OforncU Ininerattg ffiihtarg 
 
 Sttjara, ^em fork 
 
 LIBRARY OF. 
 
 LEWIS BINGLEY WYNNE 
 
 A.B..A.M.. COLUMBIAN COLLEGE. 'Tl ,'73 * 
 WASHINGTON. D. C. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 MRS. MARY A. WYNNE 
 
 AND 
 
 J€)HN H. WYNNE 
 
 CORNELL '98 
 1922 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR4167.P9 1865 
 
 The professor. A novel. 
 
 3 1924 013 439 801 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013439801 
 
SPIiENDID IVOITELS. 
 
 Fablislied nniform with this Tolnme, Price $1.76 each. 
 
 By Miss Muloch. 
 JOHN HALIFAX, Gentleman. 
 A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 By Charlotte Bronte (*' Currer Bell "). 
 JANE EYRE, 
 THE PROFESSOR. 
 SHIRLEY, 
 
 VILLETTE, 
 
 These novels rank among the very best fictions, and their popularity is 
 
 immen.<)e. Thoir s&Te Is counted by thousands, and their readers 
 
 by tens of thousandB. The demand existing for a libi-ai-y 
 
 btylo is BO great that these new editions have been 
 
 issued. Copies will be sent by moil, fr&e^ on 
 
 re.ceipt* of price, $1.75, 
 
 1>7 
 
 CARIiETOlV, Fnbllslier, 
 
 THevt ITork. 
 
THE PROFESSOR 
 
 % NOBCI. 
 
 CHARLOTTE gRQNTE ("CURRER BELL"). 
 
 AUTHOB OF " JANE EYRE," " VILLETTB," " SHIRLEY," ETC. 
 
 NEW TORK: 
 
 Car/etorij Publisher^ 413 Broadway. 
 
 M DCCC LXV 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This little book was written before either "Jane 
 Eyre" or " Shirley," and yet no indulgence can be so- 
 licited for it on the plea of a first attempt. A first at- 
 tempt it certainly was not, as the pen which wrote it 
 had been previously worn a good deal in a practice of 
 some years. I had not indeed published any thing 
 before I commenced " The Professor," but in many a 
 crude effort, destroyed almost as soon as composed, I 
 had got over any such taste as I might once have ha,d 
 for ornamented and redundant composition, and come 
 to prefer what was plain- and homely. At the same 
 time, I had adopted a set of principles on the subject 
 of incident, &c., such as would be generally approved 
 in theory, but the result of which, when carried out 
 into practice, often procure for an author more sur- 
 prise than pleasure. 
 
 I said to myself that my hero should work his way 
 through life as I had seen real living men work theirs ; 
 that he should never get a shilling he had not earned ; 
 that no sudden turns should lift him in a moment to 
 wealth and high station ; that whatever small compe- 
 tency he might gain should be won by the sweat of his 
 brow ; that, before he could find so much as an arbor 
 
VI PEEFACE. 
 
 to sit down in, he should master at least half the as- 
 cent of "the Hill of Difficulty;" that he should not 
 even marry a beautiful girl nor a lady of rank. As 
 Adam's son, he should share Adam's doom, and drain 
 throughout life a mixed and moderate cup of enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 In the sequel, however, I found that publishers in 
 general scarcely approved of this system, but would 
 have liked something more imaginative and poetical — 
 something more consonant with a highly-wrought fan- 
 cy, with a taste for pathos, with sentiments more ten- 
 der, elevated, unworldly. Indeed, until an author has 
 tried to dispose of a, manuscript of this kind, he can 
 never know what stores of romance and sensibility lie 
 hidden in breasts he would not have suspected of cas- 
 keting such treasures. Men in business are usually 
 thought to prefer the real; on trial, the idea will be 
 often found fallacious : a passionate preference for the 
 wild, wonderful, and thrilling — the strange, startling, 
 and harrowing, agitates divers souls that show a calm 
 and sober surface. 
 
 Such being the case, the reader will comprehend 
 that to have reached him in the form of a printed book, 
 this brief narrative -must have gone through some 
 struggles — which indeed it has. And, after all, its 
 worst struggle and strongest ordeal is yet to come ; 
 but it takes comfort — subdues fear — Cleans on the staff 
 of a moderate expectation, and mutters under its breati, 
 vhile lifting its eye to that of the public, 
 " He that is low need fear no fall." 
 
 Cdeeee Bell. 
 
PBBFACE. vii 
 
 The foregoing preface was written by my wife with 
 a view to the publication of " The Professor," shortly 
 after the appearance of " Shirley." Being dissuaded 
 from her intention, the authoress made some use of 
 the materials in a subsequent work — " Villette." As, 
 however, these two stories are in most respects unlike, 
 it has been represented to me that I ought not to 
 withhold " The Professor" from the public. I have, 
 therefore, consented to its publication. 
 
 A. B. NiCHOLLS. 
 
 Haworth Parsonage, September 22d, 1856. 
 
THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 INTEODUCTOEY. 
 
 The other day, in looking over my papers, I found 
 iT\ ray desk the following copy of a letter, sent by me 
 a year since to an old school acquaintance : 
 
 " Deae Chaeles, — I think when you and I were 
 at Eton together, we were neither of us what could 
 be called popular characters. You were a sarcastic, 
 observant, shrewd, cold-blooded creature ; my own 
 portrait I will not attempt to draw, but I can not rec- 
 ollect that it was a strikingly attractive one — can you ? 
 A^iat animal magnetism drew thee and me together I 
 k^m not; certainly I never experienced any thing 
 of the Pylades and Orestes sentiment for you, and I 
 have reason to believe that you, on your part, were 
 equally free from all romantic regard to me. Still, 
 out of school hours, we walked and talked continually 
 together; when the theme of conversation was our 
 companions or our masters, we understood each other, 
 and when I recurred to some sentiment of affection, 
 some vague love of an excellent or beautiful object, 
 whether in animate or inanimate nature, your sardonic 
 coldness did not move me. I felt myself superior to 
 that check then as I do now. 
 A 2 
 
10 TiIE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " It is a long time since I wrote to you, and a still 
 longer time since I saw you. Chancing to take up a 
 newspaper of your county the other day, my eye fell 
 upon your name. I hegan to think of old times ; to 
 run over the events which have transpired since we 
 separated ; and I sat down and commenced this letter. 
 What you have heen doing I know not ; but you shall 
 hear, if you choose to listen, how the world has wag- 
 ged with me. 
 
 " First, after leaving ■ Eton, I had an interview 
 ' with my maternal uncles. Lord Tynedale and the Hon. 
 John Seacomhe. They asked me if I would enter the 
 Church, and my uncle the nobleman offered me the 
 living of Seacombe, which is in his gift, if I would ; 
 then my other uncle, Mr. Seacombe, hinted that when 
 I became rector of Seacombe-cum-Scaife, I might per- 
 haps be allowed to take, as mistress of my house and 
 head of my parish, one of my six cousins, his daugh- 
 ters, all of whom I greatly dislike. 
 
 " I declined both the Church and matrimony. A 
 good clergyman is a good thing, but I should have 
 made a very bad one. As to the wife — oh how like a 
 nightmare is the thought of being bound for life to 
 one of my cousins ! No doubt they are accomplished 
 and pretty ; but not an accomplishment, not a charm 
 of theirs, touches a chord in my bosom. To think of 
 passing the winter evenings by the parlor fireside of 
 Seacombe Rectory alone with one of them — ^for in- 
 stance, the large and well-modeled statue, Sarah — ^no ; 
 I should be a bad husband, under such circumstances, 
 as well as a bad clergyman. 
 
 " When I had declined my uncles' offers they asked 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 11 
 
 me ' what I intended to do.' I said I should reflect. 
 They reminded me that I had no fortjmei ani no ex- 
 pectation of any, and, after a considerable .pause. Lord 
 Tynedale demanded sternly ' whether I had thoughts 
 of following my father's steps and engaging; in; trade,' 
 Now I had had no thoughts of the sort. , I- do -not 
 think my turn of mind qualifies me to makes a good 
 tradesman ; my taste, my ambition does not lie that 
 way ; but such was the scorn expressed in Lord Tyne- 
 dale's countenance as he pronoimced the word trad/6 — 
 such the contemptuous sarcasm of his tone, that I was 
 instantly decided. My father was but a name to me, 
 yet that name I did not like to hear mentioned with a 
 sneer to my very face. I answered then, with haste 
 and warmth, ' I can not do better than follow in my 
 father's steps ; yes, I will be a tradesman.' My un- 
 cles did not remonstrate ; they and I parted with mu- 
 tual disgust. , In reviewing this transaction, I find 
 that I was quite right-to shake off the burden of Tyne- 
 dale's patronage, but a fool for ofiering my shoulders 
 instantly for the reception of another burden — one 
 which might be more intolerable, and which certainly 
 was yet untried. 
 
 " I wrote instantly to Edward — ^you know Edward 
 — my only brother, ten years my senior, married to a 
 rich mill-owner's daughter, and now possessor of the 
 mill and business which was my father's before he 
 failed.. «You are aware that my father — once ^aieofcon- 
 ed a Groesus of wealth — became bankrupt a short time 
 previous to his death, and that my mother lived in 
 destitution for some six months after him, unhelped 
 by her aristocratical brothers, whom she had mortally 
 
12 THE PBOFESSOE. 
 
 offended by her union with Crimsworth, the shire 
 
 manufacturer. At the end of the six months she 
 brought me into the world, and then herself left it 
 without, I should think, much regret, as it contained 
 little hope or comfort for her. 
 
 " My father's relations took charge of Edward, as 
 they did of me till I was nine years old. At that 
 period it chanced that the representation of an import- 
 ant borough in our county fell vacant. Mr. Seacombe 
 stood for it. My uncle Crimsworth, an astute mer- 
 cantile man, took the opportunity of writing a fierce 
 letter to the candidate, stating that if he and Lord 
 Tynedale did not consent to do something toward the 
 support of their sister's orphan children, he would ex- 
 pose their relentless and malignant conduct toward 
 that sister, and do his best to turn the circumstances 
 against Mr, Seacombe's election. That gentleman and 
 
 Lord T knew weU enough that the Crimsworths 
 
 were an unscrupulous and determined race ; they knew 
 
 also that they had influence in the borough of X ; 
 
 and, making a virtue of necessity, they consented to 
 defray the expenses of my education. I was sent to 
 Eton, where I remained ten years, during which space 
 of time Edward and I never met. He, when he grew 
 up, entered into trade, and pursued his calling with 
 such diligence, ability, and success, that now, in his 
 thirtieth year, he was fast making a fortune. Of this 
 I was apprised by the occasional short letters I re- 
 ceived from him some three or four times a year, which 
 said letters never concluded without some expression 
 of determined enmity against the house of Seacombe, 
 and some reproach to me for living, as he said, on the 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 13 
 
 bounty of that house. At first, while still in hoyhood, 
 I could not understand why, as I had no parents, I 
 should not be indebted to my uncles Tynedale and 
 Seacombe for my education ; but as I grew up, and 
 heard by degrees of the persevering hostility, the ha- 
 tred, till death, evinced by them against my father — of 
 the sufiferings of my mother — of all the wrongs, in 
 short, of our house, then did I conceive shame of the 
 dependence in which I lived, and form a resolution no 
 more to take bread from hands which had refused to 
 minister to the necessities of my dying mother. It 
 was by these feelings I was influenced when I refused 
 the Rectory of Seacombe, and the union with one of 
 my patrician cousins. 
 
 " An irreparable breach thus being effected between 
 my uncles and myself, I wrote to Edward, told him 
 what had occurred, and informed him of my intention 
 to follow his steps and be a tradesman. I asKed, 
 moreover, if he could give me employment. His an- 
 swer expressed no approbation of my conduct, but he 
 
 said I might come down to shire if I liked, and 
 
 he would ' see what could be done in the way of fur- 
 nishing me with work.' I repressed all — even -mental 
 comment on his note, packed my trunk and carpet- 
 bag, and started for the North directly. 
 
 " After two days' traveling (rail-roads were not then 
 in existence) I arrived, one wet October afternoon, in 
 
 the town of X . I had always understood that 
 
 Edward lived in this town, but on inquiry I found that 
 it was only Mr. Crimsworth's mill and warehouse which 
 were situated in the smoky atmosphere of Bigben 
 Close ; his renidence lay four miles out, in the country. 
 
14 THE PEOFESSOR. 
 
 "It was late in the evening wben I alighted at the 
 gates of the habitation designated to me as my broth- 
 er's. As I advanced up the avenue, I could see through 
 the shades of twilight, and the dark, gloomy mists which 
 deepened those shades, that the house was large, and 
 the grounds suiTounding it sufficiently spacious. I 
 paused a moment on the lawn in front, and, leaning 
 my hack against a tall tree which rose in the centre, I 
 gazed with interest on the exterior of Crimsworth 
 Hall. 
 
 "'Edward is rich,' thought I to myself. 'I be- 
 lieved him to be doing well, but I did not know he 
 was master of a mansion like this.' Cutting short all 
 marveling, speculation, conjecture, &c., I advanced to 
 the front door and rang. A man-servant opened it — 
 I announced myself — he relieved me of my wet cloak 
 and carpet-bag, and ushered me into a room furnished 
 as a library, where there was a bright fire, and candles 
 burning on the table. He informed me that his mas- 
 ter had not yet returned from X market, but that 
 
 he would certainly be at home in the course of half an 
 hour. 
 
 " Being left to myself, I took the stuffed easy-chair, 
 covered with red morocco, which stood by the fireside, 
 and while my eyes watched the flames dart from the 
 glowing coals, and the cinders fall at intervals on the 
 hearth, my mind busied itself in conjectures concern- 
 ing the meeting about to take place. Amid much that 
 was doubtful iii the subject of these conjectures, there 
 was one thing tolerably certain: I was. in no danger 
 of encountering severe disappointment ; from this, the 
 moderation of my expectations guaranteed me. I an- 
 
THE PROFESSOE. 15 
 
 ticipated no overflowings of fraternal tenderness ; Ed- 
 lyard's, letters had always been such as to prevent the 
 angendering or harboring of delusions of this sort. 
 Still, as I sat awaiting his arrival, I felt eager-^— very 
 eager — I can not tell you why ; my hand, so utterly i 
 a stranger, to the grasp of a kindred hand, clenched it-' 
 self to repress the tremor with which impatience would/ 
 fain have shaken it. ^ 
 
 " I thought of my uncles ; and as I was engaged in 
 wondering whether Edward's indifference would equal 
 the cold disdain I had always experienced from them, 
 I heard the avenue gates open ; wheels approached the 
 house ; Mr. Crimsworth was arrived ; and after the 
 lapse of some minutes, and a brief dialogue between 
 himself and his servant in the hall, his tread drew; near 
 the library door : that tread alone announced the mas- 
 ter of the house. 
 
 "I still retained some confused recollection of Ed- 
 tvard as he was ten years ago — a, tall, wiry, raw youth; 
 now, as I rose from my seat and turned toward the 
 library door, I saw a fine-looking and powerful man, 
 light-complexioned, well-made, and of athletic propor- 
 tions. The first glance made me aware of an air of 
 promptitude and sharpness, shown' as well in his move- 
 ments as in his port, his eye, and the general expres- 
 sion of his face. He greeted me with brevity, and, in 
 the moment of shaking hands, scanned me from head 
 to foot. He took his ; seat in the niorocco-covered arm- 
 ;hair, and motioned me to another seat. 
 
 " ' I expected you would have called at the count- 
 ing-house' in the Close,' said he ; and his voice, I no- 
 iced, had an abrupt accent, probably habitual to him. 
 
16 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 : He spoke, also, with, a guttural Northern tone, which 
 1 sounded harsh in my ears, accustomed to the silvery 
 ^utterance of the South. 
 
 " ' The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, 
 directed me here,' said I, ' I doubted at first the ac- 
 curacy of his information, not being aware that you 
 had such a residence as this.' 
 
 " ' Oh, it is all right,' he replied, ' only I was kepi 
 half an hour behind time, waiting for you---that is alL 
 I thought you must be coming by the eight o'clock 
 coach.' 
 
 " I expressed regret that he had had to wait. He 
 made no answer, but stii-red the fire, as if to cover a 
 movement of impatience ; then he scanned me again. 
 
 " I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the 
 first inoment of meeting, betrayed any warmth — any 
 enthusiasm ; that I had saluted this man with a quiei 
 and steady phlegm. 
 
 " ' Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Sea- 
 combe V he asked, hastily. 
 
 " ' I do not think I shall have any further commu- 
 nication with them. My refusal of their proposals 
 \viU, I fancy, operate as a barrier against all future in- 
 tercourse.' 
 
 " ' Why,' said he, ' I may as well remind you, at the 
 very outset of our connection, "that no man can serve 
 two masters." Acquaintance with Lord Tynedale wil 
 be incompatible with assistance from me.' There was 
 a kind of gratuitous menace in his eye as he looked a' 
 me in finishing this observation. 
 
 " Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I content- 
 ed myseK with an inward speculation on the differences 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 17 
 
 f^hich exist in the constitution of men's minds. I do 
 lot know, what inference Mr. Crimsworth drew, from 
 uy silence — ^whether he considered it a symptom of 
 3ontumacity or an evidence of my being cowed by his 
 peremptory manner. After a long and hard stare at 
 316, he rose sharply from his seat. 
 
 " ' To-morrow,' said he, ' I shall call yoiir attention 
 to some other points ; but now it is supper-time, and 
 Mrs. Crimsworth is probably waiting ; will you come ?' 
 
 "He strode from the room, and I followed. In 
 crossing the hall, I wondered what Mrs. Crimsworth 
 might be. ' Is she,' thought I, ' as alien to what I like 
 IS Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses Seacombe — as the 
 iffectionate relative now striding before me ? or is she 
 better than these? Shall I, in conversing with her, 
 ieel free to show something of mj real nature ; or — ^ 
 Further conjectures were arrested by my entrance into 
 the dining-room. 
 
 "A lamp, burning under a shade of ground glass, 
 showed a handsome apartment, wainscoted with oak ; 
 supper was kid on the table ; by the fire-place, stand- 
 ing as if waiting our entrance,, appeared a lady ; she 
 ivas young, tall, and well shaped ; her dress was hand- 
 3onle and fashionable: so much my first glance suf- 
 ficed to ascertain. A gay salutation passed between 
 tier and Mr. Crimsworth. She chid him, half playful- 
 ly, half poutingly, for being late ; her voice (I always ^ 
 take voices into the account in judging of character) 
 R^as lirely : jtiodicatedj, I thought, good animal spir-'' 
 ts. Mr. Crimsworth soon checked her animated scold- 
 ng with a kiss — a Idss that still told of the bridegroom 
 |they had not yet been married a year). She took her 
 
18 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 seat at the supper-table in first-rate spirits. Perceiv- 
 ing me, she begged my pardon for not noticing me be- 
 
 '"ibre, and then shook hands with me, as ladies do when 
 a flow of good-humor disposes them to be cheerful to 
 all, even the most indifferent of their acquaintance. It 
 
 ~Vas now further obvious to me that she had a good 
 complexion, and features sufficiently marked but agree- 
 able ; . her hair was red — quite red. She and Edward 
 talked much, always in a way of playful contention. 
 She was vexed, or pretended to be vexed, that he had 
 that day driven a vicious horse in the gig, and made 
 light of her fears. Sometimes she appealed to me. 
 
 " 'Now, Mr.WiUiam, isn't it absurd in Edward to 
 talk so? He says he will drive Jack, and no other 
 horse, and the brute has thrown him twice already.' 
 
 " She spoke with a kind of lisp, not disagreeafble, 
 but childish. I soon saW, also, that there was a more 
 than girlish — a somewhat infantine expression in her 
 by no means small features. This lisp and expression 
 were, I have no doubt, a chai-m in Edward's eyes, and 
 would be so to those of most men, but they were not 
 to mine, j I sought her eye, desirous to read there the 
 intelligencfe which I could not discern in her face or 
 hear in her conversation ; it was merry, rather sm'all ; 
 by turns I saw vivacity, vanity, coquetry, look out 
 through its irid, but I watched in vain for a glimpse 
 of soul. I am no Oriental ; white necks, carmine lips 
 and cheeks, clusters of bright curls, do not suffice for 
 me without that Promethean spark which will live aft- 
 er the roses and lilies are faded, the burnished hair 
 grown gray. In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers 
 are very well ; but how many wet days are there in 
 
THE PKOFESSOK. 19 
 
 life — Novemlber seasons of disaster, when a man's 
 hearth and home would be cold indeed without the 
 clear, cheering gleam of intellect [~J 
 
 " Having perused the fair page of Mrs. Crimsworth's 
 face, a deep, involuntary sigh announced my disap- 
 pointment. She took it as a homage to her beauty, 
 and Edward, who was evidently proud of his rich and 
 handsome young wife, threw on me a glance, half rid- 
 icule, half ire. 
 
 " I turned from them both, and gazing wearily round 
 the room, I saw two pictures set iii the oak paneling, 
 one on each side the mantel-piece. Ceasing to take 
 part in the bantering conversation that flowed on be- 
 tween Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth, I bent my thoughts 
 to the examination of these pictures. They were por- 
 traits — alady and a gentleman, both costumed in the 
 fashion of twenty years ago. The gentleman was in 
 the shade. I could not see him well. The lady had 
 the benefit of a full beam from the softly shaded lamp. 
 I presently recognized her. I had seen this picture 
 before, in childhood — it was my mother ; that and the 
 companion picture being the only heir-looms saved out 
 of the sale of my father's property. 
 
 " The face, I remembered, had pleased me as a boy, 
 but then I did not understand it ; now I knew how rare 
 that class of face is in the world, and I appreciated 
 keenly its thoughtful yet gentle expression. The seri- 
 ous gray eye possessed for me a strong charm, as did 
 certain lines in the features indicative of most true and 
 tender feeling. - I was sorry it was only a picture. 
 
 " I soon left Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth to themselves. 
 A servant conducted me to my bed-room. In closing 
 
20 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 my chamter door, I shut out all intruders — you, 
 Charles, as well as the rest. 
 
 " Good-by for the present, 
 
 "William Ceimswoejh." 
 
 To this letter I never got an answer. Before my 
 old friend received it he had accepted a government 
 appointment in one of the colonies, and was already on 
 his way to the scene of his official labors. What has 
 become of him since I know not. 
 
 The leisure time I have at command, and which I 
 intended to employ for his private benefit, I shall now 
 dedicate to that of the public at large. My narrative 
 is not exciting, and, above all, not marvelous ; but it 
 may interest some individuals, who, having toiled- in 
 the same vocation as myself, will find in my experi- 
 ence frequent reflections of their own. The abovo let- 
 ter wiE serve as introduction. I now proceed. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FINE October morning succeeded to the foggy 
 evening that had witnessed my first introduction to 
 Crimsworth Hall. I was early up and walking in the 
 large park-like meadow surrounding the house. The 
 
 autumn sun, rising over the shire JiiUs, disclosed a 
 
 pleasant, country ; woods brown and mellow varied the 
 fields from which the harvest had been lately carried ; 
 a river, gliding between the woods, caught on its sur- 
 face the somewhat cold gleam of the October sun and 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 21 
 
 sky ; at frequent intervals along the banks of the river, 
 tali, cylindrical chimneys, almost like slender round 
 towers, indicated the factories which the trees half con- 
 cealed; here and there mansions, similar to Crims- 
 worth Hall, occupied agreeable sites on the hiU side ; 
 the country wore, on the whole, a cheerful, active, fer- 
 tile look. Steam, trade, machinery had long banished 
 from it all romance and seclusion. At a distance of 
 five miles, a valley, opening between the low hiUs, held 
 in its cups the great town of X . A dense, per- 
 manent vapor brooded over this locality : there lay Ed- 
 ward's "concern." 
 
 I forced my eye to scrutinize this prospect, I forced 
 my mind to dwell on it for a time, and when I found 
 that it communicated no pleasurable emotion to my 
 heart — ^that it stin-ed-in me none ^.of the hopes a man 
 ought to feel when he sees laid before him the scene of 
 his life's career, I said to myself, " William, you are a 
 rebel against circumstances ; you are a fool, and know 
 not what you want ; you hfve chosen trade, and you 
 shall be a tradesman. Look !" I continued^ mentally, 
 " look at the sooty smoke in that hollow, and. know 
 that there is your post. There you can not 'dream, 
 you can not speculate and theorize — there you shall 
 out and work." 
 
 Thus self-schooled, I returned to the house. My 
 brother was in the breakfast-room. I met him collect- 
 edly — ^I, could not meet him cheerfully. He was 
 standing on the rug, his back to the fire. Bow' much 
 did I read in the expression of his. eye as my glance 
 encountered his, when I advanced to bid him good- 
 morning — ^how much that was contradictory to my na- 
 
^, 
 
 22 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 "ttire ! He said " Good-morning" abruptly, and nod- 
 ded, and then he snatched, rather than took,"a newsr 
 paper fjrom the tahle, and began to read it with the air 
 of a master who seizes a pretext to escape the bore of. 
 conversing with an underling. It was well I had taken 
 a resolution to endure for a time, or his manner would 
 have gone far to render insupportable the disgust I had 
 just been endeavoring to subdue. I looked at him. 
 I measured his robust frame a;nd powerful proportions ; 
 I saw my own reflection in the mirror over the mantel- 
 piece ; I amused myself with comparing the two pic- 
 tures. In face I resembled him, though I was not so 
 handsome; my features were less regular; I had a 
 darker eye and a broader brow ; in form I was great- 
 ly, inferior — rthinrier, slighter, not so tall. As an a.ni- 
 mal, Edward excelled me far ; should he prove as par- 
 amount in mind as in person, I must be his slave, for 
 I must expect from him no lion-like generosity to one 
 weaker than himself; his cold, avaricious eye, his 
 stern, forbidding mannei#told me he would not spare. 
 Had I, then, force of mihd to cope with him ? I did 
 not know ; I had never been tried. 
 
 Mrs. Crims worth's entrance diverted my thoughts ., 
 for a moment. She looked well, dressed in white,- her. 
 face and her attire shining in morning and bridal fresh- 
 ness. I addressed her with the degree of ease her last 
 night's careless gayety seemed to wan-ant, but she re- 
 plied with coolness and restraint. Her husjband had 
 tutored her ; she was not to be too familiar with his 
 clerk. 
 
 As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Crimsworth in- 
 timated to me that they were bringing the gig round 
 
THE PROFESSOE. 23 
 
 to the door, and that in five minutes he should expect 
 
 me to he 'ready to go down with him to X . I 
 
 did not keep him waiting; we were soon dashing at a-' 
 rapid rate along the road. The horse he drove was 
 the same Yicious animal about which Mrs. Crimsworth' 
 had expressed her fears the night hefore. Once, or 
 twice Jack seemed disposed to turfi restive, hut a yig- 
 orous and determined application of the whip from the 
 ruthless hand of his master soon compelled him to 
 submission, and Edward's dilated nostril expressed his 
 triumph in the result of the contest. He scarcely 
 spoke to me during the whole of the brief drive, only 
 opening his lips at intervals to damn his horse. 
 
 X was all stir and bustle when we entered it. 
 
 We left the clean streets where there were dwelling- 
 houses and shops, churches and public buildings — we 
 left aU. these, and turned down to a region of mills and 
 warehouses ; thence we passed through two mais^e 
 gates into a great paved yard, and we were in Bigben 
 Close, and the mill was before us, vomiting soot from 
 its long chimney, and quivering through its thick brick 
 walls with the commotion of its iron bowels. Work- 
 people were passing to and fro ; a wagon was being 
 laden with pieces. Mr. Crimsworth looked from side 
 to side, and seemed at one glance to comprehend all 
 that was going on. He alighted, and leaving his horse 
 and gig to the care of a man who hastened to take the 
 reins from his hand, he bid me follow him to the count- 
 ing-house. We^ntered it ; a very different place from 
 the parlors of Crimsworth Hall — a place for business, 
 with a bare planked iloor, a safe, two high desks and 
 stools, and some chairs. A person was seated at one 
 
24 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 of the desks, who took oS his square cap when Mr. 
 Crimsworth entered, and in an instant was again ah-- 
 sorted in his occupation of writing or calculating, I 
 know not which. 
 
 " Mr. Crimsworth, having removed his Mackintosh, 
 sat down by the fire. I remained standing near the 
 hearth. He said presently, 
 
 " Steighton, you may leave the room. I have some 
 business to transact with this gentleman. Come back 
 when you hear the bell." 
 
 The individual at the desk rose and departed, clos- 
 ing the door as he went out. Mr. Crimsworth stirred 
 the fire, then folded his arms, and sat a moment think- . 
 ing, his lips compressed, his brow knit. I had noth- 
 ing to do but to watch him. How weU his features , 
 were cut ! what a handsome man he was ! Whence, ] 
 then, came that air of contraction — ^that narrow and 
 hard aspect on his forehead, in all his lineaments ? 
 
 Turning to me, he began abruptly, 
 
 "You are come dowii to — '■ — shire to learn to be a 
 tradesman ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am." 
 
 " Have you made up your mind on the point ? Let 
 me know that at once." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, I am not bound to help you, but I have a ' 
 place here vacant, if you are qualified for it. I will 
 take you on trial. What can you do ? Do you know 
 any thitig besides that useless trasB>of college learn- 1 
 ing — Greek, Latin, and so forth ?" 
 
 "I have studied mathematics." 
 
 " Stuff! I dare say you have." j 
 
 ' i 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 25 
 
 " I can read and write French and German." 
 
 " Hum !" He reflected a moment, then opening a 
 drawer in a desk near him,>took out a letter and gave 
 it to me. 
 
 " Can you read that ?" he asked. 
 
 It was a German commercial letter. I translated 
 it. I could not tell whether he was gratified or not : 
 his countenance remained fixed. 
 
 "It is well," he said, after a pause, "that you are 
 acquainted with something useftd, something that may 
 enable you to earn your board and lodging. Since 
 you know French and German, I will take you as sec- 
 ond clerk to manage the foreign correspondence of the 
 house. I shall give you a good salary — £90 a year — 
 and now," he continued, raising his voice, "hear once 
 for all what I have to say about our relationship, and 
 all that sort of humbug. I must have no nonsense on 
 that point ; it would never suit me. I shall excuse 
 you nothing on the plea of being laj brother. If I 
 find you stupid, negligent, dissipated, idle, or possess- 
 ed of any faults detrimental to the interests of the 
 house, I shall dismiss you as I would any other clerk. 
 Ninety pounds a year are good wages, and I expect to 
 have the fuU value of my money out of you ; remem- 
 ber, too, that things are on a practical footing in my 
 establishmen^-^iisiness-Iike habits, feelings, and ideas 
 BuitmebBst. "Do "you, understand?"" 
 
 " Partly," I replied. " I suppose you mean that I 
 am to do my work for my wages ; not to expect favor 
 firom you, and not to depend on you for any help but 
 what I earn? That suits me exactly, and on these 
 terma I will consent to be your clerk." 
 
 ■R 
 
26 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 I turned on my heel and walked to the window. 
 This time I did not consult his face to learn his opin- 
 ion. What it was I do not know, nor did I then care. 
 After a silence of some minutes he recommenced : 
 
 " You perhaps expect to he accommodated with 
 apartments at Crimsworth Hall, and to go and come 
 with me in the gig. I wish you, however, to be aware 
 that such an arrangement would he quite inconvenient 
 to me. I like to have the seat in my gig at liberty 
 for any gentleman whom for business reasons I may 
 wish to take down for a night or so. You will seek 
 out lodgings in X ." 
 
 Quitting the window, I walked back to the hearth. 
 
 " Of course I shall seek out lodgings in X ," I 
 
 answered. " It would not suit me either to lodge at 
 Crimsworth HaU." 
 
 My tone Was quiet; I always speak quietly. Yet 
 Mr. Crimsworth's blue eye became incensed. He took 
 his revenge rather oddly. Turning to me, he said 
 bluntly, 
 
 " You are poor enough, I suppose ; how do you ex- 
 pect to live till your quarter's salary becomes due ?" * 
 
 " I shall get on," said I. 
 
 " How do you expect to live ?" he repeated, in a 
 louder voice. 
 
 " As I can, Mr. Crimsworth." 
 
 " Get into debt at your peril, that's all," he an- 
 swered. "For aught I know, you may have extrav- 
 agant aristocratic habits ; if you have, drop them ; I 
 tolerate nothing of the sort here, and I will never give 
 you a shilling extra, whatever liabilities you may in- 
 cm- — ^mind that." 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 27 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Crims worth, you will find I liave a" good 
 memory." ' 
 
 I said no more. I did not think the time was come 
 for such parley. I had an instinctive feeling that it 
 would be folly to let one's temper effervesce often with 
 such a man as Edward. I said to myself, "I will 
 place my cup under this continual dropping ; it shall 
 stand there still and steady; when full, it wUl run 
 over of itself — meantime patience. Two things are 
 certain : I am capable of performing the work Mr. 
 Crimsworth has set me ; I can earn my wages consci- 
 entiously, and those wages are suflScient to enable me 
 to live. x4.s to the fact of my brother assuming toward 
 me the bearing of a proud, harsh master, the fault is 
 his, not mine ; and shall his injustice, his bad feeling, 
 turn me at once aside from the path I have chosen ? 
 No ; at least, ere I deviate, I wiU advance far enough 
 to see whither my career tends.. As yet I am only 
 pressing in at the entrance — a strait gate enough; it 
 ought to have a good terminus." While I thus rea- 
 soned, Mr. Crimsworth rang a beU ; his first clerk, the 
 individual dismissed previously to our conference, re- 
 entered. 
 
 " Mr. Steighton," said he, " show Mr. William the 
 letters from Yoss, Brothers, and give him English 
 copies of the answers : he will translate them." 
 
 Mr. Steighton, a man of about thirty-five, with a 
 face at onee sly and heavy, hastened to execute this 
 order. He laid the letters on the desk, and I was soon 
 seated at it, and engaged in rendering the English 
 answers into German, A sentiment of keen pleasure 
 accOfiipaiiied this first effort to earn my own living — a 
 
28 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 sentiment neither poisoned nor weakened by the pre 
 ence of the taskmaster, who stood and watched me f( 
 some time as I wrote. I thought he was trying 
 read my character, but I felt as secure against h 
 scrutiny as if I had had on a casque with the via 
 down — or- rather I showed him my countenance wil 
 the confidence that one would show an unlearned mi 
 a letter written in Greek. He might see lines ar 
 trace characters, but he could make nothing of then 
 my nature was not hi^ nature, and its signs were ■ 
 hipi like the words of an unknown tongue. Ere lot 
 he .turned away abruptly, as if baffled, and left tl 
 counting-house. He returned to it but twice in tl 
 course of that day; each time he mixed and swallow( 
 a glass, of brandy and water, the materials for makii 
 which he extracted from a cupboard on one side ( 
 the fire-place. Having glanced at my translations- 
 he could read both French and Grerman — ^he went oi 
 again in silence. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 I SERVED Edward as his second clerk faitfafiill 
 punctually, diligently. What was given me to do 
 had the power and the determination to do well. M 
 Crimsworth watched sharply for defects, but foui 
 none; he set Timothy Steighton, his favorite ai 
 head man, to watch also. Tini was baffled ; I was ; 
 exact as himself, and quicker. Mr. Crimsworth ma( 
 inquiries as to how I lived — whether I got into del 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 29 
 
 No, my accounts with my landlady were always 
 straight. I had hired small lodgings, which I con- 
 trived to pay for out of a slender fund, the accumu' 
 lated savings of my Eton pocket-money ; for, as it 
 had ever teen abhorrent to my nature to ask pecun- 
 iary assistance, I had early acquired habits of self-de- 
 nying economy, husbanding my monthly allowance 
 with anxious care, in order to obviate the danger of 
 being forced, in some moment of future exigency, to 
 beg additional aid. I remember many called me miser 
 at the time, and I used to couple the reproach with 
 this consolation — ^better to be misunderstood now than 
 repulsed hereafter. At this day I had my reward ; I 
 had had it before, when, on parting with my irritated 
 uncles, one of them threw down on the table before 
 me a £5 note, which I was able to leave there, saying 
 that my traveling expenses were already provided for. 
 Mr. Crimsworth employed Tim to find out whether 
 my landlady had any complaint to make on the score 
 ■ of my morals. , She answered that she believed I was 
 a very religious man, and asked Tim, in her turn, if he 
 thought I had any intention of going into the Church 
 some day ; for, she said, she had had young curates 
 to lodge in her house who were nothing equal to me 
 for steadiness and quietness. Tim was " a religious 
 man" himself; indeed, he was " a joined Methodist," 
 which did not (be it understood) prevent him from be- 
 ing at the same time an ingrained rascal, and he came 
 away much posed at hearing this account of my piety. 
 Having imparted it to Mr. Crimsworth, that gentle- 
 man, who himself frequented no place of worship, an^' 
 owned no God but Mammon, turned the information 
 
30 TUE PllOFESSOE. 
 
 into a weapon of attack against the equability of r 
 temper. He commenced a series of covert sneers, 
 which I did not at first perceive the drift, till my lar 
 lady happened to relate the conversation she had h 
 with Mr. Steighton ; this enlightened me ; afterwan 
 came to the counting-house prepared, and managed 
 receive the mill-owner's blasphemous sarcasms, wl 
 next leveled at me, on a buckler of impenetrable inc 
 ference. Ere long he tired of wasting his ammuniti 
 on a statue, but he did not throw away the shafts 
 he only kept them quiet in his quiver. 
 
 Once during my clerkship I had an invitation 
 Crimsworth Hall : it was on the occasion of a la 
 party given in honor of the master's birthday, 
 had always been accustomed to invite his clerks 
 similar anniversaries, and could not well pass me as 
 I was, however, kept in the background. Mrs. Crii 
 worth, elegantly dressed in satin and lace, bloom: 
 in youth and health, vouchsafed me no more no1 
 than was expressed by a distant move. Crimswoi 
 of course, never spoke to me. I was introduced 
 none of the band of young ladies, who, enveloped 
 silvery clouds of white gauze and muslin, sat in ar 
 against me on the opposite of a long and large ro,o 
 in fact, I was fairly isolated, and could but conte 
 plate the shining ones from afar, and, when weary 
 such a dazzling scene, turn for a change to the cons 
 eration of the carpet pattern. Mr. Crimsworth, sta 
 ing on the rug, his elbow supported by the mat 
 mantel-piece, and about him a group of very pre 
 girls, with whom he conversed gayly-^Mr. Crimswoi 
 thus placed, glanced at me. I looked weary,_salil;a 
 
_ THE PEOFESSOE. 31 
 
 ke pt down lik e some desolate tutor or_g.gyerneaa. He 
 was satisfied. 
 
 Dancing began. I should have liked well enough' 
 to be introduced to some pleasing and intelligent girl, 
 and to have freedom and opportunity to show that I 
 could both feel and communicate the pleasure of social 
 intercourse — that I was not, in short, a block, or a 
 piece of furniture, but an acting, thinking, sentient- 
 man. Many smiHng faces and graceful figures glided 
 past me, but the smiles were lavished on other eyes, 
 the figures sustained by other hands than mine. I 
 turned away tantalized, left the dancers, and wandered 
 into the oak-paneled dining-room. ^jxJ bre.. of -sympa- 
 thy united me to any living thing in this house. I 
 looked for and found my mothePs^^^^ure. 1 took a 
 wax taper from 3, jtan^_^a_held it up.^ I gazed long, 
 earnestly ;jny heart grew to the image — My mother, 
 I perceived, had begueathedJa me much _of her fea- 
 tures and countenancex;;igr, forehead, hex . eyes, her 
 complexion. Npjregular J^^?£*Z P^^^,55S, .^9*^^*^''*^ 
 human beings so much as a softened and refined like- 
 ness of themselves ; for this reason, fathers "regard 
 with complacency the lineaments of their daughters' 
 faces, where frequently their own similitude is found 
 flatteringly associated with softness of hue and deli- 
 cacy of outline. I was just wondering how that pic- 
 ture, to me so interesting, would strike an impartial 
 spectator, when a voice close behind me pronounced 
 the words, 
 
 " Humph ! there's some sense in that face," 
 I turned. At my elbow stood a tall man, young, 
 though probably five or six years older than I — in 
 
32 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 other respects of an appearance the opposite to con 
 monplace ; though just now, as I am not disposed 1 
 paint his portrait in detail, the reader must be contei 
 with the silhouette I have just thrown off; it was a 
 I myself saw of him for the moment : I did not ij 
 vestigate the color of his eyebrows, nor of his eye 
 either ; I saw his stature, and the outline of his shape 
 I saw, too, his fastidious retrmissi nose : these obse: 
 vations, few in number and general in character (tl 
 last excepted), sufficed, for they enabled me to recoj 
 nize him. 
 
 " Good-evening, Mr. Hunsden," muttered I, with 
 
 bow, and then, like a shy noodle as I was, I bega 
 
 moving away — and why ? Simply because Mr. Huni 
 
 den was a manufacturer and a miU-ownra', and I W£ 
 
 only a clerk, and my instinct propelled me from m 
 
 superior. I had frequently seen Hunsden in Bigbe 
 
 Close, where he came almost weekly to transact bus 
 
 ness with Mr. Crimsworth, but I had never spoken 1 
 
 him, nor he to me, and I owed him a sort of involui 
 
 V tary grudge, because he had more than once been tl 
 
 ,' tacit witness of insults offered by Edward to me. 
 
 (had the conviction that he could only regard me as 
 
 / poor-spirited slave, wherefore I now went about 1 
 
 ^shun his presence and eschew his conversation. 
 
 "Where are you going?" asked he, as I edged o: 
 sideways. I had already noticed that Mr. Hunsde 
 indulged in abrupt forms of speech, and I perverse] 
 said to myself, 
 
 "He thinks he may speak as he likes to a po( 
 clerk ; but my mood is not perhaps so supple as 1 
 deems it, and his rough freedom pleases me not at all. 
 
TilJbJ rKUJJ'JSHHUJI. 
 
 I made some slight reply, rather indifferent than 
 courteous, and continued to move away. He coolly 
 planted himself in my path. 
 
 " Stay here a while," said he : " it is so hot in the 
 dancing-room; besides, you don't dance; you have 
 not had a partner to-night." 
 
 He was right ; and as he spoke, neither his look, 
 tone, nor manner displeased me ; my amour^rqpre 
 was propitiated ; he had not addressed me out of con- 
 descension, but because, having repaired to the cool 
 dining-room for refreshment, he now wanted some one 
 to talk to by way of temporary amusement. . I hate 
 to be condescended to, but I like well enough to oblige : 
 I staid. 
 
