AFTER all I had profited but imperfectly by the opportunity I hadso boldly achieved of speaking to Mdlle. Henri; it was myintention to ask her how she came to be possessed of two Englishbaptismal names, Frances and Evans, in addition to her Frenchsurname, also whence she derived her good accent. I hadforgotten both points, or, rather, our colloquy had been so briefthat I had not had time to bring them forward; moreover, I hadnot half tested her powers of speaking English; all I had drawnfrom her in that language were the words "Yes," and "Thank you,sir." "No matter," I reflected. "What has been left incompletenow, shall be finished another day." Nor did I fail to keep thepromise thus made to myself. It was difficult to get even a fewwords of particular conversation with one pupil among so many;but, according to the old proverb, "Where there is a will, thereis a way;" and again and again I managed to find an opportunityfor exchanging a few words with Mdlle. Henri, regardless thatenvy stared and detraction whispered whenever I approached her.

"Your book an instant." Such was the mode in which I often beganthese brief dialogues; the time was always just at the conclusionof the lesson; and motioning to her to rise, I installed myselfin her place, allowing her to stand deferentially at my side; forI esteemed it wise and right in her case to enforce strictly allforms ordinarily in use between master and pupil; the ratherbecause I perceived that in proportion as my manner grew austereand magisterial, hers became easy and self-possessed--an oddcontradiction, doubtless, to the ordinary effect in such cases;but so it was.

"A pencil," said I, holding out my hand without looking at her.(I am now about to sketch a brief report of the first of theseconferences.) She gave me one, and while I underlined some errorsin a grammatical exercise she had written, I observed--

"You are not a native of Belgium?"

"No."

"Nor of France?"

"No."

"Where, then, is your birthplace?"

"I was born at Geneva."

"You don't call Frances and Evans Swiss names, I presume?"

"No, sir; they are English names."

"Just so; and is it the custom of the Genevese to give theirchildren English appellatives?"

"Non, Monsieur; mais--"

"Speak English, if you please."

"Mais--"

"English--"

"But" (slowly and with embarrassment) "my parents were not allthe two Genevese."

"Say BOTH, instead of 'all the two,' mademoiselle."

"Not BOTH Swiss: my mother was English."

"Ah! and of English extraction?"

"Yes--her ancestors were all English."

"And your father?"

"He was Swiss."

"What besides? What was his profession?"

"Ecclesiastic--pastor--he had a church."

"Since your mother is an Englishwoman, why do you not speakEnglish with more facility?"

"Maman est morte, il y a dix ans."

"And you do homage to her memory by forgetting her language.Have the goodness to put French out of your mind so long as Iconverse with you--keep to English."

"C'est si difficile, monsieur, quand on n'en a plus l'habitude."

"You had the habitude formerly, I suppose? Now answer me in yourmother tongue."

"Yes, sir, I spoke the English more than the French when I was achild."

"Why do you not speak it now?"

"Because I have no English friends."

"You live with your father, I suppose?"

"My father is dead."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"Not one."

"Do you live alone?"

"No--I have an aunt--ma tante Julienne."

"Your father's sister?"

"Justement, monsieur."

"Is that English?"

"No--but I forget--"

"For which, mademoiselle, if you were a child I should certainlydevise some slight punishment; at your age--you must be two orthree and twenty, I should think?"

"Pas encore, monsieur--en un mois j'aurai dix-neuf ans."

"Well, nineteen is a mature age, and, having attained it, youought to be so solicitous for your own improvement, that itshould not be needful for a master to remind you twice of theexpediency of your speaking English whenever practicable."

To this wise speech I received no answer; and, when I looked up,my pupil was smiling to herself a much-meaning, though not verygay smile; it seemed to say, "He talks of he knows not what:" itsaid this so plainly, that I determined to request information onthe point concerning which my ignorance seemed to be thus tacitlyaffirmed.

"Are you solicitous for your own improvement?"

"Rather."

"How do you prove it, mademoiselle?"

An odd question, and bluntly put; it excited a second smile.

"Why, monsieur, I am not inattentive--am I? I learn my lessonswell--"

"Oh, a child can do that! and what more do you do?"

