to send to the post in your letter bag; they are only notes, which I give now and then

'Oh papa!' she cried with earnestness, 'I will I will tell you the truth all the truth; I am glad to tell you

She did tremble: growing excitement, kindling feelings, and also gathering courage shook her.

'I hate to hide my actions from you, papa. I fear you and love you above everything but God. Read the letter:

She laid it on his knee. He took it up and read it through; his hand shaking, his eyes glistening meantime.

'Can she write so the little thing that stood at my knee but yesterday? Can she feel so?'

'But, papa, listen! You shall not be pained by me. I would give up everything almost' (correcting herself);

'Does the letter not please you? Must it not go? Must it be torn? It shall, for your sake, if you order it.'

'Order something, papa; express your wish; only don't hurt, don't grieve Graham. I cannot, cannot bear that. I

love you, papa; but I love Graham, too, because because it is impossible to help it.'

'This splendid Graham is a young scamp, Polly that is my present notion of him: it will surprise you to

hear that; for my part, I do not love him one whit. Ah! years ago I saw something in that lad's eye I never

quite fathomed something his mother has not a depth which warned a man not to wade into that stream

'Papa, you don't you have not fallen in; you are safe on the bank; you can do as you please; your power is

despotic; you can shut me up in a convent, and break Graham's heart tomorrow, if you choose to be so cruel.

'Off with him to Siberia, red whiskers and all; I say, I don't like him, Polly, and I wonder that you should.'

'Papa,' said she, 'do you know you are very naughty? I never saw you look so disagreeable, so unjust, so

almost vindictive before. There is an expression in your face which does not belong to you.'

'Off with him!' pursued Mr. Home, who certainly did look sorely crossed and annoyed even a little bitter;

'but, I suppose, if he went, Polly would pack a bundle and run after him; her heart is fairly won won, and

'Papa, I say it is naughty, it is decidedly wrong, to talk in that way. I am not weaned from you, and no human

'Be married, Polly! Espouse the red whiskers. Cease to be a daughter; go, and be a wife!'

'Red whiskers! I wonder what you mean, papa. You should take care of prejudice. You sometimes say to me

that all the Scotch, your countrymen, are the victims of prejudice. It is proved now, I think, when no

She stood looking at him a minute. She wanted to show firmness, superiority to taunts: knowing her father's

character, guessing his few foibles; she had expected the sort of scene which was now transpiring; it did not

take her by surprise, and she desired to let it pass with dignity reliant upon reaction. Her dignity stood her in

'I won't leave you, papa; I'll never leave you. I won't pain you! I'll never pain you!' was her cry.

'My lamb! my treasure!' murmured the loving though rugged sire. He said no more for the moment; indeed,

The room was now darkening. I heard a movement, a step without. Thinking it might be a servant coming

with candles, I gently opened, to prevent intrusion. In the anteroom stood no servant: a tall gentleman was

placing his hat on the table, drawing off his gloves slowly lingering, waiting, it seemed to me. He called

Over his face a smile flowed, while he looked down on me: no temper, save his own, would have expressed

'Mr. Home' (we now and always continued to term him Mr. Home at times) 'is talking to his daughter.'

He was quite stirred up; his young hand trembled; a vital (I was going to write mortal, but such words ill

apply to one all living like him) a vital suspense now held, now hurried, his breath: in all this trouble his

'Must it? Kind prophet! So cheered, I should be a faint heart indeed to quail. I think I find all women faithful,

Lucy. I ought to love them, and I do. My mother is good; she is divine; and you are true as steel. Are you

'Then give me thy hand, my little godsister: it is a friendly little hand to me, and always has been. And now

He turned, and waited till I said 'Amen!' which I did to please him: the old charm, in doing as he bid me,

came back. I wished him success; and successful I knew he would be. He was born victor, as some are born

'Well, Bretton,' said Mr. Home, 'you have given me the usual reward of hospitality. I entertained you; you

have taken my best. I was always glad to see you; you were glad to see the one precious thing I had. You

spoke me fair;' and, meantime, I will not say you robbed me, but I am bereaved, and what I have lost, you, it

'Repent! Not you! You triumph, no doubt: John Graham, you descended partly from a Highlander and a chief,

and there is a trace of the Celt in all you look, speak and think. You have his cunning and his charm. The red

(Well, then, Polly, the fair) hair, the tongue, of guile, and brain of wile, are all come down by inheritance.'

'Sir, I feel honest enough;' said Graham; and a genuine English blush covered his face with its warm witness

of sincerity. 'And yet,' he added, 'I won't deny that in some respects you accuse me justly. In your presence I

have always had a thought which I dared not show you. I did truly regard you as the possessor of the most

valuable thing the world owns for me. I wished for it; I tried for it. Sir, I ask for it now.'

'Very much, sir. It must come from your generosity, as a gift; from your justice, as a reward. I can never earn

'Ay! Listen to the Highland tongue!' said Mr. Home. 'Look up, Polly! Answer this "braw wooer"; send him

She looked up. She shyly glanced at her eager, handsome suitor. She gazed tenderly on her furrowed sire.

'Papa, I love you both,' said she; 'I can take care of you both. I need not send Graham away he can live

here; he will be no inconvenience,' she alleged, with that simplicity of phraseology which at times was wont

'He will be a prodigious inconvenience to me,' still persisted Mr. Home. 'I don't want him, Polly, he is too

'You will get used to him, papa. He seemed exceedingly tall to me at first like a tower when I looked up at

'I object to him altogether, Polly; I can do without a soninlaw. I should never have requested the best man

'Suits me, forsooth! Yes; he has pretended to make my opinions and tastes his own. He has humoured me for

'No: I think not: I am not friends with him. Don't think to coax me between you.'

'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 your fingers; be pliant there! But that is not a clasp it is a grasp! Papa,

He must have hurt him; for he wore a massive ring, set round with brilliants of which the sharp facets cut into

Graham's flesh and drew blood: but pain only made Dr. John laugh, as anxiety had made him smile.

'Come with me into my study,' at last said Mr. Home to the doctor. They went. Their intercourse was not

long, but I suppose it was conclusive. The suitor had to undergo an interrogatory and a scrutiny on many

things. Whether Dr. Bretton was at times guileful in look and language or not, there was a sound foundation

below. His answers, I understood afterwards, evinced both wisdom and integrity. He had managed his affairs

well. He had struggled through entanglements; his fortunes were in the way of retrieval; he proved himself in

Once more the father and lover appeared in the library. M. de Bassompierre shut the door; he pointed to his

'Take her,' he said. 'Take her, John Bretton: and may God deal with you as you deal with her!'

Not long after, perhaps a fortnight; I saw three persons, Count de Bassompierre, his daughter, and Dr.

Graham Bretton, sitting on one seat, under a lowspreading and umbrageous tree, in the grounds of the

palace at Bois l'Etang. They had come thither to enjoy a summer evening; outside the magnificent gates their

carriage waited to take them home; the green sweeps of turf spread round them quiet and dim; the palace rose

at a distance, white as a crag on Pentelicus; the evening star shone above it; a forest of flowering shrubs

embalmed the climate of this spot; the hour was still and sweet; the scene; but for this group, was solitary.

Paulina sat between the two gentlemen: while they conversed, her little hands were busy at some work; I

thought at first she was binding a nosegay. No; with the tiny pair of scissors, glittering in her lap, she had

severed spoils from each manly head beside her, and was now occupied in plaiting together the grey lock and

the golden wave. The plait woven no silk thread being at hand to bind it a tress of her own hair was

made to serve that purpose; she tied it like a knot, prisoned it in a locket, and laid it on her heart.

'Now,' said she, 'there is an amulet made, which has the virtue to keep you two always friends. You can never

An amulet was indeed made, a spell framed which rendered enmity impossible. She was become a bond to

both, an influence over each, a mutual concord. From them she drew her happiness, and what she borrowed,

Is there, indeed such happiness on earth? I asked, as I watched the father, the daughter, the future husband,

Yes; it is so. Without any colouring or romance, or any exaggeration of fancy, it is so. Some real lives do

for some certain days or years actually anticipate the happiness of Heaven; and, I believe, if such perfect

happiness is once felt by good people (to the wicked it never comes), its sweet effect is never wholly lost.

Whatever trials follow, whatever pains of sickness or shades of death, the glory precedent still shines through,

I will go farther. I do believe there are some human beings so born, so reared, so guided from a soft cradle to

a calm and late grave, that no excessive suffering penetrates their lot, and no tempestuous blackness overcasts

their journey. And often, these are not pampered, selfish beings, but Nature's elect, harmonious and benign;

Let me not delay the happy truth. Graham Bretton and Paulina de Bassompierre were married, and such an

agent did Dr. Bretton prove. He did not with time degenerate; his faults decayed, his virtues ripened; he rose

in intellectual refinement, he won in moral profit: all dregs filtered away, the clear wine settled bright and

tranquil. Bright, too, was the destiny of his sweet wife. She kept her husband's love, she aided in his progress

This pair was blessed indeed, for years brought them, with great prosperity, great goodness: they imparted

with open hand, yet wisely. Doubtless they knew crosses, disappointments, difficulties; but these were well

borne. More than once, too, they had to look on Him whose face flesh scarce can see and live: they had to pay

their tribute to the King of Terrors. In the fulness of years, M. de Bassompierre was taken: in ripe old age

departed Louisa Bretton. Once even there rose a cry in their halls, of Rachel weeping for her children; but

others sprang healthy and blooming to replace the lost: Dr. Bretton saw himself live again in a son who

inherited his looks and his disposition; he had stately daughters, too, like himself: these children he reared

with a suave, yet a firm hand, they grew up according to inheritance and nurture.

In short, I do but speak the truth when I say that these two lives of Graham and Paulina were blessed, like that

of Jacob's favoured son, with 'blessings of Heaven above, blessings of the deep that lies under.' It was so, for

But it is not so for all. What then? His will be done, as done it surely will be, whether we humble ourselves to

resignation or not. The impulse of creation. forwards it; the strength of powers, seen and unseen, has its

fulfilment in charge. Proof of a life to come must be given. In fire and in blood, if needful, must that proof be

written. In fire and in blood do we trace the record throughout nature. In fire and in blood does it cross our

own experience. Sufferer, faint not through terror of this burning evidence. Tired wayfarer, gird up thy loins;

look upward, march onward. Pilgrims and brother mourners, join in friendly company. Dark through the

wilderness of this world stretches the way for most of us: equal and steady be our tread; be our cross our

banner. For staff we have His promise, whose 'word is tried, whose way perfect': for present hope His

providence, 'who gives the shield of salvation, whose gentleness makes great'; for final home His bosom, who

'dwells in the height of Heaven'; for crowning prize a glory, exceeding and eternal. Let us so run that we may

obtain: let us endure hardness as good soldiers; let us finish our course, and keep the faith reliant in the issue

to come off more than conquerors: 'Art thou not from everlasting mine Holy One? WE SHALL NOT DIE!'

On a Thursday morning we were all assembled in classe, waiting for the lesson of literature. The hour was

The pupils of the first classe sat very still; the cleanly written compositions prepared since the last lesson lay

ready before them, neatly tied with ribbon, waiting to be gathered by the hand of the professor as he made his

rapid round of the desks. The month was July, the morning fine, the glass door stood ajar, through it played a

fresh breeze, and plants, growing at the lintel, waved, bent, looked in, seeming to whisper tidings.

M. Emanuel was not always quite punctual; we scarcely wondered at his being a little late, but we wondered

when the door at last opened and, instead of him with his swiftness and his fire, there came quietly upon us

She approached M. Paul's desk; she stood before it; she drew round her the light shawl covering her

shoulders; beginning to speak in low, yet firm tones, and with a fixed gaze, she said

'It is probable the lessons will be suspended for a week. I shall require at least that space of time to find an

efficient substitute for M. Emanuel. Meanwhile, it shall be our study to fill the blanks usefully.

'Your Professor, ladies,' she went on, 'intends, if possible, duly to take leave of you. At the present moment he

has not leisure for that ceremony. He is preparing for a long voyage. A very sudden and urgent summons of

duty calls him to a great distance. He has decided to leave Europe for an indefinite time. Perhaps he may tell

you more himself. Ladies, instead of the usual lesson with M. Emanuel, you will, this morning, read English

She bent her head courteously, drew closer the folds of her shawl, and passed from the classe.

A great silence fell: then a murmur went round the room: I believe some pupils wept.

Some time elapsed. The noise, the whispering, the occasional sobbing increased. I became conscious of a

relaxation of discipline, a sort of growing disorder, as if my girls felt that vigilance was withdrawn, and that

surveillance had virtually left the classe. Habit and the sense of duty enabled me to rally quickly, to rise in my

usual way, to speak in my usual tone, to enjoin, and finally to establish quiet. I made the English reading long

and close. I kept them at it the whole morning. I remember feeling a sentiment of impatience towards the

pupils who sobbed. Indeed, their emotion was not of much value; it was only an hysteric agitation. I told

them so unsparingly. I half ridiculed them. I was severe. The truth was, I could not do with their tears, or that

gasping sound; I could not bear it. A rather weakminded, lowspirited pupil kept it up when the others had

done; relentless necessity obliged and assisted me so to accost her, that she dared not carry on the

That girl would have had a right to hate me, except that, when school was over and her companions

departing, I ordered her to stay, and when they were gone, I did what I had never done to one among them

before pressed her to my heart and kissed her cheek. But, this impulse yielded to, I speedily put her out of

I filled with occupation every minute of that day, and should have liked to sit up all night if I might have kept

a candle burning; the night, however, proved a bad time, and left bad effects, preparing me ill for the next

day's ordeal of insufferable gossip. Of course this news fell under general discussion. Some little reserve had

accompanied the first surprise: that soon wore off; every mouth opened; every tongue wagged; teachers,

pupils, the very servants, mouthed the name of 'Emanuel.' He, whose connection with the school was

contemporary with its commencement, thus suddenly to withdraw! All felt it strange.