 " That is a good picture," he continued, recurring 
 to the portrait. 
 
 " Do you consider the face pretty ?" I asked. 
 
 " Pretty I no : how can it be pretty with sunk eyes" 
 and hollow cheeks ? But it is peculiar; it seems to 
 think. You could have a talk with that woman, if 
 she were alive, on other subjects than dress, visiting, 
 and compliments." "~" 
 
 I agreed with him, but did not say so. He went on : " 
 
 " Not that I admire a head of that sort ; it wants 
 character and force ; there's too much of the sen-si-tive 
 (so he articulated it, curling his lip at the same time) 
 in that mouth ; besides, there is Aristocrat written on 
 the byow and defined in the figure ; I hate your aris- 
 tocrats." * 
 
 "You think, then, Mr. Hunsden, that patrician de- 
 scent may be read in a distinctive cast of form and 
 features ?" 
 
 B2 
 
34 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " Patrician descent be hanged ! Who doubts tl 
 your lordlings may have their ' distinctive cast of fo 
 
 and features' as much as we shire tradesmen hs 
 
 ours ? But which is the best ? Not theirs, assured 
 As to their women, it is a little different : they cu] 
 vate beauty from childhood upward, and may by Ci 
 and training attain to a certain degree of excellence 
 that point, just like the Oriental odalisques. T«t e\ 
 this superiority is doubtful. ^Compare the figure 
 that frame with Mrs. Edward Crimsworth — which 
 the finer animal ?" 
 
 I replied quietly, " Compare yourself and Mr. I 
 ward Crimsworth, Mr. Hunsden." 
 
 " Oh, Crimsworth is better filled up than I am 
 know; besides, he has a straight nose, arched e; 
 brows, and all that ; but these advantages — ^if they ; 
 advantages — he did not inherit from his mother, i 
 patrician, but from his father, old Crimsworth, -vri 
 
 my father says, was as veritable a shire blue-d^ 
 
 as ever put indigo into a vat, yet, withal, the hai 
 somest man in the three Ridings. ■ It is you,WiIlia 
 who are the aristocrat of your family, and you are ] 
 as fine a fellow as your plebeian brother by a Ic 
 chalk." 
 
 There was something in Mr. Hunsden's point-bla 
 mode of speech which rather pleased me than oth 
 wise, because it set me at my ease. I continued 1 
 conversation with a degree of interest. 
 
 " How do you happen to know that I am Mr. Criii 
 worth's brother ? I thought you and every body e 
 looked upon me only in the light of a poor clerk." 
 
 " Well, and so we do ; and what are you but a p< 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 35 
 
 clerk ? You do Crimsworth's work, and he gives you 
 wages — shabby wages they are, too." 
 
 I was silent. Hunsden's language now bordered 
 on the impertinent ; still, his manner did not offend me 
 in the least — it only piqued my curiosity. I wanted 
 him to go on, which he did in a little while. 
 
 " This world is an absurd one," said he. 
 
 " Why so, Mr. Hunsden ?" 
 
 "I wonder you should ask: you are yourself a 
 strong proof of the absurdity I allude to." 
 
 I was determined he should explain himself of his 
 own accord, without my pressing him so to do, so I 
 resumed my silence. 
 
 " Is it your intention to become a tradesman ?" he 
 inquired, presently. 
 
 " It was my serious intention three months ago." 
 
 ' ' Humph ! the more fool you — you look like a trades- 
 man ! What a practical business-like face you have !" 
 
 "My face is as the Lord made it, "Mr. Hunsden." 
 
 " The Lord never made either your face or head for 
 X . What good can your bumps of ideality, com- 
 parison, self-esteem, conscientiousness, do you here? 
 But if you like Bigben Close, stay there ; it's your own 
 affair, not mine." 
 
 " Perhaps I have no choice." 
 
 "Well, I care na,ught about it; it will make little 
 difference to me what you do or where you go ; but 
 I'm cool now : I want to dance again ; and I see such 
 a fine girl sitting in the comer of the sofa there by her 
 mamma — see if I don't get her for a partner in a jiffy ! 
 There's Waddy — Sam Waddy making up to her; 
 won't I cut him out 2" 
 
3<j THE PBOFESSOE. 
 
 And Mr. Hunsden strode away. I watched h 
 through the open folding-doors. He outstripped Wi 
 dy, applied for the hand of the fine girl, and led ] 
 off triumphant. She was a tall, well-made, fiill-for 
 ed, dashingly-dressed young woman, much in the st; 
 of Mrs. E. Crimsworth. Hunsden whirled her throu 
 the waltz with spirit. He kept at her side during 1 
 remainder of the evening, and I read in her animal 
 and gratified countenance that he succeeded in maki 
 himself perfectly agreeable. The mamma too (a st( 
 person in a turban — ^Mrs. Lupton by name) looked w 
 pleased ; prophetic visions probably flattered her 
 ward eye. The Hunsdens were of an old stem ; a 
 scornful as Torke (such was my late interlocuto 
 name) professed to be of the advantages of birth, in ] 
 secret heart he well knew and fully appreciated 1 
 distinction his ancient, if not high lineage conferred 
 
 him in a mushroom place like X , concerning wh( 
 
 inhabitants it was proverbially said that not one ir 
 thousand knew his own grandfather. Moreover, 1 
 Hunsdens, once rich, were stUl independent ; and 
 port affirmed that Yorke bade fair, by his success 
 business, to restore to pristine prosperity the partia 
 decayed fortunes of his house. These circnmstan< 
 considered, Mrs. Lupton's broad face might well w( 
 a smile of complac^cy as she contemplated the h 
 of Hunsden Wood occupied in paying assiduous coi 
 to her darling Sarah Martha. I, however, whose ( 
 servations, being less anxious, were likely to be m( 
 accurate, soon saw that the grounds for maternal sc 
 congratulation were slight indeed ; the gentleipan i 
 peared to me much more desirous of making than si 
 
XXLJIi ^Jl\Jf JLDDUA. 
 
 ceptible of receiving an impression. I know riot what 
 it was in Mr. Hnnsden that, as I watched him (I had 
 nothing better to do), suggested to me, every now and 
 then, the idea of a foreigner. In form and features he 
 "inight be pronounced English, though even there oile 
 Oiaught a dash of something Gallic ; but he had no En- 
 glish shyness. He had learned somewhere, somehow, 
 the art of settiag himself quite at his ease, and of al- 
 lowing no insular timidity to intervene as a barrier be- 
 tween him and his convenience or pleasure. Kefine- 
 ment he did not affect, yet vulgar he could not be call-/ 
 ed; he was not odd— no quiz; yet he resembled fio^ 
 one else I had ever seen before. His general bearing 
 intimated complete, sovereign satisfaction with himself; 
 yet, at times, an indescribable shade passed like dn 
 eclipse over his countenance, and seemed to me like 
 the sign of a sudden and strong inward doubt of him- 
 self, his words and actions — an energetic discontent at 
 his life or his social position, his future prospects or 
 his mental attainments, I know not which; perhaps, 
 after all^ it might only be a bilious caprice. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 No man likes to acknowledge that he has made a 
 mistake in the choice of his profession, and every man 
 worthy of the name wiU row long against wind and 
 tide-before he allows himself to cry out "I am baffled," 
 and %ibmits to be floated passively back to land. 
 Ffe^ the first week of my residence in X — ■ — I felt 
 
 r 
 
38 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 my occupation irksome. The thing itself — the work 
 of copying and translating business letters — was a dry 
 and tedious task enough, but had that been all, I should 
 long have borne with the nuisance. J am not of^n 
 impatient nature, and influenced by the double desire 
 of getting my living and justifying to myself and oth- 
 ers the resolution I had taken to become a tradesman, 
 I should have endured in silence the rust and cramp 
 of my best faculties ; I should not have whispered, 
 even inwardly, that I longed for liberty ; I should have 
 pent in every sigh by which my heart might have ven- 
 tured to intimate its distress under the closeness, smoke, 
 HTonotony, and joyless tumult of Bigben Close, and its 
 panting desire for freer and fresher scenes ; I should 
 have set up the image, of Duty, the fetish of Persever- 
 ance, in my small bed-room at Mrs. King's lodgings, 
 and they two should have been my household gods^ 
 ; from which my darling, my cherished-in-secret, Im- 
 ' agination, the tender and the mighty, should never, 
 either by softness or strength, have severed me. But 
 this was not all ; the antipathy which had sprung up 
 between myself and my employer striking deeper root 
 and spreading denser shade daily, excluded me from 
 every glimpse of the sunshine of life, and I began to 
 feel like a plant growing in humid darkness out of the 
 slimy walls of a well. 
 
 Antipathy is the only word which can express the 
 feeling Edward Crimsworth had for me — a feeling in 
 a great measure involuntary, and which was liable to 
 be excited by every, the most trifling movement, look, 
 or word of mine. My Southern accent annoyed him ; 
 the degree of education evinced in my language irri- 
 
THK PEUFESSOR. iiV 
 
 tated him; my punctuality, industry, and accuracy 
 fixed his dislike, and gave it the high flavor and poign- 
 ant relish *of envy ; he feared that I too should one 
 day make a successful tradesman. Had I heen in any 
 thing inferior to him, he would not have hated me so 
 thoroughly ; but I knew all that he knew, and, what 
 was worse, he suspected that I kept the padlock of si- 
 lence on mental wealth in which he was no sharer. If 
 he could have once placed me in a ridiculous or morti- ' 
 fying position, he would have forgiven me much, but I 
 was guarded by three faculties — Caution, Tact, Obs^- 
 vation; and prowling and prying as was Edward's\ 
 malignity, it could never baffle the lynx-eyes of these, 
 mj natural sentinels. Day by day did his malice 
 watch mj tact, hoping it would sleep, and prepared to 
 steal snake-like on its slumber ; but tact, if it be gen-,' 
 uine, never sleeps. , ' ^ 
 
 I had received my first quarter's wages and was re- 
 turning to my lodgings, possessed heart and soul with 
 the pleasant feehng that the master who had paid me 
 gTudged every penny of that hard-earned pittance — (I 
 had long ceased to regard Mr. Crimsworth as my broth- 
 er : he was a hard, grinding rnaster ; he wished to be 
 an inexorable tyrant — that was all). Thoughts-, not 
 varied but strong, occupied my mind ; two voices spoke 
 within me ; aigain and again they uttered the same 
 monotonous phrases. One said, " William, your life 
 is intolerable." The other, " What can you do to al- 
 ter it ?" I walked fast, for it was a cold, frosty night 
 in January. As X approached my lodgings, I turned 
 firom a general view of my affairs to the particular spec- 
 ulation as to whether. my fire, would be, out. Look- 
 
40 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 ing toward the window of my sitting-room, I saw no 
 cheering red gleam. 
 
 " That slut of a servant has neglected it as usual," 
 said I. " I shall see nothing but pale ashes if I go in. 
 It is a fine starlight night — I wiU walk a little farther." 
 
 It was a fine night, and the streets were dry and 
 
 even clean for X ; there was a crescent curve of 
 
 moonlight to be seen by the parish church tower, and 
 hundreds of stars, shone keenly bright in all quarters 
 of the sky. 
 
 Unconsciously I steered my course toward the coun- 
 try. I had got into Grove Street, and began to feel 
 the pleasure of seeing dim trees at the extremity, round 
 a suburban house, when a person leaning over the iron 
 gate of one of the small gardens which fi:ont the neat 
 dwelling-houses in this street addressed me as I was 
 hurrying with quick stride past. 
 
 " What the deuce is the hurry ? Just so must Lot 
 have left Sodom when he expected fire to pour down 
 upon it out of burning brass clouds." 
 
 I stopped short and looked toward the speaker. • I 
 smelt the fi-agrance, and saw the red spark of a cigar-; 
 the dusk outline of a man, too, bent toward me over 
 the wicket. 
 
 " You see I am meditating in the field at eventide," 
 continued this shade. " God knows it's cool work, 
 especially as, instead of Rebecca on a camel's hump, 
 with bracelets on her arms and a ring in her nose. 
 Fate sends me only a counting-house clerk in a gray 
 tweed wrapper." 
 
 The voice was familiar to me ; its second utterance 
 enabled me to seize the speaker's identity. 
 
THE PROFESSOR. 41 
 
 " Mr. Hunsden- — good-evening." 
 
 " Good-evening, indeed ! Yes, but you would have 
 passed me without recognition if I had not been so 
 civil as to speak first." 
 
 "I did not know you." 
 
 "A famous excuse! You ought to have known 
 me ; I knew you, though you were going ahead like a 
 steam-engine. Are the police after you ?" 
 
 " It wouldn't be worth their while ; I'm not of con- 
 sequence, enough to attract them." 
 
 "Alas! poor shepherd. Alack and weU-a-day! 
 Wiiat a theme for regret, and how down in the mouth 
 you must be, judging from the sound of your voice ! 
 But, since you're not running from the police, from 
 whom are you running — ^the devil ?" 
 
 " On the contrary, I am going post to him." 
 
 _" That is weU ; you're just in luck. This is Tues- 
 day evening; there are scores of market gigs and carts 
 returning to Dinneford to-night, and he, or some of his, 
 have a seat in all regularly ; so, if you'll step in and 
 sit half an hour in my bachelor's parlor, you will catch 
 him as he passes without much trouble. I think, 
 though, you'd better let him alone to-night, he'll have 
 so many customers to serve ; Tuesday is his busy day 
 in X^ and Dinneford. Come in, at aU events." 
 
 He swung the wicket open as he spoke. 
 
 " Do you really wish me to go in ?" I asked. 
 
 "As you please — I'm alone; your company for an 
 hour or two would be agreeable to me ; but, if you 
 *don't choose to favor me so far, I'll not press the point. 
 I hate to bore any one." 
 
 It suited me to accept the invitation as it suited 
 
42 THE PEOFESSOB. 
 
 Hunsden to give it. I passed througn the gate, and 
 followed him to the front door, which he opened; 
 thence we traversed a passage and entered his parlor; 
 the door being shut, he pointed me to an arm-chair| 
 Iby the hearth. I sat down, and glanced round me. ' 
 
 It was a comfortable room, at once snug and hand- 
 some; the bright grate was filled with a genuine i 
 
 shire fire, red, clear, and generous — ^no penurious 
 
 south of England embers happed in the comer of a grate. " 
 On the table a shaded lamp diffused around a soft, pleas- 
 ant, and equal light ; the furniture was almost luxuri- 
 ous for a young bachelor, comprising a couch and two 
 very easy chairs ; book-shelves filled the recesses on 
 each side of the mantel-piece : they were well-famish- 
 ed', and arranged with perfect order. The neatness of 
 the room suited my taste ; I hate irregular and sloven- ' 
 ly habits. From what I saw, I concluded that Huns- 
 den's ideas on that point corresponded with my own. 
 While he removed from the centre-table to the side- 
 board a few pamphlets and periodicals, I ran my eye 
 along the shelves of the book-case nearest me. French 
 and German works predominated, the old French dram- 
 atists, sundry modern authors, Thiers, Villemain, Paul 
 4e^ck, George Sand, Eugene Sue ; in German, Goe- 
 the, Schiller, Zschokke, Jean Paul Eichter ; in English 
 there were works on Political Economy, I examined 
 no further, for Mr. Hunsden himself recalled my atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "You shall have something," said he, "for you 
 ought to feel disposed for refireshment after walking 
 nobody, knows how far on such a Canadian night as 
 this ; but it shall not be brandy and water, and it shall 
 
xJlJi riiUJ'.KStSUii. 45 
 
 not be a bottle of port, nor ditto of sherry. I keep no 
 sucH poison. I have Ehein wein for my own drink- 
 ing, and you may choose between that and coffee." 
 
 Here again Hunsden suited me. If there was one— 
 generally received practice I abhorred more than an- 
 other, it was the habitual imbibing of spirits and strong 
 wines. I had, however, no fancy for his acid German 
 nectar, but I liked coffee, so I responded, 
 
 "Give me some coffee, Mr. Hunsden." 
 
 I perceived my answer pleased him. He had doubt- 
 less expected to see a chilling effect produced by his 
 steady announcemeat that he would give me neither 
 wine nor spirits. He just shot one^earehing glance \ 
 at my face to ascertain whether my cordiality was gen- > 
 uine or a mere feint of politeness. I smiled, because I i 
 quite understood him ; and, while I honored his con- I 
 scientious firmness, I was amused at his mistrust. / 
 He seemed satisfied, rang the bell, and ordpred coffee, 
 which was presently brought ; for himself, a bunch of 
 grapes and half a pint of something sour sufficed. My 
 coffee was excellent. I told him so, and expressed 
 the shuddering pity with which his anchorite fare in- 
 spired me. He did not answer, and I scarcely thinkS, 
 heard my remark. At that moment one of those mo- 
 mentary eclipses I before alluded to had come over his 
 face, extinguishing his sinile, and replacing, by an ab- 
 stracted and alienated look, the customarily sftrewd, 
 bantering glance of his eye. I employed the interval 
 of silence in a rapid scrutiny of his physiognomy. I 
 had never observed him closely before, and, as my 
 sight is very short, I had gathered only a vague, gen- 
 eral idea of his appearance. I was surprised now, on 
 
44 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 examination, to perceive how small and even femi- ' 
 nine were his lineaments. His tall figure, long and 
 dark locks, his voice and general hearing, had impress- 
 ed me with the notion of something powerful and mass- 
 ive. Not at all; my own features were cast in a 
 harsher and squarer mould than his. I discerned that 
 there would he contrasts between his inward and out- . 
 ward man ; contentions too ; .for I suspected^his soul 
 had more of will and ambition jthan^is_i!ody- had of 
 fibre and muscle. Perhaps in these incompatibilities 
 of the " physique" with the "morale" lay the secret 
 of that fitful gloom ; ^j^wqidd but could not , and the 
 athletic mind scowlgd scorn , on Ss iaore frai^& -com- 
 panion. As to his good looks, I should have liked to 
 have a woman's opinion on that subject : it seemed to 
 me that his face might produce the same efiect on a 
 lady that a very piquant and interesting, though 
 scarcely pretty female face would on a man. I have 
 mentioned his dark locks: they were brushed side- 
 ways above a white and suflSciently expansive fore- 
 head; his cheek had a rather hectic freshness; his 
 
 /'^features might have done well on canvas, but indiffer- 
 ently in marble : they were plastic ; character had set 
 a stamp upon each ; expression recast them at her 
 
 ^ pleasure, and strange metamorphoses she wrought, 
 giving him now the mien of a morose bull, and anon 
 that of an arch and mischievous girl ; more frequently 
 the two semblances were blent, and a queer, composite 
 countenance they made. 
 Starting from his silent fit, he began : 
 " WiUiam, what a fool you are to live in those dis- 
 mal lodgings of Mrs. King's, when you might take 
 
THE PKOFESSOE. 45 
 
 ooma here in Grove Street, and have a garden like 
 
 QC." • 
 
 " I should be too far from the mill." 
 
 "What of that? It would do you good to walk 
 here and back two or three 'times a day; besides, are 
 rou such a fossil that you never wish to see a flower 
 ir a green leaf?" 
 
 " I am no fossil." 
 
 "What are you, then? You sit at that desk in 
 iJrimsworth's counting-house day by day and week by 
 reek, scraping with a pen on paper just like an au- 
 omaton ; you never get up ; you never say you are 
 ired ; you never ask for a holiday ; you never take 
 hange or relaxation ; you give way to no excess of 
 ,n evening; you neither keep wild company, nor in- 
 iulge in strong drink." 
 
 " Do you, Mr. Hunsden?" 
 
 "Don't think to pose me with short questions.'^ 
 Tour case and mine are diametrically different, and it 
 s nonsense to draw a parallel. I say that when a 
 aan endures patiently what ought to be unenduncble, 
 le is a fossil." 
 
 "Whence do you acquire the knowledge of my pa- 
 ience?" 
 
 " Why, man, do you suppose you are a "mystery ? 
 Che other night you seemed surprised at my knowing 
 what Jamily you belonged ; now you find subject 
 "or wonderment in my caUing you patient. What do 
 jTOU think I do with my eyes and ears ? I've been in 
 rour. counting-house more than once when Crimsworth 
 las treated you like a dog ; called for a book, for in- 
 stance, and when you gave him the wrong one, or what 
 
46 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 he chose to consider the wrong one, flung it back al- . 
 most in your face ; desired you to shut or open the 
 door as if you liad been his flunkey ; to say nothing 
 of your position at the party about a month ago, where 7 
 you had neither place nor partner, but hovered about 
 like a poor, shabby hanger-on ; and how patient you 
 were under each and aU of these circumstances !" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Hunsden, what then ?" 
 ■ "I can hardly tell you what then. The conclusion 1 
 to be drawn as to your character depends upon the 
 nature of the motives which guide your conduct. If 
 you are patient because you expect to make something 
 eventually out of Crimsworth, notwithstanding his tyr- 
 anny, or perhaps by means of it, you are what the 
 world calls an interested and mercenary, but may be a 
 very wise fellow ; if you are patient because you think 
 it a duty to meet insult with submission, you are an 
 essential sap, and in no shape the man for my money ; 
 if you are patient because your nature is phlegmatic, 
 flat, inexcitable, and that you can not get up to the 
 pitch of resistance, why, God made you to be crush- 
 ed ; and lie down, by all means, and lie flat, and let 
 Juggernaut ride well over you." 
 
 Mr. Hunsden's eloquence was not, it will be per- 
 ceived, of the sniooth and oily order. As he spoke, he 
 pleased me ill. /I seemed to recognize in him one" of 
 those characters'" who, sensitive enough themselves, are 
 selfishly, relentless toward the sensitiveness of others^ 
 Moreover, though he was neither like Crimsworth nor. 
 Lord Tynedale, yet he was acrid, and, I suspected, 
 overbearing in his way : there was a tone of despot- 
 ism in the urgency of the very reproaches by which he 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 47 
 
 imed at goading the, oppreseed into rebellion agaftist 
 he oppressor. Looking at him still more fixedly than 
 - had yet done, I saw written in his eye and mien a 
 esolution to arrogate to himself a freedom so unlimit- 
 sd that it might often trench on the just liberty of his 
 leighhofs. I rapidly ran over these thoughts, and 
 hen I laughed a low and involuntary laugh, moved 
 hereto hy a slight inward revelation of the inconsist- 
 sncy of man. It was as I thought. Hunsden had 
 ixpected me to take with calm his incorrect and of- 
 ensive- surmises, his hitter and haughty taunts, and 
 limself was chafed hy a laugh scarce louder than a 
 vhisper. 
 
 His brow darkened, his thin nostril dilated a little. 
 
 " Yes," he began, " I told you that you were an 
 iristocrat, and who but an aristocrat would laugh such 
 I laugh as that, and look such a look ? A laugh frigid- 
 y jeering ; a look lazily mutinous ; gentlemanlike 
 rony, patrician resentment. What a nobleman you 
 ivould have made, William Crimsworth ! You are cut 
 )ut for one ; pity Fortune has balked Nature ! Look at 
 ;he features, figure, even to the hands — distinction all 
 3ver — ^ugly distinction ! Now, if you'd only an estate, 
 md a mansion, and a park, and a title, how you could 
 play the exclusive, maintain the rights of your clasS", / 
 train your tenantry in habits of respect to the peerage, ( 
 appose at every step the advancing power of the peo- 
 ple, support +y our rotten order, and be ready, for its ' 
 sake, to wade knee-deep in churls' blood ! As it is, \ 
 you've no power ; you can do nothing ; you're wreck- \ 
 ed and stranded on the shores of commerce; forced ■ 
 into collision with practical men, with whom you can 
 not cope, for you'll never be a tradsmsan" 
 
48 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 The first part of Hunsden's speech moved me not 
 at all, or, if it did, it was only to wonder at the per- 
 version into which prejudice had twisted his judgment 
 of my character; the concluding sentence, however, 
 not only moved, but shook me ; the blow it gave was 
 a severe one, because Truth wielded the weapon. If I 
 smiled now, it was only in disdain of myself. 
 
 Hunsden saw his advantage ; he followed it up. 
 
 "You'll make nothing by trade," continued he; 
 " nothing more than the crust of dry bread and the 
 draught of fair water on which you now live. Tour 
 only chance of getting a competency lies in marrying 
 a rich widow, or running away with an heiress." 
 
 ," I leave such shifts to be put in practice by those 
 who devise them," said I, rising. 
 
 "And even that is hopeless," he went on, coolly. 
 " What widow would have you ? much less, what heir- 
 ess? You're not bold and venturesome enough for* 
 the one, nor handsome and fascinating enough for the 
 other. You think, perhaps, you look intelligent and 
 polished. Carry your intellect and refinement to mar- 
 ket, and tell me in a private note what price is bid for 
 them." 
 
 ^— Mr. Hunsden had taken his tone for the night ; the 
 string he struck was out of tune ; he would finger no 
 I other. Averse to discord, of which I had enough ev- 
 ery day and all day long, I concluded, at last, that si- 
 lence and solitude were preferable to jarring converse. 
 I bade him good-night. 
 
 " What ! are you going, lad ? Well, good-night ; 
 you'll find the door." And he sat still in front of the 
 fire, while I left the room and the house. I had got 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 49 
 
 a good way on my return to my lodgings before I 
 found out that I was walking very fast and breathing 
 very hard, and that my nails were almost stuck into 
 the palms of my clenched hands, and that my teeth 
 were set fast. On making this discovery, I relaxed 
 both my pace, fists, and jaws, but I could not so soon 
 cause the regrets rushing rapidly through my mind to 
 slacken their tide. Why did I make myself a trades- 
 man ? Why did I enter Hunsden's house this even- 
 ing? Why, at dawn to-nforrow, must I repair to 
 Crimsworth's mill? All that night did I ask myself 
 these questions, and all that night fiercely demanded 
 of my soul an answer. I got no sleep ; my head burn- 
 ed, my feet froze ; at last the factory bells rang, and I 
 sprang from my bed with other slaves. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Theee is a climax to every thing — to every state 
 Df feeling as well as to every position in life. I turn- 
 ed this truism over in my mind as, in the frosty dawn 
 jf a January morning, I hurried down the steep and 
 low icy street which descended from Mrs. King's to 
 ;he Close. The factory work-people had preceded me 
 ay nearly an hour, and the mill was all lighted up and 
 n full operation when I reached it. I repaired to my 
 post in the counting-house as usual; the fire there, but 
 just lit, as yet only smoked ; Steighton was not yet 
 irrived. I shut the door and sat down at the desk ; 
 ny hands, recently washed in half-frozen water, were 
 C 
 
50 THE PKOFESSbli. 
 
 still numb ; I could not write till they had regained 
 vitality, so I went on thinking, and still the theme of 
 my thoughts was "the climax." Self-dissatisfaction 
 troubled exceedingly the current of my meditations. 
 
 " Come, William Crimsworth," said my conscience, 
 or whatever it is that within ourselves takes ourselves 
 to task, " come, get a clear notion of what you would 
 have or what you would not have. You talk of a 
 climax ; pray has your endurance reached its climax ? 
 It is not four months old. What a fine, resolute fel- 
 low you imagined yourself to be when you told Tyne- 
 dale you would tread in your father's steps, and a 
 pretty treading you are likely to make of it ! How 
 well you like X ! Just at this moment, how red- 
 olent of pleasant associations are its streets, its shops, 
 its warehouses, its factories ! How the prospect of 
 this day cheers you ! Letter-copying till noon, soli- 
 tary dinner at your lodgings, letter-copying till even- 
 ing, solitude ; for you neither find pleasure in Brown's, 
 nor Smith's, nor Nicholls's, nor Eccle's company ; an^ 
 as to Hunsden, you fancied there was pleasure to be 
 derived from his society — he ! he ! how did you like 
 the taste of him you had last night ? was it sweet ? 
 Yet he is a talented, an original-minded man, and eveis 
 he does not like you ; your seK-respect defies you to 
 like him; he has always seen you to disadvantage; 
 ' he always will see you to disadvantage ; your posi- 
 tions are unequal, and, were they on the same level, 
 your minds could not assimilate ; never hope, then, to 
 gather the honey of friendship out of that thorn-guard- 
 ed plant. HoUo, Crimsworth ! where are your thoughts 
 tending ? You leave the recollection of Hunsden as a 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 51 
 
 ee would a rock, as a bird a desert ; and your aspira- 
 ons spread eager wings toward a land of visions 
 
 rhere, now in advancing daylight — in X- daylight 
 
 —you dare to dream of congeniality, repose, union, 
 ^hose three you will never meet in this world ; they 
 re angels. The souls of just men made perfect may 
 acounter them in heaven, but your soul will never be 
 jade perfect. Eight o'clock strikes ! your hands are 
 [lawed ; get to work." 
 
 " Work ? why should I work ?" said I, sullenly : " I 
 an not please though I toil like a slave." " Work, 
 rork !" reiterated the inward voice. " I may work, it 
 rill do no good," I growled ; but, nevertheless, I drew 
 ut a packet of letters and commenced my task — task 
 hianklfess and bitter as that of the Israelite crawling 
 ver the sun-baked fields of Egypt in search of straw 
 nd stubble wherewith to accomplish his tale of 
 ricks. 
 
 About ten o'clock I heard Mr. Crimsworth's gig 
 urn into the yard, and in a minute or two he entered 
 tie counting-house. It was his custom to glance his 
 ye at Steighton and myself, to hang up 'his Mackin- 
 osh, stand a minute with his back to the fire, and then 
 vails, out. To-day he did not deviate from his usual 
 labits ; the only difference was that when: he looked 
 ,t me, his brow, instead of being merely hard, was 
 urly ; his eye, instead of being cold, was fierce. He 
 tudied me a minute or two longer than usual, but 
 rent out in silence. 
 
 Twelve o'clock arrived ; the bell rang for a suspen- 
 lion of labor ; the work-people went off to their din- 
 lers ; Steighton, too, departed, desiring me to lock the 
 
52 THE PllOFESSOE. 
 
 counting-house door, and take the key with me. 1 
 was tying up a bundle of papers, and putting them ir 
 their place, preparatory to closing my desk, wher 
 Crimsworth reappeared at the door, and, entering, 
 closed it Ibehind him. 
 
 " You'll stay here a minute," said he, in a deej 
 brutal voice, while his nostrils distended and his eye 
 shot a spark of sinister fire. 
 
 Alone with Edward, I remembered our relationship, 
 and, remembering that, forgot the difference of posi- 
 tion. I put away deference and careful forms of speech; 
 I answered with simple brevity. 
 
 " It is time to go home," I said, turning the key in 
 my desk. 
 
 " You'll stay here," he reiterated. " And take yom 
 hand off that key. Leave it in the lock." 
 
 "Why?" asked I. "What cause is there foi 
 changing my usual plans ?" 
 
 "Do- as I order," was the answer, "and no ques- 
 tions. You are my servant ; obey me. What have 
 you been about?" He was going on in the same 
 breath, when an abrupt pause announced that rage 
 had for the moment got the. better of articulation. 
 
 " You may look, if you wish to know," I replied. 
 " There is the open desk ; there are the papers." 
 
 " Confound your insolence. What have you been 
 about ?" 
 
 "Your work, and have done it well." 
 
 "Hypocrite and twaddler! smooth-faced, sniveling 
 greasehorn!" (this last term is, I believe, purely 
 shire, and alludes to the horn of black, rancid 
 
 ivlialp-m'l nsiiallv to bft rp.pti snsnpnrlp/1 +r> noi-f-iirTiooln 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 53 
 
 " Come, Edward Crims worth, enough of this. It is 
 time you and I wound up accounts. I have now 
 given your service three months' trial, and I find it 
 the most nauseous slavery under the sun. Seek an- 
 other clerk. I stay no longer." 
 
 " What I do you dare to give me notice ? Stop atr 
 least for your wages." He took down the heavy gig 
 whip hanging beside his Mackintosh. 
 
 I permitted myself to laugh with a degree of scorn 
 I took no pains to temper or hide. His fury boiled 
 up, and when he had sworn half a dozen vulgar, im- 
 pious oaths, without, however, venturing to lift the 
 whip, he continued : 
 
 " I've found you out and know you thoroughly, you 
 mean, whining lickspittle. What have you been say- 
 ing all over X about me ? Answer me that." 
 
 " You ? I have neither inclination nor temptation 
 to talk about you." 
 
 " You lie. It is your practice to talk about me ; 
 it is your constant habit to make public, complaint of 
 the treatment you receive at my hands. You have 
 gone and told it far and near that I give you low • 
 wages and knock yoii about like a dog. I wish you^ 
 were a dog ; I'd set to this minute, and never stir from 
 the spot till I'd cut every strip of flesh from your 
 bones with this whip." 
 
 He flourished his tool. The end of the lash just 
 touched my forehead. A warm, excited thrill ran 
 through my veins, my blood seemed to give a bound, 
 and then raced fast and hot along its channels. I 
 got up nimbly, came rouhd to where he stood, and 
 faced him. 
 
54 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 "Down with your whip," said I, "and explain this 
 instant what you mean." 
 
 " Sirrah, to whom are you speaking ?" 
 
 " To you. There is no one else present, I think. 
 You say I have been calumniating you — complaining 
 of your low wages and bad treatment. Give your 
 grounds for these assertions." 
 
 Crimsworth had no dignity, and when I sternly de- 
 manded an explanation, he gave one in a loud, scold- 
 ing voice. 
 
 " Grounds ! you shall have them ; and turn to the 
 light, that I may see your brazen face blush black 
 when you hear yourself proved to be a liar and a hyp- 
 ocrite. At a public meeting in the Town-hall yester- 
 day I had the pleasure of hearing myself insulted by 
 the speaker opposed to me in the question under dis- 
 cussion by allusions to my private affairs; by cant 
 about monsters without natural affection, family des- 
 pots, and such trash ; and when I rose to answer, I 
 was met by a shout from the filthy mob, where the 
 mention of your name enabled me at once to detect the 
 quarter in which this base attack had originated. 
 When I looked round, I saw that treacherous villain, 
 Hunsden, acting as fugleman. I detected you in close 
 conversation with Hunsden at my house a iponth ago, 
 and I know you were at Hunsden's rooms last night. 
 Deny it if you dare." 
 
 " Oh, I shall not deny it. And if Hunsden hound- 
 ed on the people to hiss you, he did quite right. You 
 deserve popular execration ; for a worse man, a harder 
 master, a more brutal brother than you are has seldom 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 65 
 
 "Sirrah! sirrah!" reiterated Crimsworth ; and, to 
 complete his apostrophe, he cracked the whip straight 
 over my head. 
 
 A minute sufficed to wrest it from him, break it in 
 two pieces, and throw it under the grate. He made a 
 headlong rush at me, which I evaded, and said, 
 
 "Touch me, and I'll have you up before the nearest 
 magistrate." 
 
 Men like Crimsworth, if firmly and calmly resisted, 
 always abate something of their exorbitant insolence.. 
 He had no mind to be brought before a ma:gistrate, and 
 I suppose he saw I meant what I said. After an odd 
 and long stare at me, at once bull-like^and amazed, he 
 seemed to bethink himself that, after all, his money 
 gave him sufficient authority over a beggar like me, 
 and that he had in his hands a surer and more digni- 
 fied mode of revenge than the somewhat hazardous 
 one of personal chastisement. 
 
 "Take your hat," said he — "take what belongs to 
 you, and go out at that door. Get away to your parish, 
 you pauper ; beg, steal, starve, get transported, do what 
 you like ; but, at your peril, venture again into raj 
 sight. If ever I hear of your setting foot on an inch 
 of ground belonging to me, I'll hire a man to cane you." 
 
 "It is not likely you'U have the chance. Once 
 off your premises, what temptation can I have to re- j 
 turn to them ? I leave a prison, I leave a tyrant ; I / 
 leave what is worse than the worst that can lie before' 
 me, so no fear of my coming back." 
 
 " Go, or I'll make you," exclaimed Crimsworth. 
 
 I walked deliberately to my desk, took out such 
 of its contents as were my own property, put them in 
 
56 . THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 my pocket, locked the desk, and placed the key on the 
 top. 
 
 " What are you ahstracting from that desk ?" de- 
 manded the mill-owner. " Leave all behind in its 
 place, or I'll send for a policeman to search you." 
 
 "Look sharp ahout it, then," said I, and I took 
 down my hat, drew on my gloves, and walked leis- 
 urely out of the counting-house — ^walked out of it to 
 enter it no more. 
 
 I recollect that when the mill-bell rang the dinner- 
 hour, before Mr. Crimsworth entered, and the scene 
 above related took place, I had had rather a sharp ap- 
 petite, and had been waiting somewhat impatiently to 
 hear the signal of feeding-time. I forgot it now, how- 
 ever ; the images of potatoes and roast mutton were 
 xffaced from my mind by the stir and tumult which 
 the transaction of the last half hour had there excited. 
 I only thought of walking, that the action of my mus- 
 cles might harmonize with the action of my nerves ; 
 and walk I did, fast and far. How could I do other- 
 wise ? A load was lifted off my heart ; I felt light 
 and liberated. I had got away from Bigben Close 
 without a breach of resolution — without injury to my 
 self-respect. I had not forced circumstances — circum- 
 stances had freed me. Life was again open to me ; 
 no longer was its horizon limited by the high black 
 wall surrounding Crimsworth's mill. Two hours 
 elapsed before my sensations had so far subsided as to 
 leave me calm enough to remark for what wider and 
 clearer boundaries I had exchanged that sooty girdle. 
 When I did look up, lo ! straight before me lay Grove- 
 town, a viUage of villas about five miles out of 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 57 
 
 X — — . The short winter day, as I perceived from the 
 far-declined sun, was already approaching its close; 
 a chill frost-mist was rising from the river on which 
 
 X stands, and along whose banks the road I had 
 
 taken lay ; it dimmed the earth, but did not obscure 
 the clear, icy blue of the January sky. There was a 
 great stillness near and far ; the time of the day favor- 
 ed tranquillity, as the people were all employed within 
 doors, the hour of evening release from the factories 
 not being yet arrived; a sound of full-flowing water 
 alone pervaded the air, for the river was deep and 
 abundant, swelled by the melting of a late snow. I 
 stood a while, leaning over a wall, and, looking down 
 at the current, I watched the rapid rush of its waves, 
 I desired memory to take a clear and permanent im- 
 pression of the scene, and treasure)it for future years. 
 Grovetown church clock struck four. Looking up, I 
 beheld the last of that day's sun glinting red through 
 the leafless boughs of somS very old oak trees sur- 
 rounding the church : its light colored and character- 
 ized the picture as I wished. I paused yet a moment 
 till the sweet, slow sound of the bell had quite died out 
 of the air ; then, ear, eye, and feeling satisfied, I quitted 
 the wall, and once more turned my face toward X . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I EE-EKTEEED the town a hungry man ; the dinner 
 I had forgotten recurred seductively to my recollection ; 
 and it was with a quick step and shai-p appetite I as- 
 C2 
 
58 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 cended the narrow street leading to my lodgings. It 
 was dark when I opened the front door and walked 
 into the house. I wondered how my fire would he: 
 the night was cold, and I shuddered at the prospect of 
 a grate full of sparkless cinders. To my joyful sur- 
 prise, I found, on entering my sitting-room, a good fire 
 and a clean hearth. I had hardly noticed this phe- 
 nomenon, when I became aware of another subject for 
 wonderment : the chair I usually occupied near the 
 hearth was already filled ; a person sat there with his 
 arms folded on his chest, and his legs stretched out on 
 the rug. Short-sighted as I am, doubtful as was the 
 gleam of the firelight, a moment's examination enabled 
 me to recognize in this person my acquaintance, Mr. 
 Hunsden. I could not, of course, be much pleased to 
 see him, considering the manner in which I had parted 
 from him the night before, and as I walked to the 
 hearth, stirred the fire, and said coolly, " Good-even- 
 ing," my demeanor evinced as little cordiality as I 
 felt ; yet I wondered in my own mind what had brought 
 him there, and I wondered, also, what motives had in- 
 duced him to interfere so actively between me and Ed- 
 ward. It was to him, it appeared, that I owed my 
 welcome dismissal ; still, I could not bring myself to 
 ask him questions, to show any eagerness of curiosity ; 
 if he chose to explain, he might, but the explanation 
 should be a perfectly voluntary one on his part ; I 
 thought he was entering upon it. 
 
 "You owe me a debt of gratitude," were his first 
 words. 
 
 " Do I ?" said I ; " I hope it is not a large one, for 
 I am much too poor to charge myself with heavy lia- 
 bilities of any kind." 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 69 
 
 " Then declare yourself bankrupt at once, for this 
 liability is a ton weight at least. When I came in I 
 found your fire out, and I had it lit again, and made 
 that sulky drab of a servant stay and blow at it with 
 the bellows till it had burned up properly; now say 
 'Thank you.'" 
 
 " Not till! have had something to eat; I Can thank 
 nobody while I am so fteiished." 
 
 I rang thc'bell, and ordered tea and some cold meat. 
 
 "Cold meat!" e:^claimed Hunsden, as the servant 
 closed the door ; " what a glutton you are, man ! 
 Meat with tea ! you'll die of eating too much." 
 
 "No, Mr. Hunsden, I shall not." I felt a neces- 
 sity for contradicting him. I was irritated with hun- 
 ger, and irritated at seeing him there, and irritated at 
 the continued roughness of his manner. 
 
 " It is overeating that makes you so ill tempered," 
 said he. 
 
 "How do you know?" I demanded. "It is like 
 you to give a pragmatical opinion without being ac- 
 quainted with any of the circumstances of the case. I 
 ha^we had no dinner." 
 
 What I said was petulant and snappish enough, 
 and Hunsden only replied by looking in my face and 
 laughing. 
 
 "Poor thing !" he whined, after a pause. " It has 
 had no dinner, has it ? What ! I suppose its master 
 would not Jet it come home. Did Crimsworth order 
 you to fast by way of punishment, William ?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Hunsden." Fortunately, at this sulky 
 juncture, tea was brought in, and I fell to upon some 
 bread and butter and cold beef directly. Having clear- 
 
GO THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 ed a plateful, I Ibecame so far humanized as to intimate 
 to Mr. Hunsden "that he need not sit there staring, 
 but might come to the table and do as I did, if he 
 liked." 
 
 "But I don't like in the least," said he, and there- 
 with he summoned the servant by a fresh pull of the 
 bell-rope, and intimated a desire to have a glass of 
 toast and water. "And some more coal," he added; 
 " Mr. Crimsworth shall keep a good fii-e while I stay." 
 
 His orders being executed, he wheeled his chair 
 round to the table so as to be opposite me. 
 