"What more can I do?"

"Oh, certainly, not much; but you are a teacher, are you not, aswell as a pupil?"

"Yes."

"You teach lace-mending?"

"Yes."

"A dull, stupid occupation; do you like it?"

"No--it is tedious."

"Why do you pursue it? Why do you not rather teach history,geography, grammar, even arithmetic?"

"Is monsieur certain that I am myself thoroughly acquainted withthese studies?"

"I don't know; you ought to be at your age."

"But I never was at school, monsieur--"

"Indeed! What then were your friends--what was your aunt about?She is very much to blame."

"No monsieur, no--my aunt is good--she is not to blame--she doeswhat she can; she lodges and nourishes me" (I report Mdlle.Henri's phrases literally, and it was thus she translated fromthe French). "She is not rich; she has only an annuity of twelvehundred francs, and it would be impossible for her to send me toschool."

"Rather," thought I to myself on hearing this, but I continued,in the dogmatical tone I had adopted:--

"It is sad, however, that you should be brought up in ignoranceof the most ordinary branches of education; had you knownsomething of history and grammar you might, by degrees, haverelinquished your lace-mending drudgery, and risen in the world."

"It is what I mean to do."

"How? By a knowledge of English alone? That will not suffice;no respectable family will receive a governess whose whole stockof knowledge consists in a familiarity with one foreignlanguage."

"Monsieur, I know other things."

"Yes, yes, you can work with Berlin wools, and embroiderhandkerchiefs and collars--that will do little for you."

Mdlle. Henri's lips were unclosed to answer, but she checkedherself, as thinking the discussion had been sufficientlypursued, and remained silent.

"Speak," I continued, impatiently; "I never like the appearanceof acquiescence when the reality is not there; and you had acontradiction at your tongue's end."

"Monsieur, I have had many lessons both in grammar, history,geography, and arithmetic. I have gone through a course of eachstudy."

"Bravo! but how did you manage it, since your aunt could notafford lo send you to school?"

"By lace-mending; by the thing monsieur despises so much."

"Truly! And now, mademoiselle, it will be a good exercise foryou to explain to me in English how such a result was produced bysuch means."

"Monsieur, I begged my aunt to have me taught lace-mending soonafter we came to Brussels, because I knew it was a METIER, atrade which was easily learnt, and by which I could earn somemoney very soon. I learnt it in a few days, and I quickly gotwork, for all the Brussels ladies have old lace--very precious--which must be mended all the times it is washed. I earnedmoney a little, and this money I grave for lessons in the studiesI have mentioned; some of it I spent in buying books, Englishbooks especially; soon I shall try to find a place of governess,or school-teacher, when I can write and speak English well; butit will be difficult, because those who know I have been alace-mender will despise me, as the pupils here despise me.Pourtant j'ai mon projet," she added in a lower tone.

"What is it?"

"I will go and live in England; I will teach French there."

The words were pronounced emphatically. She said "England" asyou might suppose an Israelite of Moses' days would have saidCanaan.

"Have you a wish to see England?"

"Yes, and an intention."

And here a voice, the voice of the directress, interposed:-

"Mademoiselle Henri, je crois qu'il va pleuvoir; vous feriezbien, ma bonne amie, de retourner chez vous tout de suite."

In silence, without a word of thanks for this officious warning,Mdlle. Henri collected her books; she moved to me respectfully,endeavoured to move to her superior, though the endeavour wasalmost a failure, for her head seemed as if it would not bend,and thus departed.

Where there is one grain of perseverance or wilfulness in thecomposition, trifling obstacles are ever known rather tostimulate than discourage. Mdlle. Reuter might as well havespared herself the trouble of giving that intimation about theweather (by-the-by her prediction was falsified by the event--itdid not rain that evening). At the close of the next lesson Iwas again at Mdlle. Henri's desk. Thus did I accost her:--

"What is your idea of England, mademoiselle? Why do you wish togo there?"