They talked so much, so long, so often, that, out of the very multitude of their words and rumours, grew at

last some intelligence. About the third day I heard it said that he was to sail in a week; then that he was

bound for the West Indies. I looked at Madame Beck's face, and into her eyes, for disproof or confirmation of

this report; I perused her all over for information, but no part of her disclosed more than what was

'This secession was an immense loss to her,' she alleged. 'She did not know how she should fill up the

vacancy. She was so used to her kinsman, he had become her right hand; what should she do without him?

She said all this in public, in classe, at the dinnertable, speaking audibly to Zélie St. Pierre.

'Why was it his duty?' I could have asked her that. I had impulses to take hold of her suddenly, as she calmly

passed me in classe, to stretch out my hand and grasp her fast, and say, 'Stop. Let us hear the conclusion of

the whole matter. Why is it his duty to go into banishment?' But Madame always addressed some other

teacher, and never looked at me, never seemed conscious I could have a care in the question.

The week wore on. Nothing more was said about M. Emanuel coming to bid us goodbye; and none seemed

anxious for his coming; none questioned whether or not he would come; none betrayed torment lest he should

depart silent and unseen; incessantly did they talk, and never, in all their talk, touched on this vital point. As

to Madame, she of course could see him, and say to him as she pleased. What should she care whether or not

The week consumed. We were told that he was going on such a day, that his destination was 'Basseterre in

Guadaloupe': the business which called him abroad related to a friend's interests, not his own: I thought as

'Basseterre in Guadaloupe.' I had little sleep about this time, but whenever I did slumber, it followed infallibly

that I was quickly roused with a start, while the words 'Basseterre,' 'Guadaloupe,' seemed pronounced over

my pillow, or ran athwart the darkness round and before me, in zigzag characters of red or violet light.

For what I felt there was no help, and how could I help feeling? M. Emanuel had been very kind to me of late

days; he had been growing hourly better and kinder. It was now a month since we had settled the theological

difference, and in all that time there had been no quarrel. Nor had our peace been the cold daughter of

divorce; we had not lived aloof; he had come oftener, he had talked with me more than before; he had spent

hours with me, with temper soothed, with eye content, with manner homelike and mild. Kind subjects of

conversation had grown between us; he had inquired into my plans of life, and I had communicated them; the

school project pleased him; he made me repeat it more than once, though he called it an Alnaschar dream.

The jar was over; the mutual understanding was settling and fixing; feelings of union and hope made

themselves profoundly felt in the heart; affection and deep esteem and dawning trust had each fastened its

What quiet lessons I had about this time! No more taunts on my 'intellect,' no more menaces of grating public

shows! How sweetly, for the jealous gibe, and the more jealous, halfpassionate eulogy, were substituted a

mute, indulgent help, a fond guidance, and a tender forbearance which forgave but never praised. There were

times when he would sit for many minutes and not speak at all; and when dusk or duty brought separation, he

would leave with words like these: 'Il est doux, le repos! Il est précieux, le calme bonheur!'

One evening, not ten short days since, he joined me whilst walking in my alley. He took my hand. I looked

'Bonne petite amie!' said he, softly; 'douce consolatrice!' But through his touch, and with his words, a new

feeling and a strange thought found a course. Could it be that he was becoming more than friend or brother?

His eloquent look had more to say, his hand drew me forward, his interpreting lips stirred. No. Not now. Here

into the twilight alley broke an interruption: it came dual and ominous: we faced two bodeful forms a

The aspect of the latter I shall never forget. On the first impulse it expressed a JeanJacques sensibility,

stirred by the signs of affection just surprised; then, immediately, darkened over it the jaundice of

ecclesiastical jealousy. He spoke to me with unction. He looked on his pupil with sternness. As to Madame

Beck, she, of course, saw nothing nothing; though her kinsman retained in her presence the hand of the

Following these incidents, that sudden announcement of departure had struck me at first as incredible.

Indeed, it was only frequent repetition, and the credence of the hundred and fifty minds round me, which

forced on me its full acceptance. As to that week of suspense, with its blank yet burning days, which brought

The last day broke. Now would he visit us. Now he would come and speak his farewell, or he would vanish

This alternative seemed to be present in the mind of not a living creature in that school. All rose at the usual

hour; all breakfasted as usual; all, without reference to, or apparent thought of their late Professor, betook

So oblivious was the house, so tame, so trained its proceedings, so inexpectant its aspect I scarce knew

how to breathe in an atmosphere thus stagnant, thus smothering. Would no one lend me a voice? Had no one

I had seen them unanimous in demand for the merest trifle a treat, a holiday, a lesson's remission; they

could not, they would not now band to besiege Madame Beck, and insist on a last interview with a Master

who had certainly been loved, at least by some loved as they could love but, oh! what is the love of the

I knew where he lived: I knew where he was to be heard of; or communicated with; the distance was scarce a

stone'sthrow: had it been in the next room unsummoned, I could make no use of my knowledge. To

M. Emanuel might have passed within reach of my arm: had he passed silent and unnoticing, silent and

Morning wasted. Afternoon came, and I thought all was over. My heart trembled in its place. My blood was

troubled in its current. I was quite sick, and hardly knew how to keep at my post or do my work. Yet the little

world round me plodded on indifferent; all seemed jocund, free of care, or fear, or thought: the very pupils

who, seven days since, had wept hysterically at a startling piece of news, appeared quite to have forgotten the

A little before five o'clock, the hour of dismissal, Madame Beck sent for me to her chamber, to read over and

translate some English letter she had received, and to write for her the answer. Before settling to this work, I

observed that she softly closed the two doors of her chamber; she even shut and fastened the casement,

though it was a hot day, and free circulation of air was usually regarded by her as indispensable. Why this

precaution? A keen suspicion, an almost fierce distrust, suggested such questions. Did she want to exclude

I listened as I had never listened before; I listened like the evening and winter wolf; snuffing the snow,

scenting prey, and hearing far off the traveller's tramp. Yet I could both listen and write. About the middle of

the letter I heard what checked my pen a tread in the vestibule. No door bell had rung; Rosine

acting doubtless by orders had anticipated such réveillée. Madame saw me halt. She coughed, made a

'Proceed,' said Madame; but my hand was fettered, my ear enchained, my thoughts were carried off captive.

The classes formed another building; the hall parted them from the dwellinghouse: despite distance and

It was indeed the hour to put away work, but why that sudden hush that instant quell of the tumult?

And I put down my pen and left her. Left her? No she would not be left: powerless to detain me, she rose and

'Yes,' said she; meeting my glance with a peculiar aspect a look, clouded, yet resolute. We proceeded

He was come. Entering the first classe, I saw him. There, once more appeared the form most familiar. I doubt

The girls stood in a semicircle; he was passing round, giving his farewells, pressing each hand, touching with

his lips each cheek. This last ceremony, foreign custom permitted at such a parting so solemn, to last so

I felt it hard that Madame Beck should dog me thus; following and watching me close; my neck and shoulder

He was approaching; the semicircle was almost travelled round; he came the last pupil; he turned. But

Madame was before me; she had stepped out suddenly; she seemed to magnify her proportions and amplify

her drapery; she eclipsed me; I was hid. She knew my weakness and deficiency; she could calculate the

degree of moral paralysis the total default of selfassertion with which, in a crisis, I could be struck.

She hastened to her kinsman, she broke upon him volubly, she mastered his attention, she hurried him to the

door the glass door opening on the garden. I think he looked round; could I but have caught his eye,

courage, I think, would have rushed in to aid feeling, and there would have been a charge, and, perhaps a

rescue; but already the room was all confusion, the semicircle broken into groups, my figure was lost among

thirty more conspicuous. Madame had her will; yes, she got him away, and he had not seen me; he thought

me absent. Five o'clock struck, the loud dismissal bell rang, the school separated, the room emptied.

There seems, to my memory, an entire darkness and distraction in some certain minutes I then passed alone

a grief inexpressible over a loss unendurable. What should I do; oh! what should I do; when all my life's

What I should have done, I know not, when a little child the least child in the school broke with its

simplicity and its unconsciousness into the raging yet silent centre of that inward conflict.

'Mademoiselle,' lisped the treble voice, 'I am to give you that. M. Paul said I was to seek you all over the

And the child delivered a note; the little dove dropped on my knee, its olive leaf plucked off. I found neither

'It was not my intention to take leave of you when I said goodbye to the rest, but I hoped to see you in

classe. I was disappointed. The interview is deferred. Be ready for me. Ere I sail, I must see you at leisure,

and speak with you at length. Be ready; my moments are numbered, and, just now, monopolised; besides I

have a private business on hand which I will not share with any, nor communicate even to you.

'Be ready?' Then it must be this evening: was he not to go on the morrow? Yes; of that point I was certain. I

had seen the date of his vessel's departure advertised. Oh! I would be ready, but could that longedfor

meeting really be achieved? the time was so short, the schemers seemed so watchful, so active, so hostile; the

way of access appeared strait as a gully, deep as a chasm Apollyon straddled across it, breathing flames.

Who might tell? Yet I began to take some courage, some comfort; it seemed to me that I felt a pulse of his

I waited my champion. Apollyon came trailing his Hell behind him. I think if Eternity held torment, its form

would not be fiery rack, nor its nature despair. I think that on a certain day amongst those days which never

dawned, and will not set, an angel entered Hades stood, shone, smiled delivered a prophecy of conditional

pardon, kindled a doubtful hope of bliss to come, not now, but at a day and hour unlooked for, revealed in his

own glory and grandeur the height and compass of his promise: spoke thus then towering, became a star,

and vanished into his own Heaven. His legacy was suspense a worse boon than despair.

All that evening I waited, trusting in the dovesent olive leaf; yet in the midst of my trust, terribly fearing.

My fear pressed heavy. Cold and peculiar, I knew it for the partner of a rarelybelied presentiment. The first

hours seemed long and slow; in spirit I clung to the flying skirts of the last. They passed like drift cloud

They passed. All the long, hot summer day burned away like a Yule log; the crimson of its close perished; I

was left bent among the cool blue shades, over the pale and ashen gleams of its night.

Prayers were over; it was bedtime; my coinmates were all retired. I still remained in the gloomy first

classe, forgetting, or at least disregarding, rules I had never forgotten or disregarded before.

How long I paced that classe I cannot tell; I must have been afoot many hours; mechanically had I moved

aside benches and desks, and had made for myself a path down its length. There I walked, and there, when

certain that the whole household were abed, and quite out of hearing there, I at last wept. Reliant on

Night, confiding in Solitude, I kept my tears sealed, my sobs chained, no longer; they heaved my heart; they

Soon after eleven o'clock a very late hour in the Rue Fossette the door unclosed, quietly but not

stealthily; a lamp's flame invaded the moonlight; Madame Beck entered, with the same composed air, as if

coming on an ordinary occasion, at an ordinary season. Instead of at once addressing me, she went to her

desk, took her keys, and seemed to seek something: she loitered over this feigned search long, too long. She

was calm, too calm; my mood scarce endured the pretence; driven beyond common range, two hours since I

had left behind me wonted respects and fears. Led by a touch, and ruled by a word, under usual

'It is more than time for retirement,' said Madame; 'the rule of the house has already been transgressed too

Madame met no answer: I did not check my walk; when she came in my way, I put her out of it.

'Let me persuade you to calm, Meess; let me lead you to your chamber,' said she, trying to speak softly.

'Your bed shall be warmed. Goton is sitting up still. She shall make you comfortable: she shall give you a

'Madame,' I broke out, 'you are a sensualist. Under all your serenity, your peace, and your decorum, you are

an undenied sensualist. Make your own bed warm and soft; take sedatives and meats, and drinks spiced and

sweet, as much as you will. If you have any sorrow or disappointment and, perhaps, you have nay, I

know you have seek your own palliatives, in your own chosen resources. Leave me, however. Leave me, I

'I forbid it. Let me alone. Keep your hand off me, and my life, and my troubles. Oh, Madame! in your hand

'Dog in the manger!' I said: for I knew she secretly wanted him, and had always wanted him. She called him

'insupportable': she railed at him for a 'dévot': she did not love, but she wanted to marry, that she might bind

him to her interest. Deep into some of Madame's secrets I had entered I know not how: by an intuition or

an inspiration which came to me I know not whence. In the course of living with her, too, I had slowly

learned, that, unless with an inferior, she must ever be a rival. She was my rival, heart and soul, though

secretly, under the smoothest bearing, and utterly unknown to all save her and myself.

Two minutes I stood over Madame, feeling that the whole woman was in my power, because in some moods,

such as the present in some stimulated states of perception, like that of this instant her habitual

disguise, her mask and her domino, were to me a mere network reticulated with holes; and I saw underneath a

being heartless, selfindulgent and ignoble. She quietly retreated from me: meek and selfpossessed, though

very uneasy, she said, 'If I would not be persuaded to take rest, she must reluctantly leave me.' Which she did

This was the sole flasheliciting, truthextorting, rencontre which ever occurred between me and Madame

Beck: this short night scene was never repeated. It did not one whit change her manner to me. I do not know

that she revenged it. I do not know that she hated me the worse for my fell candour. I think she bucklered

herself with the secret philosophy of her strong mind and resolved to forget what it irked her to remember. I

know that to the end of our mutual lives there occurred no repetition, of, nor allusion to, that fiery passage.