 "Well," he proceeded, "you are out of work, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " Yes," said I ; and not disposed to show the satis- 
 faction I felt on this point, I, yielding to the whim of 
 the moment, took up the_ subject as though I consid- 
 ered myself aggrieved rather than benefited by what 
 had been done. " Yes — thanks to you, I am. Crims- 
 worth turned nie off at a minute's notice, owing to 
 some interference of yours at a public meeting, I un- 
 derstand." 
 
 "Ah! What ! he mentioned that ? He obsrajved 
 me signaling the lads, did he ? What had he to say 
 about his friend Hunsden — any thing sweet ?" 
 
 " He called you a treacherous villain." 
 
 " Oh, he hardly knows me yet. I'm one of those 
 shy people who don't come out all at once, and he is 
 only just beginning to make my acquaintance ; but 
 he'U find I've some good qualities — excellept ones. 
 The Hunsdens were always unrivaled 'at tracking a 
 rascal ; a downright, dishonorable villain is their nat- 
 ural prey ; they could not keep off him wherever they 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 61 
 
 met him. You used the t\rord pragmatical just now : 
 that word is the property of our family ; it has heen 
 applied to us from generation to generation ; we have 
 fine noses for abuses ; we scent a scoundrel a mile off; 
 we are reformers born — radical reformers ; and it was 
 impossible for me to live in the same town with Crims-- 
 worth, to come into weekly contact with him, to Wit- 
 ness some of his conduct to you (for whom personally 
 I care nothing ; I only consider the brutal' injustice 
 with which he violated your natural claim to equality) 
 — I say it was impossible for me to be thus situated, 
 and not feel the angel or the demon of my race at work 
 within me. I followed my instinct, opposed a tyrant, 
 and broke a chain." 
 
 . Now this speech interested me much, both because 
 it brought out Hunsden's character, and because it ex- 
 plained his motives ; it interested me so much that I 
 forgot to reply to it, and sat silent, pondering over a 
 throng of ideas it had suggested; 
 
 "Are you grateful to me ?" he asked, presently. 
 
 In fact I was grateful, or almost so, and I believe I 
 half liked him at the moment, notwithstanding his 
 proviso that what he had done was not out of regard 
 for me. But human nature is perverse. Impossible 
 to answer his blunt question in the affirmative, so I 
 disclaimed all tendency to gratitude, and advised him, 
 if he expected any reward for his championship, to 
 look for it in a better world, as he was not likely to 
 meet with it here. In reply, he termed me " a dry- 
 hearted aristocratic scamp," whereupon I again charged j 
 him with having taken the bread out of my mouth. / 
 
 "Tour bread was dirty, man," cried Hunsden — 
 
62 THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 " dirtj and unwholesome. It came through the hands 
 of a tyrant ; for I tell you Grimsworth is a tyrant — a 
 tyrant to his work-people, a tyrant to his clerks, and 
 will some day be a tyrant to his wife." 
 
 " Nonsense ; bread is bread, and a salary is a sala- 
 ry. I've lost mine, and through your means." 
 
 " There's sense in what you say, after all," rejoined 
 Hiinsden. "I must say I am rather agreeably sur- 
 prised to hear you make so practical an observation as 
 that last. I had imagined now, from my previous ob- 
 /Servation of your character, that the sentimental de- 
 / light you would have taken in your newly regained 
 [ liberty would, for a while at least, have effaced all 
 ideas of forethought and prudence. I think better of 
 you for looking steadily to the needful." 
 
 " Looking steadily to the needful ! How can I do 
 otherwise ? . I must live, and to Hve I must have what 
 you call 'the needful,' which I can only get by work- 
 ing. I repeat it, you have taken my work from me." 
 
 "What do you mean to do?" pursued Hunsden, 
 coolly. " Tou have influential relations ; I suppose 
 they'll soon provide you with another place." 
 
 " Influential relations ? Who ? I should like to 
 know their names." 
 
 " The Seacombes." 
 
 "Stuff! I have cut them." 
 
 Hunsden looked at me incredulously. 
 
 "I have," said I, "and that definitively." 
 
 "Tou must mean they have cut you, William. 
 
 " As you please. They offered me their patronage 
 on condition of my entering the Church ; I declined 
 both the terms and the recompense ; I withdrew from 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 63 
 
 my cold uncles, and preferred throwing myself into my 
 elder brother's arms, from whose affectionate embrace 
 I am now torn by the cruel intermeddling .of a stran- 
 ger — of yourself, in short." * 
 
 I could not repress a half smile as I said this ; a 
 similar demi-manifestation of feeling appeared at the 
 same moment on Hunsden's lips. 
 
 " Oh, I see !" said he, looking into my eyes, and it 
 was evident he did see right down into my heart. 
 Having sat a minute or two with his chin resting on 
 his hand, diligently occupied in the continued perusal 
 of raj countenance, he went on : 
 
 " Seriously, have you then nothing to expect from 
 the Seacombes?" 
 
 " Yes, rejection and repulsion. Why do you ask 
 me twice ? How can hands stained with the ink of a 
 Tiounting-house, soiled with the grease of a wool- ware- 
 house, ever again be permitted to come into contact 
 with aristocratic palms ?" 
 
 " There would be a difficulty, no doubt ; still, you 
 are such a complete Seacombe in appearance, feature, , 
 lang\iage, almost manner, I wonder they should dis^ 
 own you." 
 
 "They have disowned me, so talk no more about it." 
 
 " Do you regret it, William ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not, lad?" 
 
 "Because they are not people with whom I could 
 ever have had any sympathy." 
 
 " I say you are one of them." 
 
 " That merely proves that you know nothing at all 
 about it. I am my mother's son, but not my uncle's 
 nenhew." 
 
64 THE PEOPESSOR. 
 
 " Still, one of your uncles is a lord, though rather 
 an obscure and not a very wealthy one, and the other a 
 right honorable : you should consider worldly interest." 
 
 "Nonsense, Mr. Hunsden. You know, or may 
 Imow that, even had I desired to be submissive to my 
 uncles, I could not have stooped with a good enough 
 grace ever to have won their favor. I should have 
 sacrificed my own comfort, and not have gained their 
 patronage in return." 
 
 " Yery likely ; so you calculated your wisest plan 
 was to follow your own devices at once ?" 
 
 " Exactly. I must foUow my own devices — ^I must 
 till the day of my death, because I can neither compre- 
 hend, adopt, nor work out those of other people." 
 
 Hunsden yawned. "Well," said he, "in all this I 
 see but one thing clearly — that is, that the whole affair 
 is no business of mine." He stretched himself and 
 again yawned. " I wonder what time it is," he went 
 on ; "I have an appointment for seven o'clock." 
 
 " Three quarters past six by my watch." 
 
 "Well, then I'll go." He got up. "You'll not 
 meddle with trade again ?" said he, leaning his elbow 
 on the mantelT-piece. 
 
 " No, I think not." 
 
 " You would be a fool if you did. ProbaUy, after 
 all, you'll think better of your uncles' proposal and go 
 into the Church?" 
 
 /^ "A singular regeneration must take place in my 
 whole inner and outer man before I do that. A good 
 clergyman is one of the best of men." 
 
 " Indeed ! Do you think so ?" interrupted Huns- 
 den, scoffingly. 
 
THE PEOPESSOE, 65 
 
 " I do, and no mistake. But I have not the pecul- 
 iar points which go to make a good clergyman, and, 
 rather than adopt a profession for which I have no vo- 
 cation, I would endure extremities of hardship from 
 poverty." 
 
 " You're, a mighty difficult customer to suit. You 
 won't he a tradesman or a parson; you can't he a law- 
 yer, or a doctor, or a gentleman, hecause -you've no 
 money. I'd recommend you to travel." 
 
 " What, without money ?" 
 
 " You must travel in search of money, man. You 
 can speak French — with a vile English accent, no 
 doubt — still you can speak it. Go on to the Conti- 
 nent, and see what will turn up for you there." 
 
 " God knows, I should like to go," exclaimed I, 
 with involuntary ardor. 
 
 " Go ; what the deuce hinders you ? You may get 
 to Brussels, for instance, for five or six pounds, if you 
 know how to manage with economy." 
 
 " Necessity would teach me if I didn't.' 
 
 " Go, then, and let your wits make a way for you 
 when you get there. I know Brussels almost as well 
 
 as I know X , and I am sure it would suit such a 
 
 one as you better than London." 
 
 " But occupation, Mr. Hunsden — I must go where 
 occupation is to be had ; and how could I get recom- 
 mendation, or introduction, or employment at Brus- 
 Is ?" 
 
 " There speaks the organ of caution. You hate to^ 
 Ivance a step before you know every inch of the wayv/ 
 
 ou haven't a sheet of paper, and a pen and ink ?" 
 
 " I hope so ;" and I produced writing materials with 
 
66 THE PEOFESSOE 
 
 alacrity, for I guessed what he was going to do. He 
 sat down, wrote a few lines, folded, sealed, and ad- 
 dressed a letter, and held it out to me. 
 
 " There, Prudence, there's a pioneer to hew down 
 the first rough difficulties of your path,^ I know well 
 enough, lad, you are not one of those who will run 
 ' their neck into a noose without seeing how they are to 
 ! get it out again, and you're right there. A reckless 
 man is my aversion, and nothing should ever persuade 
 me to meddle with the concerns of such a one. Those 
 who are reckless for themselves are generally ten times 
 more so for their friends." 
 
 " This is a letter' of introduction, I suppose?" said 
 I, taking the epistle. 
 
 " Yes. With that in your pocket you will run no 
 risk of finding yourself in a state of absolute destitu- 
 tion, which, I know, you will regard as a degradation; 
 so should I, for that matter. The person to whom 
 you will present it generally has two or three respect- 
 able places depending upon his recommendation." 
 
 " That will just suit me," said I. 
 
 "Well, and where's your gratitude?" demanded Mr. 
 Hunsden ; ' ' don't you know how to say ' Thank you ?' " 
 
 " I've fifteen pounds and a watch, which my god- 
 mother, whom I never saw, gave me eighteen years 
 ago," was my rather irrelevant answer ; and I further 
 avowed myself a happy man, and professed that I did 
 not envy any being in Christendom. 
 
 "And your gratitude?" 
 
 " I shall be off presently, Mr. Hunsden — to-morrow, 
 
 if all be well. I'll not stay a day longer in X- 
 
 than I am obliged." 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 6? 
 
 " Very good ; Ibut it will be decent to make due ac- 
 knowledgment for the assistance you have received ; 
 be quick. It is just going to strike seven ; I'm wait- 
 ing to be thanked." 
 
 "Just stand out of the way, will you, Mr. Huns- 
 den? I want a key there is on the corner of the man- 
 tel-piece. I'll pack my portmanteau before I go to 
 bed." 
 
 The house clock struck seven. 
 
 " The lad is a heathen," said Hunsden ; and, taking 
 his hat from a sideboard, he left the room, laughing to 
 himself. I had half an inclination to follow him. I 
 
 really intended to leave X the next morning, and 
 
 should certainly not have another opportunity of bid- 
 ding him good-by. The front ^oor banged to. 
 
 " Let him go," said I ; "we shall meet again some 
 day." m 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Readee, perhaps you were never in Belgium? 
 Haply you don't know the physiognomy of the coun- 
 try ? You have not its lineaments defined upon your 
 memory as I have them on mine ? 
 
 Three — ^nay, four pictures line the four-walled cell 
 where are stored for me the records of the past. First, 
 Eton. All in that picture is in far perspective, reced- 
 ing, diminutive, but freshly colored, green, dewy, with 
 a spring sky, piled with glittering yet shoWery clouds ; 
 for my childhood was not all sunshine; it had its 
 overcast, its cold, its stormy hours. Second, X , 
 
68 THE PEOFESSOR. 
 
 huge, dingy ; the canvas cracked and smoked ; a yel- 
 low sky, sooty clouds ; no sun, no azure ; the verdure 
 of the suburbs blighted and sullied — a very dreary 
 scene. 
 
 Third, Belgium ; and I will pause before this land- 
 scape, ■ As to the fourth, a curtain covers it, which I 
 may hereafter withdraw, or may not, as suits my con- 
 venience or capacity. At any rate, for the present it 
 must hang undisturbed. Belgium ! name unromantic 
 and unpoetic, yet name that whenever uttered has in 
 my ear a sound, in my heart an echo, such as no other 
 assemblage of syllables, however sweet or classic, can 
 produce. Belgium ! I repeat the word now as I sit 
 alone near midnight. It stirs my world of the past 
 like a summons to ^psurrection ; the graves unclose, 
 the dead are raised ; tjoughts, feelings, memories that 
 slept, are seen by msfccending from the clods — ^halo- 
 ed the most- of thei^P-but while I gaze on their va- 
 pory forms, and strive to ascertain definitely their out- 
 line, the sound which wakened them dies, and they 
 sink, each and all, like a light wreath of mist, absorbed 
 in the mould, recalled to urns, resealed in monuments. 
 Farewell, luminous phantoms ! 
 
 This is Belgium, reader. Look ! don't call the pic- 
 ture a flat or a dull one : it was neither flat nor dull 
 to me when I first beheld it. When I left Ostend, on 
 a mild February morning, and found myself on the 
 road to Brussels, nothing could look vapid to me. 
 My sense of enjoyment possessed an edge whetted to 
 the finest, untouched, keen, exquisite. I was young ; 
 I had good health ; pleasure and I had never met ; no 
 indulgence of hers had enervated or sated one faculty 
 
"^ THE PEOPESSOE. 69 
 
 of my nature. Liberty I clasped in my arms for the 
 first time, and the influence of her smUe and erahrace 
 revived my life like the sun and the west wind. Yes, 
 at that epoch I felt lilce a morning traveler who doubts 
 not that from the hill he is ascending he shall behold 
 a glorious sunrise. What if the track be strait, steep, . 
 and stony? he sees it not; his eyes are fixed on that 
 summit, flushed already, flushed and gilded, and, hav- 
 ing gained i|ii he is certain of the scene beyond. He 
 knows that the 'sun will face him, that his chariot is 
 even now coming over the eastern horizon, and that 
 the herald breeze he feels on his cheek is opening for 
 the god's career a clear, vast path of azure, amid clouds 
 soft as pearl and warm as flame. Difficulty and toil 
 were to be my lot, but sustained by energy, drawn on 
 by hopes as bright as vague, I deemed such a lot no 
 hardship. I mounted now theMll,in the shade ; there 
 were pebbles, inequalities, briers in my piath, but my 
 eyes were fixed on the crimson peak above ; my imag- 
 ination was with the refulgent firmament beyond, and , 
 I thought nothing of the stones turning under my feet, 
 or of the thorns scratching my face and hands. , 
 
 I gazed often, and always with delight, from the 
 window of the diligence (these, be it remembered, were 
 not the days of trains and rail-roads). Well, and what 
 did I see ? I will tell you faithfully. GRreen, reedy 
 swamps ; fields, fertile but flat, cultivated in patches 
 that made ihera look like magnified kitchen-gardens ; 
 belts. of cut trees, formal as pollard willows, skirting 
 the horizon ; narrow canals, gliding slow by the road 
 side ; painted Flemish farm-houses ; some very dirty 
 hovels ; a grajr, dead sky ; wet road, wet fields, wet 
 
70 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 house-tops: not a beautifalj scarcely a picturesque 
 object met my eye along the whole route ; yet to me 
 all was beautiful, all was more than picturesque. It 
 continued fair so long as daylight lasted, though the 
 moisture of many preceding damp days had sodden the 
 whole country. As it grew dark, however, the rain re- 
 commenced, and it was through streaming and starless 
 darkness my eye caught the first gleam of the lights 
 of Brussels. I saw little of the city but itg lights that 
 night. Having alighted from the diligence, a fiacre 
 
 conveyed me to the Hotel de , where I had been 
 
 advised by a fellow-traveler to put up. Having eaten 
 a traveler's supper, I retired to bed, and slept a trav- 
 eler's sleep. 
 
 Next morning I awoke from prolonged and sound 
 
 repose with the' impression that I was yet in X -, 
 
 and, perceiving it to TSe broad daylight, I started up, 
 imagining that' I had overslept myself, and should be 
 behind time at the counting-house. The momentary 
 and painful sense of restraint vanished before the re- 
 vived and reviving consciousness of freedom, as, throw- 
 ing back the white curtains of my bed, I looked forth 
 into a wide, lofty foreign chamber^ How difierent 
 from the small and dingy, though not uncomfortable 
 apartment I had occupied for a night or two at a re- 
 spectable "'hlfi in London, while waiting for the sailing 
 of the packet ! Yet far be it fi'om me to profane the 
 memory of that little dingy room. It, too, is dear to 
 my soul, for there, as I lay in quiet and darkness, I 
 first heard the great bell of St. Paul's telling London 
 it was midnight, and well do I recall the deep, delib- 
 erate tones, so full charged with colossal plilegm and 
 
THK PEOPESSOK. 71 
 
 force. From the small, narrow window of that room 
 I jfirst sayrthe dome, looming through a London mist. 
 I suppose the sensations stirred by those first sounds, 
 first sights, are felt but once ; treasure them, Memory ; 
 seal them in urns, and keep them in safe niches. Well, 
 I rose. Travelers talk of the apartments in foreign 
 dwellings being bare and uncomfortable; I thought 
 my chamber looked stately and cheerful : it had such 
 large windows — croisees that opened like doors, with 
 such*broad, clear panes of glass ; such a great looking- 
 glass stood on my dressing-table ; such a fine mirror 
 glittered over the mantel-piece ; the painted floor look- 
 ed so clean and glossy. When I had dressed and 
 was descending the stairs, the broad mai^le steps al- 
 most awed me, and so did the lofty hall into which 
 they conducted. On the first landing I met a Flem- 
 ish housemaid. She had wood^ shoes, a short red 
 petticoat, a printed cotton bed-gown, her face was 
 broad, her physiognomy eminently stupid. When I 
 spoke to her in -French, she answered me in Flemish, 
 with an air the reverse of civil, yet I thought her 
 charming ; if she was not pretty, or polite, she was, I 
 conceived, very picturesque. She reminded me of the 
 female figures in certain. Dutch paintings I had seen 
 in other years at Seacombe Hall. 
 
 I repaired to the public room ; tnat, too,»was very 
 large and very lofty, and warmed by a stove ; the floor 
 was black, and most of the furniture w^ black ; yet I 
 never experienced a freer sense of exhilaration than 
 when I sat down at a very long black table (covered, 
 however, in part by a white cloth), and, having order- 
 ed breakfast, began to pour out my coffee from a little 
 
72 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 black coffee-pot. The stove might be dismal-looking 
 to some eyes, not to mine, but it was indisputably 
 very warm, and there were two gentlemen seated by 
 it talking in French ; impossible to follow their rapid 
 utterance, or comprehend much of the purport of what 
 they said ; yet French, in the months of Frenchmen 
 or Belgians (I was not then sensible of the horrors of 
 the Belgian accent), was as music to my ears. One 
 of these gentlemen presently discerned me to be an 
 Englishman — ^no doubt from the fashion in which I 
 addressed the waiter ; for I would persist in speaking 
 French in my execrable south of England style, though 
 the man understood English. The gentleman, after 
 looking toward me once of twice, politely accosted me 
 in very good English. I remember I wished to God 
 ' that I could speak French as well ; his fluency and 
 correct pronunciation impressed me for the first time 
 with a due notion of the cosmopolitan, character of the 
 capital I was in ; it was my first experience of that 
 skill in living languages I afterward found to be so 
 general in Brussels. 
 
 I lingered over my breakfast as long as I could. 
 While it was there on the ta"ble, and while that stran- 
 ger continued talking to me, I was a firee, independent 
 traveler ; but at last the things were removed, the two 
 .gentlemen Jeft the*toom ; suddenly the illusion ceased, 
 reality and business came back. I, a bondsman just 
 released from the yoke, freed for one week from twen- 
 ty-one years of constraint, must, of necessity, resume 
 the fetters of dependency. Hardly had I tasted the 
 delight' of being without a master when duty issued 
 her stern mandate : " Go forth and seek another serv- 
 
THE PBOPESSOE. 73 
 
 ice." I never linger over a painful and necessary task ; 
 1 never take pleasure Tbefore business ; it is not in my 
 nature to do so ; impossible to enjoy a leisurely walk 
 over the city, .though I perceived the morning was 
 very fine, until I had first presented Mr. Hunsden's 
 letter of introduction, and got fairly on to the track of 
 a new situation. Wrenching my mind from liberty 
 and delight, I seized my hat, and forced my reluctant 
 
 body out of the Hotel de into the foreign 
 
 street. ^ 
 
 It was a fine day, but I would not look at the blue 
 sky or at the stately houses round me. My mind 
 was bent on one thing, finding out " Mr. Brown, Nu- 
 mero — , Rue Royale," for so my letter was address- 
 ed. By dint of inquiry I succeeded. I stood at last 
 at the desired door, knocked, asked for Mr. Brown, 
 and was admitted. 
 
 Being shown into a small breakfast-room, I found 
 myself in the presence of an elderly gentleman — very 
 grave, business-like, and respectable-looking. I pre- 
 sented Mr. Hunsden's letter ; he received me very civ- 
 illy. After a little desultory conversation, he asked 
 me if there was any thing in which his advice or ex- 
 perience could be of use. I said "Yes," and then 
 proceeded to tell him that I was not a gentleman of 
 fortune, traveling for pleasure, but an ex-counting- 
 house clerk, who wanted employment of some kind, 
 and that immediately too. He replied that, as a friend 
 of Mr. Hunsden's, he would be willing to assist me as 
 well as he could. After some meditation, he nanied a 
 place in a mercantile house at Liege, and anotfier in a 
 bookseller's shop at Louvain. 
 
 D 
 
74 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 "Clerk and shopman!" murmured I to myself. 
 " No. " I shook my head. I had tried the high stool ; • 
 I hated ijt ; I helieved there were other occupations 
 that would suit me hetter ; besides, I did not wish to 
 leave Brussels. 
 
 " I know of no place in Brussels," answered Mx. 
 Brown, "unless, indeed, you were disposed to turn 
 your attention to teaching. I am acquainted with the 
 director of a large establishment who is in want of a 
 professor _OJnEn^isii..aod-I»aitin." • 
 
 I thought two minutes ; then I seized the idea eag- 
 erly. 
 
 " The very thing, sir," said I. 
 
 " But," asked he, " do you understand French well 
 enough to teach Belgian boys English ?" 
 
 Folrtunately, I could answer this question in the af- 
 firmative. Having studied French under a French^ 
 man, I could speak the language intelligibly, though 
 not flviently. I could also read it well, and write it 
 decently. 
 
 " Then," pursued Mr. Brown, " I think I can prom- 
 ise you the place, for Monsieur Pelet will not refuse a 
 professor recommended by me ; but come here again 
 at five o'clock this afternoon, and I will introduce you 
 to him." 
 
 The word "professor" struck me. "I am not a 
 professor,'" said I. 
 
 " Oh," returned Mr. Brown, " professor here in Bel- 
 gium means a teacher, that is all." 
 
 My conscience thus quieted, I thanked Mr. Brown, 
 and for the present withdrew. This thne I stepped 
 out into the street with a relieved heart ; the task I had 
 
THE PROFESSOR. 75 
 
 imposed on myself for that day was executed. I might 
 now take some hours of holiday. I felt free to look 
 up. For the first time I remarked the sparkling clear- 
 ness of the air, the deep blue of the sky, the gay, clean 
 aspect of the whitewashed or painted houses ; I saw 
 what a fine street was the Eue Eoyale, and, walking 
 leisurely along its broad pavement, I continued to sur- 
 vey its stately hotels, till the palisades, the gates, and 
 trees of the park appearing in sight, ofiered to my eye 
 a new attraction. I remember, before entering the 
 park, I stood a while to contemplate the statue of Gen- 
 eral Belliard, and then advanced to the top of the great 
 staircase just beyond, and looked down into a narrow 
 back street, which I afterward learned was called the 
 Eue d'Isabelle. I well recollect that my eye rested 
 on the green door of a rather large house opposite, 
 where on a brass plate was inscribed " Pensionnat de-^ 
 Demoiselles." Pensionnat! the word excited an tin- 
 easy sensation in my mind ; it seemed to speak of re- 
 straint. Some of the demoiselles, externats no doubt, 
 were at that moment issuing from the door. I looked 
 for a pretty face among them, but -their close little 
 French bonnets hid their features ; in a moment they 
 were gone. 
 
 I had traversed a good deal of Brussels before five 
 o'clock arrived, but punctually as that hour struck I 
 was again in the Rue Eoyale. Eeadmitted to Mr. 
 Brown's breakfast-room, I found him, as before, seated 
 at the table, and he was not alone — a gentleman stood 
 by the hearth. Two words of introduction designated 
 him as my future master. "M. Pelet, Mr. Crimsworth 
 -^Mr. Crimsworth, M. Pelet." A bow on each side 
 
76 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 finished the ceremony. I don't know what sort of a 
 bow I made ; an ordinary one, I suppose, for I was in 
 a tranquil, commonplace frame of mind ; I felt none 
 of the agitation which had troubled my first interview 
 with Edward Crimsworth. M. Pelet's bow was ex- 
 tremely polite, yet not theatrical, scarcely French ; he 
 and I were presently seated opposite to each other. In 
 a pleasing voice, low, and, out of consideration to my 
 foreign ears, very distinct and deliberate, M. Pelet in- 
 timated that he had just been receiving from "le re- 
 spectable M. Brown" an account of my attainments 
 and character, which relieved him from all scruple as 
 to the propriety of engaging me as professor of English 
 and Latin in his establishment ; nevertheless, for form's 
 sake, he would put a few questions to test my powers. 
 He did, and expressed in flattering terms his satisfac- 
 tion at my answers. The subject of salary next came 
 on : it was fixed at one thousand francs per annum, 
 besides board and lodging. " And, in addition," sug- 
 gested M. Pelet, " as there will be some hours in each 
 day during which your services will not be required in 
 my establishment, you may, in time, obtain employ- 
 ment in other seminaries, and thus turn your vacant 
 moments to profitable account." 
 
 I thought this very kind, and, indeed, I found after- 
 ward that the terms on which M. Pelet had engaged 
 me were really liberal for Brussels, instruction being 
 cheap there on account of the number of teachers. It 
 was further arranged that I should be installed in my 
 new post the very next day, after which M. Pelet and 
 I parted. 
 
 Well, and what was he like ? and what were my 
 
THK PROFESSOR. 77 
 
 impressions concerning him ? He was a man of about 
 forty years of age, of middle size, and rather emaciated 
 figure ; his face was pale, his cheeks were siink, and , 
 his eyes hollow ; his features were pleasing and regu- 
 lar; they had a French turn (for M. Pelet was no 
 Fleming, but a Frenchman both by birth and parent- 
 age), yet the degree of harshness inseparable from Gal- 
 lic lineaments was, in his case, softened by a mild blue 
 eye, and a melancholy, almost suffering expression of 
 countenance; his physiognomy was "fine et spiritu- 
 elle." I use two French words because thby define 
 better than any English terms the species of intelli- 
 gence with which his features were imbued. He was 
 altogether an interesting and prepossessing personage. . 
 I wondered only at the utter absence of all the ordi- 
 nary characteristics of his profession, and almost fear- 
 ed he could not be stern and resolute enough for a 
 schoolmaster. Externally at least M. Pelet presented 
 an absolute contrast to my late master, Edward Crims- 
 worth. 
 
 Influenced by the impression I had received of his 
 gentleness, I was a good deal surprised when, on ar- 
 riving the next day at my new employer's house, and 
 being admitted to a first view of what was to be the 
 sphere of my future labors, namely, the large, lofty, and 
 well-lighted school-rooms, I beheld a numerous assem- 
 blage of pupils, boys of course, whose collective ap- 
 pearance showed all the signs of afuU, flourishing, and 
 well-disciplined seminary. As I traversed the classes 
 in company with M. Pelet, a profound silence reigned 
 on all. sides, and if by chance a murmur or a whisper 
 arose, one glance firom the pensive eye of this most 
 
78 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 gentle pedagogue stilled it instantly. It was aston- 
 ishing, I, thought, how so mild a check could prove so 
 effectual. When I had perambulated the length and 
 breadth of the classes, M. Pelet turned and said to me, 
 
 *' Would you object to taking the boys as they are, 
 and testing their proficiency in English ?" 
 
 The proposal was unexpected. I had thought I 
 should have been allowed at least a day to prepare ; 
 but it is a bad omen to commence any career by hesi- 
 tation, so I just stepped to the professor's desk near 
 which we stood, and faced the circle of my pupils. I 
 took a moment to collect my thoughts, and likewise 
 to frame in French the sentence by which I proposed 
 to open business. I made it as short as possible : 
 
 " Messieurs, prenez vos livres de lecture." 
 . " Anglais ou Fran9ais, Monsieur?" demanded a thick 
 set, moon-faced young Flamand in a, blouse. The 
 answer was fortunately easy : 
 -""Anglais." 
 
 I determined to give myself as little trouble as pos- 
 sible in this lesson. It would not do yet to trust my 
 unpracticed tongue with the delivery of explanations ; 
 my accent and idiom would be too open to the criti- 
 cisms of the young gentlemen before me, relative to 
 whom I felt already it would be necessary at once to 
 take up an advantageous position, and I proceeded to 
 employ means accordingly, 
 -^-- - >-5-Commencez," cried I, when they had all produced ' 
 their books. The moon-faced youth (by name Jules 
 Vanderkelkov, as I afterward learned) took the first 
 ;, sentence. The "livre de lecture" was the "Vicar of 
 '^ij? Wakefield," much used in foreign schools because it 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 79 
 
 is supposed to contain prime samples of conversation- 
 al English ; it might, however, have heen a Runic 
 scroU for any resemblance the words, as enunciated 
 by Jules, bore to the language in ordinary use among 
 the natives of Great Britain. My God, how he did 
 snuffle, snort, and wheeze ! All he said was said in 
 his throat and nose, for it is thus the Flamands speak ; 
 but I heard him to the end of his paragraph without 
 proffering a word of correction, whereat he looked 
 vastly self-complacent, convinced, no doubt, that he 
 had acquitted himself like a real born and bred "An- 
 glais." In the same unmoved silence I listened to a 
 dozen in rotation, and when the twelfth had concluded 
 with spltitter, hiss, and mumble, I solemnly laid down 
 the book. 
 
 J_'_Arretez," said I. There was a pause, during 
 
 which I regarded them all with a stSady and some- 
 what stern gaze : a dog, if stared at hard enough and 
 long enough, will show symptoms of embarrassment, 
 and so at length did my bench of Belgians. Perceiv- 
 ing that some of the faces before me Tyere beginning to 
 look sullen, and others ashamed, I slowly joined my 
 hands, and ejaculated in a deep "voix de poitrine," 
 --^' Comme c'est affreux." 
 
 They looked at each other, pouted, colored, swung 
 their heels ; they were not pleased, I saw, but they 
 were impressed, and in the way I wished them to be. 
 Having«sthus taken them down a peg in their self-con- 
 ceit, the next step was to raise myself in their estima- 
 tion ; not a very easy thing, considering that I hardly 
 dared to speak for fear of betraying my own deficiencies. 
 
 "Jlcoutez, Messieurs," said I ; and I endeavored to 
 
80 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 throw into my accents the compassionate tone of a 
 superior being, who, touched by the extremity of the 
 helplessness which at first only excited his scorn, 
 deigns at length to bestow aid. I then began at the 
 very beginning of the "Vicar of Wakefield," and read, 
 in a slow, distinct voice, some twenty pages, they all 
 the while sitting mute and listening with fixed atten- 
 tion. By the time I had done nearly an hour had 
 elapsed. I then rose and said, 
 
 " C'est assez pour aujourd'hui. Messieurs ; demain 
 nous recommen9erons, et j'espere que tout ira bien." 
 
 With this oracular sentence I bowed, and, in com- 
 pany with M. Pelet, quitted the school-room. 
 
 " C'est bien ! c'est tres bien !" said my principal as 
 we entered his parlor. " Je vois que Monsieur a de 
 I'adresse ; cela me plait, car, dans I'instruction, I'a- 
 dresse fait tou^ autant que le savoir." 
 
 From the parlor M. Pelet conducted me to my 
 apartment, my "chambre," as Monsieur said with a 
 certain air of complacency. It was a very small 
 room, with an .excessively small bed, but M. Pelet 
 gave me to understand that I was to occupy it quite 
 alone, which was, of course, a great comfort. Yet, 
 though so limited in dimensions, it had two windows. 
 Light not being taxed in Belgium, the people never 
 grudge its admission into their houses ; just here, 
 however, this observation is not veiy apropos, for one 
 of these windows was boarded up ; the open window 
 looked into the boys' playground. I glanced at the 
 other, as wondering what aspect it would present if 
 disencumbered of the boards. M. Pelet read, I sup^ 
 pose, the expression of my eye ; he explained : 
 
" La fenetre fermee donne sur un jardin appartenant 
 a un pensionnat de demoiselles," said he, "et les 
 convenances exigent — enfin, vous comprenez — ^n'est-ce 
 pas. Monsieur ?" 
 
 ^—'M^ui, oui," was my reply, and I looked, of course, 
 quite satisfied ; but when M. Pelet had retired and 
 closed the door after him, the first thing I did was 'to 
 scrutinize closely the nailed boards, hoping to find 
 some chink or crevice which I might enlarge, and so 
 get a peep at the consecrated ground. My researches 
 were vain, for the boards were well joined and strongly 
 nailed. It is astonishing how disappointed I felt. I 
 thought it would have been so pleasant to have looked 
 out upon a garden planted with flowers and trees ; so 
 amusing to have watched the demoiselles at their play 
 — to have studied female character in a variety of 
 phases, myself the while sheltered from view by a 
 modest muslin curtain ; whereas, owing doubtless to 
 the absurd scruples of some old duenna of a direc- 
 tress, I had now only the option of looking at a bare 
 graveled court, with an enormous " pas de geant" in 
 the middle, and the monotonous walls and windows 
 of a boy's school-house round. Not only then, but 
 many a time after, especially in moments of weariness 
 and low spirits, did I look with dissatisfied eyes on 
 that most tantalizing board, longing to tear it away 
 and get a glimpse of the green region which I imag- 
 ined to Me beyond. I knew a tree grew close up to 
 the window, for, though there were as yet no leaves to 
 rustle, I often heard at night the tapping of branches 
 against the panes. In the daytime, when I listened 
 attentively, I could hear, even through the boards, the 
 D2 
 
82 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 voices of the demoiselles in their hours of recreation, 
 and, to speak the honest truth, my sentimental reflec- 
 tions were occasionally a trifle. disarranged by the not 
 quite silvery, in fact, the too often brazen sounds 
 which, rising from the unseen paradise below, pene- 
 trated clamorously into my solitude. Not to mince 
 matters, it really seemed to me a doubtful case wheth- 
 er the lungs of Mdlle. Eeuter's girls or those of M, 
 Pelet's boys were the strongest ; and when it came to 
 shrieking, the girls indisputably beat the boys hollow. 
 I forgot to say, by-the-by, that Renter was the name 
 of the old lady who had had my window boarded up. 
 I say old, for such I, of course, concluded her to be, 
 judging from her cautious, chaperon-like proceedings ; 
 besides, nobody ever spoke of her as young. I re- 
 member I was very much amused when I first heard 
 her Christian name ; it was Zoraide — Mademoiselle 
 Zoraide Eeuter. But the Continental nations do al- 
 low themselves vagaries in the choice of names, such 
 as we sober English never run into. I think, indeed, 
 We have too limited a list to choose from. 
 
 Meantime my path was gradually growing smooth 
 before me. I in a few weeks conquered the teasing 
 difficulties inseparable from the commencement of al- 
 most every career. Ere long I had acquired as much 
 facility in speaking French as set me at my ease with 
 my pupils, and as I had encountered them on a right 
 footing at the very beginning, and continued tenacious- 
 ly to retain the advantage I had early gained, they 
 never attempted mutiny, which circumstance all who 
 are in any degree acquainted with the ongoings of 
 Belgian schools, and who know the relation in wliich 
 
X£L£i ±-JttUJ! JiOBUJio 
 
 professors and pupils too frequently stand toward each 
 other in those establishments, will consider an import- 
 ant and uncommon one. Before concluding this chap- 
 ter I will say a word on the system I pursued with re- 
 gard to my classes : my experience may possibly be 
 of use to others. 
 
 It did not require very keen observation to detect 
 the character of the youth of Brabant, but it needed a 
 certain degree of tact to adopt one's measures to their 
 capacity. Their intellectual faculties were generally 
 weak, their animal propensities strong ; thus there was 
 at once an impotence and a kind of inert force in their 
 natures ; they were dull, but they were also singularly 
 stubborn, heavy as lead, and, like lead, most difficult 
 to move. Such being the case, it would have been 
 truly absurd to exact from them much in the way of 
 mental exertion. Having short memories, dense intel- 
 ligence, feeble reflective powers, they recoiled with re- 
 pugnance from any occupation that demanded close 
 study or deep thought. Had the abhorred effort been 
 extorted from them by injudicious and arbitrary meas- 
 ures on the part of the professor, they would have re- 
 sisted as obstinately, as clamorously as desperate 
 swine; and, though not brave singly, they were re- 
 lentless acting en masse. -^ , < - ,, , " , 
 
 I understood that, before my arrival in M. Pelet's 
 establishment, the combined insubordination of the 
 pupils had effected the dismissal of more than one En- 
 glish master. It was necessary, then, to exact only 
 the most moderate application from natures so little 
 qualified to apply ; to assist, in every practicable way, 
 understandings so opaque and contracted ; to be ever 
 
84 THE PEOFESSOB. 
 
 gentle, considerate, yielding even, to a certain point, 
 with dispositions so irrationally perverse ; but, having 
 reached that culminating point of indulgence, you must 
 fix your foot, plant it, root it in rock — become immu- 
 table as the towers of Ste. Gudule ; for a step — but 
 half a step further, and you would plunge headlong 
 into the gulf of imbecility ; there lodged, you would 
 
 . speedily receive proofs of Flemish gratitude and mag- 
 nanimity in showers of Brabant saliva and Landfuls 
 of Low-Country muH, Tou might smooth to the ut- 
 most the path of learning, remove every pebble from 
 the track ; but then you must finally insist with de- 
 cision on the pupil taking your arm, and allowing him- 
 self to be led quietly along the prepared road. When 
 I had brought down my lesson to the lowest level of 
 my dullest pupil's capacity — when I had shown my- 
 self the mildest, the most tolerant of masters, a word 
 
 ' of impertinence, a movement of disobedience, changed 
 me at once into a despot. I ofiered then but one al- 
 ternative — submission and acknowledgment of error, 
 or ignominious expulsion. This system answered, 
 and my influence, by degrees, became established on 
 a firm basis. " The boy is father to the man," it is 
 said, and so I often thought when I looked at my 
 boys and remembered the political history of their an- 
 cestors. Pelet's school was merely an epitome of the 
 Belgian nation. 
 
THE PKOFESSOE. «£> 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 And Pelet himself — how did I continue to like him ? 
 Oh, extremely well. Nothing could he more smooth, 
 gentlemanlike, and even friendly than his demeanor to 
 me. I had to endure from him neither cold neglect, 
 irritating interference, nor pretentious assumption of 
 superiority. I fear, however, two poor, hard-worked 
 Belgian ushers in the estahlishment could not have 
 said as much : t(j them the director's manner was in- 
 variably dry, stern, and cool. I believe he perceived 
 once or twice that I was a, little shocked at the differ- 
 ence he made between them and mej and accounted for 
 it by saying, with a quiet, sarcastic smile, 
 " Ce ne sont que des Flamands — allez." 
 And then he took his cigar gently from his lips, 
 and spat on the painted floor of the room in which we 
 were sitting. Flamands certainly they were, and both 
 had the true Flamand physiognomy, where intellect- 
 ual inferiority is marked in lines none can mistake ; 
 still they were men, and, in the main, honest men ; 
 and I could not see why their being aboriginals of the 
 flat, dull soil should serve as a pretext for treating 
 them wi^ perpetual severity and contempt. This idea 
 of injustice somewhat poisoned the pleasure I might 
 otherwise have derived from Pelet's soft, affable man- 
 ner to myself. Certainly it was agreeable, when the 
 day's work was over, to find in one's employer an in- 
 
86 THE PEOFESSOR. 
 
 telligent and cheerful companion ; and if he was some- 
 times a little sarcastic and sometimes a little too in- 
 sinuating, and if I did discover that his mildness was 
 more a matter of appearance than of reality — if I did 
 occasionally suspect the existence of flint or steel un- 
 der an external covering of velvet, still we are none of 
 us perfect ; and weary as I was of the atmosphere of 
 brutality and insolence in which I had constantly lived 
 
 at X , I had no inclination now, on casting anchor 
 
 in calmer regions, to institute at once a prying search 
 after defects that were scrupulously withdrawn and 
 carefully veiled from my view. I was willing to take 
 Pelet for what he seemed — to believe him benevolent 
 and friendly until some untoward event should prove 
 him otherwise. He was not married, and I soon per- 
 ceived he had all a Frenchman's, all a Parisian's no- 
 tions about matrimony and women. I suspected a 
 degree of laxity in his code of morals, there was some- 
 thing so cold and blase in his tone whenever he alluded 
 io what he called "le beau sexe ;" but he was too gen- 
 tlemanlike to intrude topics I did nqj; invite, and as he 
 was really intelligent and really fond of intellectual 
 subjects of discourse, he and I always found enough 
 to talk about without seeking themes in the mire. I 
 hated his fashion of mentioning love ; I abhorred, from 
 my soul, mere licentiousness. He felt the difference 
 oi? our notions, and, by mutual consent, we kept off 
 ground debatable. 
 
 Pelet's house was kept and his kitchen managed by 
 his mother, a real old Frenchwoman. She had been 
 handsome — at least she told me so, and I strove to 
 believe her ; she was now ugly, as only Continental 
 
old women can be ; perhaps, though, her style of dress 
 made her look uglier than she really was. In-doors 
 she would go about without cap, he» gray hair strange- 
 ly disheveled ; then, when at home, she seldom wore 
 a gown — only a shabby cotton camisole ; shoes, too, 
 were strangers to her feet, and in lieu of them she 
 sported roomy slipper^ trodden down at the heels. 
 On the other hand, whenever it was her pleasure to 
 appear abroad, as on Sundays and fete-days, she would 
 put on some very brilliant-colored dress, usually of 
 thin texture, a silk bonnet with a wreath of flowers, 
 and a very fine shawl. She was not, in the main, an 
 ill-natured old woman, but an incessant and most in- 
 discreet talker. She kept chiefly in and about the 
 kitchen, and seemed rather to avoid her son's au- 
 gust presence ; of him, indeed, she evidently stood in 
 awe. When he reproved her, his reproofs were bit- 
 ter and unsparing ; but he seldom gave himself that 
 trouble. 
 
