IF I was punctual in quitting Mdlle. Reuter's domicile, I was atleast equally punctual in arriving there; I came the next day atfive minutes before two, and on reaching the schoolroom door,before I opened it, I heard a rapid, gabbling sound, which warnedme that the "priere du midi" was not yet concluded. I waited thetermination thereof; it would have been impious to intrude myheretical presence during its progress. How the repeater of theprayer did cackle and splutter! I never before or since heardlanguage enounced with such steam-engine haste. "Notre Pere quietes au ciel" went off like a shot; then followed an address toMarie "vierge celeste, reine des anges, maison d'or, tourd'ivoire!" and then an invocation to the saint of the day; andthen down they all sat, and the solemn (?) rite was over; and Ientered, flinging the door wide and striding in fast, as it wasmy wont to do now; for I had found that in entering with aplomb,and mounting the estrade with emphasis, consisted the grandsecret of ensuring immediate silence. The folding-doors betweenthe two classes, opened for the prayer, were instantly closed; amaitresse, work-box in hand, took her seat at her appropriatedesk; the pupils sat still with their pens and books before them;my three beauties in the van, now well humbled by a demeanour ofconsistent coolness, sat erect with their hands folded quietly ontheir knees; they had given up giggling and whispering to eachother, and no longer ventured to utter pert speeches in mypresence; they now only talked to me occasionally with theireyes, by means of which organs they could still, however, sayvery audacious and coquettish things. Had affection, goodness,modesty, real talent, ever employed those bright orbs asinterpreters, I do not think I could have refrained from giving akind and encouraging, perhaps an ardent reply now and then; butas it was, I found pleasure in answering the glance of vanitywith the gaze of stoicism. Youthful, fair, brilliant, as weremany of my pupils, I can truly say that in me they never saw anyother bearing than such as an austere, though just guardian,might have observed towards them. If any doubt the accuracy ofthis assertion, as inferring more conscientious self-denial orScipio-like self-control than they feel disposed to give mecredit for, let them take into consideration the followingcircumstances, which, while detracting from my merit, justify myveracity.

Know, O incredulous reader! that a master stands in a somewhatdifferent relation towards a pretty, light-headed, probablyignorant girl, to that occupied by a partner at a ball, or agallant on the promenade. A professor does not meet his pupil tosee her dressed in satin and muslin, with hair perfumed andcurled, neck scarcely shaded by aerial lace, round white armscircled with bracelets, feet dressed for the gliding dance. Itis not his business to whirl her through the waltz, to feed herwith compliments, to heighten her beauty by the flush ofgratified vanity. Neither does he encounter her on thesmooth-rolled, tree shaded Boulevard, in the green and sunnypark, whither she repairs clad in her becoming walking dress, herscarf thrown with grace over her shoulders, her little bonnetscarcely screening her curls, the red rose under its brim addinga new tint to the softer rose on her cheek; her face and eyes,too, illumined with smiles, perhaps as transient as the sunshineof the gala-day, but also quite as brilliant; it is not hisoffice to walk by her side, to listen to her lively chat, tocarry her parasol, scarcely larger than a broad green leaf, tolead in a ribbon her Blenheim spaniel or Italian greyhound. No:he finds her in the schoolroom, plainly dressed, with booksbefore her. Owing to her education or her nature books are toher a nuisance, and she opens them with aversion, yet her teachermust instil into her mind the contents of these books; that mindresists the admission of grave information, it recoils, it growsrestive, sullen tempers are shown, disfiguring frowns spoil thesymmetry of the face, sometimes coarse gestures banish grace fromthe deportment, while muttered expressions, redolent of nativeand ineradicable vulgarity, desecrate the sweetness of the voice.Where the temperament is serene though the intellect be sluggish,an unconquerable dullness opposes every effort to instruct.Where there is cunning but not energy, dissimulation, falsehood,a thousand schemes and tricks are put in play to evade thenecessity of application; in short, to the tutor, female youth,female charms are like tapestry hangings, of which the wrong sideis continually turned towards him; and even when he sees thesmooth, neat external surface he so well knows what knots, longstitches, and jagged ends are behind that he has scarce atemptation to admire too fondly the seemly forms and brightcolours exposed to general view.

Our likings are regulated by our circumstances. The artistprefers a hilly country because it is picturesque; the engineer aflat one because it is convenient; the man of pleasure likes whathe calls "a fine woman"--she suits him; the fashionable younggentleman admires the fashionable young lady--she is of his kind;the toil-worn, fagged, probably irritable tutor, blind almost tobeauty, insensible to airs and graces, glories chiefly in certainmental qualities: application, love of knowledge, naturalcapacity, docility, truthfulness, gratefulness, are the charmsthat attract his notice and win his regard. These he seeks, butseldom meets; these, if by chance he finds, he would fain retainfor ever, and when separation deprives him of them he feels as ifsome ruthless hand had snatched from him his only ewe-lamb. Suchbeing the case, and the ease it is, my readers will agree with methat there was nothing either very meritorious or very marvellousin the integrity and moderation of my conduct at Mdlle. Reuter'spensionnat de demoiselles.