That night passed: all nights even the starless night before dissolution must wear away. About six

o'clock, the hour which called up the household, I went out to the court and washed my face in its cold, fresh

wellwater. Entering by the carré; a piece of mirrorglass, set in an oaken cabinet, repeated my image. It said

I was changed: my cheeks and lips were sodden white, my eyes were glassy, and my eyelids swollen and

On rejoining my companions, I knew they all looked at me my heart seemed discovered to them: I

believed myself selfbetrayed. Hideously certain did it seem that the very youngest of the school must guess

'Isabelle,' the child whom I had once nursed in sickness, approached me. Would she, too, mock me!

'Que vous êtes pâle! Vous êtes donc bien malade, mademoiselle!' said she, putting her finger in her mouth,

and staring with a wistful stupidity which at the moment seemed to me more beautiful than the keenest

Isabelle did not long stand alone in the recommendation of ignorance: before the day was over, I gathered

cause of gratitude towards the whole blind household. The multitude have something else to do than to read

hearts and interpret dark sayings. Who wills, may keep his own counsel be his own secret's sovereign. In

the course of that day, proof met me on proof; not only that the cause of my present sorrow was unguessed,

but that my whole inner life for the last six months, was still mine only. It was not known it had not been

noted that I held in peculiar value one life among all lives. Gossip had passed me by; curiosity had looked

me over; both subtle influences, hovering always round, had never become centred upon me. A given

organisation may live in a full fever hospital and escape typhus. M. Emanuel had come and gone: I had been

taught and sought; in season and out of season he had called me, and I had obeyed him: 'M. Paul wants Miss

Lucy' 'Miss Lucy is with M. Paul' such had been the perpetual bulletin; and nobody commented, far

less condemned. Nobody hinted, nobody jested. Madame Beck read the riddle: none else resolved it. What I

But what bodily illness was ever like this pain? This certainty that he was gone without a farewell this

cruel conviction that fate and pursuing furies a woman's envy and a priest's bigotry would suffer me to

see him no more? What wonder that the second evening found me like the first untamed, tortured, again

Madame Beck did not herself summon me to bed that night she did not come near me: she sent Ginevra

Fanshawe a more efficient agent for the purpose she could not have employed. Ginevra's first words 'Is

your headache very bad tonight?' (for Ginevra, like the rest, thought I had a headache an intolerable

headache which made me frightfully white in the face, and insanely restless in the foot) her first words, I

say, inspired the impulse to flee anywhere, so that it were only out of reach. And soon, what followed

I went upstairs. Presently I was in my bed my miserable bed haunted with quick scorpions. I had not

been laid down five minutes, when another emissary arrived: Goton came, bringing me something to drink. I

was consumed with thirst I drank eagerly; the beverage was sweet, but I tasted a drug.

'Madame says it will make you sleep, chouchou,' said Goton, as she received back the emptied cup.

Ah! the sedative had been administered. In fact, they had given me a strong opiate. I was to be held quiet for

The household came to bed, the night light was lit, the dormitory hushed. Sleep soon reigned: over those

pillows, sleep won an easy supremacy: contented sovereign over heads and hearts which did not ache he

The drug wrought. I know not whether Madame had overcharged or undercharged the dose; its result was not

that she intended. Instead of stupor, came excitement. I became alive to new thought to reverie peculiar in

colouring. A gathering call ran among the faculties, their bugles sang, their trumpets rang an untimely

summons. Imagination was roused from her rest, and she came forth impetuous and venturous. With scorn

'Rise!' she said; 'Sluggard! this night I will have my will; nor shalt thou prevail.'

'Look forth and view the night!' was her cry; and when I lifted the heavy blind from the casement close at

hand with her own royal gesture, she showed me a moon supreme, in an element deep and splendid.

To my gasping senses she made the glimmering gloom, the narrow limits, the oppressive heat of the

dormitory, intolerable. She lured me to leave this den and follow her forth into dew, coolness and glory.

She brought upon me a strange vision of Villette at midnight. Especially she showed the park, the summer

park, with its long alleys all silent, lone and safe; among these lay a huge stone basin that basin I knew,

and beside which I had often stood deep set in the tree shadows, brimming with cool water, clear, with a

green, leafy, rushy bed. What of all this? The park gates were shut up, locked, sentinelled: the place could not

Could it not? A point worth considering; and while revolving, it, I mechanically dressed. Utterly incapable of

sleeping or lying still excited from head to foot what could I do better than dress?

The gates were locked, soldiers set before them: was there, then, no admission to the park?

The other day, in walking past, I had seen, without then attending to the circumstance, a gap in the paling

one stake broken down: I now saw this gap again in recollection saw it very plainly the narrow,

irregular aperture visible between the stems of the lindens, planted orderly as a colonnade. A man could not

have made his way through that aperture, nor could a stout woman, perhaps not Madame Beck; but I thought

I might: I fancied I should like to try, and once within, at this hour the whole park would be mine the

How soundly the dormitory slept! What deep slumbers! What quiet breathing! How very still the whole large

house! What was the time? I felt restless to know. There stood a clock in the classe below; what hindered me

from venturing down to consult it? By such a moon, its large white face and jet black figures must be vividly

As for hindrance to this step, there offered not so much as a creaking hinge or a clicking latch. On these hot

July nights, close air could not be tolerated, and the chamber door stood wide open. Will the dormitory

planks sustain my tread untraitorous? Yes, I know wherever a board is loose, and will avoid it. The oak

The great classe doors are close shut: they are bolted. On the other hand, the entrance to the corridor stands

open. The classes seem to my thought, great dreary jails, buried far back beyond thoroughfares, and for me,

filled with spectral and intolerable Memories, laid miserable amongst their straw and their manacles. The

corridor offers a cheerful vista, leading to the high vestibule which opens direct upon the street.

Hush! the clock strikes. Ghostly deep as is the stillness of this convent, it is only eleven. While my ear

follows to silence the hum of the last stroke, I catch faintly from the builtout capital, a sound like bells or

like a band a sound where sweetness, where victory, where mourning blend. Oh, to approach this music

nearer, to listen to it alone by the rushy basin! Let me go oh, let me go! What hinders, what does not aid

There, in the corridor, hangs my garden costume, my large hat, my shawl. There is no lock on the huge,

heavy, portecochère; there is no key to seek: it fastens with a sort of springbolt, not to be opened from the

outside, but which, from within, may be noiselessly withdrawn. Can I manage it? It yields to my hands,

yields with propitious facility. I wonder as that portal seems almost spontaneously to unclose I wonder as

I cross the threshold and step on the paved street, wonder at the strange ease with which this prison has been

forced. It seems as if I had been pioneered invisibly, as if some dissolving force had gone before me: for

Quiet Rue Fossette! I find on this pavement that wandererwooing summer night of which I mused; I see its

moon over me; I feel its dew in the air. But here I cannot stay; I am still too near old haunts: so close under

the dungeon, I can hear the prisoners moan. This solemn peace is not what I seek: It is not what I can bear: to

me the face of that sky bears the aspect of a world's death. The park also will be calm I know, a mortal

I took a route well known, and went up towards the palatial and royal HauteVille; thence the music I had

heard certainly floated; it was hushed now, but it might rewaken. I went on: neither band nor bell music

came to meet me; another sound replaced it, a sound like a strong tide, a great flow, deepening as I

proceeded. Light broke, movement gathered, chimes pealed to what was I coming? Entering on the level

of a Grande Place, I found myself; with the suddenness of magic, plunged amidst a gay, living, joyous crowd.

Villette is one blaze, one broad illumination; the whole world seems abroad; moonlight and heaven are

banished: the town, by her own flambeaux, beholds her own splendour gay dresses, grand equipages, fine

horses and gallant riders throng the bright streets. I see even scores of masks. It is a strange scene, stranger

than dreams. But where is the park? I ought to be near it. In the midst of this glare the park must be

I was asking this question, when an open carriage passed me filled with known faces. Through the deep

throng it could pass but slowly; the spirited horses fretted in their curbed ardour. I saw the occupants of that

carriage well: me they could not see, or, at least, not know, folded close in my large shawl, screened with my

straw hat (in that motley crowd no dress was noticeably strange). I saw the Count de Bassompierre; I saw my

godmother, handsomely apparelled, comely and cheerful; I saw, too, Paulina Mary, compassed with the triple

halo of her beauty, her youth, and her happiness. In looking on her countenance of joy, and eyes of festal

light, one scarce remembered to note the gala elegance of what she wore; I know only that the drapery

floating about her was all white and light and bridal; seated opposite to her I saw Graham Bretton; it was in

looking up at him her aspect had caught its lustre the light repeated in her eyes beamed first out of his.

It gave me strange pleasure to follow these friends viewlessly, and I did follow them, as I thought, to the

park. I watched them alight (carriages were inadmissible) amidst new and unanticipated splendours. Lo! the

iron gateway, between the stone columns, was spanned by a flaming arch built of massed stars; and,

In a land of enchantment, a garden most gorgeous, a plain sprinkled with coloured meteors, a forest with

sparks of purple and ruby and golden fire gemming the foliage; a region, not of trees and shadow, but of

strangest architectural wealth of altar and of temple, of pyramid, obelisk and sphinx; incredible to say, the

No matter that in five minutes the secret was mine the key of the mystery picked up, and its illusion

unveiled no matter that I quickly recognised the material of these solemn fragments the timber, the

paint and the pasteboard these inevitable discoveries failed to quite destroy the charm, or undermine the

marvel of that night. No matter that I now seized the explanation of the whole great fête a fête of which

the conventual Rue Fossette had not tasted, though it had opened at dawn that morning, and was still in full

In past days there had been, said history, an awful crisis in the fate of Labassecour, involving I know not what

peril to the rights and liberties of her gallant citizens. Rumours of wars there had been, if not wars

themselves; a kind of struggling in the streets a bustle a running to and fro, some rearing of barricades,

some burgher rioting, some calling out of troops, much interchange of brickbats, and even a little of shot.

Tradition held that patriots had fallen: in the old BasseVille was shown an enclosure, solemnly built in and

set apart, holding, it was said, the sacred bones of martyrs. Be this as it may, a certain day in the year was still

kept as a festival in honour of the said patriots and martyrs of somewhat apocryphal memory the morning

being given to a solemn Te Deum in St. Jean Baptiste, the evening devoted to spectacles, decorations and

While looking up at the image of a white ibis, fixed on a column while fathoming the deep, torchlit

perspective of an avenue, at the close of which was couched a sphynx I lost sight of the party which, from

the middle of the great square, I had followed or, rather, they vanished like a group of apparitions. On this

whole scene was impressed a dreamlike character; every shape was wavering, every movement floating,

every voice echolike half mocking, half uncertain. Paulina and her friends being gone, I scarce could

avouch that I had really seen them; nor did I miss them as guides through the chaos, far less regret them as

That festal night would have been safe for a very child. Half the peasantry had come in from the outlying

environs of Villette, and the decent burghers were all abroad and around, dressed in their best. My straw hat

past amidst cap and jacket, short petticoat and long calico mantle, without, perhaps, attracting a glance; I only

took the precaution to bind down the broad leaf gipsywise, with a supplementary ribbon and then I felt

Safe I passed down the avenues safe I mixed with the crowd where it was deepest. To be still was not in

my power, nor quietly to observe. I took a revel of the scene; I drank the elastic night air the swell of

sound, the dubious light, now flashing, now fading. As to Happiness or Hope, they and I had shaken hands,

My vague aim, as I went, was to find the stone basin, with its clear depth and green lining: of that coolness

and verdure I thought, with the passionate thirst of unconscious fever. Amidst the glare and hurry, and throng

and noise, I still secretly and chiefly longed to come on that circular mirror of crystal, and surprise the moon

I knew my route, yet it seemed as if I was hindered from pursuing it direct: now a sight, and now a sound,

called me aside, luring me down this alley and down that. Already I saw the thickplanted trees which

framed this tremulous and rippled glass, when, choiring out of a glade to the right, broke such a sound as I

thought might be heard if Heaven were to open such a sound, perhaps, as was heard above the plain of

The song, the sweet music, rose afar, but rushing swiftly on faststrengthening pinions there swept

through these shades so full a storm of harmonies that, had no tree been near against which to lean, I think I

must have dropped. Voices were there, it seemed to me, unnumbered; instruments varied and countless

bugle, horn and trumpet I knew. The effect was as a sea breaking into song with all its waves.

The swaying tide swept this way, and then it fell back, and I followed its retreat. It led me towards a

Byzantine building a sort of kiosk near the park's centre: Round about stood crowded thousands, gathered

to a grand concert in the open air. What I had heard was, I think, a wild Jäger chorus; the night, the space, the

Here were assembled ladies, looking by this light most beautiful: some of their dresses were gauzy, and some

had the sheen of satin; the flowers and the blond trembled, and the veils waved about their decorated bonnets,

as that hostlike chorus, with its greatlygathering sound, sundered the air above them. Most of these ladies

occupied the little light park chairs, and behind and beside them stood guardian gentlemen. The outer ranks of

In this outer rank I took my place. I rather liked to find myself the silent, unknown, consequently unaccosted

neighbour of the short petticoat and the sabot; and only the distant gazer at the silk robe, the velvet mantle

and the plumed chapeau. Amidst so much life and joy, too, it suited me to be alone quite alone. Having

neither wish nor power to force my way through a mass so close packed, my station was on the farthest

'Mademoiselle is not well placed,' said a voice at my elbow. Who dared accost me, a being in a mood so little

social? I turned, rather to repel than to reply. I saw a man a burgher an entire stranger, as I deemed him

for one moment, but the next, recognised in him a certain tradesman a bookseller, whose shop furnished

the Rue Fossette with its books and stationery; a man notorious in our pensionnat for the excessive brittleness

of his temper and frequent snappishness of his manner, even to us, his principal customers: but whom, for my

solitary self I had ever been disposed to like, and had always found civil, sometimes kind; once, in aiding me

about some troublesome little exchange of foreign money, he had done me a service. He was an intelligent

man; under his asperity, he was a goodhearted man; the thought had sometimes crossed me that a part of his

nature bore affinity to a part of M. Emanuel's (whom he knew well, and whom I had often seen sitting on

Miret's counter, turning over the current month's publications); and it was in this affinity I read the

explanation of that conciliatory feeling with which I instinctively regarded him.