 Madame Pelet had her own society, her own circle 
 of chosen visitors, whom, however, I seldom saw, as 
 she generally entertained them in what she called her 
 " cabinet," a small den of a place adjoining the kitcli- 
 en, and descending into it by one or two steps. On 
 these steps, by-the-by, I have not unfrequently seen 
 Madame Pelet seated with a trencher on her knee, en- 
 gaged in the threefold employment of eating her dirt- 
 ner, gossiping with her favorite servant, the house- 
 maid, and scolding her antagonist, the cook. She nev- 
 er dined, and seldom, indeed, took any meal with her 
 son ; and as to showing her face at the boys' table, 
 that was quite out of the question. These details will 
 
88 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 sound very odd in English ears, but Belgium is not 
 England, and its ways are not our ways. 
 
 Madame PeletV habits of life, then, being taken into 
 consideration, I was a good deal surprised when, one 
 Thursday evening (Thursday was always a half-holi- 
 day), as I was sitting' all alone in my apartment, cor- 
 recting a huge pile of English and Latin exercises, a 
 servant tapped at the door, and, on its being opened, 
 presented Madame Pelet's compliments, and she would 
 be happy to see me to take my " gouter" (a meal which 
 answers to our English "tea") with her in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 -^' Plait-il ?" said I ; for I thought I must have mis- 
 understood, the message and invitation were so unus- 
 ual. The same words were repeated. I accepted, of 
 course ; and as I descended the stairs, I wondered 
 what whim had entered the old lady's brain. Her 
 son was out — gone to pass the evening at the salle of 
 the Grande Harmonie or some other club of which he 
 was a member. Just as I laid my hand on the handle 
 of the dining-room door, a queer idea glanced across 
 my mind. 
 
 " Surely she's not going to make love to me," said 
 I. " I've heard of old French women doing odd things 
 in that line ; and the gouter ? They generally begin 
 such affairs with eating and drinking, I believe." 
 
 There was a fearful dismay in this suggestion of 
 my excited imagination, and if I had allowed myself 
 time to dwell upon it, I should no doubt have cut there 
 and then, rushed back to my chamber, and bolted my- 
 self in ; but whenever a danger or a horror is veiled 
 with uncertainty, the primary wish of the mind is to 
 
THE PROFESSOR. 89 
 
 iscertain first the naked truth', reserving the expedient 
 »f flight for the moment when its dread anticipation 
 ihall he realized. I turned the door-handle, and in 
 m instant had crossed the fatal threshold, closed the 
 loor behind me, and stood in the presence of Madame 
 ?elet. / 
 
 Gracious heavens ! the first view of her seemed to 
 ionfirm my worst apprehensions. There she sat, dress- 
 sd out in a. light green muslin gown ; on her head a 
 ace cap, with flourishing red roses in the frill. Her 
 :ahle was carefully spread : there were fruit, cakes, and 
 iofiee, with a hottle of something, I did not know what, 
 thready the cold sweat started on my hrow; already 
 [ glanced back over my shoulder at the closed door, 
 vhen, to my unspeakable relief, my eye, wandering 
 vildly in the direction of the stove, rested upon a sec- 
 )nd figure, seated in a large fauteuil beside it. This 
 vas a woman too, and, moreover, an old woman, and 
 IS fat and as rubicund as Madame Pelet was meagre 
 md yellow. Her attire was likewise very fine, and 
 spring flowers of different hues circled in a bright 
 vreath the crown of her violet-colored velvet bonnet. 
 
 I had only time to make these general observations 
 vhen Madame Pelet, coming forward with what she 
 ntended . should be a graceful and elastic step, thus 
 iccosted me : 
 
 "Monsieur is indeed most obliging to quit his books, 
 lis studies^ at the request of an insignificant person 
 ike me. Will Monsieur complete his kindness by al- 
 owing me to present him to my dear friend Madame 
 Eleuter, who resides in the neighboring house — the 
 roung ladies' school ?" 
 
90 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 "Ah!" thought I, "I knew she was old," and I 
 hewed and took my seat. Madame Keuter placed her- 
 self at the table opposite to me. 
 
 " How do you like Belgium, Monsieur?" asked she, 
 in an accent of the broadest Bruxellois. I could now 
 well distinguish the difference between the fine and 
 pure utterance of M. Pelet, for instance, and the gut- 
 tural enunciation of the Flamands. I answered po- 
 litely, and then wondered how so coarse and clumsy 
 an old woman as the one before me should be at the 
 head of a ladies' seminary which I had always heard 
 spoken of in terms of high commendation. In truth, 
 there was something to wonder at. Madame Renter 
 looked more like a joyous, free-living old. Flemish fer- 
 miere, or even a maitresse d'auberge, than a staid, 
 grave, rigid directrice de pensionnat. In general, the 
 Continental, or at least the Belgian old women, permit 
 themselves a license of manners, speech, and aspect 
 such as our venerable granddames would recoil from 
 
 / as absolutely disreputable, and Madame Eeuter's jolly 
 face bore evidence that she was no exception to the 
 
 \ rule of her country ; there was a twinkle and leer in 
 her left eye ; her right she kept habitually half shut, 
 which I thought very odd indeed. After several vain 
 attempts to comprehend the motives of these two droll 
 old creatures for inviting me to join them at their 
 gouter, I at last fairly gave it up, and, resigning my- 
 self to inevitable mystification, sat and looked first at 
 one, then at the other, taking care meantime to do just- 
 ice to the confitures, cakes, and coffee with which they 
 amply supplied me. They too ate, and that with no 
 delicate appetite ; and having demolished a large por- 
 
THK PEOPESSOE. 91 
 
 )n of the solids, they proposed a "petit yerre." I 
 iclined; not so Mesdajnes Pelet and Reuter; each 
 ixed herself what I thought rather a stiff tumhler of 
 inch, and placing it on a stand near the stove, they 
 ■ew up their chairs to that convenience, and invited 
 e to do the same. I oheyed, and, being seated fairly 
 itween them, was thus addressed first by Madame 
 elet, then by Madame Reuter. 
 
 "We will now speak of business," said Madame 
 elet, and she went on to make an elaborate speech, 
 hich, being interpreted, was to the effect that she had 
 iked for the pleasure 6{ my company that evening in 
 ■der to give her friend Madame Reuter an opportuni- 
 ' of broaching an important proposal which might 
 im out greatly to my advantage. 
 
 "Pourvu que vous soyez sage," said Madame Reu- 
 r, " et a vrai dire, vous en avez bien I'air. Take one 
 rop of the punch (or ponche, as she pronounced it) ; 
 
 is an agreeable and wholesome beverage aftei; a full 
 leal." -^ 
 
 I bowed, but again declined it. She went on : 
 
 "I feel," said she, after a solemn sip, "I feel pro- 
 undly the importance of the commission with which 
 y dear daughter has intrusted me, for' you are aware, 
 [onsieur, that it is my daughter who directs the estab- 
 shment in the next house. " 
 
 " Ah ! I thought it was yourself, Madame," though, 
 tdeed, at ii^t moment I recollected that it was called 
 [ademoiselle, not Madame Reuter's pensionnat. 
 
 " I ! oh no. I manage the house and look after 
 le servants, as my friend Madame Pelet does for Mon- 
 eur her son — nothing more. Ah! you thought I 
 ive lessons in class, did vou ?" 
 
&2 THK PEOFESSOE. 
 
 And she laughed loud and long, as though the idea 
 tickled her fancy amazingly. 
 
 "Madame is in the wrong to laugh," I observed; 
 "if she does not give lessons, I am sure it is not be- 
 cause she can not," and I whipped out a white pocket- 
 handkerchief, and wafted it, with a French grace, past 
 my nose, bowing at the sfime time. 
 
 " Quel charmant jeuhe homme," murmured Ma- 
 dame Pelet, in a low voice. Madame Keuter, being 
 less sentimental, as she was Flamand and not French, 
 only laughed again. 
 
 "You are a dangerous person, I fear," said she; 
 " if you can forge compliments at that rate, Zoraide 
 will positively be afraid of you ; but if you are good, 
 I will keep your secret, and not tell her how well you 
 can flatter. Now listen what sort of a proposal she 
 makes to you. She has heard that you are an excel- 
 lent professor, and as she wishes to get the very best 
 masters for her school (car Zoraide fait tout comme 
 une reine, c'est une veritable maitresse-femme), she has 
 commissioned me to step over this afternoon, and sound 
 Madame Pelet as to the possibility of engaging you. 
 Zoraide is a wary general ; she never advances with- 
 out first examining well her ground. I don't think 
 she would be pleased if she Icnew I had already dis- 
 closed her intentions to you. She did not order me to 
 go so far, but I thought there would be no harm in let- 
 ting you into the secret, and Madame Pelet was of the 
 same opinion. Take care, however, you don't betifay 
 either of us to Zoraide — to my daughter, I mean ; she 
 is so discreet and circumspect herself, she can not un- 
 derstan(^hat one should find a pleasurl" in gossiping 
 a little — i ■ 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 99 
 
 " C'est absolument comme mon fils," cried Madame 
 (let. 
 
 "All the world is so changed since our girlhood," 
 ioined the other: "young people have such old heads 
 <w. But to return, Monsieur. Madame Pelet will 
 3ntion the subject of your giving lessons in my daugh- 
 L-'s establishment to her son, and he will speak to you ; 
 d then, to-morrow, you will step over to our house, 
 ,d ask to see my daughter, and you will introduce 
 e subject as if the first intimation of it had reached 
 lu from M. Pelet himself; and be sure you never 
 ention my name, for I would not displease Zoraide 
 L any account." 
 
 J^JBien! bien !" interrupted I, for all this chatter and 
 rcumlocution began to bore me very much ; " I will 
 nsult M. Pelet, and the thing shall be settled as you 
 isire. Good - evening, mesdames ; I am infinitely 
 )liged to you." 
 
 " Comment ! vous vous en allez deja ?" exclajmed 
 ^adanie Pelet. 
 
 " Prenez encore quelquechose, Monsieur ; une pom- 
 e.cuite, des biscuits, encore une tasse de cafe ?" 
 
 " Merci, merci, Madame — au revoir." And I back- 
 l at last out of the apartment. 
 
 Haying regained my own room, I set myself to turn 
 rei in^my mind the incident of the evening. It 
 lemed a queer affair altogether, and queerly managed ; 
 le two old^ women had made quite a little intricate 
 ess of it; still I found that the uppermost feeling in 
 y mind on the subject was one of satisfaction. In 
 le first place, it would be a change to give lessons in 
 lother seminary, and then to teach young ladies would 
 
94 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 te an occupation so interesting — to be admitted at all 
 into a ladies' boarding-school would be an incident so 
 new in my life. Besides,' tHought I, as I glanced at 
 the boarded window, " I shall now at last see the mys- 
 terious garden ; I shall gaze both on the angels and 
 their Eden." 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 M. Pelet could not, of , course, object to the pro- 
 posal made by Mdlle. Renter, permission to accept 
 such additional employment, sBould it offer, having 
 formed an article of the terms on which he had en- 
 gaged me. It was therefore arranged in the course 
 of next day that I should be at liberty to give lessons 
 in Mdlle. Reuter's establishment four afternoons in ev- 
 ery week. 
 
 When evening came I prepared to step over in order 
 to seek a conference with Mademoiselle herself on the 
 subject ; I had not had time to pay the visit before, 
 having been all day closely occupied in class. I re- 
 member very well that, before quitting my chamber, I 
 held a brief debate with myself as to whether I should 
 change my ordinary attire for something smarter. At 
 last I concluded it would be a waste of labor. " Doubt- 
 less," thought I, "she is some stiff old maid; for, 
 though the daughter of Madftme Eeuter, she may well 
 number upward of forty winters ; besides, if it were 
 otherwise, if she be both young and pretty, I ain not 
 handsome, and no dressing can make me so, therefore 
 I'll go as I am." And off I started, cursorily glanc- 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. • 95 
 
 g sideways as I passed the toilet-talble, surmounted 
 r a looking-glass ; a thin irregular face, I saw, with 
 ink, dark eyes under a large, square forehead, com- 
 exion destitute of hloom or attraction — something 
 rang but not youthful, no ohject to win a lady's love, 
 ) butt for the shafts of Cupid. 
 
 I was soon at the entrance of the Pensionnat ; in a 
 oment I had pulled the bell ; in another moment the 
 )or was opened, and within appeared a passage paved 
 ternately with black and white marble ; the walls 
 ere painted in imitation of marble also ; and at the 
 r end opened a glass door, through which I saw 
 irubs and a grass-plat, looking pleasant in the sun- 
 line of the mUd spring evening, for it was now the 
 iddle of April. 
 
 This, then, was my first glimpse of the garden ; but 
 had not time to look long ; the portress, after having 
 iswered in the affirmative my question as to whether 
 3r mistress was at home, opened the folding-doors 
 ' a room to the left, and having iishered me in, closed 
 lem behind me. I found myself in a salon with a 
 sry well painted, highly varnished floor ; chairs and 
 )fa3 covered with white draperies, a green porcelain 
 ;ove, walls hung with pictures in gilt frames, a gilt 
 endule, and other ornaments on the mantel-piece, a 
 irge lustre pendent from the centre of the ceiling, 
 lirrors, consoles, muslin curtains, and a handsome 
 3;itre-table, completed the inventory of furniture. - AH 
 )oked^ extremely clean and glittering, but the general 
 Sect would have been somewhat chilling had not a 
 3cond large pair of folding-doors, standing wide open, 
 nd disclosing another ^nd smaller salon, more snugly 
 
96 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 furnished, offered some relief to the eye. Tliis ro6m 
 was carpeted, and therein was a piano, a couch, a chif- 
 fonniere — above all, it contained a lofty window with . 
 a crimson curtain, which, heing undrawn, afforded an- 
 other glimpse of the garden, through the large, clear 
 panes, round which some leaves of ivy, some tendrils 
 of vine were trained. 
 
 " Monsieur Creemsvort, n'est ce pas ?" said a voice 
 behind me ; and, starting involuntarily, I turned. I 
 liad been so taken up with the- contemplation of the 
 pretty little salon that I had not noticed the entrance 
 of a person into the larger room. It was, however, 
 Mdlle. Renter who now addressed me, and stood close 
 beside me ; and when I had bowed with instantane- 
 ■ ously recovered sang froid — ^for I am not easily em- 
 barrassed — I comnienced the conversation by remark- 
 ing on the pleasant aspect of her little cabinet, and the 
 advantage she had over M. Pelet in possessing a gar- 
 den. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " she often thought so ;" and add- 
 ed, ," It is my garden, Monsieur, which makes Ine re- 
 tain this house, otherwise I should probably have re- 
 moved to larger and more commodious premises long 
 since ; but you see I could not take my garden with 
 me, and I could scarcely find one so large and pleas- 
 ant any wh^re else in town." 
 
 I approved her judgment. 
 
 "Bul^you have not seen it yet," said she, rising; 
 " come to the window and take a better view." I fol- 
 lowed her. She opened the sash, and, leaning out, I 
 saw in fiiU the inclosed demesne which had hitherto 
 been to me an unknown region. It was a long, not 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 97 
 
 srj broad strip of cultured ground, with an alley bor- 
 3red by enormous old fruit-trees down the middle ; 
 lere was a sort of lawn, a parterre of rose-trees, some 
 3wer-borders, and, on the far side, a thickly-planted 
 )pse of lilacs, laburnums, and acacias. It looked 
 .easant to me — very pleasant, so long a time had 
 apsed since I. had seen a garden of any sort. But 
 
 was not only on Mdlle. Eeuter's garden that my 
 res dwelt ; when I had taken a view of her well- 
 immed beds and budding shrubberies, I allowed my 
 ance to come back to herself, nor did I hastily with- 
 •aw it. 
 
 I had thought to see a tall, meagre, yellow, conyent- 
 il image in black, with a close white cap, bandaged 
 ider the chin like a nun's head-gear, whereas there 
 ood by me a little and roundly-formed woman, who 
 ight, indeed, be older than I, but was stiU young, 
 he could not, I thought, be more than six or seven- 
 id-twenty ; she was as fair as a fair Englishwoman ; 
 le had no cap ; her hair was nut-brown, and she wore 
 
 in curls. Pretty her features were not, nor very 
 )ft, nor very regular, but neither were they in any 
 jgree plain, and I already saw cause to deem them 
 cpressive. What was their predominant cast ? Was 
 
 sagacity ? sense ? Yes, I thought so ; but I could 
 ;arcely as yet be sure. I discovered, however, that 
 lere was a certain serenity of eye and freshness of 
 jmplexion most pleasing to behold. The color on her 
 leek was like the bloom on a gOod apple, which is as 
 )und at the core as it is red on the rind. 
 
 MdUe. Eeuter and I entered upon business. She 
 lid she was not absolutely certain of the wisdom of 
 E 
 
98 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 the Btep~slie was about to take, because I was so young, 
 and parents might possibly object to a professor like 
 me for their daughters. " But it is often well to act 
 on one's own judgment," said she, "and to lead parents 
 rather than be led by them. The fitness of a professor 
 is not a matter of age ; and from what I have heard, 
 and from what I observe myself, I would much rather 
 trust yora than M. Ledru, the music-master, who is a 
 married man of near fifty." 
 
 I remarked that I hoped she would find me worthy 
 of her good opinion ; that, if I knew myself^ I was in- 
 capable of betraying any confidence reposed in me. 
 " Du reste," said she ; " the surveillance will be strict- 
 ly attended to." And then she proceeded to discuss 
 uie subject of terms. She was very cautious — quite 
 on her guard. She did not absolutely bargain,' but 
 she warily sounded me to find out what my expecta^ 
 tions might be ; and when she could not get me to 
 name a sum, she reasoned and reasoned with a fluent 
 yet quiet circumlocution of speech, and at last nailed 
 me down to five hundred francs per annum — not too 
 much, but I agreed. Before the negotiation was com- 
 pleted it began to grow a little dusk. I did not hasten 
 it, for I liked weU enough to sit and hear her talk. I 
 was amused with the sort of business talent she dis- 
 played. Edward could not have shown himself more 
 practical, though he might have evinced more coai'se- 
 -ness and urgency ; and then she had so many reasons, 
 so many explanations ; and, after all, she succeeded in 
 proving herself quite disinterested and even liberal. At 
 last she concluded. She could say no more, because, 
 as I acquiesced in all things, there was no fiirther 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 99 
 
 ground for the exercise of her parts of speech, I was 
 obliged to rise. I would rather have sat a little lon- 
 ger. What had I to return to hut my small, empty 
 room ? And my eyes had a pleasure in looking at 
 Mdlle. Eeuter, especially now, when the twilight soft- 
 ened her features a littla» and, in the doubtful dusk, I 
 could fancy her forehead as open as it was really ele- 
 vated, her mouth touched with turns of sweetness as 
 well as defined in lines of sense. When I rose to go 
 I held out my hand on purpose, though I knew it was 
 contrary to the etiquette of foreign habits. She smiled 
 and said, 
 
 " Ah ! c'est comme tous les Anglais ;" but gave me 
 her hand very kindly. 
 
 "It is the privilege of my country. Mademoiselle," 
 said I ; " and, remember, I shall always claim it." 
 
 She laughed a little, quite good-naturedly, and with 
 the sort of tranquillity obvious in all she did-^-a tran- 
 quillity which soothed and suited me singularly; at 
 least"! thought so that evening. Brussels seemed a 
 very pleasant place to me when I got out again into 
 the street, and it appeared as if some cheerful, event- 
 ful, upward-tending career were even then opening to 
 me on that self-same mild, stiU April night. So im- 
 pressionable a being is man, or at least such a man as 
 I was in those days. 
 
100 THE PKOFESSOK. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 * 
 
 Next day tha morning hours seemed to pass very 
 slowly at M. Pelet's. I wanted the afternoon to come, 
 that I might go again to the neighboring pensionnat 
 and give my first lesson within its precincts, for pleas- 
 ant they appeared to me. At noon the hour of recre- 
 ation arrived ; at one o'clock we had lunch ; this got 
 on the time, and at last Ste. Gudnle's deep bell, tolling 
 slowly two, marked the moment for which I had been 
 waiting. 
 
 At the foot of the narrow back stairs that descended 
 from my room I met M. Pelet. 
 
 " Conijne vous avez I'air rayonnant," said he. " Je 
 ne vous ai jamais vu aussi gai que s'est-U done passe ?" 
 
 "Apparemment que j'aime les changements," re- 
 plied I. 
 
 "Ah! je comprends — c'st cela — soyez sage senle- 
 ment. Vous etes bien jeune — ^trop jeune pour le role 
 que vous allez jouer ; il faut prendre garde — savez- 
 vous?" 
 
 " Mais quel danger y a-t-il?" 
 
 " Je ne'en sais rien — ne vous laissez pas aller a de 
 vives impressions — ^voila tout." 
 
 I laughed ; a sentiment of exquisite pleasure play- 
 ed over my nerves at the thought that "vives impres- 
 sions" were likely to be created ; it was the deadness, 
 the sameness of life's daily ongoings that had hitherto 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 101 
 
 been my bane ; my blouse-clad eleves in the boy's sem- 
 inary never stirred in me any " vives impressions," ex- 
 cept it might be occasionally some of anger. I broke 
 from M. Pelet, and as I strode down the passage he 
 followed me with one of his laughs — a very French, 
 rakish, mocking sound. 
 
 Again I stood at the neighboring door, and soon was 
 readmitted into the cheerful passage, with its clear, 
 dove -color imitation marble walls. I followed the 
 portress, and descending a step and making a turn, I 
 found myself in a sort of corridor ; a side-door opened ; 
 MdUe. Renter's little figure, as graceful as it was 
 plump, appeared. I could now see her dress in full 
 daylight : a neat, simple mousseline-de-laine gown fit- 
 ted her compact round shape to perfection ; delicate 
 little collar and manchettes of lace, trim Parisian bro- 
 dequins showed her neck, wrists, and feet to complete 
 advantage ; but how grave was her face as she came 
 suddenly upon me ! Solicitude and business were in 
 her eye — on her forehead; she looked almost stern. 
 Her "bon jour. Monsieur," was quite polite, but so 
 orderly, so commonplace, it spread directly a cool, 
 damp towel over my "vives impressions." The serv- 
 ant turned back when her mistress appeared, and I 
 walked slowly along the corridor, side by side with 
 Mdlle. Eeuter. 
 
 "Monsieur wiU give a lesson in the first class to- 
 day," said she. " Dictation or reading will perhaps 
 be the best thing to begin with, for those are the easi- 
 est forms of communicating instruction in a foreign 
 language ; and, at the first, a master naturally feels a 
 little unsettled." 
 
102 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 She was quite right, as I had found from experi- 
 ence ; it only remained for me to acquiesce. We pro- 
 ceeded now in silence. The corridor terminated in a 
 hall, large, lofty, and square ; a glass door on one side 
 showed within a long, narrow refectory, with tables, an 
 armoire, and two lamps : it was empty ; large glass 
 doors, in front, opened on the play-ground and garden ; 
 a broad staircase ascended spirally on the opposite 
 side ; the remaining wall showed &• pair of great fold- 
 ing-doors, now closed, and admitting, doubtless, to the 
 classes. 
 
 Mdlle. Eeuter turned her eye laterally ori^me, to as- 
 certain probably whether I was collected enough to be 
 ushered into her sanctum sanctorum. I suppose she 
 judged me to be in a tolerable state of self-government, 
 for she opened the door, and I followed her through. 
 A rustling sound of uprising greeted our entrance. 
 Without looking to the right or left, I walked straight 
 up the lane between two sets of benches and desks, 
 and took possession of the empty chair and isolated 
 desk raised on an estrade of one step high, so as to 
 command one division, the other division being under 
 the surveillance of a maitresse similarly elevated. At 
 the back of the estrade, and attached to a movable 
 partition dividing this school-room from another be- 
 yond, was a large tableau of wood, painted black and 
 varnished ; a thick crayon of white chalk lay on my 
 desk for the convenience of elucidating any grammat- 
 ical or verbal obscurity which might occur in my les- 
 sons by writing it upon the tableau ; a wet sponge ap- 
 peared beside the chalk to enable me to efface the 
 markss when they had served the purpose intended. 
 
THK PROFESSOR. 103 
 
 I carefully and deliberately made these observations 
 before allowing myself to take one glance at the bench- 
 es before me. Having handled the crayon, looked 
 back at the tableau, fingered the sponge in order to 
 ascertain that it was in a right state of moisture^ I 
 found myself cool enough to admit of looking calmly 
 up and gazing deliberately round me. 
 
 And first I observed that Mdlle. Eeuter had already 
 glided away : she was nowhere visible ; a maitresse 
 or teacher, the one who occupied the corresponding 
 estrade to my own, alone remained to keep guard over 
 me. She was a little in the shade, and, with my short 
 sight, I could only see that she was of a thin, bony 
 figure, and rather tallowy complexion, and that her at- 
 titude, as she sat, partook equally of listlessness and 
 afiectation. More obvious, more prominent, shone on 
 by the full light of the large window, were the occu- 
 pants of the benches just before me, of whom some 
 were girls of fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, some young 
 women from eighteen (as it appeared to me) up to 
 twenty ; the most modest attire, the simplest fashion 
 of wearing the hair, were apparent in all, and good fea- 
 tures, ruddy, blooming complexions, large and brilliant 
 eyes, forms full, even to solidity, seemed to abound. 
 . I did not bear the first view like a stoic. I was daz- s, 
 zled ; my eygs fell, and in a voice somewhat too low •^ 
 I murmured, 
 
 " Prenez vos cahiers de dictee, Mesdemoiselles." 
 
 Not so*had I bid the boys at Pelet's take their read- 
 ing-books. A rustle followed, and an opening of desks. 
 Behind the lifted lids which momentarily screened the 
 heads bent down to search for exercise-books I heard 
 tittering and whispers. 
 
104 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 " Eulalie, je suis prete a pamer de rire," observed 
 one. 
 
 " Comme il a rougi en parlant !" 
 
 " Oui, c'est un veritable blancrbec." 
 
 " Tais-toi, Horteiise — il nous 6coute." 
 
 And now the lids sank and the heads reappeared. 
 I had marked three, the whisperers, and I did not scru- 
 ple to take a very steady look at them as they emerged 
 from their temporary, eclipse. It is astonishing what 
 ease and courage their little phrases of flippancy had 
 given me. The idea by which I had been awed was 
 that the youthful beings before me, witK their dark, 
 nun-like robes and softly braided hair, were a kind of 
 half-angels. The light titter, the giddy whisper, had 
 already, in some measure, relieved my mind of that 
 fond and oppressive fancy. 
 
 The three I allude to were just in firont, within half 
 a yard of my estrade, and were among the most wom- 
 anly-looking present. Their names I knew afterward, 
 and may as weU mention now; they were Eulalie, 
 Hortense, Caroline. Eulalie was tall and very finely 
 shaped. She was fair, and her features were those of 
 a Low-Country Madonna. Many a " figure de vierge" 
 have I seen in Dutch pictures exactly resembling hers. 
 There were no angles in her shape or in her face ; all 
 was curve and roundness : neither thought, sentiment, 
 nor passion disturbed by line or flush the equality of 
 her pale, clear skin ; her noble bust heaved with her 
 regular breathing, her eyes moved a little : by these 
 evidences of life alone could I have distinguished her 
 from some large, handsome figure moulded in wax. 
 
 Hortense was of middle size and stout ; her form 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 105 
 
 was ungraceful ; her face striking — more alive and 
 brilliant than Eulalie's ; her hair was dark brown, her 
 complexion richly colored ; there were frolic and mis- 
 chief in her eye : consistency and good sense she might 
 possess, but none of her features betokened those qual- 
 ities. 
 
 Caroline was little, though evidently full grown ; 
 raven-black hair, very dark eyes, absolutely regular 
 features, with a colorless olive complexion, clear as to 
 the face and sallow about the neck, formed in her that 
 assemblage of points whose union many persons re- 
 gard as the perfection of beauty. How, with the tint- 
 less pallor of her skin and the classic straightness of 
 her lineaments, she managed to look, sensual, I don't 
 know. I think her lips and eyes contrived the affair 
 between them, and the result left no uncertainty on 
 the beholder's mind. She was sensual now, and in 
 ten years' time she would be coarse — promise plain 
 was written in her face of much future folly. 
 
 If I looked at these girls with little scruple, thpy 
 looked at me with still less. Eulalie .raised her un- 
 moved eye to mine, and seemed to expect, passively 
 but securely, an impromptu tribute to her majestic 
 charms. Hortense regarded me boldly and giggled at 
 the same time, while she said with an air of impudent 
 freedom, 
 
 "Dictez-nous quelquechose de facile pour com- 
 men9er. Monsieur." 
 
 Caroline shook her loose ringlets of abundant but 
 somewhat coarse hair over her rolling black eyes. 
 Parting her lips, as full as those of a hot-blooded Ma- 
 roon, she showed her well-set teeth sparkling between 
 E2 
 
106 THE PEOFESSOH. 
 
 them, and treated me at the same time to a smile " de 
 sa fafon." Beautiful as PauHne Borghese, she looked 
 at the moment scarcely purer than Lucrece de Borgia. 
 Carohne was of nohle family. I heard her lady-moth- 
 er's character afterward, and then I ceased to wonder 
 at the precocious accomplishments of the daughter. 
 These three, I at once saw, deemed themselves the 
 queens of the school, and conceived that by their splen- 
 dor they threw all the rest into the shade. In less 
 than five minutes they had thus revealed to me their 
 characters, and in less than five minutes I had buckled 
 on a breastplate of steely indifierence, and let down a 
 visor of impassible austerity. 
 
 " Take your pens and commence writing," said I, 
 in as dry and trite a voice as if I had been addressing 
 only Jules Vanderkelkov and Co. 
 
 The dictee now commenced. My three belles inT> 
 terrupted me perpetually with little silly questions and 
 uncalled-for remarks, to some of which I made no an- 
 swer, and to others replied very quietly and briefly. 
 
 " Comment dit-on point etvirgule en Anglais, Mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 " Semicolon, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Semir^coUong ? Ah comme c'est drole!" (gig- 
 gle-) 
 
 " J'ai une si mauvaise plume — ^impossible d'ecrire." 
 
 " Mais, Monsieur — -je ne sais pas suivre — ^vous al- 
 lez si vite." 
 
 " Je n'ai rien compris, moi." 
 
 Here a general murmur arose, and the teacher, open- 
 ing her lips for the first time, ejaculated, 
 
 " Silence, Mesdemoiselles." 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 107 
 
 No silence followed ; on the contrary, the three la- 
 dies in front began to talk more loudly. 
 
 " C'est si difficile, I'Anglais." 
 
 " Je deteste la dictee." 
 
 " Quel ennui d'ecrire quelquechose que Ton ne com- 
 prend pas." 
 
 Some of those behind laughed ; a degree of confu- 
 sion began to pervade the class ; it was necessary to 
 take prompt measures. 
 
 " Donnez-moi votre cahier," said I to Eulalie, in an 
 abrupt tone ; and, bending over, I took it before she 
 had time to give it. 
 
 Et vous. Mademoiselle — donnez-moi le votre," con- 
 tinued I, more mildly, addressing a little pale, plain- 
 looking girl who sat in the first row of the other di- 
 vision, and whom I had remarked as being at once the 
 ugliest and the most attentive in the room. She rose 
 up, walked over to me, and delivered her book with a 
 grave, modest courtesy. I glanced over the two dic- 
 tations : Eulalie's was slurred, blotted, and full of silly 
 mistakes : Sylvie's (such was the name of the ugly 
 little girl) was clearly written : it contained no error 
 against sense, and but few faults of orthography. I 
 coolly read aloud both exercises, marking the faults ; 
 then I looked at Eulalie : 
 
 " C'est honteux," said I, and I deliberately tore her 
 dictation in four parts,' and presented her with the 
 fragments. I returned Sylvie her book with a smile, 
 saying, 
 
 " C'est bien — -je suis content de vous." 
 
 Sylvie looked calmly pleased, Eulalie swelled like 
 an incensed turkey ; but the mutiny was quelled ; the 
 
108 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 conceited coquetry and futile flirtation of the first tench 
 were exchanged for a taciturn sullenness, much more 
 convenient to me, and the rest of my lesson passed 
 without interruption. 
 
 A hell clanging out in the yard announced the mo- 
 ment for the cessation of school labors. I heard our 
 own bell at the same time, and that of a certain pub- 
 lic college immediately after. Order dissolved in- 
 stantly. Up started every pupU, I hastened to seize 
 my hat, bow to the maitresse, and quit the room be- 
 fore the tide of externats should pour from the inner 
 class, where I knew near a hundred were prisoned, and 
 whose rising tumult I already heard. 
 
 I had scarcely crossed the, hall and gained the cor- 
 ridor when Mdlle. Eeuter came again upon me.- 
 
 " Step in here a moment," said she, and she held 
 open the door of the side-room from whence she had 
 issued on my arrival : it was a salle^a-manger, as' ap- 
 peared from the beaufet and the armoire vitree, fiUed 
 with glass and china, which formed part of its furni- 
 ture. Ere she had closed the door on me and herself, 
 the corridor was already filled with day-pupils, tearing 
 down their cloaks, bonnets, and cabas from the wood- 
 en pegs on which they were suspended. The shrill 
 voice of a maitresse was heard at intervals vainly en- 
 deavoring to enforce some sort of order; vainly, I say: 
 /^discipline there was none in these rough ranks, and 
 I yet this was considered one of the best -conducted 
 *■ schools in Brussels. 
 
 "Well, you have given your first lesson," began 
 Mdlle. Eeuter in the most calm, equable voice, as 
 though quite unconscious of the chaos from which we 
 were separated only by a single wall. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 109 
 
 "Were you satisfied with your pupils, or did any 
 circumstance in their conduct give you cause for com- 
 plaint ? Conceal nothing irom me ; repose in me en- 
 tire confidence." 
 
 Happily, I felt in myself complete power to manage 
 my pupils without aid ; the enchantment, the golden 
 haze which had dazzled my perspicuity at first, had 
 been a good deal dissipated. I can not say I was 
 chagrined or downcast hy the contrast which the real- 
 ity of a pensionnat de demoiselles presented to pay 
 vague ideal of the same community ; I was only en- 
 lightened and amused ; consequently, I felt in no dis- 
 position to complain to Mdlle. Eeuter, and I received 
 her considerate invitation to confidence with a smile. 
 
 "A thousand thanks, Mademoiselle ; all has gone 
 very smoothly." 
 
 She looked more than doubtful. 
 
 "Et les trois demoiselles du premier banc?" said 
 she. 
 
 "Ah! tout va au mieux," was my answer, and 
 Mdlle. Eeuter ceased to question me ; but her eye — 
 not large, not brilliant, not melting or kindling, but 
 astute, penetrating, practical, showed she was even with 
 me ; it let out a momentary gleam, which said plain- 
 ly, " Be as close as you like, I am not dependent on 
 your candor; what you would conceal I already know." 
 
 By a transition so quiet as to be scarcely percepti- 
 ble, the directress's "manner changed; the anxious, 
 business air passed from her face, and she began chat- 
 ting about the weather and the town, and asking in 
 neighborly wise after M. and Madame Pelet. I an- 
 swered all her little questions. She prolonged her 
 
110 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 /talk ; I went on following its many little windings. 
 She sat so long, said so much, varied so often the top- 
 ics of discourse, that it was not difficult to perceive she 
 had a particular aim in thus detaining me. Her mere 
 words could have afforded no clew to this aim, hut her 
 countenance aided. While her lips uttered only affahle 
 commonplaces, her eyes reverted continually to my 
 face. Her glances were not given in full, but out of 
 the corners, so quietly, so stealthily, yet I think I lost 
 not one. I watched her as keenly as she watched me. 
 I perceived soon that she was feeling after my real char- 
 acter ; she was searching for salient points, and weak 
 points, and eccentric points ; she was applying now 
 this test, now that, hoping in the end to find some 
 chink, some niche, where she could put in her little 
 firm foot and stand upon my neck — mistress of my na- 
 ture. Do not mistake me, reader, it was no amorous 
 < influence she wished to gain ; at that time it was only 
 ' the power of the politician to which she aspired. I 
 W^as now installed as a professor in her establishment, 
 and she wanted to know where her mind was superior 
 to mine — by what feeling or opinion she could lead 
 me. 
 
 I enjoyed the game much, and did not hasten its 
 conclusion. Sometimes I gave her hopes, beginning a 
 sentence rather weakly, when her shrewd eye would 
 light up : she thought she had me. Having led her a 
 little way, I delighted to turn round and finish with 
 sound, hard sense, whereat her countenance would fall. 
 At last a servant entered to announce dinner. The 
 conflict being thus necessarily terminated, we parted 
 without having gained any advantage on either side : 
 
THE PROFESSOE. Ill 
 
 • . 
 
 McUle. Eeuter had not even given me an opportunity 
 of attacking her with feeling, and I had managed to 
 baffle her little schemes of craft. It was a regular 
 drawn battle. I again held out my hand when I left 
 the room ; she gave me hers ; it was a small and white 
 hand, but how' cool ! I met her eye, too, in full, 
 obhging her to give me a straightforward look. This 
 last test went against me : it left her as it found her 
 . — moderate, temperate, tranquil ; me it disappointed. 
 
 " I am growing wiser," thought I, as I walked back 
 to M. Pelet's. " Look at this little woman ; is she 
 like the women of novelists and romancers ? To read 
 of female character as depicted in Poetry and Fiction, 
 one would think it was made up of sentiment, either 
 for good or bad. Here is a specimen, and a most 
 sensible and respectable specimen too, whose staple 
 ingredient is abstract reason. No Talleyrand was 
 ever more passionless than Zoraide Eeuter." So I 
 thought then ; I found afterward that blunt suscepti- 
 bilities arp very consistent with strong propensities. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 I HAD indeed had a very long talk with the crafty 
 ■ little politician, and on -regaining my quairters I found 
 that dinner was half over. To be late at meals was 
 against a standing rule of the establishment, and, had 
 it been one of the Flemish ushers who thus entered 
 after the removal of the soup and the commencement 
 of the first course, M. Pelet would probably have 
 
112 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 greeted him with a public rebuke, and would certain- 
 ly have mulcted him both of soup and fish ; as it was, 
 that polite though partial gentleman only shook his 
 head, and as I took my place, unrolled my napkin, 
 and said my heretical grace to myself, he civilly disr 
 patched a servant to the kitchen to bring me a plate 
 of " pur6e aux carrottes" (for this was a maigre-day), 
 and before sending away the first course reserved for 
 me a portion of the stock-fish of which it consisted. 
 Dinner being over, the boys rushed out for their even- 
 ing play ; Kint. and Vandam (the two ushers) of cotu-se 
 followed them. Poor fellows ! if they had not looked 
 so very heavy, so very soulless, so very indifierent to 
 all things in heaven above or in the earth beneath, I 
 could have pitied them gi-eatly for the obligation they 
 were imder to trail after those rough lads every where 
 and at all times ; even as it was, I felt disposed to 
 scout myself as a privileged prig when I turned to as- 
 cend to my chamber, sure to find there, if not enjoy- 
 ment, at least liberty ; but this evening (as had often 
 happened before) I was to be stiU farther distinguish- 
 ed. 
 
 "Eh bien mauvais sujet," said the voice of M. Pe- 
 let behind me as I set my foot on the first step of the 
 stair. " Ou allez-vous ? Venez a la salle-a manger, 
 que je vous gronde un peu." 
 
 "I beg pardon. Monsieur," said I, as I followed' 
 him to his private sitting-room, "for having returned 
 so late ; it was not my fault." 
 
 "That is just what I' want to know," rejoined M. 
 Pelet, as he ushered me into the comfortable parlor 
 with a good wood' fire, for the stove had now been re- 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 113 
 
 moved for the season. Having rung the bell, he or- 
 dered " coffee for two," and presently he and I were 
 seated, almost in English comfort, one on each side of 
 the hearth, a little round tahle between us with a cof- 
 fee-pot, a sugar-basin, and two large white china cups. 
 While M. Pelet employed himself in choosing a cigar 
 from a box, my thoughts reverted to the two outcast 
 ushers, whose voices I could hear even now crying 
 hoarsely for order in the play-ground. 
 
 "C'est une grande responsabilite, que la surveil- 
 lance," observed I. 
 
 "Plait-il?"ditM. Pelet. 
 
 I remarked that I thought Messieurs Vandam and 
 Kint must sometimes be a little fatigued with their . 
 labors. 
 
 "Des betes de-somme — des betes de somme," mur- 
 mured scornfully the director. Meantime I offered 
 him his cup of coffee. 
 
 " Servez-vous, mon garfon," said he, blandly, when 
 I had put a couple of huge lumps of Continental sugar 
 into his cup. "And now tell me why you staid so 
 long at Mdlle. Eeuter's. I know that lessons con- 
 clude, in her establishment as in mine, at four o'clock, 
 and when you returned it was past five." 
 
 " Mademoiselle "wished to speak with me, Mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 " Indeed ! on what subject ? if one ma,y ask." 
 
 " Mademoiselle talked about nothing, Monsieur." 
 
 " A fertUe topic. And did she discourse thereon in 
 the school-room, before the pupils ?" 
 
 " No ; like you. Monsieur, she asked me to walk into 
 her parlor." 
 
114 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 " And Madame Keuter — ^the old duenna — ^my moth- 
 er's gossip, was there, of course." 
 
 "No, Monsieur; I had the honor of being quite 
 alone with Mademoiselle." 
 
 " C'est joli — cela," observed M. Pelet; and he smiled 
 and looked into the fire. 
 
 " Honi soit qui mal y pense," murmured I, signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 "Je connais un peu ma petite voisine — voyez- 
 vous." 
 
 " In that case. Monsieur will be able to aid me in 
 finding out what was Mademoiselle's reason for mak- 
 ing me sit before her sofa one mortal hour, listening to 
 •the most copious and fluent dissertation on the merest 
 frivolities." 
 
 " She was sounding your character." 
 
 " I thought so, Monsieur." 
 
 " Did she find out your weak point ?" 
 
 " What is my weak point ?" 
 
 " Why, the sentimental. Any woman, sinking her 
 shaft deep enough, wiU at last reaek^ fathomless spring 
 of sensibility in thy breast, Crimsworth." 
 