Accustomed by this time to the calculated abruptness of mymanner, it no longer discomposed or surprised her, and sheanswered with only so much of hesitation as was renderedinevitable by the difficulty she experienced in improvising thetranslation of her thoughts from French to English.

"England is something unique, as I have heard and read; my ideaof it is vague, and I want to go there to render my idea clear,definite."

"Hum! How much of England do you suppose you could see if youwent there in the capacity of a teacher? A strange notion youmust have of getting a clear and definite idea of a country!All you could see of Great Britain would be the interior of aschool, or at most of one or two private dwellings."

"It would be an English school; they would be English dwellings."

"Indisputably; but what then? What would be the value ofobservations made on a scale so narrow?"

"Monsieur, might not one learn something by analogy?An-echantillon--a--a sample often serves to give an idea of thewhole; besides, narrow and wide are words comparative, are theynot? All my life would perhaps seem narrow in your eyes--all thelife of a--that little animal subterranean--une taupe--commentdit-on?"

"Mole."

"Yes--a mole, which lives underground would seem narrow even tome."

"Well, mademoiselle--what then? Proceed."

"Mais, monsieur, vous me comprenez."

"Not in the least; have the goodness to explain."

"Why, monsieur, it is just so. In Switzerland I have done butlittle, learnt but little, and seen but little; my life there wasin a circle; I walked the same round every day; I could not getout of it; had I rested--remained there even till my death, Ishould never have enlarged it, because I am poor and not skilful,I have not great acquirements; when I was quite tired of thisround, I begged my aunt to go to Brussels; my existence is nolarger here, because I am no richer or higher; I walk in asnarrow a limit, but the scene is changed; it would change againif I went to England. I knew something of the bourgeois ofGeneva, now I know something of the bourgeois of Brussels; if Iwent to London, I would know something of the bourgeois ofLondon. Can you make any sense out of what I say, monsieur, oris it all obscure?"

"I see, I see--now let us advert to another subject; you proposeto devote your life to teaching, and you are a most unsuccessfulteacher; you cannot keep your pupils in order."

A flush of painful confusion was the result of this harsh remark;she bent her head to the desk, but soon raising it replied--

"Monsieur, I am not a skilful teacher, it is true, but practiceimproves; besides, I work under difficulties; here I only teachsewing, I can show no power in sewing, no superiority--it is asubordinate art; then I have no associates in this house, I amisolated; I am too a heretic, which deprives me of influence."

"And in England you would be a foreigner; that too would depriveyou of influence, and would effectually separate you from allround you; in England you would have as few connections, aslittle importance as you have here."

"But I should be learning something; for the rest, there areprobably difficulties for such as I everywhere, and if I mustcontend, and perhaps: be conquered, I would rather submit toEnglish pride than to Flemish coarseness; besides, monsieur--"

She stopped--not evidently from any difficulty in finding wordsto express herself, but because discretion seemed to say, "Youhave said enough."

"Finish your phrase," I urged.

"Besides, monsieur, I long to live once more among Protestants;they are more honest than Catholics; a Romish school is abuilding with porous walls, a hollow floor, a false ceiling;every room in this house, monsieur, has eyeholes and ear-holes,and what the house is, the inhabitants are, very treacherous;they all think it lawful to tell lies; they all call itpoliteness to profess friendship where they feel hatred."

"All?" said I; "you mean the pupils--the mere children--inexperienced, giddy things, who have not learnt to distinguishthe difference between right and wrong?"

"On the contrary, monsieur--the children are the most sincere;they have not yet had time to become accomplished in duplicity;they will tell lies, but they do it inartificially, and you knowthey are lying; but the grown-up people are very false; theydeceive strangers, they deceive each other--"

A servant here entered:--

"Mdlle. Henri--Mdlle. Reuter vous prie de vouloir bien conduirela petite de Dorlodot chez elle, elle vous attend dans le cabinetde Rosalie la portiere--c'est que sa bonne n'est pas venue lachercher--voyez-vous."

"Eh bien! est-ce que je suis sa bonne--moi?" demanded Mdlle.Henri; then smiling, with that same bitter, derisive smile I hadseen on her lips once before, she hastily rose and made her exit.