Strange to say, this man knew me under my straw hat and closelyfolded shawl; and though I deprecated the

effort, he insisted on making a way for me through the crowd, and finding me a better situation. He carried

his disinterested civility further; and, from some quarter, procured me a chair. Once and again I have found

that the most crossgrained are by no means the worst of mankind; nor the humblest in station, the least

polished in feeling. This man, in his courtesy, seemed to find nothing strange in my being here alone; only a

reason for extending to me, as far as he could, a retiring, yet efficient attention. Having secured me a place

and a seat, he withdrew without asking a question, without obtruding a remark, without adding a superfluous

word. No wonder that Professor Emanuel liked to take his cigar and his lounge, and to read his feuilleton in

I had not been seated five minutes ere I became aware that chance and my worthy burgher friend had brought

me once more within view of a familiar and domestic group. Right before me sat the Brettons and De

Bassompierres. Within reach of my hand had I chosen to extend it sat a figure like a fairy queen,

whose array, lilies and their leaves seemed to have suggested; whatever was not spotless white, being

forestgreen. My godmother, too, sat so near, that, had I leaned forward, my breath might have stirred the

ribbon of her bonnet. They were too near; having been just recognised by a comparative stranger, I felt

It made me quite start when Mrs. Bretton, turning to Mr. Home, and speaking out of a kind impulse of

'I wonder what my steady little Lucy would say to all this if she were here? I wish we had brought her, she

'So she would, so she would, in her grave sensible fashion; it is a pity but we had asked her,' rejoined the kind

gentleman; and added, 'I like to see her so quietly pleased; so little moved, yet so content.'

Dear were they both to me, dear are they to this day in their remembered benevolence. Little knew they the

rack of pain which had driven Lucy almost into fever, and brought her out, guideless and reckless, urged and

drugged to the brink of frenzy. I had half a mind to bend over the elders' shoulders, and answer their

goodness with the thanks of my eyes. M. de Bassompierre did not well know me, but I knew him, and

honoured and admired his nature, with all its plain sincerity, its warm affection, and unconscious enthusiasm.

Possibly I might have spoken, but just then Graham turned; he turned with one of his stately firm movements,

so different from those of a sharptempered undersized man: there was behind him a throng, a hundred ranks

deep; there were hundreds to meet his eye and divide its scrutiny why then did he concentrate all on me

oppressing me with the whole force of that full, blue, steadfast orb? Why, if he would look, did not one

glance satisfy him? why did he turn on his chair, rest his elbow on its back, and study me leisurely? He could

not see my face, I held it down; surely, he could not recognise me: I stooped, I turned, I would not be known.

He rose, by some means he contrived to approach, in two minutes he would have had my secret: my identity

would have been grasped between his, never tyrannous, but always powerful hands. There was but one way

to evade or to check him. I implied, by a sort of supplicatory gesture, that it was my prayer to be let alone;

after that, had he persisted, he would perhaps have seen the spectacle of Lucy incensed: not all that was

grand, or good, or kind in him (and Lucy felt the full amount) should have kept her quite tame, or absolutely

inoffensive and shadowlike. He looked, but he desisted. He shook his handsome head, but he was mute. He

resumed his seat, nor did he again turn or disturb me by a glance, except indeed for one single instant, when a

look, rather solicitous than curious, stole my way speaking what somehow stilled my heart like 'the south

wind quieting the earth.' Graham's thoughts of me were not entirely those of a frozen indifference, after all. I

believe in that goodly mansion, his heart, he kept one little place under the skylights where Lucy might have

entertainment, if she chose to call. It was not so handsome as the chambers where he lodged his male friends;

it was not like the hall where he accommodated his philanthropy, or the library where he treasured his

science, still less did it resemble the pavilion where his marriage feast was splendidly spread; yet, gradually,

by long and equal kindness, he proved to me that he kept one little closet, over the door of which was written

'Lucy's Room.' I kept a place for him too a place of which I never took the measure, either by rule or

compass: I think it was like the tent of PeriBanou. All my life long I carried it folded in the hollow of my

hand yet, released from that hold and constriction, I knew not but its innate capacity for expanse might

Forbearing as he was tonight, I could not stay in this proximity; this dangerous place and seat must be given

up: I watched my opportunity, rose, and stole away. He might think, he might even believe that Lucy was

contained within that shawl, and sheltered under that hat; he never could be certain, for he did not see my

Surely the spirit of restlessness was by this time appeased? Had I not had enough of adventure? Did I not

begin to flag, quail, and wish for safety under a roof? Not so. I still loathed my bed in the school dormitory

more than words can express: I clung to whatever could distract thought. Somehow I felt, too, that the night's

drama was but begun, that the prologue was scarce spoken: throughout this woody and turfy theatre reigned a

shadow of mystery; actors and incidents unlookedfor, waited behind the scenes: I thought so: foreboding

Straying at random, obeying the push of every chance elbow, I was brought to a quarter where trees planted

in clusters, or towering singly, broke up somewhat the dense packing of the crowd, and gave it a more

scattered character. These confines were far from the music, and somewhat aloof even from the lamp, but

there was sound enough to soothe, and with that full, high moon, lamps were scarce needed. Here had chiefly

settled family groups, burgher parents; some of them, late as was the hour, actually surrounded by their

children, with whom it had not been thought advisable to venture into the closer throng.

Three fine tall trees growing close, almost twined stem within stem, lifted a thick canopy of shade above a

green knoll, crowned with a seat a seat which might have held several, yet it seemed abandoned to one,

the remaining members of the fortunate party in possession of this site standing dutifully round; yet, amongst

When I caught sight of this little girl, she was twisting herself round on her heel, swinging from her

conductress's hand, flinging herself from side to side with wanton and fantastic gyrations. These perverse

movements arrested my attention, they struck me as of a character fearfully familiar. On close inspection, no

less so appeared the child's equipment; the lilac silk pelisse, the small swansdown boa, the white bonnet

the whole holiday toilette, in short, was the gala garb of a cherub but too well known, of that tadpole, Désirée

I might have taken this discovery as a thunderclap, but such hyperbole would have been premature;

On whose hand could the amiable Désirée swing thus selfishly, whose glove could she tear thus recklessly,

whose arm thus strain with impunity, or on the borders of whose dress thus turn and trample insolently, if not

the hand, glove, arm and robe of her lady mother? And there, in an Indian shawl and a palegreen crape

Curious! I had certainly deemed Madame in her bed, and Désirée in her crib, at this blessed minute, sleeping,

both of them, the sleep of the just, within the sacred walls, amidst the profound seclusion of the Rue Fossette.

Most certainly also they did not picture 'Meess Lucie' otherwise engaged; and here we all three were taking

The fact was, Madame was only acting according to her quite justifiable wont. I remembered now I had heard

it said among the teachers though without at the time particularly noticing the gossip that often, when

we thought Madame in her chamber, sleeping, she was gone, fulldressed, to take her pleasure at operas, or

plays, or balls. Madame had no sort of taste for a monastic life, and took care largely, though discreetly

Halfadozen gentlemen of her friends stood about her. Amongst these, I was not slow to recognise two or

three. There was her brother, M. Victor Kint; there was another person, moustached and with long hair a

calm, taciturn man, but whose traits bore a stamp and a semblance I could not mark unmoved. Amidst reserve

and phlegm, amidst contrasts of character and of countenance, something there still was which recalled a face

mobile, fervent, feeling a face changeable, now clouded, and now alight a face from my world

taken away, for my eyes lost, but where my best spring hours of life had alternated in shadow and in glow;

that face, where I had often seen movements so near the signs of genius that why there did not shine fully

out the undoubted fire, the thing, the spirit, and the secret itself I could never tell. Yes this Josef

Besides Messieurs Victor and Josef; I knew another of this party. This third person stood behind and in the

shade, his attitude too was stooping, yet his dress and bald white head made him the most conspicuous figure

of the group. He was an ecclesiastic: he was Père Silas. Do not fancy, reader, that there was any inconsistency

in the priest's presence at this féte. This was not considered a show of Vanity Fair, but a commemoration of

patriotic sacrifice. The Church patronised it, even with ostentation. There were troops of priests in the park

Père Silas stooped over the seat with its single occupant, the rustic bench and that which sat upon it: a strange

mass it was bearing no shape, yet magnificent. You saw, indeed, the outline of a face and features, but

these were so cadaverous and so strangely placed, you could almost have fancied a head severed from its

trunk, and flung at random on a pile of rich merchandise. The distant lamp rays glanced on clear pendants, on

broad rings; neither the chasteness of moonlight, nor the distance of the torches, could quite subdue the

gorgeous dyes of the drapery. Hail, Madame Walravens! I think you looked more witchlike than ever. And

presently the good lady proved that she was indeed no corpse or ghost, but a harsh and hardy old woman; for,

upon some aggravation in the clamorous petition of Désirée Beck to her mother, to go to the kiosk and take

sweetmeats, the hunchback suddenly fetched her a resounding rap with her goldknobbed cane.

There, then, were Madame Walravens, Madame Beck, Père Silas the whole conjuration, the secret junta.

The sight of them thus assembled did me good. I cannot say that I felt weak before them, or abashed, or

dismayed. They outnumbered me, and I was worsted, and under their very feet; but, as yet, I was not dead.

Fascinated as by a basilisk with three heads, I could not leave this clique, the ground near them seemed to

hold my feet. The canopy of entwined trees held out shadow, the night whispered a pledge of protection, and

an officious lamp flashed just one beam to show me an obscure, safe seat, and then vanished. Let me now

briefly tell the reader all that, during the past dark fortnight, I have been silently gathering from Rumour,

respecting the origin and the object of M. Emanuel's departure. The tale is short; and not new its alpha is

If Madame Walravens was as hideous as a Hindoo idol, she seemed also to possess, in the estimation of these

her votaries, an idol's consequence. The fact was, she had been rich very rich; and though, for the present,

without the command of money, she was likely one day to be rich again. At Basseterre in Guadaloupe, she

possessed a large estate, received in dowry on her marriage sixty years ago, sequestered since her husband's

failure; but now, it was supposed, cleared of claim, and, if duly looked after by a competent agent of

integrity, considered capable of being made, in a few years, largely productive.

Père Silas took an interest in this prospective improvement for the sake of religion and the Church, whereof

Magloire Walravens was a devout daughter. Madame Beck, distantly related to the hunchback and knowing

her to be without family of her own, had long brooded over contingencies with a mother's calculating

forethought, and, harshly treated as she was by Madame Walravens, never ceased to court her for interest's

sake. Madame Beck and the priest were thus, for money reasons, equally and sincerely interested in the

But the distance was great, and the climate hazardous. The competent and upright agent wanted, must be a

devoted man. Just such a man had Madame Walravens retained for twenty years in her service, blighting his

life, and then living on him, like an old fungus; such a man had Père Silas trained, taught, and bound to him

by the ties of gratitude, habit and belief. Such a man Madame Beck knew, and could in some measure

influence. 'My pupil,' said Père Silas, 'if he remains in Europe, runs risk of apostacy, for he has become

entangled with a heretic.' Madame Beck made also her private comment, and preferred in her own breast her

secret reason for desiring expatriation. The thing she could not obtain, she desired not another to win: rather

would she destroy it. As to Madame Walravens, she wanted her money and her land, and knew Paul, if he

liked, could make the best and faithfullest steward: so the three selfseekers banded and beset the one

unselfish. They reasoned, they appealed, they implored; on his mercy they cast themselves, into his hands

they confidingly thrust their interests. They asked but two or three years of devotion after that, he should

live for himself: one of the number, perhaps, wished that in the meantime he might die.

No living being ever humbly laid his advantage at M. Emanuel's feet, or confidingly put it into his hands, that

he spurned the trust or repulsed the repository. What might be his private pain or inward reluctance to leave

Europe what his calculations for his own future none asked, or knew, or reported. All this was a blank

to me. His conferences with his confessor I might guess; the part duty and religion were made to play in the

persuasions used, I might conjecture. He was gone and had made no sign. There my knowledge closed.

With my head bent, and my forehead resting on my hands, I sat amidst grouped tree stems and branching

brushwood. Whatever talk passed amongst my neighbours, I might hear, if I would; I was near enough; but

for some time, there was scarce motive to attend. They gossiped about the dresses, the music, the

illuminations, the fine night. I listened to hear them say, 'It is calm weather for his voyage; the Antigua' (his

ship) 'will sail prosperously.' No such remark fell; neither the Antigua, nor her course, nor her passenger were

Perhaps the light chat scarcely interested old Madame Walravens more than it did me; she appeared restless,

turning her head now to this side, now that, looking through the trees, and among the crowd, as if expectant

of an arrival and impatient of delay. 'Où sontils? Pourquoi ne viennentils?' I heard her mutter more than

once; and at last, as if determined to have an answer to her question which hitherto none seemed to mind,

she spoke aloud this phrase a phrase brief enough, simple enough, but it sent a shock through me

'Justine Marie!' What was this? Justine Marie the dead nun where was she? Why, in her grave,

Madame Walravens what can you want with her? You shall go to her, but she shall not come to you.