 -I felt the blood stir about my heart and rise warm 
 to my cheek. 
 . " Some women might. Monsieur." 
 
 "Is Mdlle. Eeuter of the number? Come, speak 
 frankly, mon fils ; elle est encore jeune, plus agee que 
 toi peutetre, mais juste assez pour unir la tendresse 
 d'une petite maman a I'amour d'une dpouse devouee ; 
 n'est-ce pas que cela t'irait supirieurement ?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur; I should like my wife to be my 
 wife, and not half my mother." 
 
THE PROPESSOE. 115 
 
 " Slie is, their, a little too old for you ?" 
 
 " No, Monsieur, not a day too old, if she suited me 
 in other things." 
 
 " In what does she not suit you, WiUiam ? She is 
 personally agreeable, is she not ?" 
 
 " Very; her hair and complexion are just what I 
 admire, and her turn of form, though quite Belgian, is 
 full of grace." 
 
 " Bravo ! and her face — her features — how do you 
 like them ?" 
 
 "A little harsh, especially her mouth." 
 
 " Ah4 yes, her mouth," said M. Pelet, and he chuck- 
 led iawardly. " There is character about her mouth — 
 firmness — ^but she has a very pleasant smile; don't 
 you think so ?" 
 
 "Eather crafty." 
 
 " True ; but that expression of craft is owing to 
 her eyebrows. Have you remarked her eyebrows ?" 
 
 I answered that I had not. 
 
 "You have not seen her looking down, then?" 
 said he. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " It is a treat, notwithstanding. Observe her when 
 she has some knitting, or some other woman's work in 
 • hand, and sits, the image of peace, calmly intent on her 
 needles and her silk, some discussion meantime going 
 on around her, in the course o^ which peculiarities of 
 character are being developed, or important interests 
 canvassed. She takes no part in it ; her humble, fem- 
 inine mind is wholly with her knitting ; none of her 
 features move ; she neither presumes to smile approv- 
 al nor frown disapprobation ; her little hands assidu- 
 
116 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 ■ ously ply their unpretending task ; if she can only get 
 this purse finished, or this bonnet-grec completed, it is 
 enough for her. If gentlemen approach her chair, a 
 deeper quiescence, a meeker modesty settles on her 
 features, and clothes her general mien ; ohserve then 
 her eyebrows, et dites-moi s'il n'y a pas du chat dans 
 I'un et du renard dans I'autre." 
 
 " I will take careful notice the first opportunity," 
 said I. 
 
 "And then," continued M. Pelet, "the eyelid will 
 flicker, the light-colored lashes be lifted a second, and 
 a blue eye, glancing out from under the screen, will 
 take its brief, sly, searching survey, and retreat again." 
 
 I smiled, and so did Pelet ; and, after a few min- 
 utes' silence, I asked, 
 
 " Will she ever marry, do you think ?" 
 
 " Marry ! Will birds pair ? Of course it is both 
 her intention and resolution to marry when she finds 
 a suitable match, and no one is better aware than her- 
 self of the sort of impression she is capable of pro- 
 ducing; no one likes better to captivate in a quiet 
 way. I am mistaken if she will not yet leave the 
 print of her stealing steps on thy heart, CrimswortL" 
 
 "Of her steps? Confound it, no! My heart is 
 not a plank to be walked on." • 
 
 " But the soft touch of a patte de velours will do it 
 no harm." 
 
 " She ofiers me no patte de velours ; she is all form 
 and reserve with me." 
 
 " That to begin with ; let respect be the foundation, 
 affection the first floor, love the superstructure; MdUe. 
 Eeuter is a skillful architect." 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 117 
 
 " And interest, M. Pelet — interest. Will not Mad- 
 emoiselle jconsider that point ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, jm doubt ; it will be the cement between 
 every stone. And now we have discussed the direct- 
 ress, what of the pupils? N'y-a-t-il pas de belles 
 6tudes parmi ces jeunes tetes'?" 
 
 "Studies of character? Yes; curious ones, at least, 
 I imagine ; but one can not divine much from a first 
 interview." 
 
 " Ah ! you affect discretion ; but tell me now, were 
 you not a little abashed before those blooming young 
 creatures ?" 
 
 "At first, yes; but I rallied and got through with 
 all due sang froid." 
 
 " I don't believe you." 
 
 "It is true, notwithstanding. At first I thought 
 them angels, but they did not leave me long under that 
 delusion ; three of the eldest and handsomest under- 
 took the task of setting me right, and they managed 
 so cleverly that jn five minutes I knew them, at least, 
 for what they were — three arrant coquettes." 
 
 " Je les connais," exclaimed M. Pelet. " Elles sont 
 toujours au premier rang a I'eglise et a la promenade ; 
 une blonde superbe, une jolie espiegle, une belle 
 brune." , , 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " Lovely creatures, all of them — heads for artists ! 
 what a group they would make, taken together ! Eu- 
 lalie (I know their names), with her smooth braided 
 hair, and calm ivory brow ; Hortense, with her rich 
 chestnut locks so luxuriantly knotted, plaited, twisted, 
 as if she did not know how to dispose of all their 
 
118 THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 albundance, with her vermilion lips, damask cheek, 
 and roguish, laughing eye ; and Caroline de Blemont ! 
 Ah! there is beauty — Tbeauty in perfection. What 
 a cloud of sable curls about the face of a houri! 
 What fascinating lips ! What glorious black eyes ! 
 Your Byron would have worshiped her; and you — 
 you cold, frigid islander — you played the austere, the in- 
 sensible in the presence of an Aphrodite so exquisite ?" 
 
 I might have laughed at the director's enthusiasm 
 had I believed it real, but there was something in his 
 tone which indicated got-up raptures. I felt he was 
 only affecting fervor in order to put me off my guard, 
 to induce me to come out in return, so I scarcely even 
 smiled. He went on : 
 
 " Confess, William, do not the mere good looks of 
 Zoraide Eeuter appear dowdyish and commonplace 
 compared with the splendid charms of some of her 
 pupils ?" 
 
 The question discomposed me ; but I now felt plainv. 
 ly that my principal was endeavoring (for reasons best 
 known to himself — at that time I could not fathom 
 them) to excite ideas and wishes in my mind alien to 
 what was right and honorable. The iniquity of the 
 instigation proved its antidote ; and when he further 
 ^added, 
 
 "Each of those three beautiful girls will have a 
 handsome fortune ; and with a little address, a gentle- 
 manlike, intelligent young fellow like you might make 
 himself master of the hand, heart, and purse of any 
 one of the trio." 
 
 I replied by a look and an interrogative "Mon- 
 sieur?" which startled him. 
 
THE PEOFESSOR. 119 
 
 He laughed a forced laugh, affirmed that he had 
 only teen joldng, and demanded whether I could pos- 
 sibly have thought him in earnest. Just then the beU 
 rang ; the play-hour was over ; it was an evening on 
 which M. Pelet was accustomed to read passages from 
 the drama and the belles-lettres to his pupils. He 
 did not wait for my answer, but, rising, left the room, 
 humming as he went some gay strain of Beranger's. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 Daily, as I continued my attendance at the semi- 
 nary of Mdlle, Renter, did I find fresh occasions to 
 compare the ideal with the real. What had I known 
 of female character previously to my arrival at Brus- 
 sels ? Precious little. And what was my notion of 
 it ? Something vague, slight, gauzy, glittering ; now, 
 when I came in contact with it^ I found it to be a pal- 
 pable substance enough; very hard too sometimes, 
 and often heavy ; there was metal in it, both lead and 
 iron. • 
 
 Let the idealists, the dreamers about earthly angels 
 and human flowers, just look here while I open my 
 portfolio and show them a sketch or two, penciled aft- 
 er nature. I took these sketches in the second-class 
 school-room of MdUe. Eeuter's establishment, where 
 about a hundred specimens of the genus "jeune fille" 
 collected together offered a fertile variety of subject. 
 A miscellaneous assortment they were, differing both 
 in caste and country. As I sat on my estrade and 
 
120' THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 glanced over the long range of desks, I had under my 
 eye French, English, Belgians, Austrians, and Prus- 
 sians. The majority belonged to the class hourgeois ; 
 but there were many comtesses — there were the daugh- 
 ters of two generals and of several colonels, captains, 
 and government employes : these ladies sat side hy 
 side with young females destined to be demoiselles de 
 magasins, and with some Flamandes, genuine aborig- 
 ines of the country. In dress all were nearly similar, 
 and in manners there was small diflference ; exceptions 
 there were to the general rule, but the majority gave 
 the tone to the establishment, and that tone was rough, 
 boisterous, marked by a point-blank disregard of all 
 forbearance toward each other or their teachers ; an 
 eager pursuit by each individual of her own interest 
 and convenience, .and a coarse indifference to the in- 
 terest and convenience of every one else. Most of 
 them could lie with audacity when it appeared advan- 
 tageous to do so. All understood the art of speaking 
 fair when a point was to be gained, and could with 
 consummate skill and at a moment's notice turn the 
 cold shoulder the instant civility ceased to be profitar 
 ble. Very little open quarreling ever took place among 
 them, but backbiting and tale-bearing were universal. 
 Close friendships were forbidden by the rules of the 
 school, and no one girl seemed to cultivate, more re- 
 gard for another than was just necessary to secure a 
 companion when solitude would have been irksome. 
 They were each and all supposed to have been reared 
 in utter unconsciousness of vice. The precautions 
 used to keep them' ignorant, if not innocent, were in- 
 numerable. How was it, then, that scarcely one of 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 121 
 
 those girls haviiig attained .the age of fourteen could 
 look a man in the face with modesty and propriety ? 
 An air of bold, impudent flirtation, or a loose, silly 
 leer, was sure to answer the most ordinary glance from 
 a masculine eye. I know nothing of the arcana of the 
 EiOman Catholic religion, and I am not a higot in mat- 
 ters of theology, but I suspect the root of this preco- 
 cious impurity, so obvious, so general in Popish coun- 
 tries, is to be found in the discipline, if not the doc- 
 trines of the Church of Rome. I record what I have 
 seen : these girls belonged to what are called the re- 
 spectable ranks of society ; they had all been carefuUy 
 brought up, yet was the mass of them mentally de- 
 praved. So much for the general view ; now for one 
 or two selected specimens. — " 
 
 The first picture is a full-length of Aurelia Koslow, 
 a German franlein, or rather a half-breed between Ger- 
 man and Russian. She is eighteen years of age, and 
 has been sent to Brussels to finish her education. 
 She is of middle size, stiffly made, body long, legs 
 short, bust much developed but not compactly mould- 
 ed, waist disproportionately compressed by an inhu- 
 manly braced corset, dress carefully arranged, large 
 feet tortured into small bottines, head small, hair 
 smoothed, braided, oiled, and gummed to perfection ; 
 very low forehead, very diminutive and vindictive gray 
 eyes, somewhat Tartar features, rather flat nose, rath- 
 er high cheek-bones, yet the ensemble not positively 
 ugly ; tolerably good complexion. So much for per- 
 son. As to mind, deeply ignorant and ill-informed ; 
 incapable of writing or speaking correctly even Ger- 
 man, her native tongue ; a dunce in French, and her 
 F 
 
122 THK PEOFESSOE. 
 
 attempts at learning English a mere farce, yet she has 
 been at school twelve years ; hut as she invariably 
 gets her exercises, of every description, done by" a fel- 
 low-pupil, and reads her lessons off a book concealed 
 in her lap, it is not wonderful that her progress has 
 been so snail-like. I do not know what Aurelia's 
 daily habits of life are, because I have not the oppor- 
 tunity of observing her at all times ; but from what I 
 see of the state of her desk, books, and papers, I should 
 say she is slovenly and even dirty. Her outward 
 dress, as I have said, is well attended to, but in pass- 
 ing behind her bench I have remarked that her neck 
 is gi'ay for want of washing, and her hair, so glossy 
 with gum and grease, is not such as one feels tempted 
 to pass the hand over, much less to run the fingers 
 through. Aurelia's conduct in class, at least when I 
 am present, is something extraordinary, considered as 
 an index of girlish innocence. The moment I enter 
 the room she nudges her next neighbor, and indulges 
 in a half-suppressed laugh. As I take my seat on the 
 estrade she fixes her eye on me. She seems resolved 
 to attract, and, if possible, monopolize my notice : to 
 this end she launches at me all sorts of looks, lan- 
 guishing, provoking, leering, laughing. As I am found 
 quite proof against this sort of artillery — ^for we scorn 
 what, unasked, is lavishly offered — she has recourse 
 to the expedient of making noises; sometimes she 
 sighs, sometimes groans, sometimes utters inarticulate 
 sounds for which language has no name. K, in walk- 
 ing up the school-room, I pass near her, she puts out 
 her foot that it may touch mine ; if I do not happen to 
 observe the manoeuvre, and my boot comes in contact 
 
THE PEOPESSOK. ' 123 
 
 with her brodequin, she affects to fall into convulsions 
 of suppressed laughter ; if I notice the snare and avoid 
 it, she expresses her mortification in sullen muttering, 
 where I hear myself abused in bad French, pronounced 
 with an intolerable low German accent. 
 
 Not far from MdUe. Koslow sits another young lady, 
 by name Adele Dronsart: this is a Belgian, rather 
 low of stature, in form heavy, with broad waist, short 
 neck and limbs, good red and white complexion, feat- 
 ures well chiseled and regular, well-cut eyes of a clear 
 brown color, light brown hair, good teeth, age not 
 much above fifteen, but as fiall grown as a stout young 
 Englishwoman of twenty. This portrait gives the idea 
 of a somewhat dumpy but good-looking damsel, does 
 it not ? Well, when I looked along the row of young 
 heads,, my eye generally stopped at this of Adele's ; 
 her gaze was ever waiting for mine, and it frequently 
 succeeded in arresting it. She was an unnatural-look- 
 ing being — so young, fresh, blooming, yet so Gorgon- 
 like. Suspicion, sullen ill temper were on her fore- 
 head, vicious propensities in her eye, envy and panther- 
 like deceit about her mouth. In general she sat very 
 still ; her massive shape looked as if it could not bend 
 much, nor did her large head — so broad at the base, so 
 narrow toward the top — seem made to ^urn readily on 
 her short neck. She had but two varieties of expres- 
 sion ; the prevalent one a forbidding, dissatisfied scowl, 
 varied sometimes by a most pernicious and perfidious 
 smile. She was shunned by her fellow-pupils ; for, 
 bad as many of them were, few were as bad as she. 
 
 Aurelia and Adele were in the first division of the 
 second class; the second division was headed by a 
 
124 THE PKOFESSOK. 
 
 pensionnaire named Juanna Trista. This girl was of 
 mixed Belgian and Spanish origin. Her Flemish moth- 
 er was dead ; her Catalonian father was a merchant, 
 
 residing in the • Isles, where Juanna had been 
 
 born, and' whence she was sent to Europe to be edu- 
 cated. I wonder that any one, looking at that girl's 
 head and countenance, would have received her under 
 their roof. She had precisely the same shape of skuU. 
 as Pope Alexander the Sixth. Her organs of benev- 
 ' olence, veneration, conscientiousness, adhesiveness, 
 were singularly small ; those of self-esteem, firmness, 
 destructiveness, combativeness, preposterously large. 
 Her head sloped up in the pent-house shape, was con- 
 tracted about the forehead, and prominent behind. She 
 had rather 'good, though large and marked features. 
 Her temperament was fibrous and bilious, her com- 
 plexion pale and dark, hair and eyes black, form an- 
 gular and rigid, but proportionate ; age fifteen. 
 
 Juanna was not very thin, but she had a gaunt vis- 
 age, and her " regard" was fierce and hungry. Nar- 
 row as was her brow, it presented space enough for 
 the legible graving of two words. Mutiny and Hate. 
 In some one of her other lineaments — I think the eye 
 — cowardice had also its distinct cipher. Mdlle. Trista 
 thought fit to trouble my first lessons with a coarse, 
 work-day sort of turbulence. She made noises with 
 her mouth like a horse, she ejected her saliva, she ut- 
 tered brutal expressions ; behind and below her were 
 seated a band of very vulgar, inferior-looking Flaman- 
 des, including two or three examples of that deformity 
 of person and imbecility of intellect whose frequency 
 in the Low Countries would seem to furnish proof that 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 125 
 
 the climate is such as to induce degeneracy of the hu- 
 man mind and hody ; these, I soon found, were com- 
 pletely under her influence, and with their aid she got 
 up and sustained a swinish tumult, which I was eftn- 
 strained at last to quell by ordering her and two of her 
 tools to rise from their seats, and, having kept them 
 standing five minutes, turning them bodily out of the 
 school-room ; the accomplices into a large place ad- 
 joining called the grand salle, the principal into a cab- 
 inet, of which I closed the door and pocketed the key. 
 This judgment I executed in the presence of Mdlle. 
 Renter, who looked much aghast at beholding so de- 
 cided a proceeding — the most severe that had ever been 
 ventured on in her establishment. Her look of affright 
 I answered with one of composure, and finally with a 
 smile, which perhaps flattered and certainly soothed 
 her. Juanna Trista remained in Europe long enough 
 to repay, by malevolence and ingratitude, all who had 
 ever done her a good turn, and she then went to join 
 
 her father in the r- Isles, exulting in the thought 
 
 that she should there have slaves, whom, as she said, 
 she could kick and strike at wiU. 
 
 These three pictures are from the life. I -possess 
 others, as marked and as little agreeable, but I will 
 spare my reader the exhibition of them. 
 
 Doubtless it will be thought that I ought noW, by 
 way of contrast, to show something charming ; some . 
 gentle virgin head circled with a halo; some sweet 
 personification of innocence, clasping the dove of peace 
 to her bosom. No, I saw nothing of the sort, and 
 therefore can not portray it. The pupil in the school 
 possessing the happiest disposition was a young girl 
 
126 THK PROFESSOR. 
 
 from the country, Louise Path. She was sufficiently 
 benevolent and obliging, but not well taught nor well 
 mannered ; moreover, the plague-spot of dissimulation 
 was in her also ; honor and principle were unknown to 
 her — she had scarcely heard their names. The least 
 exceptionable pupil was the poor little Sylvie I have 
 mentioned once before. Sylvie was gentle in manners, 
 intelligent in mind ; she was even sincere, as far as her 
 religion would permit her to be so, but her physical 
 organization was defective. Weak health stunted her 
 growth and chilled her spirits, and then, destined as 
 she was for the cloister, her whole soul was warped 
 to a conventual bias, and in the tame, trained subjec- 
 tion of her manner, one read that she had already pre- 
 pared herself for her future course of life by giving up 
 her independence of thought and action into the hands 
 of some despotic confessor. She permitted herself no 
 original opinion, no preference of companion or employ- 
 ment; in everything she was guided by another. 
 With a pale, passive, automaton air, she went about 
 all day long doing what she was bid ; never what she 
 liked, or what, from innate conviction, she thought it 
 right to do. The poor little future religieuse had been 
 early taught to make the dictates of her own reason 
 and conscience quite subordinate to the will of her 
 spiritual director. She was the model pupil of Mdlle. 
 Eeutey's establishment; pale, blighted image, where 
 life lingered feebly, but whence the soul had been con- 
 jured by Romish wizard-craft. 
 
 A few English pupils there were in this school, and 
 these might be divided into two classes. 1st. The 
 Continental English — the daughters chiefly of broken 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 127 
 
 adventurers whom debt or dishonor had driven from 
 their own country. These poor girls had never known 
 the advantages of settled homes, decorous example, or 
 honest Protestant education. Eesident a few months 
 now in one Catholic school, now in another, as their 
 parents wandered from land to land— from France to 
 Germany, from Germany to Belgium — ^they had pick- 
 ed up some scanty instruction, many had habits, losing 
 every notion even of the first elements of religion and 
 morals, and ad^uiring an imbecile indifference to every 
 sentiment that can elevate humanity ; they were dis- 
 tinguishable by an habitual look of sullen dejection, 
 the result of crushed self-respect aild constant brow- 
 beating from their Popish fellow -pupils, who hated 
 them as English, and scorned them as heretics. 
 
 The second class were British English. Of these I 
 did not encounter half a dozen during the whole time 
 of my attendance at the seminary. Their character- 
 istics were clean but careless dress, ill-arranged hair 
 (compared with the tight and trim foreigners), erect 
 carriage, flexible figures, white and taper hands, feat- 
 ures more irregular, but also more intellectual than 
 those of the Belgians, grave and modest countenances, 
 a general air of native propriety and decency ; by this 
 last circumstance alone I could at a glance distinguish 
 the daughter of Albion and nursling of Protestantism 
 from the foster-child of Rome, the proteffe of Jesuitry. 
 Proud, too, was the aspect of these British girls. At 
 once envied and ridiculed by their Continental asso- 
 ciates, they warded off insult with austere civility, and 
 met hate with mute disdain ; they eschewed company- 
 keeping, and in the midst of numbers seemed to dwell 
 isolated. 
 
128 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 The teachers presiding over this mixed multitude 
 were three in number, all French — their names Mdlles. 
 Z6phyrine, Pelagie, and Suzette. The two last were 
 commonplace personages enough ; their look was ordi- 
 nary, their manner was ordinary, their temper was or- 
 dinary, their thoughts, feelings, and views were all or- 
 dinary ; were I to write a chapter on the subject, I 
 could not elucidate further. Zephyrine was somewhat 
 more distinguished in appearance and deportment than 
 Pelagie and Suzette, but in character a' genuine Paris- 
 ian coquette, perfidious, mercenary, and dry-hearted. 
 A fourth maitresse I sometimes saw, who seemed to 
 come daily to teach needlework, or netting, or lace- 
 mending, or some such flimsy art, but of her I never 
 had more than a passing glimpse, as she sat in the 
 carre, with her frames and some dozen of the elder 
 pupils about her, consequently I had no opportunity 
 of studying her character, or even of observing her per- 
 son much ; the latter, I remarked, had a very girlish 
 air for a maitresse, otherwise it was not striking ; of 
 character I should think she possessed but little, as 
 her pupils seemed constantly " en revolte" against her 
 authority. She did not reside in the house ; her name, 
 I think, was Mdlle. Henri. 
 
 Amid th^s assemblage of all that was iasignificant 
 and defective, much that was vicious and repulsive (by 
 that last epithet many would have described the two 
 or three stiff, silent, decently-behaved, iU-dressed Brit- 
 ish girls), the sensible, sagacious, affable directress 
 , shone like a steady star over a marsh foil of Jack-o- 
 ^lantems. Profoundly aware of her superiority, she 
 'derived an inward bliss from that consciousness which 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 129 
 
 sustained h^r under all the care and responsibility in- 
 separable from her position ; it kept her temper calm, 
 her brow smooth, her manner tranquil. She liked — 
 as who would not ? — on entering the school-room, to 
 feel that hef sole presence sufficed to diffuse that order 
 and quiet which all the remonstrances, and even com- 
 mands of her underlings frequently failed to enforce ; 
 she liked to stand in comparison, or rather contrast, with 
 those who surrounded her, and to know that in per- 
 sonal as well as mental advantages she bore away the 
 undisputed palm of preference— »(the three teachers 
 were aU plain). Her pupils she managed with such 
 indulgence and address, taking always on herself the 
 office of recompenser and eulogist, and abandoning to 
 her subalterns every invidious task of blame and pun- 
 ishment, that they ^11 regarded her with deference, if 
 not with affection. Her teachers did not love her, but 
 they submitted bacause they were her inferiors in ev- 
 ery thing. The various masters who attended her 
 school were each and all in some way or other under 
 her influence : over one she had acquired power by her 
 skillful management of his bad temper ; over another 
 by little attentions to his petty caprices ; a third she 
 had subdued by flattery; a fourth — a timid man — 
 she kept in awe by a sort of austere decisipn of mien ; 
 me she stiU watched, still tried by the most ingenious 
 tests. She roved round me, baffled, yet persevering; 
 I believe she thought I was like a smooth and bare 
 precipice, which offered neither jutting stone, nor tree- 
 root, nor tuft of grass to aid the climber. Now she 
 flattered with exquisite tact, now she moralized, now 
 she tried how far I was a6cessible to mercenary mo- 
 F 2 _. ,,-."• , 
 
130 ^* ' THK PROFESSOR. 
 
 tives ; then she disported on the brink of affectation, 
 knowing that some men are won by weakness ; anon 
 she talked excellent sense, aware that others have the 
 folly to admire judgment. I found it at once pleas- 
 ant and easy to evade all these efforts. It was sweet, 
 when she thought me nearly won, to turn round and 
 to smile in her very eyes, half scornfully, and then to 
 - witness her scarcely veiled though mute mortification. 
 -Still she persevered, and at last, I am bound to confess 
 r^ it, her finger, essaying, proving every atom of the cas- 
 ;j ket, touched its secret spring, and for a moment the Hd 
 I sprung open. She laid her hand on the jewel within. 
 Whether she stole and broke it, or whether the lid 
 \ shut again with a snap on her fingers, read on, and you 
 shall know. 
 
 It happened that I came one day to give a lesson 
 when I was indisposed. I had a bad cold and a 
 cough ; two hours' incessant talking left me very 
 hoarse and tired. As I quitted the school-room, and 
 was passing along the corridor, I met MdUe. Eeuter. 
 She remarked, with an anxious air, that I looked very 
 pale and tired. "Yes," I said, "I was fatigued;" 
 and then, with increased interest, she rg'oined, " Tou 
 shall not go away till you have had some refreshment." 
 She persuaded me to step into the parlor, and was 
 very kind and gentle while I staid. The next day 
 she was kinder still. She came herself into the class 
 to see that the windows were closed, and that there 
 was no draught; she exhorted me with friendly ear- 
 nestness not to over-exert myself; when I went away, 
 she gave me her hand unasked, and I could not but 
 mark, by a respectful and gentle pressure, that I was 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 131 
 
 sensible of the favor, and grateful for it. My modest 
 demonstration kindled a little merry smile on her coun- 
 tenance ; I thought her almost charming. 'During the 
 remainder of the evening my mind was full of impa- 
 tience for the afternoon of the next day to arrive, that 
 I might see her again. 
 
 I was not disappointed, for she sat in the class dur- 
 ing the whole of my subsequent lesson, and often 
 looked at me almost with affection. At four o'clock 
 she accompanied me out of the school-room, asking 
 with solicitude after my health, then scolding me 
 sweetly because I spoke too loud and gave myself too 
 much trouble. I stopped at the glass door which led 
 into the garden to hear her lecture to the end; the 
 door was open ; it was a very fine day, and while I 
 listened to the soothing reprimand, I looked at the sun- 
 shine and the flowers, and felt very happy. The day- 
 scholars began to pour from the school-rooms into the 
 
 " Will you go into the garden a minute or two," 
 asked she, " till they are gone ?" 
 
 I descended the steps without answering, but looked 
 back as much as to say, 
 
 "You will come with me?" 
 
 In another minute I and the directress were walk- 
 . ing side by side down the alley bordered with fruit- 
 trees, whose white blossoms were then in full blow, as 
 well as their tender green leaves. The sky was blue, 
 the air stillf the May afternoon was full of brightness 
 and fragrance. Released from the stifling class, sur- 
 rounded with flowers and foliage, with a pleasing, smil- 
 ing, affable woman at my side, how did I feel ? Why, 
 
132 . V '^•' ^* THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 '/ , ' . . . 
 
 very enviably. It seemed as if the romantic visions 
 my imagination had suggested of this garden, while it 
 was yet hidden from me by the jealous hoards, were 
 more than realized ; and when a turn in the alley shut 
 out the view of the house, and some tall shrubs ex- 
 cluded M. Pelet's mansion, and screened us momenta- 
 rily from the other houses, rising amphitheatre-like 
 round this green spot, I gave my arm to Mdlle. Reu- 
 ter, and led her to a garden chair nestled under some 
 lilacs near. She sat down ; I took my place at her 
 side. She went on talking to me with that ease which 
 communicates ease, and, as I listened, a revelation 
 dawned in my mind that I was on the brink of faUing 
 in love. The dinner-bell rang, both at her house and 
 M. Pelet's ; we were obliged to part ; I detained her a 
 moment as she. was moving away. 
 
 " I want something," said I. 
 
 " What ?" asked Zoraide, naively. 
 
 " Only a flower." 
 
 " Gather it, then — or two, or twenty, if you like." 
 
 "No, one will do, but you must gather it, and give 
 it to me." 
 
 "What a caprice!" she exclaimed; but she raised 
 herself on her tip-toes, and, plucking a beautifiil branch 
 of lilac, offered it to me with grace. I took it and 
 went away, satisfied for the present, and hopeful for 
 the future. 
 
 Certainly that May day was a lovely one, and it 
 closed in a moonlight night of summer warmth and 
 serenity. I remember this well ; for, having sat up 
 late that evening, correcting devoirs, and feeling weary 
 and a little oppressed with the closeness of my small 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 133 
 
 room, I opened the often-mentioned boarded window, 
 whose boards, however, I had persuaded old Madame 
 Pelet to have removed since I had filled the post of 
 professor in the pensionnat de demoiselles, as from that 
 time it was no longer "inconvenient" for me to over- 
 look my own pupils at their sports. I sat down in 
 the window-seat, rested my arm on the sUl, and leaned 
 out. Above me was the clear-obscure of a cl^dless 
 night sky ; splendid moonlight subdued the tremulous 
 sparkle of the stars ; 'below lay the garden, varied with 
 silvery lustre and deep shade, and all fresh with dew ; 
 a grateful perfume exhaled from the closed blossoms 
 of the fruit-trees ; not a leaf stirred ; the night was 
 breezeless. My window looked directly down upon a 
 certain walk of Mdlle. E,euter's garden, called "I'allee 
 defendue," so named because the pupils were forbid- 
 den to enter it on account of its proximity to the boys' 
 school. It was here that the lilacs and laburnums 
 grew especially thick ; this was the most sheltered 
 nook in the inclosure ; its shrubs screened the garden 
 chair where that afternoon I had sat with the young 
 directress. I need not say that my thoughts were 
 ■ chiefly with her as I leaned from the lattice, and let 
 my eye roam, now over the walks and borders of the 
 garden, now along the many-windowed front of the 
 house which rose white beyond the masses of foliage. 
 I wondered in what part of the building was situated 
 her apartment; and a single light, shining through 
 the persieflnes of one croisee, seemed to direct me 
 to it. 
 
 "She watches late," thought I, "for it must be 
 now near midnight. She is a fascinating little worn- 
 
\ 
 
 134 THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 an," I continued, in voiceless soliloquy ; " her image 
 forms a pleasant picture in memory. I know she is 
 not what the world calls pretty : no matter ; there is 
 harmony in her aspect, and I like it ; her brown hair, 
 her blue eye, the freshness of her cheek, the whiteness 
 of her neck, all suit my taste. Then I respect her 
 talent ; the idea of marrying a doll or a fool was al- 
 ways abhorrent to me. I know that a pretty doll, a 
 fair fool, might do well enough for the honeymoon ; 
 but when passion cooled, how dreadM to find a lump 
 of wax and wood laid in my bosom, a half idiot clasp- 
 ed in my arms, and to remember that I had made of 
 this my equal — nay, my idol ; to know that I must 
 pass the rest of my dreary life with a creature incapa- 
 ble of understanding what I said, of appreciating what 
 I thought, or of sympathizing with what I felt ! Now 
 Zoraide Renter," thought I, "has tact, 'caractere,' 
 judgment, discretion ; has she heart? What a good, 
 simple little smile played about her lips when she 
 gave me the branch of lilacs ! I have thought her 
 crafty, dissembling, interested sometimes, it is true; 
 but may not much that looks like cunning and dis- 
 simulation in her conduct be only the efibrts made by 
 a bland temper to traverse quietly perplexing difficul- 
 ties? And as to -interest, she wishes to make her 
 way in the world, no doubt, and who can blame her ? 
 Even if she be truly deficient in sound principle, is it 
 not rather her misfortune than her fault ? She has 
 been brought up a Catholic. Had she been born an 
 English woman, and reared a Protestant, might she 
 not have added straight integrity to all her other ex- 
 cellencies ? Supposing she were to marry an English 
 
THE PROFESSOE. 135 
 
 and Protestant husband, would she not, rational, sen- 
 sible as she is, quickly acknowledge the superiority 
 of right over expediency, honesty over poKcy ? It 
 would be worth a man's while to try the experiment ; 
 to-morrow I will renew my observations. She knows 
 that I watch her: how calm she is under scrutiny! 
 it seems rather to gratify than annoy her." Here a 
 strain of music stole in upon my monologue arid sus- 
 pended it : it was a bugle, very skillfully played, in 
 the neighborhood of the park, I thought, or on the 
 Place Eoyale. So sweet were the tones, so subduing 
 their effect at that hour, in the midst of silence and 
 under the quiet reign of moonlight, I ceased to think, 
 that I might listen more intently. The strain retreat- 
 ed ; its sound waxed fainter and was soon gone ; my 
 ear prepared to repose on 'the absolute hush of mid- 
 night once more. No. What murmur was that ' 
 which, low, and yet near and approaching nearer, 
 frustrated the expectation of total silence ? It was 
 some one conversing — yes, evidently, an audible 
 though subdued voice spoke in the garden immediate- 
 ly below me. Another answered : the first voice was 
 that of a man, the second that of a woman; and a 
 man and a woman I saw coming slowly down the al- • 
 ley. Their forms were at first in shade ; I could but 
 discern a dusk outline of each, but a ray of moonlight 
 met them at the termination of the walk, when they 
 were under my very nose, and revealed very plainly, 
 very unequivocally, Mdlle. Zoraide Eeuter arm in arm 
 or hand in hand (I forget which) with my principal, 
 confidant, and counselor, M. rran9ois Pelet. And M. 
 Pelet was saying, ^^ 
 
136 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 "A qnand done le jour des noces, ma bien-aimee ?" 
 
 And Mdlle. Eeuter answered, 
 
 "Mais, rran9ois, tu sais Hen qu'il me serait impos- 
 sible de me marier avant les vacances." 
 
 " June, July, August, a whole quarter !" CKclaimed 
 the director. " How can I wait so long — ^I, who am 
 ready, even now, to expire at your feet with impa- 
 tience." 
 
 "Ah! if you die, the whole affair will be settled 
 without any trouble about notaries and contracts. I 
 shall only have to order a slight moumiag dress, 
 which will be much sooner prepared than the nuptial 
 trousseau." 
 
 " Cruel Zoraide, you laugh at the distress of one 
 who loves you so devotedly as I do ; my torment is 
 your sport ; you scruple hot to stretch my soul on 
 the rack of jealousy ; for, deny it as you wiU, I am 
 certain you have cast encouraging glances on that 
 school-boy, Crimsworth ; he has presumed to fall in 
 love, which he dared not have done unless you had 
 given him room to hope." 
 
 " What do you say, Fran9ois ? Do you say Crims- 
 worth is in love with me ?" 
 
 " Over head and ears." 
 
 " Has he told you so ?" 
 
 " No ; but I see it in his face : he blushes whenever 
 your name is mentioned." 
 
 A little laugh of exulting coquetry announced Mdlle. 
 Renter's gratification at this piece of intelligence (which 
 was a lie, by-the-by ; I had never been so far gone as 
 that, after aU). M.Pelet proceeded to ask what she 
 intended to do with me, intimating pretty plainly, and 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 137 
 
 • 
 
 not very gallantly, that it was nonsense for her to think 
 of taking such a "blanc-hec" as a husband, since she 
 must be at least ten years older than I (was she then 
 thirty-two ? I should not have thought it), I heard 
 her disclaim any intentions on the subject. The di- 
 rector, however, still pressed her to give a definite an- 
 swer. 
 
 "Fran9ois," said she, "you are jealous," and still 
 she laughed ; then, as if suddenly recollecting that this 
 coquetry was not consistent with the character for 
 modest dignity she wished to establish, she proceeded, 
 in a demure voice, " Truly, my dear rran9ois, I 'will 
 not deny that this young Englishman may have made 
 some attempts to ingratiate himself with me, but, so far 
 from giving him any encouragement, I have always 
 treated him with as much reserve as it was possible to 
 combine with civility; affianced as I am to you, I 
 would give no man false hopes ; believe me, dear 
 friend." 
 
 Still Pelet uttered murmurs of distrust; so I judged, 
 at least, from her reply. 
 
 "What foUy! How could I prefer an unknown 
 foreigner to you ? And then — not to flatter your van- 
 ity — Crimsworth could not bear comparifeon with you 
 either physically or mentally. He is not a handsome 
 man at all ; some may call him gentleman-like and in- 
 telligent-looking, but, for my part — " 
 
 The rest of the sentence was lost in the distance, as 
 the pair, rising from the chair in which they had been 
 seated, moved away. I waited their return, but soon 
 the opening and shutting of a door informed me that 
 they had re-entered the house. I listened a little Ion- 
 
138 THE PROPESSOK. 
 
 ger ; all was perfectly stiU. I continued to listen for 
 more than an hour ; at last I heard M. Pelet come in 
 and ascend to his chamber. Glancing once more to- 
 ward the long front of the garden-house, I perceived 
 that its solitary light was at length extinguished ; so, 
 for a time, was my faith in love and friendship. I 
 went to bed, but something feverish and fiery had got 
 into my veins which prevented me from sleeping much 
 that night. 
 
 - , CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 :-^' ' . ■ . 
 
 ^ Next morning I rose with the dawn, and having 
 
 dressed myself, and stood half an hour, my elbow lean- 
 ing on the chest of drawers, considering what means I 
 should adopt to restore my spirits, fagged with sleep- 
 lessness, to their ordinary tone — ^for I had no intention 
 of getting up a scene with M. Pelet, reproaching him 
 with perfidy, sending liim a challenge, or performing 
 other gambadoes of the sort — I hit at last on the ex- 
 pedient of walking out in the cool of the morning to a 
 neighboring establishment of baths, and treating my- 
 self to a briacing plunge. The remedy produced the 
 desired efiect. I came back at seven o'clock steadied 
 and invigorated, and was able to greet M. Pelet, when 
 he entered to breakfast, with an tmchanged and tran- 
 quil countenance. Even a cordial offering of the hand 
 and the flattering appellation of "mon fils," pronounced 
 in that caressing tone with which Monsieur had, of late 
 days especially, been accustomed to address me, did 
 not elicit any external sign of the feeling which, though 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 139 
 
 subdued, still glowed at my heart. Not that I nursed 
 vengeance — no ; but the sense of insult and treachery 
 lived in me like a kindling, though as yet smothered 
 coal. God knows I am not by jiature vindictive. I ~ , 
 would not hurt a man because I can no longer trust or / 
 like him ; but neither my reason nor feelings gjr e of the 
 vacilldHang order ; they are not of that sand-like sort 
 where impressions, if soon made, are as soon eifaced.,.^. 
 Once convinced that my friend's disposition is incom- ,, 
 patible with my own, once assured that he is indelibly / 
 stained with certain defects obnoxious to my princi- 
 ples, and I dissolve the connection. I did so with 
 Edward. As to Pelet, the discovery was yet new; 
 should I act thus with him ? It was the question I 
 placed before my mind as I stirred my cup of coffee 
 with a half pistolet (we never had spoons), Pelet mean- 
 time being seated opposite, his pallid face looking as 
 knowing and more haggard than usual, his blue eye 
 turned, now sternly on his boys and ushers, and now 
 graciously on me. 
 
 " Circumstances must guide me," said I ; and meet- 
 ing Pelet's false glance and insinuating smile, I thank- 
 ed heaven that I had last night opened my window 
 and read by the light of a full moon the true meaning 
 of that guileful countenance. I felt half his master, 
 because the reality of his nature was now known to 
 me ; smile and flatter as he would, I saw his soul lurk 
 behind his smile, and heard in every one of his smooth 
 phrases a voice interpreting their treacherous import. 
 
 But Zoraide Eeuter — of course, her defection had 
 cut me to the quick ? That sting must have gone too 
 deep for any consolations of philosophy to be available 
 
140 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 in curing its smart? Not at all. The night fever 
 over, I looked about for balm to*tliat wound also, and 
 found some nearer home than at Gilead. Eeason was 
 mj physician. She began by proving that the prize 
 I had missed was of little value. She admitted that, 
 physic^y, Zoraide might have suited me, but aflSrm- 
 ed that our souls were not in harmony, and that dis- 
 cord must have resulted from the union of her mind 
 with mine. She then insisted on the suppression of 
 aU repining, and commanded me rather to rejoice that 
 I had escaped a snare. Her medicament did me good. 
 I felt its strengthening effect when I met the directress 
 the next day ; its stringent operation on the nerves 
 suffered no trembling, no faltering ; it enabled me to 
 face her with firmness, t6 pass her with ease. She 
 hkd held out her hand to me — that I did not choose to 
 see. She had greeted me with a charming smile — it 
 fell on my heart like light on stone. I passed on to 
 the estrade — she followed me. Her eye, fastened on 
 , my face, demanded of every feature the meaning of 
 my changed and careless manner. " I will give her 
 an answer," thought I ; and, meeting her gaze 6iU, ar- 
 resting, fixing her glance, I shot into her eyes from my 
 own a look where there was no respect, no love, no 
 tenderness, no gallantry ; where the strictest analysis 
 could detect nothing but scorn, hardihood, irony. I 
 made her bear it, and feel it. Her steady countenance 
 did not change, but her color rose, and she approached 
 me £^s if fascinated. She stepped on to the estrade, 
 and stood close by my side. She had nothing to say. 
 I would not relieve her embarrassment, and negligent- 
 ly turned over the leaves of a book. 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 141 
 
 '*I hope you- feel quite recovered to-day," at last 
 she said, in a low tone. 
 
 " And I, Mademoiselle, hope that you took no cold 
 last night in consequence of your late walk in the 
 garden." 
 
 Quick enough of comprehension, she understood me 
 directly. Her face became a little blanched — a very 
 little, but no muscle in her rather marked features 
 moved ; and, calm and self-possessed, she retired from 
 the estrade, taking her seat quietly at a little distance, 
 and occupying herself with netting a purse. I pro- 
 ceeded to give my lesson: it was a "Composition," 
 i. e., I dictated certain general questions, of which the 
 pupils were to compose the answers from memory, ac- 
 cess to books being forbidden. While Mdlle. Eulalie, 
 Hortense, Caroline, &c., were pondering over the string 
 of rather abstruse grammatical interrogatories I had 
 propounded, I was at liberty to employ the vacant 
 half hour in further observing the directress herself. 
 The green silk purse was progressing fast in her hands ; 
 her eyes were bent upon it ; her attitude, as she sat 
 netting within two yards of me, was still yet guarded ; 
 in her whole person were expressed, at once, and with 
 equal clearness, vigilance aiid repose — a rare union. 
 Looking at her, I was forced, as I had often been be- 
 fore, to oifer her good sense, her wondrous self-control, 
 the tribute of involuntary admiration. She had felt 
 that I had withdrawn from her my esteem; she had 
 seen contempt and coldness in my eye, and to her, 
 who coveted the approbation of all around her, who 
 thirsted after universal good opinion, such discovery 
 must have been an acute wound. I had witnessed 
 
 \ .J. 
 