My first business this afternoon consisted in reading the list ofplaces for the month, determined by the relative correctness ofthe compositions given the preceding day. The list was headed, asusual, by the name of Sylvie, that plain, quiet little girl Ihave described before as being at once the best and ugliest pupilin the establishment; the second place had fallen to the lot of acertain Leonie Ledru, a diminutive, sharp-featured, andparchment-skinned creature of quick wits, frail conscience, andindurated feelings; a lawyer-like thing, of whom I used to saythat, had she been a boy, she would have made a model of anunprincipled, clever attorney. Then came Eulalie, the proudbeauty, the Juno of the school, whom six long years of drillingin the simple grammar of the English language had compelled,despite the stiff phlegm of her intellect, to acquire amechanical acquaintance with most of its rules. No smile, notrace of pleasure or satisfaction appeared in Sylvie's nun-likeand passive face as she heard her name read first. I always feltsaddened by the sight of that poor girl's absolute quiescence onall occasions, and it was my custom to look at her, to addressher, as seldom as possible; her extreme docility, her assiduousperseverance, would have recommended her warmly to my goodopinion; her modesty, her intelligence, would have induced me tofeel most kindly--most affectionately towards her,notwithstanding the almost ghastly plainness of her features, thedisproportion of her form, the corpse-like lack of animation inher countenance, had I not been aware that every friendly word,every kindly action, would be reported by her to her confessor,and by him misinterpreted and poisoned. Once I laid my hand onher head, in token of approbation; I thought Sylvie was going tosmile, her dim eye almost kindled; but, presently, she shrankfrom me; I was a man and a heretic; she, poor child! a destinednun and devoted Catholic: thus a four-fold wall of separationdivided her mind from mine. A pert smirk, and a hard glance oftriumph, was Leonie's method of testifying her gratification;Eulalie looked sullen and envious--she had hoped to be first.Hortense and Caroline exchanged a reckless grimace on hearingtheir names read out somewhere near the bottom of the list; thebrand of mental inferiority was considered by them as nodisgrace, their hopes for the future being based solely on theirpersonal attractions.

This affair arranged, the regular lesson followed. During abrief interval, employed by the pupils in ruling their books, myeye, ranging carelessly over the benches, observed, for the firsttime, that the farthest seat in the farthest row--a seat usuallyvacant--was again filled by the new scholar, the Mdlle. Henri soostentatiously recommended to me by the directress. To-day I hadon my spectacles; her appearance, therefore, was clear to me atthe first glance; I had not to puzzle over it. She looked young;yet, had I been required to name her exact age, I should havebeen somewhat nonplussed; the slightness of her figure might havesuited seventeen; a certain anxious and pre-occupied expressionof face seemed the indication of riper years. She was dressed,like all the rest, in a dark stuff gown and a white collar; herfeatures were dissimilar to any there, not so rounded, moredefined, yet scarcely regular. The shape of her head too wasdifferent, the superior part more developed, the baseconsiderably less. I felt assured, at first sight, that she wasnot a Belgian; her complexion, her countenance, her lineaments,her figure, were all distinct from theirs, and, evidently, thetype of another race--of a race less gifted with fullness offlesh and plenitude of blood; less jocund, material, unthinking.When I first cast my eyes on her, she sat looking fixedly down,her chin resting on her hand, and she did not change her attitudetill I commenced the lesson. None of the Belgian girls wouldhave retained one position, and that a reflective one, for thesame length of time. Yet, having intimated that her appearancewas peculiar, as being unlike that of her Flemish companions, Ihave little more to say respecting it; I can pronounce noencomiums on her beauty, for she was not beautiful; nor offercondolence on her plainness, for neither was she plain; acareworn character of forehead, and a corresponding moulding ofthe mouth, struck me with a sentiment resembling surprise, butthese traits would probably have passed unnoticed by any lesscrotchety observer.

Now, reader, though I have spent more than a page in describingMdlle. Henri, I know well enough that I have left on your mind'seye no distinct picture of her; I have not painted hercomplexion, nor her eyes, nor her hair, nor even drawn theoutline of her shape. You cannot tell whether her nose wasaquiline or retrousse, whether her chin was long or short, herface square or oval; nor could I the first day, and it is not myintention to communicate to you at once a knowledge I myselfgained by little and little.

I gave a short exercise: which they all wrote down. I saw thenew pupil was puzzled at first with the novelty of the form andlanguage; once or twice she looked at me with a sort of painfulsolicitude, as not comprehending: at all what I meant; then shewas not ready when the others were, she could not write herphrases so fast as they did; I would not help her, I went onrelentless. She looked at me; her eye said most plainly, "Icannot follow you." I disregarded the appeal, and, carelesslyleaning back in my chair, glancing from time to time with aNONCHALANT air out of the window, I dictated a little faster. Onlooking towards her again, I perceived her face clouded withembarrassment, but she was still writing on most diligently; Ipaused a few seconds; she employed the interval in hurriedlyre-perusing what she had written, and shame and discomfiture wereapparent in her countenance; she evidently found she had madegreat nonsense of it. In ten minutes more the dictation wascomplete, and, having allowed a brief space in which to correctit, I took their books; it was with a reluctant hand Mdlle. Henrigave up hers, but, having once yielded it to my possession, shecomposed her anxious face, as if, for the present she hadresolved to dismiss regret, and had made up her mind to bethought unprecedentedly stupid. Glancing over her exercise, Ifound that several lines had been omitted, but what was writtencontained very few faults; I instantly inscribed "Bon" at thebottom of the page, and returned it to her; she smiled, at firstincredulously, then as if reassured, but did not lift her eyes;she could look at me, it seemed, when perplexed and bewildered,but not when gratified; I thought that scarcely fair.