Thus I should have answered, had the response lain with me, but nobody seemed to be of my mind; nobody

seemed surprised, startled, or at a loss. The quietest commonplace answer met the strange, the

'Justine Marie,' said one, 'is coming; she is in the kiosk; she will be here presently.'

Out of this question and reply sprang a change in the chat chat it still remained easy, desultory,

familiar gossip. Hint, allusion, comment, went round the circle, but all so broken, so dependent on references

to persons not named, or circumstances not defined, that, listen as intently as I would and I did listen now

with a fated interest I could make out no more than that some scheme was on foot, in which this ghostly

Justine Marie dead or alive was concerned. This family junta seemed grasping at her somehow, for

some reason; there seemed question of a marriage, of a fortune, for whom I could not quite make out

perhaps for Victor Kint, perhaps for Josef Emanuel both were bachelors. Once I thought the hints and

jests rained upon a young fairhaired foreigner of the party, whom they called Heinrich Mühler. Amidst all

the badinage, Madame Walravens still obtruded from time to time, hoarse, crossgrained speeches; her

impatience being diverted only by an implacable surveillance of Désirée, who could not stir but the old

'Là voilà!' suddenly cried one of the gentlemen, 'voilà Justine Marie qui arrive!'

This moment was for me peculiar. I called up to memory the pictured nun on the panel; present to my mind

was the sad lovestory; I saw in thought the vision of the garret, the apparition of the alley, the strange birth

of the berceau: I underwent a presentiment of discovery, a strong conviction of coming disclosure. Ah! when

imagination once runs riot where do we stop? What winter tree so bare and branchless what wayside,

hedgemunching animal so humble, that Fancy, a passing cloud, and a struggling moonbeam, will not clothe

With solemn force pressed on my heart, the expectation of mystery breaking up: hitherto I had seen this

spectre only through a glass darkly; now was I to behold it face to face. I leaned forward; I looked.

The circle opened as if opening to admit a new and welcome member. At this instant a torch chanced to be

carried past; its blaze aided the pale moon in doing justice to the crisis, in lighting to perfection the

dénouement pressing on. Surely those near me must have felt some little of the anxiety I felt, in degree so

unmeted. Of that group the coolest must have 'held his breath for a time!' As for me, my life stood still.

It is over. The moment and the nun are come. The crisis and the revelation are passed by.

The flambeau glares still within a yard, held up in a parkkeeper's hand its long eager tongue of flame almost

licks the figure of the Expected there where she stands full in my sight? What is she like? What does

There are many masks in the Park tonight, and as the hour wears late, so strange a feeling of revelry and

mystery begins to spread abroad, that scarce would you discredit me, reader, were I to say that she is like the

nun of the attic, that she wears black skirts and white headclothes, that she looks the resurrection of the

All falsities all figments! We will not deal in this gear. Let us be honest, and cut, as heretofore, from the

Homely, though, is an illchosen word. What I see is not precisely homely. A girl of Villette stands there

a girl fresh from her pensionnat. She is very comely, with the beauty indigenous to this country. She looks

wellnourished, fair and fat of flesh. Her cheeks are round, her eyes good; her hair is abundant. She is

handsomely dressed. She is not alone; her escort consists of three persons two being elderly; these she

addresses as 'Mon Oncle' and 'Ma Tante.' She laughs, she chats; goodhumoured, buxom and blooming, she

So much for 'Justine Marie'; so much for ghosts and mystery: not that this last was solved this girl

certainly is not my nun; what I saw in the garret and garden must have been taller by a span.

We have looked at the city belle; we have cursorily glanced at the respectable old uncle and aunt. Have we a

stray glance to give to the third member of this company? Can we spare him a moment's notice? We ought to

distinguish him so far, reader; he has claims on us; we do not now meet him for the first time. I clasped my

hands very hard, and I drew my breath very deep I held in the cry, I devoured the ejaculation. I forbade the

start, I spoke and I stirred no more than a stone; but I knew what I looked on; through the dimness left in my

eyes by many nights' weeping, I knew him. They said he was to sail by the Antigua. Madame Beck said so.

She lied, or she had uttered what was once truth, and failed to contradict it when it became false. The Antigua

Was I glad? A huge load left me. Was it a fact to warrant joy? I know not. Ask first what were the

circumstances attendant on this respite? How far did this delay concern me? Were there not those whom it

After all, who may this young girl, this Justine Marie, be? Not a stranger, reader; she is known to me by

sight; she visits at the Rue Fossette: she is often of Madame Beck's Sunday parties. She is a relation of both

the Becks and Walravens; she derives her baptismal name from the sainted nun who would have been her

aunt had she lived: her patronymic is Sauveur; she is an heiress and an orphan, and M. Emanuel is her

guardian; some say her godfather. The family junta wish this heiress to be married to one of their band

I felt very glad now, that the drug administered in the sweet draught had filled me with a possession which

made bed and chamber intolerable. I always, through my whole life, liked to penetrate to the real truth; I like

seeking the goddess in her temple, and handling the veil, and daring the dread glance. O Titaness among

deities! The covered outline of thine aspect sickens often through its uncertainty, but define to us one trait,

show us one lineament, clear in awful sincerity; we may gasp in untold terror, but with that gasp we drink in a

breath of the divinity; our heart shakes, and its currents sway like rivers lifted by earthquake, but we have

swallowed strength. To see and know the worst is to take from Fear her main advantage.

The Walravens' party, augmented in numbers, now became very gay. The gentlemen fetched refreshments

from the kiosk, all sat down on the turf under the trees; they drank healths and sentiments; they laughed, they

jested. M. Emanuel underwent some raillery, half goodhumoured, half; I thought, malicious, especially on

Madame Beck's part. I soon gathered that his voyage had been temporarily deferred of his own will, without

the concurrence, even against the advice, of his friends; he had let the Antigua go, and had taken his berth in

the Paul et Virginie, appointed to sail a fortnight later. It was his reason for this resolve which they teased

him to assign, and which he would only vaguely indicate as 'the settlement of a little piece of business which

he had set his heart upon.' What was this business? Nobody knew. Yes, there was one who seemed partly, at

least, in his confidence; a meaning look passed between him and Justine Marie. 'La petite va m'aider

'Mais oui, je vous aiderai de tout mon coeur. Vous ferez de moi tout ce que vous voudrez, mon parrain.'

And this dear 'parrain' took her hand and lifted it to his grateful lips. Upon which demonstration, I saw the

lightcomplexioned young Teuton, Heinrich Mühler, grow restless, as if he did not like it. He even grumbled

a few words, whereat M. Emanuel actually laughed in his face, and with the ruthless triumph of the assured

M. Emanuel was indeed very joyous that night. He seemed not one whit subdued by the change of scene and

action impending. He was the true life of the party; a little despotic perhaps, determined to be chief in mirth,

as well as in labour, yet from moment to moment proving indisputably his right of leadership. His was the

wittiest word, the pleasantest anecdote, the frankest laugh. Restlessly active, after his manner, he multiplied

himself to wait on all: but oh! I saw which was his favourite. I saw at whose feet he lay on the turf; I saw

whom he folded carefully from the night air, whom he tended, watched and cherished as the apple of his eye.

Still, hint and raillery flew thick, and still I gathered that while M. Paul should be absent, working for others,

these others, not quite ungrateful, would guard for him the treasure he left in Europe. Let him bring them an

Indian fortune: they would give him in return a young bride and a rich inheritance. As for the saintly

consecration, the vow of constancy, that was forgotten: the blooming and charming Present prevailed over the

Thus it must be. The revelation was indeed come. Presentiment had not been mistaken in her impulse: there is

a kind of presentiment which never is mistaken; it was I who had for a moment miscalculated; not seeing the

true bearing of the oracle, I had thought she muttered of vision when, in truth, her prediction touched reality.

I might have paused longer upon what I saw; I might have deliberated ere I drew inferences. Some, perhaps,

would have held the premises doubtful, the proofs insufficient; some slow sceptics would have incredulously

examined ere they conclusively accepted the project of a marriage between a poor and unselfish man of forty,

and his wealthy ward of eighteen; but far from me such shifts and palliatives, far from me such temporary

evasion of the actual, such coward fleeing from the dread, the swiftfooted, the allovertaking Fact, such

feeble suspense of submission to her the sole sovereign, such paltering and faltering resistance to the Power

whose errand is to march conquering and to conquer, such traitor defection from the TRUTH.

No. I hastened to accept the whole plan. I extended my grasp and took it all in. I gathered it to me with a sort

of rage of haste, and folded it round me, as the soldier struck on the fields folds his colours about his breast. I

invoked Conviction to nail upon me the certainty, abhorred while embraced, to fix it with the strongest spikes

her strongest strokes could drive; and when the iron had entered well my soul, I stood up, as I thought,

In my infatuation, I said, 'Truth, you are a good mistress to your faithful servants! While a Lie pressed me,

how I suffered! Even when the Falsehood was still sweet, still flattering to the fancy, and warm to the

feelings, it wasted me with hourly torment. The persuasion that affection was won could not be divorced from

the dread that, by another turn of the wheel, it might be lost. Truth stripped away Falsehood, and Flattery, and

Nothing remained now but to take my freedom to my chamber, to carry it with me to my bed and see what I

could make of it. The play was not yet, indeed, quite played out. I might have waited and watched longer that

love scene under the trees, that sylvan courtship. Had there been nothing of love in the demonstration, my

Fancy in this hour was so generous, so creative, she could have modelled for it the most salient lineaments,

and given it the deepest life and highest colour of passion. But I would not look; I had fixed my resolve, but I

would not violate my nature. And then something tore me so cruelly under my shawl, something so dug

into my side, a vulture so strong in beak and talon, I must be alone to grapple with it. I think I never felt

jealousy till now. This was not like enduring the endearments of Dr. John and Paulina, against which while I

sealed my eyes and my ears, while I withdrew thence my thoughts, my sense of harmony still acknowledged

in it a charm. This was an outrage. The love born of beauty was not mine; I had nothing in common with it: I

could not dare to meddle with, it, but another love, venturing diffidently into life after long acquaintance,

furnacetried by pain, stamped by constancy, consolidated by affection's pure and durable alloy, submitted

by intellect to intellect's own tests; and finally wrought up, by his own process, to his own unflawed

completeness, this Love that laughed at Passion, his fast frenzies and his hot and hurried extinction, in this

Love I had a vested interest; and whatever tended either to its culture or its destruction, I could not view

I turned from the group of trees and the 'merrie companie' in its shade. Midnight was long past; the concert

was over, the crowds were thinning. I followed the ebb. Leaving the radiant park and welllit HauteVille

(still welllit, this it seems was to be a 'nuit blanche' in Villette), I sought the dim lower quarter.

Dim I should not say, for the beauty of moonlight forgotten in the park here once more flowed in upon

perception. High she rode, and calm and stainlessly she shone. The music and the mirth of the fête, the fire

and bright hues of those lamps had outdone and outshone her for an hour, but now, again, her glory and her

silence triumphed. The rival lamps were dying: she held her course like a white fate. Drum, trumpet, bugle,

had uttered their clangour, and were forgotten; with pencilray she wrote on heaven and on earth records for

archives everlasting. She and those stars seemed to me at once the types and witnesses of truth all regnant.

The night sky lit her reign: like its slow wheeling progress, advanced her victory that onward movement

These oiltwinkling streets are very still: I like them for their lowliness and peace. Homeward bound

burghers pass me now and then, but these companies are pedestrian, make little noise, and are soon gone. So

well do I love Villette under her present aspect, not willingly would I reenter under a roof; but that I am bent

on pursuing my strange adventure to a successful close, and quietly regaining my bed in the great dormitory,

Only one street lies between me and the Rue Fossette; as I enter it, for the first time, the sound of a carriage

tears up the deep peace of this quarter. It comes this way comes very fast. How loud sounds its rattle on

the paved path! The street is narrow, and I keep carefully to the causeway. The carriage thunders past, but

what do I see, or fancy I see, as it rushes by? Surely something white fluttered from that window surely a

hand waved a handkerchief. Was that signal meant for me? Am I known? Who could recognise me? That is

not M. de Bassompierre's carriage, nor Mrs. Bretton's; and besides, neither the Hôtel Crécy nor the château of

La Terrasse lies in that direction. Well, I have no time for conjecture; I must hurry home.

Gaining the Rue Fossette, reaching the pensionnat, all there was still; no fiacre had yet arrived with Madame

and Désirée. I had left the great door ajar; should I find it thus? Perhaps the wind or some other accident may

have thrown it to with sufficient force to start the springbolt? In that case, hopeless became admission; my

adventure must issue in catastrophe. I lightly pushed the heavy leaf; would it yield?

Yes. As soundless, as unresisting, as if some propitious genius had waited on a sesame charm, in the

vestibule within. Entering with bated breath, quietly making all fast, shoelessly mounting the staircase, I

Ay! I reached it, and once more drew a free inspiration. The next moment, I almost shrieked almost, but

Throughout the dormitory, throughout the house, there reigned at this hour the stillness of death. All slept,

and in such hush, it seemed that none dreamed. Stretched on the nineteen beds lay nineteen forms, at full

length and motionless. On mine the twentieth couch nothing ought to have lain I had left it void, and

void should have found it. What, then, do I see between the halfdrawn curtains? What dark, usurping shape,

supine, long and strange? Is it a robber who has made his way through the open street door, and lies there in

wait? It looks very black, I think it looks not human. Can it be a wandering dog that has come in from the

street and crept and nestled hither? Will it spring, will it leap out if I approach? Approach I must. Courage!

My head reeled, for by the faint nightlamp, I saw stretched on my bed the old phantom the NUN.