142 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 its effect in the momentary pallor of her cheek — cheek 
 unused to vary ; yet how quickly, by dint of self-con- 
 trol, had she recovered her composure ! With what 
 quiet dignity she now sat, almost at my side, sustain- 
 ed by her sound and vigorous sense ; no trembling in 
 her somewhat lengthened though shrewd upper lip, 
 no coward shame on her austere forehead. 
 
 " There is metal there," I said, as I gazed. "Would 
 that there were fire also — living ardor to make the 
 steel glow — then I could love her." 
 
 Presently I discovered that she knew I was watch- 
 ing her, for she stirred not, she lifted not her crafty 
 eyelid. She had glanced down from her netting to 
 her small foot, peeping from the soft folds of her pur- 
 ple merino gown ; thence her eye reverted to her hand, 
 ivory white, with a bright garnet ring on the forefin- 
 ger, and a light frill of lace round the wrist ; with a 
 scarcely perceptible movement she turned her head, 
 causing her nut-brown curls to wave gracefully. In 
 these slight signs I read that the wish of her heart, 
 the design of her brain, was to lure back the game she 
 had scared. A little incident gave her the opportunity 
 of addressing me again. 
 
 While all was silence in the class — silence but for 
 the rustling of copy-books and the traveling of pens 
 over their pages — a leaf of the large folding^door, 
 opening from the hall, unclosed, admitting a pupil 
 who, after making a hasty obeisance, ensconced her- 
 self with some appearance of trepidation, probably oc- 
 casioned by her entering so late, in a vacant seat at 
 the desk nearest the door. Being seated, she proceed- 
 ed, still with an air of hurry and embarrassment, to 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 143 
 
 open her cabas, to take out her books ; and, while I 
 was waiting for her to look up, in order to make out 
 her identity — for, short-sighted as I was, I had not 
 recognised her at her entrance — Mdlle. Eeuter, leaving 
 her chair, approached the estrade. 
 
 "Monsieur Creemsvort," said she, in a whisper — 
 for, when the school-rooms were silent, the directress 
 always moved with velvet tread, and spoke in the 
 most subdued key, enforcing order and stillness fully 
 as much by example as precept — " Monsieur Xlreems- 
 vort, that young person who has just entered wishes 
 to have the advantage of taking lessons with you in 
 English. She is not a pupil of the house. She is, 
 indeed, in one sense, a teacher, for she gives instruc- 
 tion in lace-mending, and in little varieties of orna- 
 mental needle-work. She very properly proposes to 
 qualify herself for a higher department of education, 
 and has asked permission to attend your lessons, in 
 order to perfect her knowledge of English, in which 
 language she has, I believe, already made some prog- 
 ress ; of course, it is my wish to aid her in an effort 
 so praiseworthy; you will permit her, then, to benefit 
 by your instruction — n'est ce pas. Monsieur?" And 
 Mdlle. Renter's eyes were raised to mine with a look 
 at once naive, benign, and beseeching. 
 
 I replied, "0£ course," very laconically, almost ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " Another ^word," she said, with softness ; " Mdlle. 
 Henri has noit received a regular education ; perhaps 
 her natural talents arq not of the highest order ; but I 
 can assure you of the excellence of her intentions, and 
 even of the amiability of her disposition. Monsieur 
 
144 THE PEOFESSOH. 
 
 will then, I am sure, have the goodness to be consider- 
 ate with her at first, and not expose her hackward- 
 ness, her inevitable deficiencies, before the young la- 
 dies, who, in a sense, are her pupils. Will Monsieur 
 Creemsvort fivor me by attending to this hint ?" I 
 nodded. She continued with subdued earnestness, 
 
 " Pardon me, Monsieur, if I venture to add that 
 what I have just said is of importance to the poor 
 girl. She already experiences great difficulty in im- 
 pressing these giddy young things with a due degree 
 of deference for her authority, and should that diffi- 
 culty be increased by new discoveries of her incapaci- 
 ty, she might find her position in my establishment 
 too painful to be retained ; a circumstance I should 
 much regret for her sake, as she can ill affi^rd to lose 
 the profits of her occupation here." 
 
 Mdlle. Renter possessed marvelous tact ; but tact • 
 the most exquisite, unsupported by sincerity, will 
 sometimes fail of its efiect ; thus, on this occasion, the 
 longer she preached about the necessity of being in- 
 dulgent to the governess-pupil, the more impatient I 
 felt as I listened. I discerned so clearljr that while 
 her professed motive was a wish to aid the dull, though 
 well-meaning Mdlle. Henri, her real one was no other 
 than a design to impress me with an idea of her own 
 exalted goodness and tender considerateness; so, hav- 
 ing again hastily nodded assent to her remarks, I ob-' 
 viated their renewal by suddenly demanding the com- 
 positions in a sharp accent, and, stepping fi:om the 
 estrade, I proceeded to collect them. As I passed the 
 governess-pupil, I said to her, 
 
 " You have come in too late to receive a lesson to- 
 day ; try to be more punctual next time." ^ _^ 
 
THE PROPESSOE. 145 
 
 I was behind her, and could not read in her face the 
 effect of my not very civil speech. Prohably I should 
 not have troubled myself to do so had I been full in 
 front ; but I observed that she immediately began to 
 slip her books into her cabas again ; and presently, 
 after I had returned to the estrade, while I was arrang- 
 ing the mass of compositions, I heard the folding-door 
 again open and close, and, on looking up, I perceived 
 her place vacant. I thought to myself, " She will con- 
 sider her first attempt at taking a lesson in English 
 something of a failure ;" and I wondered whether she 
 had departed in the sulks, or whether stupidity had 
 induced her to take my words too literally, or, finally, 
 whether my irritable tone had wounded her feelings. 
 The last notion I dismissed almost as soon as I had 
 conceived it, for, not having seen any appearance of \ 
 sensitiveness in any human face since ray arrival in 
 Belgium, I had begun to regard it almost as a fabu- 
 lous quality. Whether her physiognomy announced 
 it I could not tell, for her speedy exit had allowed me 
 no time to ascertain the circumstance. I had, indeed, 
 on two or three previous occasions, caught a passing 
 view of her (as I believe has been mentioned before), 
 but I had never stopped to scrutinize either her face 
 or person, and had but the most vague idea of her 
 general appearance. Just as I had finished rolling up 
 the compositions, the four o'clock bell rang. With my 
 accustomed alertness in obeying that signal, I grasped 
 my hat and evacuated the premises.' 
 
 G 
 
146 THE PEOFESSOR. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 If I was punctual in quitting Mdlle. Eeuter's dom- 
 icile, I was at least equally punctual in aitiving there. 
 I came the next day at five minutes before two, and 
 on reaching the school-room door, before I opened it, 
 I heard a rapid, gabbling sound, which warned me that 
 the "priere du midi" was not yet concluded. I wait- 
 ed the termination thereof; it would have been im- 
 pious to intrude my heretical presence during its prog- 
 ress. How the repeater of the prayer did cackle and 
 splutter! I never before or since heard language 
 enounced with such steam-engine haste. " Notre pere 
 qui etes au ciel" went off like a shot ; then followed an 
 address to Marie, "vierge celeste, reine des anges, 
 maison d'or, tour d'ivoire ! " and then an invocation to 
 the saint of the day ; and then down they all sat, and 
 the solemn (?) rite was over ; and I entered, flinging 
 the door wide and striding in fast, as it was my wont 
 to do now ; for I had found that in enterii^ with 
 aplomb, and mounting the estrade with emphasis, con- 
 sisted the grand secret of insuring immediate silence. 
 The folding-doors between the two classes, opened for 
 the prayer, were instantly closed ; a maitresse, work- 
 box in hand, toOkner seat at her appropriate desk ; 
 the pupils sat still with their pens and books before 
 ihem ; my three beauties in the van, now well hum- 
 bled by a demeanor of consistent coolness, sat erect. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 147 
 
 with their hands folded quietly on their knees ; they 
 had given up giggling and whispering to each other, 
 and no longer ventured to utter pert speeches in my 
 presence ; they now only talked to me occasionally 
 with their eyes, by means of which organs they could 
 still, however, say very audacious and coquettish things. 
 Had aifection, goodness, modesty, real talent, ever em- 
 ployed those bright orbs as interpreters, I do not think 
 I could have refrained from giving a kind and encour- 
 aging, perhaps an ardent reply now and then ; but as 
 it was, I found pleasure in answering the glance of van- 
 ity with the gaze of stoicism. Youthful, fair, brilliant 
 as were many of my pupils, I can truly say that in me 
 they never saw any other bearing than such as an aus- 
 tere though just guardian might have observed toward 
 them. If any doubt the accuracy of this asserl5on, as in- 
 ferring more conscientious self-denial or Scipio-lilce self- 
 control than they feel disposed to give me credit for^ 
 let them take into consideration the following circum- 
 stances, which, while detracting from my merit, justify 
 my veracity. 
 
 Know, oh incredulous reader, that a master stands 
 in a somewhat different relation toward a prfetty, light- 
 headed, probably ignorant girl, to that occupied by a 
 partner at a ball, or a gallant on the promenade. A 
 professor does not meet his pupil to see her dressed in 
 satin and muslin, with hair perfumed and curled, neck 
 scarcely shaded by aerial lace, rqund white arms circled 
 with bracelets, feet dressed for the gliding dance. It 
 is not his business to whirl her through- the waltz, to 
 feed her with compliments, to heighten her beauty by 
 the flush of gratified vanity. Neither does he encoun- 
 
148 THE PKOFESSOK. 
 
 ter her on the smooth-rolled, tree-shaded houlevard, in 
 the green and sunny park, whither she repairs clad in 
 her becoming walking-dress, her scarf thrown with 
 grace over her shoulders, her little bonnet scarcely- 
 screening her curls, the red rose under its brim adding 
 a new. tint to the softer rose on her cheek ; her face 
 and eyes, too, iUumined with smiles, perhaps as tran- 
 sient as the sunshine of the gala-day, but also quite as 
 brilliant : it is not his office to walk by her side, to 
 listen to her lively chat, to carry her parasol, scarcely 
 larger than a broad green leaf, to lead in a ribbon her 
 Blenheim spaniel or Italian ^eyhound. No ; he finds 
 her in the school-room, plainly dressed, with books be- 
 fore her. Owing to her education or her nature, books 
 are to her a nuisance, and, she opens them with aver- 
 sion, yet fier teacher must instill into her mind the 
 contents of these books ; that mind resists the admis- 
 sion of grave information ; it recoils — ^it grows restive; 
 sullen tempers are shown, disfiguring frowns spoil the 
 symmetry of the face, sometimes coarse gestures ban- 
 ish grace from the deportment, while muttered expres- 
 sions, redolent of native and ineradicable vulgarity,' 
 desecrate the sweetness of the voice. Where the tem- 
 perament is serene though the intellect be sluggish, an 
 unconquerable dullness opposes every effi)rt to instruct. 
 Where there is cunning but not energy, dissimulation, 
 falsehood, a thousand schemes and tricks are put in play 
 to evade the necessity of application ; in short, to the 
 tutor, female youth, female charms are like tapestry 
 hangings, of which the wrong side is continually turn- 
 ed toward him ; and even when he sees the smooth, 
 neat, external surface, he so well knows what knots. 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 149 
 
 long stitches, and jagged ends are behind, that he has 
 scarce a temptation to admire too fondly the seemly 
 forms and bright colors exposed to general view. 
 
 Our likings are regulated by our circumstances. 
 The artist prefers a hilly country because it is pictur- 
 esque ; the engineer a flat one because it is conTcn- 
 ient ; the man of pleasure likes what he calls " a fine 
 woman :" she suits him ; the fashionable young gen- 
 tleman admires the fashionable young lady : she is of 
 his kind ; the toil-worn, fagged, probably irritable tu- 
 tor, blind almost to beantyj insensible to airs and 
 graces, glories chiefly in certain mental qualities : ap- 
 plication, love of knowledge, natural capacity, docility, 
 truthfulness, gratefulness, are the charms that attract 
 his notice and win his regard. These he seeks, but 
 seldom meets ; these, if by chance he finds, he would 
 fain retain forever ; and, when separation deprives him 
 of them, he feels as if some ruthless hand had snatch- 
 ed from him his only ewe-lamb. Such being the case, 
 and the case it is, my readers will agree with -me that 
 there was nothing either very meritorious or very mar- 
 velous in the integrity and moderation of my conduct 
 at MdUe. Renter's pensionnat de demoiselles. 
 
 My fi'rst business this afternoon consisted in reading 
 the list of places for the month, determined by the rel- 
 ative correctness of the compositions given the pre- 
 ceding day. The list was headed, as usual, by the 
 name of Sylvie, that plain, quiet little girl I have de- 
 scribed before as being at once the best and ugliest 
 pupil in the establishment. The second place had 
 fallen to the lot of a certain Leonie Ledru, a diminu- 
 tive, sharp-featured, and parchment -skinned creature 
 
150 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 of quick wits, frail conscience, and indurated feelings ; 
 a lawyer-like thing, of whom I lised to say that, had 
 she teen a boy, she would have made a model of an 
 unprincipled, clever attorney. Then came Eulalie, thb 
 proud beauty, the Juno of the school, whom six long 
 years of drilling in the simple grammar of the English 
 language had compelled, despite the stiflF phlegm of her 
 intellect, to acquire a mechanical acquaintance with 
 most of its rules. No smile, no trace of pleasure or 
 satisfaction appeared in Sylvia's nun-like and passive 
 face as she heard her name read first. I always felt 
 saddened by the sight of that poor girl's absolute qui- 
 escence on all occasions, and it was my custom to look 
 at her, to address her as seldom as possible. Her ex- 
 treme docility, her assiduous perseverance, would have 
 recommended her warmly to my good opinion; her 
 modesty, her intelligence, would have induced me to 
 feel most kindly — ^most affectionately toward her, not- 
 withstanding the almost ghastly plainness of her feat- 
 ures, the disproportion of her form, the corpse-like lack 
 of animation in her countenance, had I not been aware 
 that every friendly word, every kindly action, would 
 be reported by her to her confessor, and by him mis- 
 interpreted and poisoned. Once I laid my hand on her 
 head in token of approbation. I thought Sylvie was 
 going to smile ; her dim eye almost kindled ; but pres- 
 ently she shrunk from- me ; I was a man and a here- 
 tic ; she, poor child! a destined nun and devoted Cath- 
 olic: thus a fourfold wall of separation divided her 
 mind from mine. A pert smirk, and a hard glance of 
 triumph, was L6onie's method of testifying her gratifi- 
 cation; Eulalie looked sullen and envious: she had 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 151 
 
 hoped to be first. Hortense and Caroline exchanged 
 a reckless grimace on hearing their names read out 
 somewhere near the bottom of the list ; the brand of 
 mental inferiority was considered by them as no dis-^ 
 grace, their hopes for the future being based solely on 
 their personal attractions. 
 
 This affair arranged, the regular lesson followed. 
 During a brief interval, employed by the pupils in 
 ruling their books, my eye, ranging carelessly over the 
 benches, observed, for the first time, that the farthest 
 seat in the farthest row — a seat usually vacant — was 
 again filled by the new scholar, the Mdlle. Henri so 
 ostentatiously recommended to me by the directress. 
 To-day I had on my spectacles ; her appearance, there- 
 fore, was clear to me at the first glance ; I had not to 
 puzzle over it. She looked young ; yet, had I been 
 required to name her exact age, I should have been 
 somewhat nonplused; the slightness of her figure 
 might have suited seventeen; a certain anxious and 
 preoccupied expression of face seemed the indication 
 of riper years. She was dressed, like all the rest, in 
 a dark stuff gown and a white collar; her features 
 were dissimilar to any there, not so rounded, more de- 
 fined, yet scarcely regular. The shape of her head, 
 too, was different, the superior part more developed, 
 the base considerably less. I felt assured, at first 
 sight, that she was not a Belgian ; her^ complexion, her 
 countenanjce, her lineaments, her figure, were all dis- 
 tinct from theirs, and evidently the type of another 
 race — of a race less gifted with fullness of flesh and 
 plenitude of blood ; less jocund, material, unthinking. 
 When I first cast my eyes on her, she sat looking fix- 
 
152 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 edly down, her chin resting on her hand, and she did 
 not change her attitude till I commenced the lesson. 
 None of the Belgian girls would have retained one po- 
 sition, and that a reflective one, for the same length of 
 time. Yet, having intimated that her appearance was 
 peculiar, as being unlike that of her Flemish compan- 
 ions, I have little more to say respecting it. I can 
 pronounce no encomiums on her beauty,' for she was 
 not beautiful ; nor offer condolence on her plainness, 
 for neither was sh« plain; a care-worn character of 
 forehead, and a corresponding moulding of the mouth, 
 struck me with a sentiment resembling surprise, but 
 these traits would probably have passed unnoticed by 
 any less crotchety observer. 
 
 Now, reader, though I have spent a page and a half 
 in describing Mdlle. Henri, I know well enough that I 
 have left on your mind's eye no distinct picture of her ; 
 I have not painted her complexion, nor her eyes, nor 
 her hair, nor even drawn the outline of her shape. Toa 
 can not tell whether her nose was aquiline or retrousse, 
 whether her chin was long or short, her face square pr 
 oval ; nor could I the first day^ and it is not my in- 
 tention to communicate to you at once a knowledge I 
 myself gained by little and little. 
 
 I gave a short exercise which they all wrote down. 
 I saw the new pupil was puzzled at first with the nov- 
 elty of the form and language. Once or twice she 
 looked at me with a sort of painfa.1 solicitude, as not 
 comprehending at all what I meant ; then she was not 
 ready when the others were ; she could not write her 
 phrases so fast as they did ; I would not help her ; I 
 went on relentless. _She looked at me ; her eye said 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 153 
 
 most plainly, " I can not follow you." I disregarded 
 the appeal, and, carelessly leaning back in my chair, 
 glancing from time to time with a nonchalant air out 
 of the window, I dictated a little faster. On looking 
 toward her again, I perceived her face clouded with 
 embarrassment, but she was still writing on most dili- 
 gently. I paused a few seconds ; she employed the 
 interval in hurriedly reperusing what she had written, 
 and shame and discomfiture were apparent in her coun- 
 tenance ; she evidently found she had made great non- 
 sense of it. In ten minutes more the dictation was 
 complete, and, having allowed a brief space in which 
 to correct it, I took their books. It was with a reluc- 
 tant hand Mdlle. Henri gave up hers, but, having once 
 yielded it to my possession, she composed -her anxious 
 face, as if, for the present, she had resolved to dismiss 
 regret, and had made up her mind to be thought un- 
 precedently stupid. Glancing over her exercise, I 
 found that several lines had been omitted, but what 
 was written contained very few faults. I instantly in- 
 scribed " Bon" at the bottom of the page, and returned 
 it to her. She smiled, at first incredulously, 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. 
 G2 
 
154 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Some time elapsed before I again gave a lesson in 
 the first class. The holiday of Whitsuntide occu- 
 pied three days, and on the fourth it was the turn of 
 the second division to receive my instructions. As 
 I made the transit of the carre, I observed, as usual, 
 the band of sewers surrounding Mdlle. Henri ; there 
 were only about a dozen of them, but they made as 
 much noise as might have sufficed for fifty; they 
 seemed very little under her control ; three or four at 
 once assailed her with importunate requirements ; she 
 looked harassed, she demanded silence, but in vain. 
 She saw me, and I read in her eye pain that a stran- 
 ger should witness the insubordination of her pupils. 
 She seemed to .entreat order — ^her prayers were use- 
 less ; then I remarked that she compressed her lips and 
 contracted her brow ; and her countenance, if I read 
 it correctly, said, " I have done my best ; I seem to 
 merit blame, notwithstanding-; blame me, then, who 
 will." I passed on. As I closed the school-room 
 door, I heard her say, suddenly and sharply, address- 
 ing one of the eldest and most turbulent of the lot, 
 
 "Amelie Miillenberg, ask me no question, and re- 
 quest of me no assistance for a week to come ; during 
 that space of time I will neither speak to you nor help 
 you." 
 
 The words were uttered with emphasis — ^nay, with 
 
THE PROFESSOR. 155 
 
 vehemence, and a comparative silence followed ; wheth- 
 er the calm was permanent, I know not ; two doors 
 now closed hetween me and the carre. 
 
 Next day was appropriated to the first class. On 
 my arrival, I found the directress seated, as usual, in a 
 chair between the' two estrades, and before her was 
 standing Mdlle. Henri in sen. attitude (as it seemed to 
 me) of somewhat reluctant attention. The directress 
 was knitting' and talking at the same time. Amid the 
 hum of a large school-room, it was easy so to speak' in 
 the ear of one person as to be heard by that person 
 alone, and it was thus Mdlle. Renter parleyed with her 
 teacher. The face of the latter was a little flushed, 
 not a little troubled ; there was vexation in it^ whence 
 resulting I know not, for the directress looked very 
 placid indeed. She could not be scolding in such gen- 
 tle whispers, and with so equable a mien; no, it- was 
 presently proved that her discourse had been of the 
 most friendly tendency, for I heard the closing words, 
 
 " C'est assez, ma bonne amie ; a present je ne veux 
 pas vous retenir davantage." 
 
 Without reply, Mdlle. Henri turned away ; dissat- 
 isfaction was plainly evinced in her face, and a smUe, 
 slight and brief, but bitter, distrustful, and, I thought, 
 scornful, curled her lip as she took her place in the 
 class ; it was a secret, involuntary smile, which lasted 
 but a second ; an air of depression succeeded, chased 
 away presently by one of attention and interest, when 
 I gave the word for all the pupils to take their read- 
 ing-books. In general I hated the reading-lesson, it 
 was such a torture to the ear to listen to their uncouth 
 mouthing of my native tongue, and no efibrt of exam- 
 
156 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 pie or precept on tny part ever seemed to effect the 
 slightest improvement in their accent. To-day, each 
 in her appropriate key lisped, stuttered, mnmhled, and 
 jabbered, as usual ; about fifteen had racked me in 
 turn, and my auricular nerve was expecting with resig- 
 nation the discords of the sixteenth, when a full though 
 low voice read out, in clear, correct English, 
 
 " On his way to Perth, the king was met by a High- 
 land woman, calling herself a prophetess. She. stood 
 at the side of the ferry by which he was about to travel 
 to the north, and cried with a loud voice, 'My lord 
 the king, if you pass this water you will never retm-n 
 again alive !' " ( Vide the history of Scotland.) 
 
 I looked up in amazement ; the voice was a voice 
 of Albion ; the accent was pure and silvery ; it only 
 wanted firmness and assurance to be the counterpart 
 of what any well-educated lady in Essex .or Middlesex 
 might have enounced, yet the speaker or reader was 
 no other than Mdlle. Henri,, in whose grave, joyless 
 face I saw no mark of consciousness that she had per- 
 formed any extraordinary feat. No one else evinced 
 surprise either. Mdlle. Renter knitted away assidu- 
 ously. I was aware, however, that at the conclusion 
 of the paragraph she had lifted her eyelid and honored 
 me with a glance sideways. She did not know the 
 full excellence of the teacher's style of reading, but 
 she perceived that her accent was not that of the oth- 
 ers, and wanted to discover what I thought. I masked 
 my visage with indifierence, and ordered the next girl 
 to proceed. 
 
 When the lesson was over, I took advantage of the 
 confusion caused by breaking up to approach Mdlle. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 157 
 
 Henri. She was standing near the window, and re- 
 tired as I advanced ; she thought I wanted to look 
 out, and did not imagine that I could have any thing 
 to say to her. I took her exercise-book out of her 
 hand. As I turned over the leaves I addressed her : 
 
 " You have had lessons in English before?" I asked. 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "No! you read it well; you have been in En- 
 gland?" 
 
 " Oh no," with some animation. 
 
 "You have been in English families?" 
 
 Still in the answer was " No." Here my eye, rest- 
 ing on the fly-leaf of the book, saw written, " Frances 
 Evans Henri," 
 
 "3tour name?" I asked. 
 
 « Yes, sir." 
 • My interrggations were cut short. I heard a little 
 ^rustling behind me, and close at my back was the di- 
 rectress, professing to be examining the interior of a 
 ■; desk. 
 
 ■ " Mademoiselle," said she, looking up and address- 
 ing the teacher, "will you have the goodness to go and 
 stand in the corridor while the young ladies are pu1> 
 ting on their things, and try to keep some order ?" 
 
 Mdlle. Henri obeyed. 
 
 "What splendid weather!" observed the directress, 
 cheerfully, glancing at the same time from the window. 
 I assented^ and was withdrawing. "What of your 
 new pupil, Monsieur ?" continued she, following my re- 
 treating steps. "Is she likely to make progress in 
 English?" 
 
 " Indaed, I can hardly judge. She possesses a pret- 
 
158 THE PKOFESSOK. 
 
 ty good accent ; of her real knowledge of the language 
 I have as yet had no opportunity of forming an opin- 
 ion." 
 
 " And her natural capacity, Monsieur ? I have had 
 my fears ahout that : can you relieve me by an assm- 
 ance at least of its average power ?" 
 
 " I see no reason to doubt its average power, Made- 
 moiselle, but really I scarcely know her, and have not 
 had time to study the calibre of her capacity. I wish 
 you a very good afternoon." 
 
 She still pursued me. "You will observe. Monsieur, 
 and tell me what you think ; I could so much better 
 rely on your opinion than on my own ; women can 
 not judge of these things as men can ; and — excuse 
 my pertinacity, Monsieur, but it is natural I should feel 
 interested about this poor little girl (pauvre petite) — 
 she has scarcely any relations ; her own.efforts are all 
 she has to look to ; her acquirements must be her sole 
 fortune ; her present position has once been mine, or 
 nearly so ; it is, then, but natural I should sympathize 
 with her ; and sometimes, when I see the difficulty she 
 has in managing pupils, I feel quite chagrined. I 
 doubt not she does her best ; her intentions are excel- 
 lent ; but. Monsieur, she wants tact and firmness. I 
 have talked to her on the subject, but I am not fluent, 
 and probably did not express myself with clearness ; 
 she never appears to comprehend me. Now, would you 
 occasionally, when you see an opportunity, slip in a 
 word of advice to her on the subject? men have so 
 much more influence than women have — ^they argue so 
 much more logically than we do ; and you. Monsieur, 
 in particular, have so paramount a power ot making 
 
THE PKOFESSOE. 159 
 
 yourself olbeyed ; a word of advice from you could not 
 but do her good ; even if she were sullen and head- 
 strong (which I hope she is not), she would scarcely 
 refuse to listen to you ; for my own part, I can truly 
 say that I never attend One of your lessons without 
 deriving benefit from witnessing your management of 
 the pupils. The other masters are a constant source 
 of anxiety to me : they can not impress the young la- 
 dies with sentiments of respect, nor restrain the levity 
 natural to youth ; in you, Monsieur, I feel the most ab- 
 solute confidence ; try, then, to put this poor child into 
 the way of controlling our giddy, high-spirited Braban- 
 toises. But, Monsieur, I would add one word more : 
 don't alarm her amour propre ; beware of inflicting a 
 wound there. I reluctantly admit that in that partic- 
 ular she is blamably — some would say ridiculously- 
 susceptible. -I fear I have touched this sore point in- 
 advertently, and she can not get over it." 
 
 During the greater part of this harangue my hand 
 was on the lock of the outer door ; I now turned it. 
 
 " Au revoir. Mademoiselle," said I, and escaped. I 
 saw the directress's stock of words was yet far from 
 exhausted. She looked after me ; she would fain have 
 detained me longer. Her manner toward me had been 
 altered ever since I had begun to treat her with hard- 
 ness and indifiFerence ; she almost cringed to me on 
 every occasion ; she consulted my countenance inces- 
 santly, and.Jjeset me with innumerable little officious 
 attentions. Servility creates despotism. This slavish 
 homage, instead of softening my heart, only pampered 
 whatever was stern and exacting in its mood. The 
 very circumstance of her hovering round me like a fas- 
 
160 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 cinated bird seemed to transfonn me into a rigid pillar 
 of stone ; her flatteries irritated my scorn, her bland- 
 ishments confirmed my reserve. At times I wondered 
 ■what she meant by giving herself -such troable to win 
 me, when the more profitable Pelet was already in her 
 nets, and when, too, she was aware that I possessed 
 her secret, for I had not scrupled to teU her as much ; 
 but the fact is, that as it was her nature to doubt the 
 reality and undervalue the worth of modesty, afiection, 
 disinterestedness — to regard these qualities as foibles 
 of character — so it was equally her tendency to con- 
 sider pride, hardness, selfishness, as proofs of strength. 
 She would trample on the neck of humility, she would 
 kneel at the feet of disdain ; she would meet tender- 
 ness with secret contempt, indifierence she would woo 
 with ceaseless assiduities. Benevolence, devotedness, 
 enthusiasm, were her antipathies ; for dissimulation 
 and self-interest she had a preference : they were real 
 wisdom in her eyes ; moral and physical degradation, 
 mental and bodily inferiority, she regarded with in- 
 dulgence ; they were foils capable of being turned to 
 good account as set-offs for her own endowments. To 
 violence, injustice, tyranny, she succumbed: they 
 were her natural masters ; she had no propensity to 
 hate, no impulse to resist them ; the indignation their 
 ■f^ behests awake in some hearts was unknown in hers. 
 From all this it resulted that the false and selfish 
 called her wise, the vulgar and debased termed her 
 charitable, the insolent and unjust dubbed her amia- 
 ble, the conscientious and benevolent generally at first 
 accepted as valid her claim to be considered one of 
 themselves; but ere long the plating of pretension 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 161 
 
 wore off, the real material appeared telow, and they 
 laid her aside as a deception. • * 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In the course of another fortnight I had seen suffi- 
 cient of Frances Evans Henri to enable me to form a 
 more definite opinion of her character. I found her 
 possessed in a somewhat remarkable degree of at least 
 two good points, viz., perseverance and a sense of 
 duty. I found she was really capable of applying to 
 study, of contending with difficulties. At first I of- 
 fered her the same help which I had always found it 
 necessary to confer on the others. I began with un- 
 loosing for her each knotty point, but I soon discov- 
 ered that such help was regarded by my new pupil as 
 degrading ; she recoiled from it with a certain proud 
 impatience. Hereupon I appointed her long lessons, 
 and left her to solve alone any perplexities they might 
 present. She set to the task with serious ardor, and 
 having quickly accomplished one labor, eagerly de- 
 manded more. So much for her perseverance. As to 
 her sense of duty, it evinced itself thus : she liked to 
 leam, but hated to teach ; her progress as a pupil de- 
 pended upon herself, and I saw that on herself she 
 could calculate with certainty ; her success as a teach- 
 er rested partly, perhaps chiefly, upon the will of oth- 
 ers : it cost her a most painful eSoit to enter into con- 
 flict with this foreign will, to endeavor to bend it into 
 subjection to her own ; for in what regarded people in 
 
162 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 general the action of lier will was impeded by many- 
 scruples ; it was as unembarrassed as strong where her 
 own affairs were concerned, and to it she could at any 
 time subject her inclination, if that inclination went 
 counter to her convictions of right ; yet, when called 
 upon to wrestle with the propensities, the habits, the 
 faults of others, of children especially, who are deaf to 
 reason, and, for the most part, insensate to persuasion, 
 her will sometimes almost refused to act ; then came 
 in the sense of duty and forced the reluctant will into 
 operation. A wasteful expense of energy and labor 
 was frequently the consequence. Frances toiled for 
 and with her pupils like a drudge, but it was long 
 ere her conscientious exertions were rewarded by any 
 thing like docility on their part, because they saw that 
 they had power over her, inasmuch as by resisting 
 her painful attempts to convince, persuade, control — ^by 
 forcing her to the employment of coercive measm'es, 
 they could inflict upon her exquisite suffering. Hu- 
 man beings — human children especially, seldom deny 
 themselves the pleasure of exercising a power which 
 they are conscious of possessing, even though that 
 power consist only in a capacity to make others wretch- 
 ed ; a pupil whose sensations are duller than those of 
 his instructor, while his nerves are tougher and his 
 bodily strength perhaps greater, has an immense ad- 
 vantage over that instructor, and he will generally use 
 it relentlessly, because the very young, very healthy, 
 very thoughtless, know neither how to sympathize nor 
 how to spare. Frances, I fear, suffered much ; a con- 
 tinual weight seemed to oppress her spirits. I have 
 said she did not live in the house ; and whether in her 
 
THE PROFESSOE. 163 
 
 own abode, wherever that might Tbe, she wore the same 
 preoccupied, unsmiling, sorrowfully resolved air that 
 always shaded her features under the roof of Mdlle. 
 Keuter, I could not tell. 
 
 One day I gave as a devoir the trite little anecdote 
 of Alfred tending cakes in the herdsman's hut, to be 
 related with amplifications. A singular affair most 
 of the pupils made of it ; brevity was what they had 
 chiefly studied ; the majority of the narratives were 
 perfectly unintelligible ; those of Sylvie and Leonie 
 Ledru alone pretended to any thing like sense and con- 
 nection. Eulalie, indeed, had hit upon a clever expe- 
 dient for at once insuring accuracy and saving trouble ; 
 she had obtained access somehow to an abridged his- 
 tory of England, and had copied the anecdote out fair. 
 I wrote on the margin of her production, " Stupid and 
 deceitful," and then tore it down the middle. 
 
 Last in the pile of single-leaved devoirs I found one 
 of several sheets, neatly written out and stitched to- 
 gether. I knew the hand, and scarcely needed the 
 evidence of the signature, " Frances Evans Henri," to 
 confirm my conjecture as to the writer's identity. 
 
 Night was my usual time for correcting devoirs^and 
 my own room the usual scene of such task — task most 
 onerous hitherto ; and it seemed strange to me to feel 
 rising within me an incipient sense of interest as I 
 snuffed the candle and addressed myself to the perusal 
 of the poor teacher's manuscript. 
 
 " Now," thought I, " I shall see a glimpse of what 
 she really is ; I shall get an idea of the nature and 
 extent of her powers ; not that she can be expect- 
 ed to express herself well in a foreign tongue, but 
 
164 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 still, if she has any mind, here will he a reflection 
 of it." 
 
 The narrative commenced by a description of a Sax- 
 on peasant's hut, situated within the confines of a great, 
 leafless winter forest ; it represented an evening in De- 
 cember ; flakes of snow were falling, and the herdsr 
 man foretold a heavy storm ; he summoned his wife 
 to aid him in collecting their flock, roaming far away 
 on the pastoral banks of the Thone ; he warns her that 
 it will be late ere they return. The good woman is 
 reluctant to quit her occupation of baking cakes for 
 the evening meal; but, acknowledging the primary 
 importance of securing the herds and flocks, she puts 
 on her sheep-skin mantle, and, addressing a stranger 
 who rests half-reclined on a bed of rushes near the 
 hearth, bids him mind the cakes till her return. 
 
 " Take care, young man," she continues, " that you 
 fasten the door well after us ; and, above all, open to 
 none in our absence ; whatever sound you hear, stir 
 not, and look not out. The night will soon fall ; this 
 forest is most wild and lonely ; strange noises are oft- 
 en heard therein after sunset; wolves haunt these 
 gla.des, and Danish warriors infest the country ; worse 
 things are talked of; you might chance to hear, as it 
 were, a child cry, and, on opening the door to afford 
 it succor, a great black bull or a shadowy goblin dog 
 might rush over the threshold ; or, more awful still, if 
 someting flapped, as with wings against the lattice, 
 and then a raven or a white dove flew in and settled 
 on the hearth, such a visitor would be a sure sign of 
 misfortune to the house; therefore heed my advice, 
 and lift the latchet for nothing." 
 
THE PROFESSOR. 165 
 
 Her husband calls her away; both depart. The 
 stranger, left alone, listens a while to the muffled 
 snow-wind, the remote, swollen sound of the river, 
 and then he speaks. ^ 
 
 "It is Christmas eve," says he; "I mark the 
 date ; here I sit alone on a rude couch of rushes, 
 sheltered by the thatch of a herdsman's hut ; I, whose 
 inheritance was a kingdom, owe my night's harborage 
 to a poor serf; my throne is usurped, my crown 
 presses the brow of an invader ; I have no friends ; 
 my troops wander broken in the hills of Wales ; reck- 
 less robbers spoil my country ;; my subjects lie pros- 
 trate, their breasts crushed by the heel of the brutal 
 Dane. Fate, thou hast done thy worst, and now 
 .thou standest before me resting thy hand on thy 
 blunted blade. Ay, I see thine eye confront mine, 
 and demand why I still live — ^why I stiU hope. Pa- 
 gan demon, I credit not thine omnipotenoe, and so can 
 not succumb to thy power. My God, whose Son, as 
 on this night, took on Him the form of man, and for 
 man vouchsafed to suffer and bleed, controls thy 
 hand, and without His behest thou canst not strike a 
 stroke. My God is sinless, eternal, aU-wise — in Him 
 is my trust ; and, though stripped and crushed by 
 tjiee^-though naked, desolate, void of resource, I do 
 not despair — ^I can not despair ; were the lance of 
 Guthrum now wet with my blood, I should not de- 
 spair. I watch, I toil, I hope, I pray ; Jehovah, in 
 his own time, will aid." 
 
 I need not continue the quotation ; the whole de- 
 voir was in the same strain. There were errors of 
 orthography, there were foreign idioms, there were 
 
166 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 some faults of construction, there were verts irregular 
 transformed into verts regular ; it was mostly made 
 up, as the ahove example shows, of short and some- 
 what rude sentences, and the style stood in great need 
 of polish and sustained dignity ; yet such as it was, I 
 had hitherto seen nothing like it in the course of my 
 professional experience. The girl's mind had con- 
 ceived a picture of the hut, of the two peasants, of the 
 crownless king ; she had imagined the wintry forest, 
 she had recalled the old Saxon ghost legends, she had 
 appreciated Alfred's courage under calamity, she had 
 remembered his Christian education, and had shown 
 him, with the rooted confidence of those primitive 
 days, relying on the scriptural Jehovah for aid against 
 the mythological Destiny. This she had done with- 
 out a hint frota me. I had given the subject, but not 
 said a word about the manner of treating it. 
 
 " I will find or make an opportunity of speaking to 
 her," I said to myself as I rolled the devoir up ; "I 
 will learn what she has of English in her besides the 
 name of Frances Evans. She is no novice in the 
 language, that is evident, yet she told me she had 
 'neither been in England, nor taken lessons in English, 
 nor lived in English families." 
 
 In the course of my next lesson I made a report of 
 the other devoirs, dealing out praise and blame in very 
 small retail parcels, according to my custom, for there- 
 was no use in blaming severely, and high encomiums 
 were rarely merited. I said nothing of Mdlle. Henri's 
 exercise, and, spectacles on nose, I endeavored to de- 
 cipher in her countenance her sentiments at the omis- 
 sion. I wanted to find out whether in her existed a 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 167 
 
 consciousnees of her own talents. "If she thinks she 
 did a clever thing in composing that devoir, she will 
 now look mortified," thought I. Grave as usual, al- 
 most sombre was her face ; as usual, her eyes were 
 fastened on the cahier open before her ; there was 
 something, I thought, of expectation in her attitude 
 as I concluded a brief review of the last devoir, and 
 when, casting it from me and rubbing my hands, I 
 bade them take their grammars, some slight change 
 did pass- over her air and mien, as though she now re- 
 linquished a faint prospect of pleasant excitement. . 
 She had been waiting for something to be discussed O' 
 in which she had a degree of interest ; the discussion f 
 was not to come on, so expectation sank back, shrunk _ 
 and sad, but attention, promptly filling up the void, 
 repaired in a moment the transient collapse of feat- ' 
 ure ; still, I felt, rather than saw, during the whole 
 course of the lesson, that a hope had been wrenched 
 from her, and that, if she did not show distress, it was 
 because she would not. 
 
 At four o'clock, when the bell rang and the room 
 was in immediate tumult, instead of taking my .hat 
 and starting from the estrade, I sat stiU a moment. I 
 looked at Frances ; she was putting her books into 
 her cabas ; having fastened the button, she raised her 
 head ; encountering my eye, she made a quiet, re- 
 spectful obeisance, as bidding good afternoon, and was 
 turning to d^art : 
 
 " Come here," said I, lifting my finger at the same 
 time. She hesitated ; she could not hear the words 
 amid the uproar now pervading both school-rooms ; I 
 repeated the sign ; she approached ; again she paused 
 
168 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 within half a yard of the estrade, and looked shy, and 
 still doubtful whether she had mistaken my meaning. 
 ' " Step up," I said, speaking with decision. It is 
 the only way of dealing with diffident, easily emhar- 
 rassed characters, and with some slight manual aid I 
 presently got her placed just where I wanted her to 
 be, that is, between my desk and the window, where 
 ■^she was screened from the rush of the second division, 
 and where no one could sneak behind her to listen. 
 
 " Take a seat," I said, placing a tabouret ; and I 
 made her sit down. I knew what I was doing would 
 be considered a "very strange thing, and, what was more, 
 I did not care. Frances knew it also, and I fear, by 
 an appearance of agitation and trembling, that she 
 cared much. I drew from my pocket the rolled-up 
 devoir. 
 
 " This is yours, I suppose?" said I, addressing her 
 in English, for I now felt sure she could speak English. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, distinctly; and as I unrolled 
 it and laid it out flat on the desk before her with my 
 hand upon it, and a pencU in that hand, I saw her 
 moved, and, as it were, kindled ; her depression beam- 
 ed as a cloud might behind which the sun is burning. 
 