A cry at this moment might have ruined me. Be the spectacle what it might, I could afford neither

consternation, scream, nor swoon. Besides, I was not overcome. Tempered by late incidents, my nerves

disdained hysteria. Warm from illuminations, and music, and thronging thousands, thoroughly lashed up by a

new scourge, I defied spectra. In a moment, without exclamation, I had rushed on the haunted couch; nothing

leaped out, or sprung, or stirred; all the movement was mine, so was all the life, the reality, the substance, the

force; as my instinct felt. I tore her up the incubus! I held her on high the goblin! I shook her loose

the mystery! And down she fell down all around me down in shreds and fragments and I trod upon

Here again behold the branchless tree, the unstabled Rosinante; the film of cloud, the flicker of

moonshine. The long nun proved a long bolster dressed in a long black stole, and artfully invested with a

white veil. The garments in very truth, strange as it may seem, were genuine nun's garments, and by some

hand they had been disposed with a view to illusion. Whence came these vestments? Who contrived this

artifice? These questions still remained. To the headbandage was pinned a slip of paper: it bore in pencil

'The nun of the attic bequeaths to Lucy Snowe her wardrobe. She will be seen in the Rue Fossette no more.'

And what and who was she that had haunted me? She, I had actually seen three times? Not a woman of my

acquaintance had the stature of that ghost. She was not of female height. Not to any man I knew could the

Still mystified, beyond expression, but as thoroughly, as suddenly, relieved from all sense of the spectral and

unearthly; scorning also to wear out my brain with the fret of a trivial though insoluble riddle, I just bundled

together stole, veil, and bandages, thrust them beneath my pillow, lay down, listened till I heard the wheels of

Madame's homereturning fiacre, then turned, and worn out by many nights' vigils, conquered, too, perhaps,

The day succeeding this remarkable midsummer night, proved no common day. I do not mean that it brought

signs in heaven above, or portents on the earth beneath; nor do I allude to meteorological phenomena, to

storm, flood, or whirlwind. On the contrary: the sun rose jocund, with a July face. Morning decked her beauty

with rubies, and so filled her lap with roses, that they fell from her in showers, making her path blush: the

hours woke fresh as nymphs, and emptying on the early hills their dew vials, they stepped out dismantled of

vapour: shadowless, azure and glorious, they led the sun's steeds on a burning and unclouded course.

In short, it was as fine a day as the finest summer could boast: but I doubt whether I was not the sole

inhabitant of the Rue Fossette, who cared or remembered to note this pleasant fact. Another thought busied

all other heads; a thought, indeed, which had its share in my meditations; but this master consideration, not

possessing for me so entire a novelty, so overwhelming a suddenness, especially so dense a mystery, as it

offered to the majority of my cospeculators thereon, left me somewhat more open than the rest to any

Still, while walking in the garden, feeling the sunshine, and marking the blooming and growing plants, I

Merely this. When matins came to be said, there was a place vacant in the first rank of boarders. When

breakfast was served, there remained a coffee cup unclaimed. When the housemaid made the beds, she found

in one a bolster laid lengthwise, clad in a cap and nightgown; and when Ginevra Fanshawe's musicmistress

came early, as usual, to give the morning lesson, that accomplished and promising young person, her pupil,

High and low was Miss Fanshawe sought; through length and breadth was the house ransacked; vainly; not a

trace, not an indication, not so much as a scrap of a billet rewarded the search; the nymph was vanished,

Deep was the dismay of surveillante teachers, deeper the horror of the defaulting directress. Never had I seen

Madame Beck so pale or so appalled. Here was a blow struck at her tender part, her weak side; here was

damage done to her interest. How, too, had the untoward event happened? By what outlet had the fugitive

taken wing? Not a casement was found unfastened, not a pane of glass broken; all the doors were bolted

secure. Never to this day has Madame Beck obtained satisfaction on this point, nor indeed has anybody else

concerned, save and excepting one, Lucy Snowe, who could not forget how, to facilitate a certain enterprise,

a certain great door had been drawn softly to its lintel, closed, indeed, but neither bolted nor secure. The

thundering carriageandpair encountered were now likewise recalled, as well as that puzzling signal, the

From these premises, and one or two others, inaccessible to any but myself; I could draw but one inference. It

was a case of elopement. Morally certain on this head, and seeing Madame Beck's profound embarrassment, I

at last communicated my conviction. Having alluded to M. de Hamal's suit, I found, as I expected, that

Madame Beck was perfectly au fait to that affair. She had long since discussed it with Mrs. Cholmondeley,

and laid her own responsibility, in the business, on that lady's shoulders. To Mrs. Cholmondeley and M. de

We found that the Hôtel Crécy was already alive to what had happened. Ginevra had written to her cousin

Paulina, vaguely signifying hymeneal intentions; communications had been received from the family of De

Hamal; M. de Bassompierre was on the track of the fugitives. He overtook them too late.

In the course of the week, the post brought me a note. I may as well transcribe it; it contains explanation on

'DEAR OLD TIM' (short for Timon) 'I am off you see gone like a shot. Alfred and I intended to be

married in this way almost from the first; we never meant to be spliced in the humdrum way of other people;

Alfred has too much spirit for that, and so have I Dieu merci! Do you know, Alfred, who used to call you

"the dragon," has seen so much of you during the last few months, that he begins to feel quite friendly

towards you. He hopes you won't miss him now that he has gone; he begs to apologise for any little trouble

he may have given you. He is afraid he rather inconvenienced you once when he came upon you in the

grenier, just as you were reading a letter seemingly of the most special interest; but he could not resist the

temptation to give you a start, you appeared so wonderfully taken up with your correspondent. En revanche,

he says you once frightened him by rushing in for a dress or a shawl, or some other chiffon, at the moment

when he had struck a light, and was going to take a quiet whiff of his cigar, while waiting for me.

'Do you begin to comprehend by this time that M. le Comte de Hamal was the nun of the attic, and that he

came to see your humble servant? I will tell you how he managed it. You know he has the entrée of the

Athénée, where two or three of his nephews, the sons of his eldest sister, Madame de Melcy, are students.

You know the court of the Athénée is on the other side of the high wall bounding your walk, the allée

défendue. Alfred can climb as well as he can dance or fence; his amusement was to make the escalade of our

pensionnat by mounting, first the wall; then by the aid of that high tree overspreading the grand berceau,

and resting some of its boughs on the roof of the lower buildings of our premises he managed to scale the

first classe and the grand salle. One night, by the way, he fell out of this tree, tore down some of the branches,

nearly broke his own neck, and after all, in running away, got a terrible fright, and was nearly caught by two

people, Madame Beck and M. Emanuel, he thinks, walking in the alley. From the grand salle the ascent is not

difficult to the highest block of building, finishing in the great garret. The skylight, you know, is, day and

night, left half open for air; by the skylight he entered. Nearly a year ago I chanced to tell him our legend of

the nun; that suggested his romantic idea of the spectral disguise, which I think you must allow he has very

'But for the nun's black gown and white veil, he would have been caught again and again both by you and that

tigerJesuit, M. Paul. He thinks you both capital ghostseers, and very brave. What I wonder at is, rather

your secretiveness than your courage. How could you endure the visitations of that long spectre, time after

time, without crying out, telling everybody, and rousing the whole house and neighbourhood?

'Oh, and how did you like the nun as a bedfellow? I dressed her up: didn't I do it well? Did you shriek when

you saw her? I should have gone mad; but then you have such nerves! real iron and bend leather! I believe

you feel nothing. You haven't the same sensitiveness that a person of my constitution has. You seem to me

'Well, dear grandmother! and are you not mightily angry at my moonlight flitting and runaway match? I

assure you it is excellent fun, and I did it partly to spite that minx, Paulina, and that bear, Dr. John: to show

them that, with all their airs, I could get married as well as they. M. de Bassompierre was at first in a strange

fume with Alfred; he threatened a prosecution for "détournement de mineur," and I know not what; he was so

abominably in earnest that I found myself forced to do a little bit of the melodramatic go down on my

knees, sob, cry, drench three pockethandkerchiefs. Of course, "mon oncle" soon gave in; indeed, where was

the use of making a fuss? I am married, and that's all about it. He still says our marriage is not legal, because I

am not of age, forsooth! As if that made any difference! I am just as much married as if I were a hundred.

However, we are to be married again, and I am to have a trousseau, and Mrs. Cholmondeley is going to

superintend it; and there are some hopes that M. de Bassompierre will give me a decent portion, which will

be very convenient, as dear Alfred has nothing but his nobility, native and hereditary, and his pay. I only wish

uncle would do things unconditionally, in a generous, gentlemanlike fashion; he is so disagreeable as to

make the dowry depend on Alfred's giving his written promise that he will never touch cards or dice from the

day it is paid down. They accuse my angel of a tendency to play: I don't know anything about that, but I do

'I cannot sufficiently extol the genius with which De Hamal managed our flight. How clever in him to select

the night of the fête, when Madame (for he knows her habits), as he said, would infallibly be absent at the

concert in the park. I suppose you must have gone with her. I watched you rise and leave the dormitory about

eleven o'clock. How you returned alone, and on foot, I cannot conjecture. That surely was you we met in the

narrow old Rue St. Jean? Did you see me wave my handkerchief from the carriage window?

'Adieu! Rejoice in my good luck: congratulate me on my supreme happiness, and believe me, dear cynic and

'P.S. Remember, I am a countess now. Papa, mamma, and the girls at home, will be delighted to hear that.

"My daughter, the Countess! My sister, the Countess!" Bravo! Sounds rather better than Mrs. John Bretton,

In winding up Mistress Fanshawe's memoirs, the reader will no doubt expect to hear that she came finally to

bitter expiation of her youthful levities. Of course, a large share of suffering lies in reserve for her future.

I saw her towards the close of her honeymoon. She called on Madame Beck, and sent for me into the salon.

She rushed into my arms laughing. She looked very blooming and beautiful: her curls were longer, her cheeks

rosier than ever: her white bonnet and her Flanders veil, her orange flowers and her bride's dress, became her

'I have got my portion!' she cried at once; (Ginevra ever stuck to the substantial; I always thought there was a

good trading element in her composition, much as she scorned the 'bourgeoise;') 'and uncle De Bassompierre

is quite reconciled, I don't mind his calling Alfred a "nincompoop" that's only his coarse Scotch breeding;

and I believe Paulina envies me, and Dr. John is wild with jealousy fit to blow his brains out and I'm

so happy! I really think I've hardly anything left to wish for unless it be a carriage and a hotel, and, oh! I

And Alfred appeared from the inner salon, where he was talking to Madame Beck, receiving the blended

felicitations and reprimands of that lady. I was presented under my various names: the Dragon, Diogenes and

Timon. The young Colonel was very polite. He made me a prettilyturned, neatlyworded apology, about the

ghost visits, etc., concluding with saying that 'the best excuse for all his iniquities stood there!' pointing to his

And then the bride sent him back to Madame Beck, and she took me to herself; and proceeded literally to

suffocate me with her unrestrained spirits, her girlish, giddy, wild nonsense. She showed her ring exultingly;

she called herself Madame la Comtesse de Hamal, and asked how it sounded, a score of times. I said very

little. I gave her only the crust and rind of my nature. No matter: she expected of me nothing better she

knew me too well to look for compliments my dry gibes pleased her well enough, and the more

Soon after his marriage, M. de Hamal was persuaded to leave the army as the surest way of weaning him

from certain unprofitable associates and habits; a post of attaché was procured for him, and he and his young

wife went abroad. I thought she would forget me now, but she did not. For many years, she kept up a

capricious, fitful sort of correspondence. During the first year or two, it was only of herself and Alfred she

wrote; then, Alfred faded in the background; herself and a certain newcomer prevailed; one Alfred Fanshawe

de Bassompierre de Hamal began to reign in his father's stead. There were great boastings about this

personage, extravagant amplifications upon miracles of precocity, mixed with vehement objurgations against

the phlegmatic incredulity with which I received them. I didn't know 'what it was to be a mother': 'unfeeling

thing that I was, the sensibilities of the maternal heart were Greek and Hebrew to me,' and so on. In due

course of nature this young gentleman took his degrees in teething, measles, hoopingcough: that was a

terrible time for me the mamma's letters became a perfect shout of affliction; never woman was so put

upon by calamity: never human being stood in such need of sympathy. I was frightened at first, and wrote

back pathetically; but I soon found out there was more cry than wool in the business, and relapsed into my

natural cruel insensibility. As to the youthful sufferer, he weathered each storm like a hero. Five times was

In the course of years there arose ominous murmurings against Alfred the First; M. de Bassompierre had to

be appealed to, debts had to be paid, some of them of that dingy and dismal order called 'debts of honour';

ignoble plaints and difficulties became frequent. Under every cloud, no matter what its nature, Ginevra, as of

old, called out lustily for sympathy and aid. She had no notion of meeting any distress singlehanded. In

some shape, from some quarter or other, she was pretty sure to obtain her will, and so she got on fighting

the battle of life by proxy, and, on the whole, suffering as little as any human being I have ever known.

Must I, ere I close, render some account of that Freedom and Renovation which I won on the fête night? Must

I tell how I and the two stalwart companions I brought home from the illuminated park bore the test of

I tried them the very next day. They had boasted their strength loudly when they reclaimed me from love and

its bondage, but upon my demanding deeds, not words, some evidence of better comfort, some experience of

a relieved life Freedom excused himself, as for the present, impoverished and disabled to assist; and

I had nothing left for it then but to trust secretly that conjecture might have hurried me too fast and too far, to

sustain the oppressive hour by reminders of the distorting and discolouring magic of jealousy. After a short

and vain struggle, I found myself brought back captive to the old rack of suspense, tied down and strained

Shall I yet see him before he goes? Will he bear me in mind? Does he purpose to come? Will this day will

the next hour bring him? or must I again assay that corroding pain of long attent that rude agony of

rupture at the close, that mute, mortal wrench, which, in at once uprooting hope and doubt, shakes life; while

the hand that does the violence cannot be caressed to pity, because absence interposes her barrier!