 "This devoir has numerous faults," said I. "It 
 will take you some years of careful study before you 
 are in a condition to write English with absolute cor- 
 rectness. Attend ; I will point out some principal de- 
 fects." And I went through it carefully, noting every 
 error, and demonstrating why they Were errors, and 
 how the words or phrases ought to have been written. 
 In the course of this sobering process she became 
 calm. I now went on : 
 
THE PEOPESSOK. 169 
 
 "As to the sutstance of your devoir, Mdlle. Henri, 
 it has surprised me. I perused it with pleasure, be- 
 cause T saw in it some proofs of taste and fancj^ Taste 
 and fancy are not the highest gifts of the human mind, 
 but, such as they are, you possess them — not probably 
 in a paramount degree, but in a degree beyond what 
 the majority can boast. You may, then, take courage ; 
 cultivate the faculties that God and nature have be- 
 stowed on you, and do not fear in any crisis of suifer- 
 ing, under any pressure of injustice, to derive free and 
 full consolation from the consciousness of their strength 
 and rarity." 
 
 " Strength and rarity !" I repeated to myself; " ay, 
 the words are probably true," for on looking up I saw 
 the sun had dissevered its screening cloud ; her coun- 
 tenance was transfigured ; a smile shone in her eyes — 
 a smile almost triumphant ; it seemed to say, 
 
 " I am glad you have been forced to discover so 
 much of my nature ; you need not so carefully moder- 
 ate your language. Do you think I am myself a stran- 
 ger to myself? What you tell me in terms so qualified 
 I have known fully from a child." 
 
 She did say this as plainly as a frank and flashing 
 glance could, but in a moment the glow of her com- 
 plexion, the radiance of her aspect had subsided ; if 
 strongly conscious of her talents, she was equally con- 
 scious of her harassing defects, and the remembrance 
 of these, obliterated for a single second, now reviving 
 with sudden force, at once subdued the too vivid char- 
 acters in which her sense of her powers had been ex- 
 pressed. So quick was the revulsion of feeling, I had 
 not time to check her triumph by reproof; ere I could 
 
 H 
 
170 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 contract my brows to a frown, she had become seri- 
 ous and almost mournful-looking. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said she, rising ; there was grati- 
 tude both in her voice and in the look with which she 
 accompanied it. It was time indeed for our conference 
 to terminate, for, when I glanced around, behold all the 
 boarders (the day-scholars had departed) were congre- 
 gated within a yard or two of my desk, and stood star- 
 ing with eyes and mouth wide open ; the three maitress- 
 es formed a whispering knot in one corner, and close 
 at my elbow was the directress, sitting on a low chair, 
 calmly clipping the tassels of her finished purse. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 Aftee all, I had profited but imperfectly by the 
 opportunity I had so boldly achieved of speaking to 
 Mdlle. Henri. It was my intention to ask her how she 
 came to be possessed of two English baptismal names, 
 Frances and Evans, in addition to her French surname; 
 also, whence she derived her good accent. I had for- 
 gotten both points, or, rather, our colloquy had been 
 so brief that I had not had time to bring them for- 
 ward ; moreover, I had not half tested her powers of 
 speaking English ; all I had drawn from her in that 
 language were 'the words "Yes," and "Thank you, 
 sir." " No matter," I reflected ; " what has been left 
 incomplete now shall be finished another day." Nor 
 did I fail to keep the promise thus made to myself. 
 It was difficult to get even a few words of particular 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 171 
 
 conversation with one pupil among so many ; but, ac- 
 cording to the old proverb, "Where there is a will 
 there is a way," and again and again I managed to find 
 an opportunity for exchanging a few words with Mdlle. 
 Henri, regardless that envy stared and detraction whis- 
 pered whenever I approached her. 
 
 "Your book an instant." Such was the mode in 
 which I often began these brief dialogues ; the time was 
 ■always just at the conclusion of the lesson ; and mo- 
 tioning to her to rise, I installed myself in her place, 
 allowing her to stand deferentially at my side, for I es- 
 teemed it wise and right in her case to enforce strictly 
 all forms ordinarily in use between master and pupil, 
 the rather because I perceived that in proportion as 
 my manner grew austere and magisterial, hers be- 
 came easy and self-possessed — an odd contradiction, 
 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 these conferences.) She gave 
 me one, and while I underlined some errors in a 
 grammatical exercise she had written, I observed, 
 
 " You are not a native of Belgium ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor of France?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Whercj then, is your birth-place ?" 
 
 " I was born at Geneva." 
 
 " You don't call Frances and Evans Swiss names, 
 I presume ?" 
 
 "No, sir, they are English names." 
 
172 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 "Just SO ; and is it the custom of the Genevese to 
 give their children English appellatives ?" 
 
 " Non, Monsieur ; mais — " 
 
 " Speak English, if you please." 
 ^ "Mais—" 
 'i " English—" 
 
 ^-^x "But — " (slowly and with embarrassment) — "my 
 parents were not all the 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 English woman, why do 
 you not speak English 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 I converse with you ; keep to 
 English." 
 
 " C'est si difficile, Monsieur, quand on n'en a plus 
 r habitude." 
 
 ' ' You had the habitude formerly, I suppose ? Now 
 answer me in your^aothetj^ngue." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I spoke the English more than the French 
 when I was a child." 
 
 " Why do you not speak it now ?" 
 
 "Because I have no English fiiends." 
 
 " You live with your father, I suppose ?" 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 173 
 
 " My father is_ dead." 
 
 " Tou 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 certainly devise some slight punishment ; at 
 your age — ^you must be two or three-and-twenty, I 
 should think ?" 
 
 "Pas encore. Monsieur — en un mois j'aurai dix- 
 neuf ans." 
 
 "Well, nineteen is a mature age, and, having at- 
 tained it, you ought to be so solicitous for your own 
 improvement that it should not be needful for a mas- 
 ter to remind you twice of the expediency 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 very gay smile ; it seemed 
 to say " He talks of he knows not what ;" it said this 
 so plainly that I determined to request information on 
 the point concerning which my ignorance seemed to_ 
 be thus tacitly affirmed. 
 
 "Are yol solicitous for your own improvement ?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 " How do you prove it. Mademoiselle ?" 
 
 An odd question, and bluntly put ; it excited a 
 second smile. 
 
174 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 " Wiy, J/Consieut, I am not inattentive, am I? I 
 learn my lessons weU — " 
 
 " 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, as well as a pupil ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You teach lafce-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 with these studies ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; you ought to he, 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 does what she can ; she lodges and 
 nourishes me" (I report Mdlle. Henri's phrases liter- 
 ally, and it was thus she translated from the French). 
 " She is not rich ; she has only an annuity of twelve 
 hundred francs, and it would be impossible for her to 
 send me to school." 
 
 "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 ignorance of the most ordinaiy branches of edu- 
 cation. Had you known something of history and 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 175 
 
 grammar, you might, hj degrees, have relinquished 
 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 wUl receive a 
 governess whose whole stock of knowledge consists in 
 a familiarity with one foreign language." 
 
 "Monsieur, I know other things." 
 
 "Yes, yes, you can work with Berlin wools, and 
 embroider handkerchiefs and collars : that will do lit- 
 tle for you." 
 
 Mdlle. Henri's lips were unclosed to answer, but she 
 checked herself, as thinking the discussion had been 
 sufficiently pursued, and remained silent. 
 
 " Speak," I continued, impatiently ; "I never like 
 the appearance of acquiescence when the reality is not 
 there, and you had a contradiction at your tongue's 
 end." 
 
 " Monsieur, I have had many lessons both in gram- 
 mar, history, geography, and arithmetic. I have gone 
 'through a course of each study." « 
 
 " Bravo ! but how did you manage it, since your 
 aunt could not afford to send you to school ?" 
 
 " By lace-mending — by the thing Monsieur despises 
 so much." 
 
 " Truly ! And now, Mademoiselle, it will be a good 
 exercise for you to explain to me in English how such 
 a result was produced by such means." 
 
 "Monsieur, I begged my aunt to have me taught 
 lace-mending soon after we came to Brussels, because 
 I knew it was ,a metier, a trade which was easily 
 learned, and by which I could earn some money very 
 
176 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 soon. I learned it in a few days, and I quickly got 
 work, for aE tlie Brussels ladies liaTC old lace — very 
 precious — which must be mended all the times it is 
 washed. I earned money a little, and this money I 
 gave for lessons in the studies I have mentioned ; some 
 of it I spent in buying books-— English books espe- 
 cially; sooia I shall try to find a place of governess 
 or school-teacher, when I can write and speak English 
 well ; but it will be difficult, because those who know 
 I have been a lace-mender will despise me, as the pu- 
 pils here despis^ me. Pourtant j'ai mon projet," she 
 added, in a lower tone. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I will go and live in England; I wUl teach French 
 there." 
 
 The words were pronounced emphatically. She said 
 "England" as you might suppose an Israelite of Mo- 
 ses' days would have said Canaan. 
 
 "Have you a wish to see England?" 
 
 " Yes, and an intention." 
 
 And here a voi^B — the voice of the directress — in- 
 . terposed : 
 
 "Mademoiselle Henri, je crois qu'il va pleuvoir; 
 vous feriez bien, 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, endeavored to move to her superior, 
 though the endeavor was almost a failure, for her head 
 seemed as if it would not bend, and thus departed. 
 
 Where there is one grain of perseverance or willful- 
 ness in the composition, trifling obstacles are ever 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 177 
 
 known rather to stimulate than discourage. Mdlle. 
 Renter might as well have spared herself the trouble 
 of giving that intimation about the weather (by-the-by, 
 her prediction was falsified by the event : it did not 
 rain that evening). At the close of the next lesson I 
 was again at Mdlle. Henri's desk. Thus did I accost 
 her: 
 
 "What is your idea of England, Mademoiselle? 
 Why do you wish to go there ?" 
 
 Accustomed by this time to the calculated abrupt- 
 ness of my manner, it no longer discomposed or sur- 
 prised her, and she answered with only so much of hes- 
 itation as was rendered inevitable by^the difficulty she 
 experienced in improvising the translation of her 
 thoughts from French to English. 
 
 " England is something unique, as I have he^d 
 and read ; my idea of 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 you went there in the capacity of a 
 teacher ? A strange noticgti you mugt have of getting 
 a clear and definite idea of a country. All you could 
 see of Great Britain would be the interior of a school, 
 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 of observations made on a scale so narrow ?" 
 
 " Monsieur, might not one learn something by an- 
 alogy ? An — echantillon — a — a sample often serves to 
 give an idea of the whole ; besides, narrow and wide are 
 words comparative, are they not ? All my life would 
 H2 
 
178 THE PEOFESSOK, 
 
 perhaps seem narrow in your eyes ; all the life of a — 
 that little animal subterranean — ^une taupe — comment 
 dit-on?" 
 
 "Mole." 
 
 "Yes — a mole, which lives under ground, would 
 seem narrow even to me." 
 
 " Well, Mademoiselle, what then ? Proceed." 
 
 "Mais, Monsieur, vous me comprenez — " 
 
 " Not in the least ; have the goodness to ex- 
 plain." 
 
 "Why, Monsieur, it is just so. In Switzerland 
 I have done but little, learned but little, and seen 
 but little. My life there was in a circle. I walked 
 the same round- every day ; I could not get out of it. 
 Had I rested — ^remained there even till my death, I 
 should never have enlarged it, because I am poor and 
 not skillful — I have not great acquirements. When 
 I was quite tired of this round, I begged my aunt to 
 go to Brussels. My existence is no larger here, be- 
 cause I am no richer or higher ; I walk in as narrow 
 a limit, but the scene is changed ; it would change 
 again if I went to England. I knew something of the 
 bourgeois of Greneva, now I know something of the 
 bourgeois of Brussels ; if I went to London I should 
 know something of the bourgeois of London. Can 
 you make any sense out of what I say. Monsieur,' or 
 is it all obscure ?" 
 
 " I see, I see ; now let us advert to another subject. 
 You propose to devote your life to teaching, and you 
 are a most unsuccessful teacher ; you can not keep 
 your pupils in order." 
 
 A flush of painful confusion was the result of this 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 179 
 
 harsh, remark. She beiit her head to the desk, but 
 soon raising it, replied, 
 
 " Monsieur, I am not a skillful teacher,' it is true, 
 but practice improves ; besides, I work under diflScnl- 
 ties. Here I only teach sewing ; I can show no power 
 in sewing, no superiority ; it is a subordinate art ; then 
 I have no associates in this house ; I am isolated ; I 
 am, too, a heretic, which deprives me of influence." 
 
 "And in England you would be a foreigner; that, 
 too, would deprive you of influence — ^would effect- 
 ually separate you from all around you. In England 
 you would have as few connections, as little import- 
 ance as you have here." 
 
 " But I should be learning something ; for the rest, 
 there are probably difficulties for such as I every where, 
 and if I must contend, and perhaps be conquered, I 
 would rather submit to English pride than to Flemish 
 coarseness ; besides, Monsieur — " 
 
 She stopped, not evidently from any difficulty in 
 finding words to express herself, but because discretion 
 seemed to say, " You have said enough." 
 
 " Finish your phrase," I urged. s 
 
 " Besides, Monsieur, I long to live once more among 
 Protestants ; they are more Jionest than Catholics. A ( 
 Komish school is a building with porous walls, a hol- 
 low floor, a false ceiling. Every room in this house, 
 Monsieur, has eye-holes and ear-holes, and what the ' 
 house is the inhabitants are, very treacherous : they 
 all think it lawful to tell lies ; they all call it polite- 
 ness to profess friendship where they feel hatred." 
 
 "All?" said I; "you mean the pupils — ^the mere 
 children — ^inexperienced, giddy things, who have not^ 
 
180 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 learned to distinguish the 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 teU lies, but they 
 do it inartificially, and you know they are lying ; but 
 the grown-up people are very false ; they deceive stran- 
 gers — they deceive each other—" 
 
 A servant here entered : 
 
 "Mdlle. Henri, Mdlle. Renter vous prie de vouloir 
 bien conduire la petite de Dorlodot chez eUe, elle vous 
 attend dans le cabinet de Rosalie la portiere — c'est que 
 sa bonne n'est pas venue la chercher — ^voyez-vous." 
 
 " Eh bien ; est-ce que je suis sa bonne — moi ?" de- 
 manded Mdlle. Henri ; then smiling with that same 
 bitter, derisive smile I had seen on her lips once be- 
 fore, she hastily rose and made her exit. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The young Anglo-Swiss evidently derived both 
 pleasure and profit from the study of her mother 
 tongue. In teaching her, I did not, of course, confine 
 myself to the ordinary school routine. I made instruc- 
 tion in English a channel for instruction in literature. 
 I prescribed to her a course of reading. She had a 
 little selection of English classics, a few of which had 
 been left her by her mother, and the others she had 
 purchased with her own penny-fee. I lent her some 
 more modern works : all these she read with avidity, 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 181 
 
 giving me, in writing, a clear summarj of each work 
 when she had perused it. Composition, too, she de- 
 lighted in. Such occupation seemed the verj hreath 
 of her nostrils, and soon her improved productions 
 wrung from me the avowal that those qualities in her 
 I had termed taste and fancy ought rjftKer to have 
 been denominated judgment and imagination. When'' 
 I intimated so much, which I did, as usual, in dry and 
 stinted phrase, I'looked for the radiant and exulting 
 smile my one word of eulogy had elicited before ; but 
 Frances colored. If she did smile, it was very softly 
 and shyly ; and instead of looking up to me with a 
 conquering glance, her eye rested on my hand, which, 
 stretched over her shoulder, was writing some direc- 
 tions with a pencil on the margin of her book. 
 
 "Well, are you pleased that I am satisfied with your 
 progress?" I asked. 
 
 "Tes,"said she, slowly, gently, the blush that had 
 half subsided returning. 
 
 "But I do not say enough, I suppose ?" I continued. 
 "My praises are too cool?" 
 
 She made no answer,' and, I thought, looked a little 
 sad. I divined her thoughts, and should much have 
 liked to have' responded to them, had it been expedi- 
 ent so to do. She was not now very ambitious of my 
 admiration — not eagerly desirous of dazzling me; a 
 little aiffection— ever so little — pleased her better than 
 all the paiiegyrics in the world. Feeling this, I stood 
 a good while behind her, writing on the margin of her 
 book. I could hardly quit my station or relinquish 
 my occupation. Something retained me bending there, . 
 my head very near hers, and my hand near hers too ; 
 
182 THK PEOFESSOE. 
 
 but the margin of a copy-book is not an illimitable 
 space ; so, doubtless, the directress thought ; and she 
 took occasion to walk past in order to ascertain by 
 what art I prolonged so disproportionately the period 
 necessary for filling it. I was obliged to go. Dis- 
 tasteful effort — to leave what we most prefer ! 
 
 Frances did not become pale or feeble in conse- 
 quence of her ■ sedentary employment; perhaps the 
 stimulus it communicated to her mind counterbalanced 
 the inaction it imposed on her body. She changed, 
 indeed, changed obviously and rapidly, but it was for 
 the better. When I first saw her, her countenance 
 was sunless, her complexion colorless. She looked 
 like one who had no source of enjoyment, no store of 
 bliss any where in the world; now the cloud had 
 passed from her mien, leaving space for the dawn of 
 hope and interest, and those feelings rose like a clear 
 morning, animating what had been depressed, tinting 
 what had been pale. Her eyes, whose color I had not 
 at first known, so dim were they with repressed tears, 
 so shadowed with ceaseless dejection, now, lit by a ray 
 of the sunshine that cheered her heart, revealed irids 
 of bright hazel — irids large and full, screened with long 
 lashes — and pupils instinct with fire. That look of 
 wan emaciation which anxiety or low spirits often 
 communicates to a thoughtful, thin face,^ rather long 
 than round, .having vanished from hers, a clearness of 
 skin almost bloom, and a plumpness almost embon- 
 point, softened the decided lines of her features. Her 
 figure shared in this beneficial change; it became 
 rounder ; and as the harmony of her form was com- 
 plete and her stature of the graceful middle height, 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 183 
 
 one did not regi-et (or at least /did not regret) the ab- 
 sence of confirmed fullness in contours still slight, 
 though compact, elegant, flexible ; the exquisite turn- 
 ing of waist, wrist, hand, foot, and ankle satisfied com- 
 pletely my notions of symmetry, and allowed a light- 
 ness and freedom of movement which corresponded 
 with my ideas of grace. ~ 
 
 Thus improved, thus wakened to life, Mdlle. Henri 
 began to take a new footing in the school. Her men- 
 tal power, manifested gradually but steadily, ere long 
 extorted recognition even from the envious ; and when 
 the young and healthy saw that she could smile bright- 
 ly, converse g&ylj, move with vivacity and alertness, 
 they acknowledged in her a sisterhood of youth and 
 health, and tolerated her as of their kind accordingly.''; 
 
 To speak truth, I watched this change much as sr 
 gardener watches the growth of a precious plant, and I 
 contributed to it too, even as the said gardener con- 
 tributes to the development of his favorite. To me it 
 was not difficult to discover how I could best foster 
 my pupil, cherish her starved feelings, and induce the 
 outward manifestation of that inward vigor which sun- 
 less drought and blighting blast had hitherto forbid- 
 den to expand. Constancy of attention ; a kindness 
 as mute as watchful, always^ standing by her, cloaked 
 in the rough garb of austerity, and making its real na- 
 ture known only by a rare glance of interest, or a cor- 
 dial andigentle word; real respect masked with seem- 
 ing ittiperiousness, directing, urging her actions, yet 
 helping her too, and that with devoted care — these 
 were the means I used, for these means best suited 
 Frances' feelings, as susceptible as deep-vibrating — 
 her nature, at once proud and shy. 
 
184 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 The benefits of my system became apparent also in 
 her altered demeanor as a teacher. She now took her 
 place among her pupils with an air of spirit and firm- 
 ness which assured them at once that she meant to he 
 oheyed, and obeyed she was. They felt they had lost 
 
 / their power over her. If any girl had rebelled, she 
 would no longer have taken her rebellion to heart. She 
 possessed a source of comfort they could not drain, a 
 
 ^ pillar of support they could not overthrow : formerly, 
 when insulted, she wept ; now, she smiled. 
 
 The public reading of one of her devoirs achieved 
 the revelation of her talents to all and sundry ; I re-, 
 member the subject — it was an emigraht's letter to his 
 friends at home. It opened with simphcity. Some 
 natural and graphic touches disclosed to the reader the 
 scene of virgin forest, and great. New- World river, bar- 
 ren of sail and flag, amid which the epistle was sup- 
 posed to be indited. The difficulties and dangers that 
 
 ' attend a settler's life were hinted at ; and in the few 
 words said on the subject, Mdlle. Henri failed not to 
 render audible the voice of resolve, patience, endeavor. 
 The disasters which had driven him from his native 
 
 I country were alluded to ; stainless honor, inflexible in- 
 
 L^dependence, indestructible self-respect there took the 
 word. Past days were spoken of; the grief of part- 
 
 i ing, the regi-ets of absence, were touched upon ; feeling, 
 
 " forcible and fine, breathed eloquent in every period. At", 
 the close, consolation was suggested; i religious faith ^ 
 became there the speaker, and^shej spoke welH 
 
 The devoir was powerfully written in language at 
 once chaste and choice, in a style nerved with vigor and 
 graced with harmony. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 185 
 
 Mdlle. Eeuter was quite sufficiently acquainted with 
 English to understand it when read or spoken in her 
 presence, though she could neither speak nor write it 
 herself. During the perusal of this devoir, she sat plac- 
 idly tusy, her eyes and fingers occupied with the for- 
 mation of a " riviere," or open-work hem round a cam- 
 bric handkerchief. She said nothing, and her face and 
 forehead, clothed with a mask of purely negative ex- 
 pression, were as blank of comment as her lips. As nei- 
 ther surprise, pleasure, approbation, nor interest were 
 evinced in her countenance, so no more were disdain* 
 envy, annoyance, weariness ; if that inscrutable mien 
 said any thing, it was simply this : 
 
 " The matter is too trite to excite an emotion or call 
 forth an opinion." 
 
 As soon as I had done, a hum rose ; several of the 
 pnpUs, pressing round Mdlle. Henri, began tq beset her 
 with compliments ; the composed voice of the direct- 
 ress wks now heard : 
 
 "•Young ladies, such of you as have cloaks and um- 
 brellas will hasten to return home before the shower 
 becomes heavier" (it was raining a little), " the remain- 
 der will wait till their respective servants arrive to 
 fetch them." And the school dispersed, for it was four 
 o'clock. 
 
 "Monsieur, a word," said Mdlle. Eeuter, stepping on 
 to the estrade, and signifying, by a movement of the 
 hand, that ^e wished me to relinquish, for an instant, 
 the castor I had clutched. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I am at your seryice." 
 
 " Monsieur, it is, of course, an excellent plan to en- 
 courage effort in young people by making conspicuous 
 
186 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 the progress of any particularly industrious pupU, tut 
 io you not think that in the present instance Mdlle. 
 Henry can hardly Ibe considered as a concurrent with 
 the other pupils ? She is older than most of them, and 
 has had advantages of an exclusive nature for acquir- 
 ing a knowledge of English ; on the other hand, her 
 sphere of life is somewhat beneath theirs ; under these 
 circumstances, a public distinction, conferred upon 
 Mdlle. Henri, may be the means of suggesting compari- 
 sons, and exciting feelings such as would be far from 
 advantageous to the individual forming their object. 
 The interest I take in Mdlle. Henri's real welfare makes 
 me desirous of screening her from annoyances of this 
 sort ; besides, Monsieur, as I have before hinted to you, 
 the sentiment of amour prqpre has a somewhat mark- 
 ed preponderance in her character; celebrity has a tend- 
 ency to foster this sentiment, and in her it should be 
 rather repressed ; she rather needs keeping down than 
 bringing forward ; and then I think. Monsieur — it ap- 
 pears to me that ambition, literary ambition especial- 
 ly, is not a feeling to be cherished in the mind of a 
 woman. Would not Mdlle. Henri be much safer and 
 happier if taught to believe that in the quiet discharge 
 of social duties consists her real vocation, than if stim- 
 ulated to aspire after applause and publicity? She 
 may never marry ; scanty as are her resources, obscure 
 as are her connections, uncertain as is her health (for I 
 think her consumptive ; her mother ,died of that com- 
 plaint), it is more than probable she never wiU ; I- do 
 not see how she can rise to a position whence such a 
 step would be possible ; but even in celibacy it would 
 be better for her to retain the character and habits of a 
 respectable, decorous female." 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 187 
 
 "Indisputably, Mademoiselle," was my answer. 
 " Your opinion admits of no doubt ;" and, fearful of 
 the harangue being renewed, I retreated under cover 
 of that cordial sentence of assent. 
 
 At the date of a fortnight after the little incident 
 noted above, I find it recorded in my diary that a ^- 
 _lu5 occurred in MdUe. Henri's usually regular attend- 
 ance in class. The first day or two I wondered at her 
 absence, but did not like to ask an explanation of it. 
 I thought, indeed, some chance word might be dropped 
 which wqiild afford me the information I wished to ob- 
 tain, without my running the risk of exciting siUy 
 smiles and gossiping whispers by demanding it. But 
 when a week passed, and the seat at thedesk near the 
 door still remained vacant, and when no allusion was 
 made to the circumstance by any individual of the 
 class — ^when, on the contrary, I found that all observed 
 a marked silence on the point, I determined, couie qui 
 coute, to break the ice of this silly resetve. I selected 
 Sylvie as my informant, because from her I knew that 
 I should at least get a sensible answer, unaccompanied 
 by wriggle, titter, or other flourish of folly. 
 
 " Ou done est Mdlle. Henri ?" I said one day as I 
 returned an exercise-book I had been examining. 
 
 " EEe est partie. Monsieur." 
 
 " Partie ! et pour combien de temps ? Quand revi- 
 endra-t-elle ?" 
 
 " Elle est partie pour toujours. Monsieur ; elle ne 
 reviendra plus." i 
 
 "Ah!" was my involuntary exclamation; then, 
 after a pause : 
 
 "En etes-vous bien sure, Sylvie?" 
 
\ 
 
 188 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " Oui, oui, Monsieur ; , Mademoiselle la Directrice 
 nous I'a dit elle-meme il y a deux ou trois jours." 
 
 And I could pursue my inquiries no further ; time, 
 place, and circumstances forbade my adding another 
 word. I could neither comment on -what had been 
 said, nor demand further particulars. A question as 
 to the reason of the teacher's departure, as to whether 
 it had been voluntary or otherwise, was indeed on my 
 lips, but I suppressed it: there were listeners all 
 round. An hour after, in passing Sylvie in the cor- 
 ridor as she was putting on her bonnet, I stopped short 
 and asked, 
 
 " Sylvie, do you know Mdlle. Henri's address? I 
 have some books of hers," I added carelessly, "and I 
 should wish to send them to her." 
 
 "No, Monsieur," replied Sylvie; "but perhaps 
 Rosalie, the portress, will be able to give it you." 
 
 Rosalie's cabinet was just at hand; I stepped in 
 and repeated the inquiry. Rosalie — a smart French 
 grisette — ^looked up from her work with a knowing 
 smile, precisely the sort of smile I had been so desir- 
 ous to avoid exciting. Her answer was prepared ; 
 she knew nothing whatever of Mdlle. Henri's address 
 — had never known it. Turning from her with impa- 
 tience — for I believed she lied and was hired to lie — I 
 almost knocked down some one who had been stand- 
 ing at inj back : it was the directress. My abrupt 
 movement made her recoil two or three steps. I was 
 obliged to apologize, which I did more concisely than 
 politely. No man likes to be dogged, and in the very 
 irritable mood in which I then was the sight of Mdlle. 
 Renter thoroughly incensed me. At the moment I 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 189 
 
 turned her countenance looked hard, dark, and inquis- 
 itive ; her eyes were bent upon me with an expression 
 of almost hungry curiosity. I had scarcely caught 
 this phase of physiognomy ere it had vanished ; a 
 hland smile played on her features ; my harsh apology 
 was received with good-humored facility. 
 
 " Oh, don't mention it, Monsieur ; you only touched 
 my hair with your elbow ; it is no worse, only a little 
 disheveled." She shook it back, and, passing her fin- 
 gers through her curls, loosened them into more nu- 
 merous and flowing ringlets.. Then she went on with 
 vivacity : 
 
 "Rosalie, I was coming to tell you. to go instantly 
 and close the windows of the salon ; the wind is ris- 
 ing, and the muslin curtains will be covered with dust." 
 
 Rosalie departed. " Now," thought I, " this will 
 not do'. Mdlle. Renter -thinks her meanness in eaves- 
 dropping is screened by her art in devising a pretext, 
 whereas the muslin curtains she speaks of are not 
 more transparent than this same pretext." An im- 
 pulse came over me to thrust the flimsy screen aside, 
 and confront her craft with a word or two of plain, 
 truth. " The rough-shod foot treats most firmly on 
 slippery ground," thought I, so I began : 
 
 " Mademoiselle Henri has left your establishment — 
 been dismissed, I presume ?" 
 
 "Ah! I wished to have a little conversation with 
 you, Monsieur," replied the directress, with the most 
 natural and affable air in the world; "but we can 
 not talk quietly here ; will Monsieur step into the gar- 
 den a minute ?" And she preceded me, stepping out 
 through the glass door I have before mentioned. 
 
190 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " There," said she, ■when we had reached the centre 
 of the middle alley, and when the foliage of shrubs 
 and trees, now in their summer pride, closing behind 
 and around us, shut out the view of the house, and 
 thus imparted a sense of seclusion even to this little 
 plot of ground in the very core of a capital, "there; 
 one feels quiet and free when there are only pear-trees 
 and rose-bushes about one ; I dare say yon, like me. 
 Monsieur, are sometimes tired of being eternally in the 
 midst of life — of having human faces always round 
 you, human eyes always upon you, human voices al- 
 ways in your ear. I am sure I often wish intensely 
 for liberty to spend a whole month in the country at 
 some little farm-house, bien gentDle, bien propre, tout 
 entouree de champs et de bois ; quelle vie charmante 
 que la vie champetre ! N'est-ce pas. Monsieur ?" 
 
 " Cela depend. Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Que le vent est bon et frais !" continued the di- 
 rectress ; and she was right there, for it was a south 
 wind, soft and sweet. I carried my hat in my hand, 
 and this gentle breeze, passing through my hair, 
 soothed my temples like balm. Its refreshing effect, 
 however, penetrated no deeper than the mere surface 
 of the frame ; for, as I walked by the side of Mdlle. 
 Eeuter, my heart was still hot within me, and while 
 I was musing the fire burned ; then spake I with my 
 tongue : 
 
 "I understand Mdlle. Henri is gone from hence, 
 and will not return ?" 
 
 "Ah! true. I meant to have named the subject 
 to you some days ago, but my time is so completely 
 taken up I can not do half the things I wish. Have 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 191 
 
 you never experienced what it is, Monsieur, to find the 
 day too short by twelve hours for your numerous du- 
 ties?" 
 
 "Not often. Mdlle. Henri's departure was not vol- 
 untary, I presume ? If it had been, she would cer- 
 tainly have given me some intimation of it, being my 
 pupil." 
 
 " Oh, did she not tell you? that was strange. For 
 my part, I never thought of adverting to the subject. 
 When one has so many things to attend to, one is apt 
 to forget little incidents that are not of prim'ary im- 
 portance." 
 
 " You consider Mdlle. Henri's dismission, then, as a 
 very insignificant event ?" 
 
 "Dismission? Ah! she was not dismissed ; lean 
 say with truth. Monsieur, that since I became the head 
 of this establishment, no master or teacher has ever 
 been dismissed from it." 
 
 " Yet some have left it, Mademoiselle ?" 
 
 "Many; I have found it necessary to change fre- 
 quently — a change of instructors is often beneficial to 
 the interests of a school; il gives life and variety to 
 the proceedings ; it amuses the pupils, and suggests to 
 the parents the idea of exertion and progress." 
 
 "Yet, when you are tired of a professor or maitresse, 
 you scruple to dismiss them ?" 
 
 "No need to have recourse to such extreme meas- 
 ures, I assure you. Allons, Monsieur le Professeur — 
 asseyons-nous ; je vais vous donrier une petite le9on 
 dans votre etat d'instituteur." (I wish I might write^ 
 all she said to me in French ; it loses sadly by being 
 translated into English.) We had now reached the' 
 
192 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 garden chair ; the directress sat down, and signed me 
 to sit hy her, but I only rested my knee on the seat, 
 and stood leaning my head and arm against the em- 
 bowering branch of a huge laburnum, whose golden 
 flowers, blent with the dusky green leaves of a lilac- 
 bush, formed a mixed arch of shade and sunshine over 
 the retreat. Mdlle. Renter sat silent a moment ; some 
 novel movements were evidently working in her mind, 
 and they showed their nature on her astute brow; 
 she was meditating some chef d'ceuvre of policy. Con- 
 vinced by several months' experience that the affectst- 
 tion of virtues she did not possess was unavailing to 
 ensnare me — aware that I had read her real nature, . 
 and w^nld believe nothing of the character she gave 
 out as being hers — she had determined, at last, to try 
 a new key, and see if the lock of my heart would yield 
 to that ; a little audacity, a word of truth, a glimpse 
 of the real.\ "Yes, I will try," was her inward re- 
 solve ; and then her blue eye glittered upon me — it did 
 not flash — nothing of flame ever kindled in its temper- 
 ate gleam. 
 
 " Monsieur fears to sit by me?" she inquired, play- 
 fuUy. 
 
 " I have no wish to usurp Pelet's place," I answer- 
 ed, for I had got the habit of speaking to her bluntly ; 
 a habit begun in anger, but continued because I saw 
 that, instead of oifending, it fascinated her. She cast 
 down her eyes and drooped her eyelids ; she sighed 
 uneasily; she turned with an anxious gesture, as if she 
 would give me the idea of a bird that flutters in its 
 cage, and would fain fly from its jail and jailer, and 
 seek its natural mate and pleasant nest. 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 193 
 
 " Well — and your lesson ?" I demanded, briefly. 
 
 "Ah!" she exclaimed, recovering herself, "you are 
 so young, so frank and fearless, so talented, so impa- 
 tient of imbecility, so disdainful of vulgarity, you need 
 a lesson ; here it is, then : Far more is to be done in 
 this world by dexterity than by strength ; but per- 
 haps you knew that before, for there is delicacy as 
 well as power in your character — policy as well as 
 pride." 
 
 " Go on," said I ; and I could hardly help smiling, 
 the flattery was so piquant,. so finely seasoned. She 
 caught the prohibited smile, though I passed my hand 
 over my mouth to conceal it ; and again she" made 
 room for me to sit beside her. I shook mey head, 
 though temptation penetrated to my senses at the mo- 
 ment, and once more I told her to go on. 
 
 "Well, then, if ever you are at the head of a large 
 establishment, dismiss nobody. To speak truth, Mon- 
 sieur (and to you I will speak truth), I despise people 
 who are always making rows, blustering, sending off 
 one to the right, and another to the left, urging, and 
 hurrying circumstances. I'll tell you what I like best 
 to do, Monsieur, shall I ?" She looked up again ; she 
 had compounded her glance well this time — much 
 archness, more deference, a spicy dash of coquetry, an 
 unveiled consciousness of capacity. I nodded ; she. 
 treated me like the great Mogul; so I became the great 
 Mogul as faj as she was concerned. 
 
 " I like. Monsieur, to take my knitting in my hands, 
 and to sit quietly down in my chair; circumstances 
 defile past me ; I watch their march ; so long as they 
 follow the course I wish, I say nothing and do nothing ; 
 
 I 
 
194 THE PKOFESSOK. 
 
 I don't clap my hands, and cry out 'Bravo! How 
 lucky I am!' to attract the attention and envy of my 
 neighbors ; I am merely passive ; but when events 
 fall out ill — when circumstances become adverse — I 
 watch very vigilantly ; I knit on still, and still I hold 
 my tongue ; but every now and then. Monsieur, I just 
 put my toe out — so — and give the rebellious circum- 
 stance a little secret push, without noise, which sends 
 it the way I wish, and I am successful after all, and 
 nobody has seen my expedient. Sp, when teachers or 
 masters become troublesome and inefficient — when, in 
 short, the interests of the school would suffer from 
 their retaining their places, I mind my knitting, events 
 progress, circumstances glide past ; I see one which, 
 if pushed ever so little awry, wiU render untenable the 
 post I wish to have vacated — the deed is done — ^the 
 stumbling-block removed — and no one saw me ; I have 
 not made an enemy, I am rid of an incumbrance." 
 
 A moment since, and I thought her alluring ; this 
 speech concluded, I looked on her with distaste. 
 "Just like you," was my cold answer. " And in this 
 way you have ousted Mdlle. Henry : you wanted her 
 office, therefore you rendered it intolerable for her?" 
 
 " Not at all, Monsieur ; I was merely anxious about 
 Mdlle. Henri's health ; no, your moral sight is clear 
 and piercing, but there you have failed to discover the 
 truth. I took — I have always taken a real interest 
 in Mdlle. Henri's welfare. I did not like her going 
 out in all weathers. I thought it would be more ad- 
 vantageous for her to obtain a permanent situation ; 
 besides, I considered her now qualified to do some- 
 thing more than teach sewing. I reasoned with her ; 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 195 
 
 left the decision to herself; she saw the correctness 
 of my views, and adopted them." 
 
 " Excellent ! and now, Mademoiselle, you will have 
 the goodness to give me her address." 
 
 " Her address ?" and a sombre and stony change 
 came over the mien of the directress. " Her address? 
 Ah ! well, I wish I conld oblige you, Monsieur, but I 
 can not, and I will teU you why ; whenever I myself 
 asked her for her address, she always evaded the in- 
 quiry. I thought — I may be wrong— but I thought 
 her motive for doing so was a natural though mis- 
 taken reluctance to introduce me to some, probably, 
 very poor abode. Her- means were narrow, her origia 
 obscure ; she lives sonAwhere, doubtless, in the 'basss 
 viUe.' " 
 
 " I'll not lose sight of my best pupil yet," said I, 
 "though she were born of beggars and lodged in a 
 cellar ; for the rest, it is absurd to make a bugbear 
 of her origin. to me. I happen to know that she was 
 a Swiss pastor's daughter, neither more nor less ; and 
 as to her narrow means, I care nothing for the poverty 
 of her purse so long as h^ heart overflows with afflu- 
 ence." 
 
 "Your sentiments are perfectly noble, Monsieur," 
 said the directress, affecting to suppress a yawn. 
 Her sprightliness was now extinct, her temporary 
 candor shut up ; the little, red-colored, piratical-look- 
 ing pennon of audacity she had allowed to float a 
 minute in the air was furled, and the broad, sober- 
 hued £ag of dissimulation again hung low over the 
 citadel. I did not like her thus, so I cut short the 
 iete-Ortete and departed. 
 
latj t: 
 
 HE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 
 
 r ^" '-' /-XT- 
 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 Novelists should never allow themselves to weary 
 of the study of real life. If they observed this duty 
 conscientiously, they would give us fewer pictures 
 checkered with vivid contrasts of Hght and shade ; 
 they would seldom elevate their heroes and heroines 
 to the heights of rapture, still seldomer sink them to 
 the depths of despair ; for, if we rarely taste the full- 
 ness of joy in this life, we yet more rarely savor the 
 acrid Htterness of hopeless an^iish ; unless, indeed, 
 We have plunged like heasts into sensual indulgence, 
 abused, strained, stimulated, again overstrained, and, 
 at last, destroyed our faculties for enjoyment ; then, 
 truly, we may find ourselves without support, robbed 
 of hope. Our agony is great, and how can it end ? 
 We have broken the spring of our powers ; life must 
 be all suffering — too feeble to conceive faith ; death 
 must be darkness ; God, spirits, religion can have no 
 place in our collapsed minds, where linger only hideous 
 and polluting recollections of vice ; and time brings us 
 on to the brink of the grave, and dissolution flings us 
 in, a rag eaten through and through with disease, wrung 
 together with pain, stamped into the church-yard sod 
 by the inexorable heel of despair. * 
 
 But the man of regular life and rational mind never 
 despairs. He loses his property — it is a blow — he 
 staggers a moment ; then his energies, roused by the 
 smart, are at work to seek a remedy; activity soon 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 197 
 
 mitigates regret. Sickness affeets him ; he takes pa- 
 tience — endures what he can not cure. Acute pain 
 racks him ; his writMng limbs know not where to 
 find rest ; he lean's on Hope's anchor. Death takes 
 from him what he loves ; roots up and tears violently 
 away the stem round which his affections were twined 
 —a dark, dismal time, a frightful wrench ; hut some 
 morning ReH^on looks into his desolate house with, 
 sunrise, and says that in another world, another life, 
 he shall meet his kindred again. She speaks ^of that 
 world as a place unsullied hy sin — of that life as an 
 era unimhittered hy suffering ; she mightily strength- 
 ens her consolation by connecting with it two ideas-^- 
 which mortals can not comprehend, but on which they 
 love to repos& — ^Eternity, Immortality ; and the mind 
 of the mourner being filled with an image, faint yet 
 glorious, of heavenly hills all light and peace — of a 
 spirit resting there in bliss — of a day when his spirit 
 shall also alight there, free and disembodied^ — of a re- 
 union perfected by love, purified firom fear, he- takes 
 courage — goes out to encounter the necessities and 
 discharge the duties of life; and, though sadness may 
 never lift her burden from his mind, Hope will enable 
 him to support it. 
 
 Well, and what suggested all this ? and what is 
 the inference to be drawn therefi:om ? What sug- 
 gested it is the circumstance of my best pupil — my 
 treasure-e-being snatched from my hands, and put 
 away out of my reach ; the inference to be drawn 
 from it is that, being a steady, reasonable man, I did , 
 not allow the resentment, disappointment, and grief 
 engendered in my mind by this evil chance to grow 
 
198 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 there to any monstrous size, nor did I allow them to 
 monopolize the whole space of my heart ; I pent 
 them, on the contrary, in one strait and secret nook. 
 In the daytime, too, when I was ahout my duties, I 
 put them on the silent system ; and it was only after 
 I had closed the door of my chamber at night that I 
 somewhat relaxed my severity toward these morose 
 nurslings, and allowed vent to their language of mur- 
 murs ; then, in revenge, they sat on my pillow, haimt- 
 ed my bed, and kept me awake with their long, mid- 
 night cry. 
 
 A week passed. I had said nothing more to Mdlle. 
 Renter. I had been calm in my demeanor to her, 
 though stony cold and hard. When I looked at her 
 it was with the glance fitting to be bestowed on one 
 who I knew had consulted jealousy as an adviser, and 
 employed treachery as an instrument — ^the glance of 
 quiet disdain and rooted distrust. On Saturday even- 
 ing, ere I left the house, I stepped into the salle-a- 
 vnangeVy where she was sitting alone, and, placing my- 
 self before her, I. asked, with the same tranquU tone 
 and manner that I should have used had I put the 
 question for the first time, 
 
 " Mademoiselle, wiU you have the goodness to give 
 me the address of Frances Evans Henri ?" 
 