It was the Feast of the Assumption; no school was held. The boarders and teachers, after attending mass in

the morning, were gone a long walk into the country to take their goûter, or afternoon meal, at some

farmhouse. I did not go with them, for now but two days remained ere the Paul et Virginie must sail, and I

was clinging to my last chance, as the living waif of a wreck clings to his last raft or cable.

There was some joiners' work to do in the first classe, some bench or desk to repair; holidays were often

turned to account for the performance of these operations, which could not be executed when the rooms were

filled with pupils. As I sat solitary, purposing to adjourn to the garden and leave the coast clear, but too

Foreign artisans and servants do everything by couples: I believe it would take two Labassecourien carpenters

to drive a nail. While tying on my bonnet, which had hitherto hung by its ribbons from my idle hand; I

vaguely and momentarily wondered to hear the step of but one 'ouvrier.' I noted too as captives in

dungeons find sometimes dreary leisure to note the merest trifles that this man wore shoes, and not sabots:

I concluded that it must be the master carpenter, coming to inspect, before he sent his journeymen. I threw

round me my scarf. He advanced; he opened the door; my back was towards it; I felt a little thrill a

curious sensation, too quick and transient to be analysed. I turned, I stood in the supposed master artisan's

presence: looking towards the doorway, I saw it filled with a figure, and my eyes printed upon my brain the

Hundreds of the prayers with which we weary Heaven, bring to the suppliant no fulfilment. Once haply in

life, one golden gift falls prone in the lap one boon full and bright, perfect from Fruition's mint.

M. Emanuel wore the dress in which he probably purposed to travel a surtout, guarded with velvet; I

thought him prepared for instant departure, and yet I had understood that two days were yet to run before the

ship sailed. He looked well and cheerful. He looked kind and benign: he came in with eagerness: he was close

to me in one second; he was all amity. It might be his bridegroom mood which thus brightened him.

Whatever the cause, I could not meet his sunshine with cloud. If this were my last moment with him, I would

not waste it in forced, unnatural distance. I loved him well too well not to smite out of my path even

Jealousy herself when she would have obstructed a kind farewell. A cordial word from his lips, or a gentle

look from his eyes, would do me good, for all the span of life that remained to me; it would be comfort in the

last strait of loneliness; I would take it I would taste the elixir, and pride should not spill the cup.

The interview would be short, of course: he would say to me just what he had said to each of the assembled

pupils; he would take and hold my hand two minutes; he would touch my cheek with his lips for the first,

last, only time and then no more. Then, indeed, the final parting, then the wide separation, the great

gulf I could not pass to go to him across which, haply, he would not glance, to remember me.

He took my hand in one of his, with the other he put back my bonnet; he looked into my face, his luminous

smile went out, his lips expressed something almost like the wordless language of a mother who finds a child

greatly and unexpectedly changed, broken with illness, or worn out by want. A check supervened.

'Paul, Paul!' said a woman's hurried voice behind, 'Paul, come into the salon; I have yet a great many things to

say to you conversation for the whole day and so has Victor; and Josef is here. Come, Paul, come to

Madame Beck, brought to the spot by vigilance or an inscrutable instinct, pressed so near, she almost thrust

herself between me and M. Emanuel. 'Come, Paul!' she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a

steel stylet. She pushed against her kinsman. I thought he receded; I thought he would go. Pierced deeper than

What I felt seemed literal heartbreak; but the seal of another fountain yielded under the strain; one breath

from M. Paul, the whisper, 'Trust me!' lifted a load, opened an outlet. With many a deep sob, with thrilling,

'Leave her to me; it is a crisis: I will give her a cordial, and it will pass,' said the calm Madame Beck.

To be left to her and her cordial, seemed to me something like being left to the poisoner and her bowl. When

'Laissezmoi!' he repeated, his nostrils opening, and his facial muscles all quivering as he spoke.

'But this will never do,' said Madame, with sternness. More sternly rejoined her kinsman

'I will send for Père Silas; on the spot I will send for him,' she threatened pertinaciously.

'Femme!' cried the Professor, not now in his deep tones, but in his highest and most excited key, 'Femme!

He was roused, and I loved him in his wrath with a passion beyond what I had yet felt.

'What you do is wrong,' pursued Madame; 'it is an act characteristic of men of your unreliable, imaginative

temperament; a step impulsive, injudicious, inconsistent a proceeding vexatious, and not estimable in the

'You know not what I have of steady and resolute in me,' said he, 'but you shall see; the event shall teach you.

Modeste,' he continued less fiercely, 'be gentle, be pitying, be a woman; look at this poor face, and relent.

You know I am your friend, and the friend of your friends; in spite of your taunts, you well and deeply know

I may be trusted. Of sacrificing myself I made no difficulty, but my heart is pained by what I see; it must

This time, in the 'leave me,' there was an intonation so bitter, and so imperative, I wondered that even

Madame Beck herself could for one moment delay obedience; but she stood firm; she gazed upon him

dauntless; she met his eye, forbidding and fixed as stone. She was opening her lips to retort; I saw over all M.

Paul's face a quick rising light and fire; I can hardly tell how he managed the movement; it did not seem

violent; it kept the form of courtesy; he gave his hand; it scarce touched her I thought; she ran, she whirled

The flash of passion was all over very soon. He smiled as he told me to wipe my eyes; he waited quietly till I

was calm, dropping from time to time a stilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself

reassured, not desperate, nor yet desolate; not friendless, not hopeless, not sick of life, and seeking death.

'It kills me to be forgotten, monsieur,' I said. 'All these weary days I have not heard from you one word, and I

was crushed with the possibility, growing to certainty, that you would depart without saying farewell!'

'Must I tell you what I told Modeste Beck that, you do not know me? Must I show and teach you my

character? You will have proof that I can be a firm friend? Without clear proof this hand will not lie still in

mine, it will not trust my shoulder as a safe stay? Good. The proof is ready. I come to justify myself.'

'Then, in the first place, you must go out with me a good distance into the town. I came on purpose to fetch

Without questioning his meaning, or sounding his plan, or offering the semblance of an objection, I retied my

The route he took was by the boulevards: he several times made me sit down on the seats stationed under the

lime trees; he did not ask if I was tired, but looked, and drew his own conclusions.

'All these weary days,' said he, repeating my words, with a gentle, kindly mimicry of my voice and foreign

accent, not new from his lips, and of which the playful banter never wounded, not even when coupled, as it

often was, with the assertion, that however I might write his language, I spoke and always should speak it

imperfectly and hesitatingly. '"All these weary days," I have not for one hour forgotten you. Faithful women

err in this, that they think themselves the sole faithful of God's creatures. On a very fervent and living truth to

myself, I too, till lately, scarce dared count, from any quarter; but look at me.'

I lifted my happy eyes: they were happy now, or they would have been no interpreters of my heart.

'Well,' said he, after some seconds' scrutiny, 'there is no denying that signature: Constancy wrote it: her pen is

'Severely painful,' I said, with truth. 'Withdraw her hand, monsieur; I can bear its inscribing force no more.'

'Elle est toute pâle,' said he, speaking to himself; 'cette figure là me fait mal.'

I could not help saying this; the words came unbidden: I never remember the time when I had not a haunting

dread of what might be the degree of my outward deficiency; this dread pressed me at the moment with

A great softness passed upon his countenance; his violet eyes grew suffused and glistening under their deep

'Do I displease your eyes much?' I took courage to urge: the point had its vital import for me.

He stopped, and gave me a short, strong answer; an answer which silenced, subdued, yet profoundly satisfied.

Ever after that I knew what I was for him; and what I might be for the rest of the world, I ceased painfully to

care. Was it weak to lay so much stress on an opinion about appearance? I fear it might be; I fear it was; but

in that case I must avow no light share of weakness. I must own a great fear of displeasing a strong wish

Whither we rambled, I scarce knew. Our walk was long, yet seemed short; the path was pleasant, the day

lovely. M. Emanuel talked of his voyage he thought of staying away three years. On his return from

Guadaloupe, he looked forward to release from liabilities and a clear course; and what did I purpose doing in

the interval of his absence? he asked. I had talked once, he reminded me, of trying to be independent and

'Indeed, I had not: I was doing my best to save what would enable me to put it in practice.'

'He did not like leaving me in the Rue Fossette; he feared I should miss him there too much I should feel

'Still,' said he, speaking low, 'there is another objection to your present residence. I should wish to write to

you sometimes: it would not be well to have any uncertainty about the safe transmission of letters; and in the

Rue Fossette in short, our Catholic discipline in certain matters though justifiable and expedient

might possibly, under peculiar circumstances, become liable to misapplication perhaps abuse.'

'But if you write,' said I, 'I must have your letters; and I will have them: ten directors, twenty directresses,

shall not keep them from me. I am a Protestant: I will not bear that kind of discipline: monsieur, I will not.'

'Doucement doucement,' rejoined he, 'we will contrive a plan; we have our resources: soyez tranquille.'

We were now returning from the long walk. We had reached the middle of a clean faubourg, where the

houses were small, but looked pleasant. It was before the white doorstep of a very neat abode that M. Paul

He did not knock, but taking from his pocket a key, he opened and entered at once. Ushering me in, he shut

the door behind us. No servant appeared. The vestibule was small, like the house, but freshly and tastefully

painted; its vista closed in a French window with vines trained about the panes, tendrils and green leaves

Opening an inner door, M. Paul disclosed a parlour, or salon very tiny, but I thought, very pretty. Its

delicate walls were tinged like a blush; its floor was waxed; a square of brilliant carpet covered its centre; its

small round table shone like the mirror over its hearth; there was a little couch, a little chiffoniére, the

halfopen, crimson silk door of which, showed porcelain on the shelves; there was a French clock, a lamp;

there were ornaments in biscuit china; the recess of the single ample window was filled with a green. stand,

bearing three green flowerpots, each filled with a fine plant glowing in bloom; in one corner appeared a

guéridon with a marble top, and upon it a workbox, and a glass filled with, violets in water. The lattice of

this room was open; the outer air breathing through, gave freshness, the sweet violets lent fragrance.

'Must we sit down here and wait?' I asked in a whisper, half awed by the deep pervading hush.

He led the way. I was shown a little kitchen with a little stove and oven, with few but bright brasses, two

chairs and a table. A small cupboard held a diminutive but commodious set of earthenware.

'There is a coffee service of china in the salon,' said M. Paul, as I looked at the six green and white

Conducted up the narrow but clean staircase, I was permitted a glimpse of two pretty cabinets of

sleepingrooms; finally, I was once more led below, and we halted with a certain ceremony before a larger

Producing a second key, M. Emanuel adjusted it to the lock of this door. He opened, put me in before him.

I found myself in a goodsized apartment, scrupulously clean, though bare, compared with those I had

hitherto seen. The wellscoured boards were carpetless; it contained two rows of green benches and desks,

with an alley down the centre, terminating in an estrade, a teacher's chair and table; behind them a tableau.

On the walls hung two maps; in the windows flowered a few hardy plants; in short, here was a miniature

'It is a school then?' said I. 'Who keeps it? I never heard of an establishment in this faubourg.'

'Will you have the goodness to accept of a few prospectuses for distribution in behalf of a friend of mine?'

said he, taking from his surtout pocket some quires of these documents, and putting them into my hand. I

'Externat de demoiselles. Numéro 7, Faubourg Clotilde. Directrice, Mademoiselle Lucy Snowe.'

Certain junctures of our lives must always be difficult of recall to memory. Certain points, crises, certain

feelings, joys, griefs and amazements, when reviewed, must strike us as things wildered and whirling, dim as

I can no more remember the thoughts or the words of the ten minutes succeeding this disclosure, than I can

retrace the experience of my earliest year of life: and yet the first thing distinct to me is the consciousness that

'Did you do this, M. Paul? Is this your house? Did you furnish it? Did you get these papers printed? Do you

mean me? Am I the directress? Is there another Lucy Snowe? Tell me: say something.'

But he would not speak. His pleased silence, his laughing downlook, his attitude, are visible to me now.

The packet of papers fell on the floor. He had extended his hand, and I had fastened thereon, oblivious of all

'Ah! you said I had forgotten you all these weary days,' said he. 'Poor old Emanuel! These are the thanks he

gets for trudging about three mortal weeks from housepainter to upholsterer, from cabinetmaker to

I hardly knew what to do. I first caressed the soft velvet on his cuff, and then I stroked the hand it surrounded.

It was his foresight, his goodness, his silent, strong, effective goodness, that overpowered me by their proved

reality. It was the assurance of his sleepless interest which broke on me like a light from heaven; it was his

I will dare to say it his fond, tender look, which now shook me indescribably. In the midst of all I forced

'Plenty of money!' said he heartily. 'The disposal of my large teaching connection put me in possession of a

handsome sum: with part of it I determined to give myself the richest treat that I have known or shall know. I

like this. I have reckoned on this hour day and night lately. I would not come near you, because I would not

forestall it. Reserve is neither my virtue nor my vice. If I had put myself into your power, and you begun with

your questions of look and lip Where have you been, M. Paul? What have you been doing? What is your

mystery? my solitary first and last secret would presently have unravelled itself in your lap. Now,' he

pursued, 'you shall live here and have a school; you shall employ yourself while I am away; you shall think of

me sometimes; you shall mind your health and happiness for my sake, and when I come back '

I promised to do all he told me. I promised to work hard and willingly. 'I will be your faithful steward,' I said;

'I trust at your coming the account will be ready. Monsieur, monsieur, you are too good!'

In such inadequate language my feelings struggled for expression: they could not get it; speech, brittle and

unmalleable, and cold as ice, dissolved or shivered in the effort. He watched me still; he gently raised his

hand to stroke my hair; it touched my lips in passing; I pressed it close, I paid it tribute. He was my king;

royal for me had been that hand's bounty; to offer homage was both a joy and a duty.

The afternoon hours were over, and the stiller time of evening shaded the quiet faubourg. M. Paul claimed my

hospitality; occupied and afoot since morning, he needed refreshment; he said I should offer him chocolate in

my pretty gold and white china service. He went out and ordered what was needful from the restaurant; he

placed the small guéridon and two chairs in the balcony outside the French window under the screening

vines. With what shy joy I accepted my part as hostess, arranged the salver, served the benefactorguest.

This balcony was in the rear of the house, the gardens of the faubourg were round us, fields extended beyond.

The air was still, mild, and fresh. Above the poplars, the laurels, the cypresses and the roses, looked up a

moon so lovely and so halcyon, the heart trembled under her smile; a star shone subject beside her, with the

unemulous ray of pure love. In a large garden near us, a jet rose from a well, and a pale statue leaned over the

M. Paul talked to me. His voice was so modulated that it mixed harmonious with the silver whisper, the gush,

the musical sigh, in which light breeze, fountain and foliage intoned their lulling vesper.

Happy hour stay one moment! droop those plumes, rest those wings; incline to mine that brow of Heaven!

White Angel! let thy light linger; leave its reflection on succeeding clouds; bequeath its cheer to that time

Our meal was simple: the chocolate, the rolls, the plate of fresh summer fruit, cherries and strawberries

bedded in green leaves, formed the whole; but it was what we both liked better than a feast, and I took a

delight inexpressible in tending M. Paul. I asked him whether his friends, Père Silas and Madame Beck, knew

'Mon amie,' said he, 'none knows what I have done save you and myself: the pleasure is consecrated to us

two, unshared and unprofaned. To speak truth, there has been to me in this matter a refinement of enjoyment

I would not make vulgar by communication. Besides (smiling), 'I wanted to prove to Miss Lucy that I could

keep a secret. How often has she taunted me with lack of dignified reserve and needful caution! How many

times has she saucily insinuated that all my affairs are the secret of Polichinelle!'

This was true enough: I had not spared him on this point, nor perhaps on any other that was assailable.

Magnificentminded, grandhearted, dear, faulty little man. You deserved candour, and from me always had

Continuing my queries, I asked to whom the house belonged, who was my landlord, the amount of my rent.

He instantly gave me these particulars in writing; he had foreseen and prepared all things.

The house was not M. Paul's that I guessed; he was hardly the man to become a proprietor; I more than

suspected in him a lamentable absence of the saving faculty; he could get, but not keep; he needed a treasurer.

The tenement, then, belonged to a citizen in the BasseVille a man of substance, M. Paul said; he startled

me by adding: 'a friend of yours, Miss Lucy, a person who has a most respectful regard for you.' And, to my

pleasant surprise, I found the landlord was none other than M. Miret, the shorttempered and kindhearted

bookseller, who had so kindly found me a seat that eventful night in the Park. It seems M. Miret was in his

station, rich, as well as much respected, and possessed several houses in this faubourg; the rent was moderate,

scarce half of what it would have been for a house of equal size nearer the centre of Villette.

'And then,' observed M. Paul, 'should fortune not favour you, though I think she will, I have the satisfaction

to think you are in good hands; M. Miret will not be extortionate: the first year's rent you have already in your

savings; afterwards Miss Lucy must trust God, and herself. But now, what will you do for pupils?'

'Right! By way of losing no time, I gave one to M. Miret yesterday. Should you object to beginning with

'Monsieur, you forget nothing; you are wonderful. Object? It would become me indeed to object! I suppose I

hardly expect at the outset to number aristocrats in my little dayschool; I care not if they never come. I shall

'Besides these,' pursued he, 'another pupil offers, who will come daily to take lessons in English; and as she is

rich, she will pay handsomely. I mean my goddaughter and ward, Justine Marie Sauveur.'

What is in a name? what in three words? Till this moment I had listened with living joy I had

answered with gleeful quickness; a name froze me; three words struck me mute. The effect could not be

'Nothing! Your countenance changes; your colour and your very eyes fade. Nothing! You must be ill; you

He drew his chair nearer. He did not grow vexed, though I continued silent and icy. He tried to win a word;

'Justine Marie is a good girl,' said he, 'docile and amiable; not quick but you will like her.'

'Do you wish to puzzle me? Do you know her? But, in truth, there is something. Again you are pale as that

His chair touched mine; his hand, quietly advanced, turned me towards him. 'Do you know Marie Justine?'

The name repronounced by his lips overcame me unaccountably. It did not prostrate no, it stirred me up,

running with haste and heat through my veins recalling an hour of quick pain, many days and nights of

heart sickness. Near me as he now sat, strongly and closely as he had long twined his life in mine far as

had progressed, and near as was achieved our minds' and affections' assimilation the very suggestion of

interference, of heartseparation, could be heard only with a fermenting excitement, an impetuous throe, a

disdainful resolve, an ire, a resistance of which no human eye or cheek could hide the flame, nor any

'Speak, Lucy; come near; speak. Who prizes you, if I do not? Who is your friend, if not Emanuel? Speak!'

I spoke. All escaped from my lips. I lacked not words now; fast I narrated; fluent I told my tale; it streamed

on my tongue. I went back to the night in the park; I mentioned the medicated draught why it was given

its goading effect how it had torn rest from under my head, shaken me from my couch, carried me

abroad with the lure of a vivid yet solemn fancy a summer night solitude on turf under trees, near a deep,

cool lakelet. I told the scene realised; the crowd, the masques, the music, the lamps, the splendours, the guns

booming afar, the bells sounding on high. All I had encountered I detailed, all I had recognised, heard and

seen; how I had beheld and watched himself; how I listened, how much heard, what conjectured; the whole

history, in brief summoned to his confidence, rushed thither, truthful, literal, ardent, bitter.

Still as I narrated, instead of checking, he incited me to proceed; he spurred me by the gesture, the smile, the

halfword. Before I had half done, he held both my hands, he consulted my eyes with a most piercing glance:

there was something in his face which tended neither to calm nor to put me down; he forgot his own doctrine,

he forsook his own system of repression when I most challenged its exercise. I think I deserved strong

reproof; but when have we our deserts? I merited severity; he looked indulgence. To my very self I seemed

imperious and unreasonable, for I forbade Justine Marie my door and roof; he smiled, betraying delight.

Warm, jealous and haughty, I knew not till now that my nature had such a mood; he gathered me near his

heart. I was full of faults; he took them and me all home. For the moment of utmost mutiny, he reserved the

We walked back to the Rue Fossette by moonlight such moonlight as fell on Eden shining through the

shades of the Great Garden, and haply gilding a path glorious for a step divine a Presence nameless. Once

in their lives some men and women go back to these first fresh days of our great Sire and Mother taste that

In the course of the walk I was told how Justine Marie Sauveur had always been regarded with the affection

proper to a daughter how, with M. Paul's consent, she had been affianced for months to one Heinrich

Mühler, a wealthy young German merchant, and was to be married in the course of a year. Some of M.

Emanuel's relations and connections would, indeed, it seems, have liked him to marry her, with a view to

securing her fortune in the family; but to himself the scheme was repugnant, and the idea totally inadmissible.

We reached Madame Beck's door. Jean Baptiste's clock tolled nine. At this hour, in this house, eighteen

months since, had this man at my side bent before me, looked into my face and eyes, and arbitered my

destiny. This very evening he had again stooped, gazed, and decreed. How different the look how far

He deemed me born under his star: he seemed to have spread over me its beam like a banner. Once

unknown, and unloved, I held him harsh and strange; the low stature, the wiry make, the angles, the darkness,

the manner displeased me. Now, penetrated with his influence, and living by his affection, having his worth

We parted: he gave me his pledge, and then his farewell. We parted: the next day he sailed.

Man cannot prophesy. Love is no oracle. Fear sometimes imagines a vain thing. Those years of absence!

How had I sickened over their anticipation! The woe they must bring seemed certain as death. I knew the

nature of their course: I never had doubt how it would harrow as it went. The Juggernaut on his car towered

there a grim load. Seeing him draw nigh, burying his broad wheels in the oppressed soil I, the prostrate

Strange to say strange, yet true, and owning many parallels in life's experience that anticipatory

craunch proved all yes nearly all the torture. The great Juggernaut, in his great chariot, drew on lofty,

loud and sullen. He passed quietly, like a shadow sweeping the sky at noon. Nothing but a chilling dimness

was seen or felt. I looked up. Chariot and demon charioteer were gone by; the votary still lived.

M. Emanuel was away three years. Reader, they were the three happiest years of my life. Do you scout the

I commenced my school; I worked I worked hard. I deemed myself the steward of his property, and

determined, God willing, to render a good account. Pupils came burghers at first a higher class ere

long. About the middle of the second year an unexpected chance threw into my hands an additional hundred

pounds: one day I received from England a letter containing that sum. It came from Mr. Marchmont, the

cousin and heir of my dear and dead mistress. He was just recovering from a dangerous illness; the money

was a peaceoffering to his conscience, reproaching him in the matter of, I know not what, papers or

memoranda found after his kinswoman's death naming or recommending Lucy Snowe. Mrs. Barrett had

given him my address. How far his conscience had been sinned against, I never inquired. I asked no

With this hundred pounds I ventured to take the house adjoining mine. I would not leave that which M. Paul

had chosen, in which he had left, and where he expected again to find me. My externat became a pensionnat;

The secret of my success did not lie so much in myself in any endowment, any power of mine, as in a new

state of circumstances, a wonderfully changed life, a relieved heart. The spring which moved my energies lay

far away beyond seas, in an Indian isle. At parting, I had been left a legacy; such a thought for the present,

such a hope for the future, such a motive for a persevering, a laborious, an enterprising, a patient and a brave

course I could not flag. Few things shook me now; few things had importance to vex, intimidate of

Do not think that this genial flame sustained itself, or lived wholly on a bequeathed hope or a parting

promise. A generous provider supplied bounteous fuel. I was spared all chill, all stint; I was not suffered to

fear penury; I was not tried with suspense. By every vessel he wrote; he wrote as he gave and as he loved, in

fullhanded fullhearted plenitude. He wrote because he liked to write; he did not abridge, because he cared

not to abridge. He sat down, he took pen and paper, because he loved Lucy and had much to say to her;

because he was faithful and thoughtful, because he was tender and true. There was no sham and no cheat, and

no hollow unreal in him. Apology never dropped her slippery oil on his lips never proffered, by his pen,

her coward feints and paltry nullities: he would give neither a stone, nor an excuse neither a scorpion, nor

a disappointment; his letters were real food that nourished, living water that refreshed.

And was I grateful? God knows! I believe that scarce a living being so remembered, so sustained, dealt with

in kind so constant, honourable and noble, could be otherwise than grateful to the death.

Adherent to his own religion (in him was not the stuff of which is made the facile apostate), he freely left me

'Remain a Protestant. My little English Puritan, I love Protestantism in you. I own its severe charm. There is

something in its ritual I cannot receive myself, but it is the sole creed for "Lucy."'

All Rome could not put into him bigotry, nor the Propaganda itself make him a real Jesuit. He was born

honest, and not false artless, and not cunning a freeman, and not a slave. His tenderness had rendered

him ductile in a priest's hands, his affection, his devotedness, his sincere pious enthusiasm blinded his kind

eyes sometimes, made him abandon justice to himself to do the work of craft, and serve the ends of

selfishness; but these are faults so rare to find, so costly to their owner to indulge, we scarce know whether

And now the three years are past: M. Emanuel's return is fixed. It is autumn; he is to be with me ere the mists

of November come. My school flourishes, my house is ready: I have made him a little library, filled its

shelves with the books he left in my care: I have cultivated out of love for him (I was naturally no florist) the

plants he preferred, and some of them are yet in bloom. I thought I loved him when he went away; I love him

The sun passes the equinox; the days shorten, the leaves grow sere; but he is coming.

Frosts appear at night; November has sent his fogs in advance; the wind takes its autumn moan; but he is

The skies hang full and dark a rack sails from the west; the clouds cast themselves into strange forms

arches and broad radiations; there rise resplendent morning glorious, royal, purple as monarch in his state;

the heavens are one flame; so wild are they, they rival battle at its thickest so bloody, they shame Victory

in her pride. I know some signs of the sky; I have noted them ever since childhood. God, watch that sail! Oh!

The wind shifts to the west. Peace, peace, Banshee 'keening' at every window! It will rise it will swell

it shrieks out long: wander as I may through the house this night, I cannot lull the blast. The advancing

hours make it strong: by midnight, all sleepless watchers hear and fear a wild southwest storm.

That storm roared frenzied for seven days. It did not cease till the Atlantic was strewn with wrecks: it did not

lull till the deeps had gorged their full of sustenance. Not till the destroying angel of tempest had achieved his

perfect work, would he fold the wings whose waft was thunder the tremor of whose plumes was storm.

Peace, be still! Oh! a thousand weepers, praying in agony on waiting shores, listened for that voice, but it was

not uttered not uttered till, when the hush came, some could not feel it: till, when the sun returned, his

Here pause: pause at once. There is enough said. Trouble no quiet, kind heart; leave sunny imaginations hope.

Let it be theirs to conceive the delight of joy born again fresh out of great terror, the rapture of rescue from

peril, the wondrous reprieve from dread, the fruition of return. Let them picture union and a happy

Madame Beck prospered all the days of her life; so did Père Silas; Madame Walravens fulfilled her ninetieth