 A little surprised, but not disconcerted, she smiling- 
 ly disclaimed any knowledge of that address, adding, 
 "Monsieur has perhaps forgotten that I explained all 
 about that circumstance before — a week ago ?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle," I continued, " you would greatly 
 oblige me by directing me to that young person's 
 abode." 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. , 199 
 
 She seemed somewhat puzzled; and at last, look- 
 ing Tip with an admirably counterfeited air of naivete, 
 she demanded, " Does Monsieur think I am telling an 
 untruth ?" 
 
 Still avoiding to give her a direct answer, I said, 
 "Is it not, then, your intention. Mademoiselle, to 
 oblige me in this particular ?" 
 
 "But, Monsieur, how can I tell you what I do not 
 know?" 
 
 " Very well ; I understand you perfectly, Mademoi- 
 selle ; and now I have* only two or three words to say. 
 This is the last week in July ; in another month the 
 vacation will commence ; have the goodness to avail 
 yourself of the leisure it will afford you to look out for 
 another English master — at the close of August, I 
 shall be under the necessity of resigning, my post in 
 your establishment." 
 
 I did not wait for her comments on this announce- 
 ment, but bowed and immediately withdrew. 
 
 That same evening, soon after dinner, a servant 
 brought me a small packet ; it was directed in a hand 
 I knew, but had not hoped so soon to see again. Be- 
 ing in my own apartment and alone, there was nothing 
 to prevent my immediately opening it ; it contained 
 four fire-franc pieces, and a note in English. 
 
 "MONSIEUE, — I came to Mdlle. Eeuter's house yes- 
 terday, a| the time when I knew you would be just 
 about finishing your lesson, and I asked if I might go 
 into the school-room and speak to you. Mdlle. Renter 
 came out and said you were already gone ; it had not 
 yet struck four, so I thought she must be mistaken, 
 
200 , THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 but concluded it would be vain to call another day on 
 the same errand. In one sense, a note will do as well ; 
 it will wrap up the 20 francs, the price of the lessons 
 I have received, from you ; and if it will not fully ex- 
 press the thanks I owe you in addition — if it will not 
 bid you good-by as I could wish to have done — if it 
 will not tell you, as I long to do, how sorry I am that 
 I shall probably never see you more — ^why, spoken 
 words would hardly be more adequate to the task. 
 Had I seen you, I should probably have stammered 
 out something feeble and unsatisfactory — something 
 belying my feelings rather than explaining them ; so 
 it is perhaps as well that I was denied admission to 
 your presence. You often remarked. Monsieur, that 
 my devoirs dwelt a great deal on fortitude in bearing 
 grief; you said I introduced that theme too often; I 
 find, indeed, that it is much easier to write about a 
 severe duty than to perform it, for I am oppressed 
 when I see and feel to what a reverse fate has con- 
 demned me. You were kind to me. Monsieur — very 
 kind ; I am afflicted — I am heart-broken to be quite 
 separated from you ; soon I shall have nQ friend on 
 earth. But it is useless troubling you with my dis- 
 tresses. What claim have I on your sympjtfhy? 
 None ; I will then say no more. 
 
 "Farewell, Monsieur. F. E. Henei." 
 
 I put up the note in my pocket-book ; I slipped the 
 five-franc pieces into my purse; then I took a tm-n 
 through my narrow chamber. 
 
 " Mdlle. Eeuter talked about her poverty," said I, 
 "and she is poor; yet she pays her debts, and more. 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 201 
 
 I have not yet given her a quarter's lessons, and she 
 has sent me a quarter's due. I wonder of what she 
 deprived herself to scrape together the twenty francs ; 
 I wonder what sort of a place she has to live in, and 
 what sort of a woman her aunt is, and whether she is 
 likely to get employment to supply the place she has 
 lost. No doubt she will have to trudge ahout long 
 enough from school to school, to inquire here and ap- 
 ply there — be rejected in this place, disappointed in 
 that. Many an evening she'U go to her bed tired and 
 unsuccessful. And the directress would not let her 
 in to bid me good-by ? I might not have the chance 
 of standing with her for a few minutes at a window 
 in the schoolrroom, and exchanging some half dozen 
 sentences — getting to know where she lived — putting 
 matters in train for having all things arranged to my 
 mind? No address on the note," I continued, draw- 
 ing it again from the pocket-book and examining it on 
 each side of the two leaves : "women are women, that 
 is certain, and always do business like women ; men 
 mechanically put a date and address to their commu- 
 nications. And these five-franc pieces" — (I hauled 
 them forth from my purse) — " if she had offered me 
 them herself instead of tying them up with a thread 
 of green silk in a kind of Liliputian packet, I could 
 have thrust them back into her little hand, and shut 
 up the small, taper fingers over them — so — and com- 
 pelled her shame, her pride, her shyness all to yield 
 to a little bit of determined will.. Now where is she^ 
 How can I get at her ?" 
 
 Opening my chamber door, I walked down into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 12 
 
202 THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 "Who brought the packet?" I asked of the servant 
 ■who had delivered it to me. 
 
 " Un petit commissioimaire, Monsieur." 
 
 "Did he say any thing?" 
 
 "Eien." ' 
 
 And I wended my way up the back stairs, won- 
 drously the wiser for my inquiries. 
 
 " No matter," said I to myself, as I again closed the 
 door, " no matter ; I'll seek her through Brussels." 
 
 And I did. I sought her day by day, whenever I 
 had a moment's leisure, for four weeks ; I sought her 
 on Sundays all day long ; I sought her on the Boule- 
 vards, in the AUee Verte, in the Park ; I sought her in 
 Ste. Gudule and St. Jacques ; I sought her in the two 
 Protestant chapels ; I attended these latter at the Ger- 
 man, French, and English services, not doubting that 
 I should meet her at one of them. All my researches 
 were absolutely fruitless ; my security on the last point 
 was proved by the event to be equally groundless with 
 my other calculations. I stood at the door of each 
 chapel after the service, and waited till every individual 
 had come out, scrutinizing every gown draping a slen- 
 der form, peering under every bonnet covering a young- 
 head. In vain ; I saw girlish figures pass me, draw- 
 ing their black scarfs over their sloping shoulders, but 
 none of them had the exact turn and air of MdUe. Hen- 
 ri's ; I saw pale 'and thoughtful faces " encadrees" in 
 bands of brown hair, but I never found her forehead, 
 her eyes, her eyebrows. All the features of all the 
 faces I met seemed frittered away, because my eye fail- 
 ed to recognize the peculiarities it was bent upon ; 
 an ample space of brow, and a large, dark, and seri- 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 203 
 
 ous eye, with a fine but decided line of eyebrow traced 
 above. 
 
 " She has probably left Brussels— perhaps is gone 
 to England, as she said she would," muttered I, in- 
 wardly, as, on the afternoon of the fourth Sunday, I 
 turned from the door of the chapel royal which the 
 doorkeeper had just closed and locked, and followed in 
 the wake of the last of the congregation, now dispersed 
 and dispersing over the square. I had soon outwalk- 
 ed the couples of English gentlemen and ladies. (Gra- 
 cious goodness ! why dSn't they dress betteiS? My eye 
 is yet fiUed with visions of the high-flounced, slovenly, 
 and tumbled dresses in costly sUk and satin ; of the 
 large, unbecoming collars in expensive lace; of the ill- 
 cut coats and strangely-fashioned pantaloons which 
 every Sunday, at the English service, filled the choirs 
 of the chapel royal^ and after it, issuing forth into the 
 square, came into disadvantageous contrast with fresh- 
 ly and trimly attired foreign figures, hastening to at- 
 tend salut at the church of Coburg.) I had passed these 
 pairs of Britons, and the groups of pretty British chil- 
 dren, and the British footmen and waiting-maids ; I 
 had crossed the Place Eoyale, and got into the Rue 
 Boyale ; thence I had diverged into the Rue de Lou- 
 vain — an old and quiet street. I remember that, feel- 
 ing a little hungry, and not desiring to go back and 
 take my share of the "gouter" now on the refectory- 
 table at Pelet's — to wit, pistolets and water — I step- 
 ped into a baker's and refreshed myself on a couc i^\ 
 (it is a Flemish word ; I don't know how to spell it) 
 a Corinthe — Anglice, a currant bun — and a cup of 
 cofifee ; and then I strolled on toward the Porte de 
 
204 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 Louvain. Very soon I was out of the city, and, slow- 
 ly mounting the hill which ascends from the gate, I 
 took my time, for the afternoon, though cloudy, was 
 very sultry, and not a breeze stirred to refresh the at- 
 mosphere. No inhabitant of Brussels need wander far 
 to search fo r solitu de ; let him but move half a league 
 from his own city^ and he will find her brooding still 
 and blank over the wide fields, so drear though so fer- 
 tile, spread out treeless and trackless round the capital 
 of Brabant. Having gained the summit of the hill, 
 and having stood and looked long over the cultured 
 but lifeless campaign, I felt a wish to quit the high 
 road, which I had hitherto followed, and get in among 
 those tilled grounds — ^fertile as the beds of a Brobdig- 
 nagian kitchen-garden — spreading far and wide even to 
 the boundaries of the horizon, where, from a dusk green, 
 distance changed them to a sullen blue, and confused 
 their tints with those of the livid and thunderous-look- 
 ing sky. Accordingly, I turned up a by-path to the 
 right. I had not followed it far ere it brought me, as 
 I expected, into the fields, amid which, just before me, 
 stretched a long and lofty white wall, inclosing, as it 
 seemed from the foliage showing above, some thickly- 
 planted nursery of yew and cypress, for of that species 
 were the branches resting on the pale parapets, and 
 crowding gloomily about a massive , cross, planted 
 doubtless on a central eminence, and extending its 
 arms, which seemed of black marble, over the summits 
 of those sinister trees. I approached, wondering to 
 what house this well-protected garden appertained ; I 
 turned the angle of the wall, thinking to see some state- 
 ly residence ; I was close upon great iron gates ; there 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 205 
 
 was a hut serving for a lodge near, but I had no occa- 
 sion to apply for the key : the gates were open ; I push- 
 ed one leaf back ; rain had rusted its hinges, for it 
 groaned dolefully as they revolved. Thick planting 
 embowered the entrance. Passing up the avenue, I 
 saw objects on each hand which, in their own mute 
 language of inscription and sign, explained clearly to 
 what abode I had made my way. This was the house 
 appointed for all living ; crosses, monuments, and gar- 
 lands of everlastings annount!ed, "The Protestant Cem- 
 etery, outside the gate of Louvain." 
 
 The place was large enough to afford half an hour's 
 strolling without the monotony of treading continually 
 the same path, and, for those who love to peruse the 
 annals of grave-yards, here was variety of inscription 
 enough to occupy the attention for double or treble 
 that space of time. Hither people of many kindreds, 
 tongues, and nations had brought their dead for inter- <] 
 ment ; and here, on pages of stone, of marble, and of \ 
 brass, were written names, dates, last tributes of pomp ~" 
 or love, in English, in French, in German, and Latin, -f, 
 Here the Englishman had erected a marble monument -^ 
 over the- remains of his Mary Smith or Jane Brown, 
 and inscribed it only with her name. There the 
 French widower had shaded the grave of his Elmire 
 or Oelestine with a brilliant thicket of roses, amid 
 which a little tablet, rising, bore an equally bright tes- 
 timony to her countless virtues. Every nation, tribe, 
 and kindred mourned after its own fashion, and how 
 soundless was the mourning of all ! My own tread, 
 though slow and upon smooth-rolled paths, seemed to 
 startle, because it formed the sole break to a silence 
 
206 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 otherwise total. Not only the winds, but the very fit- 
 ful wandering airs were that afternoon, as by common 
 consent, all fallen asleep in their various quarters : 
 the north was hushed, the south silent, the east sobbed 
 not, nor did the west whisper. The clouds in heaven 
 were condensed and dull, but apparently quite motion- 
 less. Under the trees of this cemetery nestled a warm, 
 breathless gloom, out of which the cypresses stood up 
 straight and mute, above which the willows hung low 
 and still ; where the flowers, as languid as fair, waited 
 listless for night dew or thunder-shower; where the 
 tombs, and those they hid, lay impassible to sun or 
 shadow, to rain or drought. 
 
 Importuned by the sound of my own footsteps, I 
 turned off upon the turf, and^slowly advanced to a 
 grove of yews. Isaw something stir among the stems. 
 I thought it might be a broken branch swinging. My 
 short-sighted vision had caught no form, only a sense 
 of motion ; but the dusky shade passed on, appearing 
 and disappearing at the openings in the avenue. I soon 
 discerned it was a living" thing, and a human thing ; 
 and, drawing nearer, I perceived it was a woman, pac- 
 ing slowly to and fro, and evidently deeming herself 
 alone, as I had deemed myself alone, and meditating 
 as I had been meditating. Ere long she retiirned to a 
 seat which I fancy she had but just quitted, or I should 
 have caught sight of her before. It was in a nook 
 screened by a clUmp of trees ; there was the white wall 
 before her, and a little stone set up against the wall, 
 and at the foot of the stone was an allotment of turf 
 freshly turned up — a new-made grave. I put on my 
 apectacles, and passed softly close behind her. Glanc- 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 207 
 
 ing at the inscription on the stone, I read, " Julienne 
 Henri, died at Brussels, aged sixty. August 10th, 
 18 — ." Having perused the inscription, I looked down 
 at the form sitting bent and thoughtful just under my 
 eyes, unconscious of any Hying thing ; it was a slim, 
 youthful figure, in mourning apparel of the plainest 
 black stuiF, with a little simple black crape bonnet. I 
 felt as well as saw who it was, and, moving neither 
 hand nor foot, stood some moments enjoying the se- 
 curity of conviction. I had sought her for a month, 
 and had never discovered one of her traces — never met 
 a hope, or seized a chance of encountering her any 
 where. I had been forced to loosen my grasp on ex- 
 pectation, and, but an hour ago, had sunk slackly un- 
 der the discouraging thought that the current of life 
 and the impulse of destiny had swept her forever from 
 my reach ; and behold, while bending sullenly earth- 
 ward beneath the pressure of despondency — while fol- 
 lowing with my eyes the track of sorrow on the turf 
 of a grave-yard, here was my lost jewel dropped on — 
 the tear-fed herbage, nestling in the mossy and mouldy.^^ 
 roots of. yew-trees. ^ 
 
 Frances sat very quiet, her elbow on her knee, and -^ 
 her head on her hand. I knew she could retain a think- 
 ing attitude a long time without change. At last a tear "^ 
 fell. She had been looking at the name on the stone 
 before her, and her heart had no doubt endured one of 
 those cons|rictions with which the desolate living, re- 
 gretting the dead, are at times so sorely oppressed, r 
 Many tears rolled down, which she wiped away, again 
 and again, with her handkerchief; some distressed sobs / 
 escaped her, and then, the paroxysm over, she sat quiet 
 
208 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 as before. I put my hand gently on her shoulder. 
 No need further to prepare her, for she was neither 
 hysterical nor liable to fainting-fits ; a sudden push, 
 indeed, might have startled her, but the contact of my 
 quiet touch merely woke attention as I wished ; and, 
 though she turned quickly, yet so lightning-swift is 
 thought — ^in some minds especially — I believe the won- 
 der of what — the consciousness of who it was that thus 
 stole unawares on her solitude, had passed through her 
 brain and flashed into her heart even before she had 
 effected that hasty movement ; at least. Amazement 
 had hardly opened hgr, eyes and raised them to mine, 
 ere Recognition informed their irids with most speak- 
 ing ^BrigEtness. Nervous surprise had hardly discom- 
 posed her features ere a sentiment of most vivid joy 
 shone clear and warm on her whole countenance. I 
 had hardly time to observe that she was wasted and 
 pale ere called to feel a responsive inward pleasure by 
 the sense of most full and exquisite pleasure glowing 
 in the animated flush, and shining in the expansive 
 light now diffused over my pupil's face. It was the 
 summer sun flashing out after the heavy summer show- 
 er ; and what fertilizes more rapidly than that beam, 
 burning almost like fire in its ardor ? 
 
 I hate boldness — that boldness which is of the 
 brassy brow and insensate nerves ; but I love the 
 courage of the strong heart, the fervor of the generous 
 blood ; I loved with passion the light of Frances 
 Evans' clear hazel eye when it did not fear to look 
 straight into mine ; I loved the tones with which she 
 uttered the words " Mon maitre ! mon maitre !" 
 
 I loved the movement with which she confided her 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 209 
 
 hand to my hand ; I loved her as she stood there, 
 penniless and parentless ; for a sensualist charmless, 
 for me a treasure ; my best object of sympathy on 
 earth, thinking such thoughts as I thought, feeling 
 such feelings as "I felt ; my ideal of the shrine in 
 ■which to seal my stores of love ; personification of 
 discretion and forethought, of diligence and persever- 
 ance, of self-denial and self-control — those guardians, 
 those trusty keepers of the gift I longed to confer on 
 her — the gift of all my affections ; model of truth and 
 honor, of independence and conscientiousness — those 
 refiners and sustaitiers of an honest life ; silent pos- 
 sessor of a well of tenderness, of a flame as genial as 
 still, as pure as quenchless, of natural feeling, natural 
 passion — those sources of refreshment and comfort to 
 the sanctuary of home. I knew how quietly and how 
 deeply the well bubbled in her heart ; I knew how 
 the more dangerous flame burned safely under the eye 
 of Reason ; I had seen when the, fire shot up a mo- 
 ment high and vivid, when the accelerated heat troub- 
 led life's current in its channels ; I had seen Reason 
 reduce the rebel, and humble its blaze to embers. I 
 had confidence in Frances Evans ; I had respect for 
 her ; and, as I drew her arm through mine, and led 
 her out of the cemetery, I felt I had another sentiment, 
 as strong as confidence, as firm as respect, more fervid 
 than either — that of love. 
 
 "Well, my pupil," said I, as the ominous-sound- 
 ing gate swung to behind us, "well, I have found you 
 again ; a month's search has seemed long, and I little 
 thought to have discovered my lost sheep straying 
 among graves." 
 
210 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 Never had I addressed her but as " Mademoiselle" 
 Ibefore, and to speak thus was to take up a tone new 
 to both her and me. Her answer apprised me that 
 this language ruffled none of her feelings, woke no 
 discord in her heart. 
 
 "Mon maitre," she said, "have you troubled your- 
 self to seek me ? I little imagined you would think 
 much of my absence, but I grieved bitterly to be tak- 
 en away from you. I was sorry for that circum- 
 stance when heavier troubles ought to have made me 
 forget it." 
 
 " Your aunt is dead ?" 
 
 " Yes, a fortnight since ; and she died full of re- 
 gret, which I could not chase from her mind. She 
 kept repeating, even during the last night of her exist- 
 ence, ' Frances, you will be so lonely when I am gone, 
 so friendless.' She wished, too, that she could have 
 been buried in Switzerland, and it was I who per- 
 suaded her in her old age to leave the banks of Lake 
 Leman, and to come, only as it seems to die, in this 
 flat region of Flanders. Willingly would I have ob- 
 served her last wish, and taken her remains back to 
 our own country, but that was impossible. I was 
 forced to lay her here." 
 
 " She was ill but a short time,- 1 presume ?" 
 
 " But three weeks. When she began to sink, I 
 asked Mdlle. Renter's leave to stay with her and wait 
 on her. I readily got leave." 
 
 "Do you return to the pensionnat?" I demanded, 
 hastily. 
 
 " Monsieur, when I had been at home a week, Mdlle. 
 Reuter called one evening, just after I had got my aunt 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 211 
 
 to bed. She went into her room to speak to her, and 
 was extremely civil and affable, as she always is ; aft- 
 erward she came and sat with me a long time, and, 
 just as she rose to go away, she said, ' Mademoiselle, 
 I shall not soon cease to regret yoiir departure from 
 my establishment, though indeed it is true tha;t you 
 have taught your class of pupils so well that they are 
 all quite accomplished in the little works you manage 
 so skillfully, and have not the slightest need of further 
 instruction. My second teacher must in future sup- 
 ply your place, with regard to the younger pupils, as 
 well as she can, though she is indeed an inferior ar- 
 tiste to you, and doubtless it will be your part now to 
 assume a higher position in your calling. I am sure 
 you will every where find schools and families willing 
 to profit by your talents.' And then she paid me my 
 last quarter's salary. I asked, as Mademoiselle would 
 no doubt think, very bluntly, if she designed to dis- 
 charge me from the establishment. She smiled at my 
 inelegance of speech, and answered that ' our connec- 
 tion as employer and employed was certainly dis- 
 solved, but that she hoped still to retain the pleasure 
 of my acquaintance ; she should always be happy to 
 see me as a friend ;' and then she said something 
 ■about the excellent condition of the streets, and the 
 long continuance of fine weather^ and went away quite 
 cheerful." 
 
 I laughod inwardly ; all this was so like the direct- 
 ress — so like what I had expected and guessed of her 
 conduct ; and then the exposure and proof of her lie, 
 unconsciously afforded by Frances : " She had fre- 
 quently applied for Mdlle. Henri's address," forsooth; 
 
212 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 ," Mdlle. Henri had always evaded giving it," &c.,&c., 
 and here I found her a visitor at the very house of 
 whose locality she had professed absolute ignorance ! 
 
 Any comments I might have intended to make on 
 my pupil's communication were checked by the plash- 
 ing of large rain-drops on our faces and on the path, 
 and by the muttering of a distant but coming storm. 
 The warning obvious in stagnant air and leaden sky 
 had already induced me to take the road leading back 
 to Brussels, and now I hastened my own steps and 
 those of my companion, and, as our way lay down HU, 
 we got. on rapidly. There was an interval after the 
 faU of the first broad drops before heavy rain came on ; 
 in the mean time we had passed through the Porte de 
 Louvain, and were again iu the city. 
 
 "Where do you live?" I asked; "I will see you 
 safe home." 
 - " Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges," answered Frances. 
 
 It was not far from the Rue de Louvain, and we 
 stood on the door-steps of the house we sought ere the 
 clouds, severing with loud peal and shattered cataract 
 of lightning, emptied their livid folds in a torrent, 
 heavy, prone, and broad. 
 
 " Come in! come in!" said Frances, as, after put- 
 ting her into the house, I paused ere I followed ; the 
 word decided me ; I stepped across the threshold, shut 
 the door on the rushing, flashing, whitening storm, and 
 followed her up stairs to her apartments. ^J^^either she 
 nor I were wet ; a projection over the door had ward- 
 ed oifthe straight-descending flood ; none but the first 
 large drops had touched our garments; one minute 
 more, and we should not have had a dry thread on us. 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 213 
 
 Stepping over a little mat of green wool, I found^ 
 myself in a small room, with a painted floor and a 
 square of green carpet in the middle ; the articles of 
 furniture were few, hut all hright and exquisitely clean ; 
 order^dgned thrqu^itj^aTrowJ[imit|:7— such order as 
 it soothed my punctilious soul to behold. And I had 
 hesitated to enter the abode, because I apprehended, 
 after all, that Mdlle. Eeuter's hint about its extreme 
 poverty might be too well founded, and I feared to em- 
 barrass the lace-mender by entering her lodgings un- 
 awares. Poor the place might be ; poor truly it was ; ' 
 but its neatness was better than elegance, and, had but 
 a bright little fire shone on that clean hearth, I should 
 have deemed it more attractive than a palace. No 
 fire was there, however, and no fuel, laid ready to light ; 
 the lace-mender was unable to allow herself that indul- 
 gence, especially now, when, deprived by death of her 
 sole relative, she had only her own unaided exertions 
 to rely on. ■ Frances went into an inner room to take 
 off her bonnet, and she came out a model of &ugal 
 neatness, with her well-fitting black stuff dress, so ac- 
 curately defining her elegant bust and taper, waist, 
 with her ,spotless white collar turned back fi;om a fair 
 and shapely neck, with her plenteous brown hair ar- 
 ranged in smooth bands on her temples, and in a large 
 Grecian plat behind. Ornaments she had none — nei- 
 ther brooch, ring, nor ribbon; she did well enough 
 without them : perfection of fit, proportion of form, 
 grace of carriage, agreeably supplied their place. Her 
 eye, as she re-entered the small sitting-room, instantly 
 sought mine, which was just then lingering on the 
 hearth. I knew she read at once the sort of inward 
 
214 THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 ^■uth and pitying pain whicli the chill vacancy of that 
 hearth stirred in my soul. Quick to penetrate, quick 
 to determine, and quicker to put in practice, she had 
 in a moment tied a Holland apron round her waist ; 
 then she disappeared, and reappeared with a Ibasket; 
 it had a cover ; she opened it, and produced wood and 
 coal ; deftly and compactly she arranged them in the 
 grate. 
 
 " It is her whole stock, and she will exhaust it out 
 of hospitality," thought I. 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" I asked : " not sure- 
 ly to light a fire this hot evening ? I shall be smoth- 
 ered." • 
 
 "Indeed, Monsieur, I feel it very chilly since the 
 rain began ; besides, I must boil the water for my tea, 
 for I take tea on Sundays. You will be obliged to try 
 and bear the heat." 
 
 She had struck a light ; the wood was already in a 
 blaze ; and, truly, when contrasted with the darkness, 
 the wild tumult of the tempest without, that peaceful 
 glow which began to beam on the now animated hearth 
 seemed very cheering. A low, purring sound from 
 some quarter announced that another being besides 
 myself was pleased with the change ; a black cat, 
 roused by the light from its sleep on a little cushioned 
 foot-stool, came and rubbed its head against Frances' 
 gown as she knelt. She caressed it, saying it had 
 been a favorite with her " pauvre tante Julienne." 
 
 The fire being lit, the hearth swept, and a small ket- 
 tle of a very antique pattern, such as I thought I re- 
 membered to have seen in old farm-houses in England, 
 placed over the now ruddy flame, Frances' hands were 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. * 215 
 
 washed, and her apron removed in an instant ; the© 
 she opened a cuptoard, and took out a tea-tray, on 
 which she had soon arranged a china tea-equipage, 
 whose pattern, shape, and size denoted a remote an- 
 tiquity ; a little old-fashioned silver spoon was depos- 
 ited in each saucer, and a pair of silver-tongs, equally 
 old-fashioned, were laid on the sugar-lbasin ; from the 
 cuphoard, too, was produced a tidy silver cream-ewer, 
 not larger than an egg-shell. While making these 
 preparations, she chanced to look up, and, reading cu- 
 riosity in my eyes, she smiled and asked, 
 
 " Is this like England, Monsieur T\ 
 
 "Like the England of a hundred years ago," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Is it, truly? Well, every thing on this tray is 
 at least a hundred years old : these cups, these spoons, 
 this ewer, are all heir-looms; my great-grandmother 
 left them to my grandmother, she to my mother, and 
 my mother brought them with her from England to 
 Switzerland, and left them to me; and, ever since I 
 was a little girl, I have thought I should like to carry 
 them hack to England, whence they came." 
 
 She put some pistolets on the table ; she made the 
 tea as foreigners do make tea — i.e., at the rate of a 
 teaspoonful to half a dozen cups ; she placed me a 
 chair, and, as I took it, she asked, with a sort of ex- 
 ultation, 
 
 "Will it make you think yourself at home for a 
 moment ?" 
 
 " If I had a home in England, I believe it would 
 recall it," I answered ; and, in truth, there was a sort 
 of illusion in seeing the fair-complexioned, English- 
 
216 • THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 looking girl presiding at the English meal, and speak- 
 ing in the English language. 
 
 "You have, then, no home?" was her remark. 
 
 "None, nor ever had. If ever I possess a home, 
 it must be of my own making, and the task is yet to 
 begin." And, as I spoke, a pang, new to me, shot 
 across my heart : it was a pang of mortification at the 
 humility of ray position and the inadequacy of my 
 means ; while with that pang was bom a desire to do 
 more, earn more, be more, possess more ; and in the 
 increased possessions, my roused and eag§r spirit 
 panted to include the home I had never had, the wife I 
 ' inwardly vowed to win. 
 
 Frances' tea was little better than hot water, sugar, 
 and milk ; but I liked it, and it cheered me ; and her 
 pistolets, with which she could not offer me butter, 
 were sweet to my palate as manna. 
 
 The repast over, and the treasured plate and porce- 
 lain being washed and put by, the bright table rubbed 
 still brighter, " le chat de ma tante JuKenne" also be- 
 ing fed with provisions brought forth on a plate for its 
 special use, a few stray cinders,* and a scattering of 
 ashes too, being swept from the hearth, Frances at last 
 sat down ; and then, as she took a chair opposite to 
 me, she betrayed, for the- first time, a little embarrass- 
 ment ; and no wonder, for indeed I had unconsciously 
 watched her rather too closely, followed all her steps 
 and all her movements a little too perseveringly with" 
 my eyes, for she mesmerized me by the grace and alert- 
 ness of her action — by the deft, cleanly, and even dec- 
 orative effect resulting from each touch of her slight 
 and fine fingers ; . and when, at last, she subsided to 
 
THE PEQFESSOE. 217 
 
 stillness,' the intelligence of her face seemed beauty to 
 me, and I dwelt on it accordingly. Her color, how- 
 evei-, rising rather than settling with repose, and her 
 eyes remaining downcast, though .1 kept waiting for 
 the lids to he raised that I might drink a ray of the 
 light I loved — a light where fire dissolved in softness, 
 where affection tempered penetration, where, just now 
 at least, pleasure played with thought — this expecta- 
 tion not being gratified, I began at last to suspect that 
 I had probably myself to blame for the disappoint- 
 ment. I must cease gazing, and begin talking, if I 
 wished to break the spell under which she now sat 
 motionless ; so, recollecting the composing effect which 
 an authoritative tone and manner had ever been wont 
 to produce on her, I said, 
 
 " Get one of your English books. Mademoiselle, for 
 the rain yet falls heavily, and wiU probably detain me 
 half an hour longer." 
 
 Eeleased and set at ease, up she rose, got her book, 
 and accepted at once the chair I placed for her at my 
 side. She had selected "Pa radise L ost" from her <^ 
 shelf of classics, thinking, I suppose, the religious '^ 
 character of the book best adapted it to Sunday. I 
 told her to begin at the beginning; and while she 
 read Milton's invocation to that heavenly muse, who 
 on the " secret top of Oreb or Sinai" had taught the 
 Hebrew shepherd how in the womb of chaos the con- 
 ception of a world had originated and ripened, I en- 
 joyed, undisturbed, the treble pleasure of having her 
 near ine, hearing the sound of her voice — a sound 
 sweet and satisfying in my ear — and looking, by in- 
 tervals, at her face. Of this last privilege I chiefly 
 K 
 
218 THE PEOPESSOK. 
 
 availed myself when I found fault with an intonation, 
 a pause, or an emphasis ; as long as I dogmatized, I 
 might also gaze, without exciting too warm a flush. 
 
 " Enough," said I, when she had gone through some 
 half dozen pages (a work of time with her, for she read 
 slowly, and paused often to ask and receive informa- 
 tion) — " enough ; and now the rain is ceasing, and I 
 must soon go ;" for, indeed, at that moment, looking 
 toward the window, I saw it all Hue ; 'the thunder- 
 clouds were broken and scattered, and the setting Au- 
 gust sun sent a gleam like the reflection of rubies 
 through the lattice. I got up ; I drew on my gloves. 
 
 "You have not yet found another situation to sup- 
 ply the place of that from which you were dismissed 
 byMdUe.Keuter?" 
 
 " No, Monsieur; I have made inquiries every where, 
 but they all ask me for references ; and, to speak truth, 
 I do not like to apply to the directress, because I con- 
 sider she acted neither justly nor honorably toward 
 me. She used underhand means to set my pupils 
 against me, and thereby render me unhappy while I 
 held my place in her establishment, and she eventually 
 deprived me of it by a masked and hypocritical manoeu- 
 vre, pretending that she was acting for my good, but 
 really snatching from me my chief means of subsist- 
 ence at a crisis when not only my own life, but that 
 of another, depended on mj exertions : of her I will 
 never more ask a favor." 
 
 " How, then, do you propose to get on ? How do 
 you live now ?" 
 
 " I have still my lace-mending trade ; with care, it 
 will keep me from starvation, and I doubt not, by dint 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 219 
 
 of exertion, to get better employment yet ; it is only 
 a fortnight since I tegan to try ; my courage or hopes 
 are by no means worn out yet." 
 
 " And if you get what you wish, what then ? What 
 are your ultimate views ?" 
 
 " To save enough to cross the Channel ; I always 
 look to England as my Canaan." 
 
 "Well, well, ere long I shall pay you another visit ; 
 good-evening now," and I left her rather abruptly. I 
 had much ado* to resist a strong inward impulse urging 
 me to take a warmer, a more expressive leave. What 
 so natural as to fold her for a moment in a close em- 
 brace, to imprint one kiss on her cheek or forehead ? 
 I was not unreasonable: that was all I wanted; sat- 
 isfied in that point, I could go away content, and Kea- 
 son denied me even this. She ordered me to turn my 
 eyes from her face, and my steps from her apartment 
 — to quit her as dryly and coldly as I would have 
 quitted old Madame Felet. I obeyed, but I swore 
 rancorously to be avenged one day. " I'll earn a right 
 to do as I please in this matter, or I'll die in the con- 
 test. I have one object before me ijow — to get that 
 Genevese girl for my wife ; and my wife she shall be 
 — that is, provided she has as much, or half as much 
 regard for her master as he has for her. And would 
 she be so docile, so smiling, so happy under mj in- 
 structions if she had not ? Would she sit at my side 
 when I dic^te or correct with such a still, contented, 
 halcyon mien ?" For I had ever remarked that, how- 
 ever sad or harassed her countenance might be when I 
 entered a- room, yet,- after I had been near her, spoken 
 to her a few words, given her some directions, uttered 
 
220 THE PKOFESSOR. 
 
 perhaps some reproofs, she would, all at once, nestle 
 into a nook of happiness, and look up serene and re- 
 vived. The reproofs suited her best of all. While I 
 scolded she would chip away with her penknife at a 
 pencil or a pen ; fidgeting a little, pouting a Httle, de- 
 fending herself hy monosyllahles, and when I deprived 
 her of the pen or pencil, fearing it would he all cut 
 away, and when I interdicted even the monosyllahic 
 defense for the purpose of working up the subdued ex- 
 citement a little higher, she would at last raise her eyes 
 and give me a certain glance, sweetened with gayety, 
 and pointed with defiance, which, to speak truth, thrill- 
 ed me as nothing had ever done, and made me,, in a 
 fashion (though happily she did not know it), her sub- 
 ject, if not her slave. After such little scenes, her 
 spirits would maintain their flow often for some hours, 
 and, as I remarked before, her health therefrom took a 
 sustenance and vigor which, previously to the event 
 of her aunt's death and her dismissal, had almost re- 
 created her whole frame. 
 
 It has taken me several minutes to write these last 
 sentences, but I had thought aU their purport during 
 the brief interval of descending the stairs from Frances' 
 room. Just as I was opening the outer door, I re- 
 membered the twenty francs which I had not restored. 
 I paused: impossible to cayry them away with me; 
 difficult to force them back on their original owner ; I 
 had now seen her in her own humble abode, witnessed 
 the dignity of her poverty, the pride of order, the fas- 
 tidious care of conservatism obvious in the arrange- 
 ment and economy of her little home ; I was sure she 
 would not suffer herself to be excused paying her debts ; 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 221 
 
 I was certain tlie favor of indemnity would be accept- 
 ed from no hand, perhaps least of all from mine ; yet 
 these four five-franc pieces were a burden to my self- 
 respect, and I must get rid of them. An expedient — 
 a clumsy one, no doubt, but the best I could devise — 
 suggested itself to me. I darted up the stairs, knock- 
 ed, re-entered the room as if in haste : 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I have forgotten one of my gloves. 
 I must have left it here." 
 
 She instantly rose to seek it. As she turned her 
 back, I, being now at the hearth, noiselessly lifted a 
 little vase, one of a set of china ornaments as old-fash- 
 ioned as the tea-cups, slipped the money under it, then 
 saymg " Oh, here is my glove ; I had dropped it with- 
 in the fender ; good-evening. Mademoiselle," I made 
 my second exit. 
 
 Brief as my impromptu return had been, it had af- 
 forded me time to pick up a heart-ache. I remarked 
 that Frances had already removed the red embers of 
 her cheerful little fire from the grate. Forced to cal- 
 culate every item, to save in every detail, she had, in- 
 stantly on my departure, retrenched a luxury too ex- 
 pensive to be enjoyed alone. 
 
 " I am glad it is not yet winter," thought I ; " but 
 in two months more come the winds and rains of No- 
 vember ; would to God that before then I could earn 
 the right and the power to shovel coals into that grate 
 ad libitum !" 
 
 Already the pavement was drying. A balmy and 
 fresh breeze stirred the air, purified by lightning. I 
 left the west behind me, where spread a sky like opal ; 
 rfzure immingled with crimson : the enlarged sun, glo- 
 
222 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 ' rious in Tyrian tiftts, dipped his brim already. Step- 
 i ping, as I was, eastward, I faced a vast bank of 
 clouds, but also I had before me the arch of an even- 
 ing rainbow — a perfect rainbow — high, wide, vivid. I 
 ) looked long ; my eye drank in the scene, and I sup- 
 v pose my brain must have absorbed it ; for that night, 
 after lying awake in pleasant fever a long time, watch- 
 ing the silent sheet-lightning, which still played among 
 the retreating clouds, and flashed silvery over the stars, 
 I at last fell asleep, and then, in a dream, were repro- 
 duced the setting sun, the bank of clouds, the mighty 
 rainbow. I stood, methought, on a terrace ; I leaned 
 over a parapeted wall; there was space below me, 
 depth' I could not fathom, but hearing an endless dash 
 of waves, I believed it to be the sea ; sea spread to the 
 horizon ; sea of changeftd green and intense blue : all 
 was soft in the distance — all vapor-veiled. A spark 
 of gold glistened on the line between water and air, 
 floated up, approached, enlarged, changed ; the object' 
 hung midway between heaven and earth, under the 
 arch of the rainbow, the soft but dusk clouds diflfused 
 behind. It hovered as on wings ; pearly, fleecy, gleam- 
 ing air streamed like raiment loimd it ; light, tinted 
 with carnation, colored what seemed face and limbs ; 
 a large star shone with still lustre on an angel's fore- 
 head ; an upraised arm and hand, glancing like a ray, 
 pointed to the bow overhead, and a voice in my heart 
 whispered, 
 
 " Hope smiles on effort !" 
 
THE PKOFESSOE. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A COMPETENCY was what I wanted; a competency 
 it was now my aim and resolve to secure ; tut never 
 had I heen farther from the mark. With August the 
 school-year (I'annle scolaire) closed, the examinations 
 concluded, the prizes were adjudged, the schools dis- 
 persed, the gates of all colleges, the doors of all pfcn- 
 sionnats shut, not to he reopened till the beginning or 
 middle of October. The last day of August Was at 
 hand, and what was my position ? Had I advanced 
 a step since the commencement of the past quarter ? 
 On the contrary, I had receded one. By renouncing 
 my engagement as English master in Mdlle. Reuter's 
 establishment, I had voluntarily cut off £20 from vaj 
 yearly income ; I had diminished my £60 per annum 
 to £40, and even that sum I now held "bj a very pre- 
 carious tenure. 
 
 It is some time since I made any reference to M. Pe- 
 let. The moonlight walk is, I think, the last incident 
 recorded in this narrative where that gentleman cuts 
 any conspicuous figure. The fact is, since that event, 
 a change had come over the spirit of our intercourse. 
 He, indeed, ignorant that the still hour, a cloudless 
 moon, and an open lattice .had revealed to me the se- 
 cret of his selfish^ove and false friendship, would have 
 continued smooth and complaisant as ever; but I grew 
 spiny as a porcupine, and inflexible as a black-thorn 
 
224 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 cudgel ; I never had a smile for his raillery, never a 
 moment for his society ; his invitations to take coffee 
 with him in his parlor were invariably rejected, and 
 very stiffly and sternly rejected too ; his jesting allu- 
 sions to the directress (which he still continued) were 
 heard with a grim calm very different from the petu- 
 lant pleasure they were formerly wont to excite. For 
 a long time Pelet bore with my frigid demeanor very 
 patiently ; he even increased his attentions ; but, find- 
 ing that even a cringing politeness failed to thaw or 
 move me, he at last altered too; in his turn he cooled; 
 his invitations ceased; his countenance became sus- 
 picious and overcast, and I read in the perplexed yet 
 brooding aspect of his brow a constant examination 
 and comparison of premises, and an anxious endeavor 
 to draw thence some explanatory inference. Ere long, 
 I fancy, he succeeded, for he was not without penetra- 
 tion ; perhaps, too, MdUe. Zoraide might have aided 
 him in the solution of the enigma ; at any rate, I soon 
 found that the uncertainty of doubt had vanished from 
 his manner. Eeriouncing all pretense of friendship 
 and cordiality, he adopted a reserved, formal, but still 
 scrupulously polite deportment. This was the point 
 to xhich I had wished to bring him, and I was now 
 again comparatively at my ease. I did not, it is true, 
 like my position in his house, but, being freed from the 
 annoyance of false professions and double-dealing I 
 could endure it, especially as no heroic sentiments of 
 hatred or jealousy of the director distracted my philo- 
 sophical soul. He had not, I found, wounded me in a 
 very tender point, the wound was so soon and so rad- 
 ically heale^, leaving only a sense of contempt for the 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 225 
 
 treacherous fashion in which it had been inflicted, and 
 a lasting mistrust of the hand which I had detected 
 attempting to stab in the dark. 
 
 This state of things continued tUl about the middle 
 of July, and then there was a little change. Pelet 
 came home one night, an hour after his usual time, in 
 a state of unequivocal intoxication, a thing anomalous 
 with him ; for, if he had some of the worst faults of 
 his countrymen, he had also one at least of their vir- 
 tues, i. e., sobriety. So drunk, however, was he upon 
 this occasion that, after having roused the whole estab- 
 lishment (except the pupils, whose dormitory, being 
 over the classes in a building apart from the dwelling- 
 house, was consequently out of the reach of disturb- 
 ance) by violently ringing the hall beU and ordering 
 lunch to be brought in immediately, for he imagined 
 it was noon, whereas the city bells had just tolled mid- 
 night — after having furiously rated the servants for 
 their want of punctuality, and gone near to chastise 
 his poor old mother,, who advised him to go to bed, he 
 began raving dreadfully about "le maudit Anglais, 
 Creemsvort." I had not yet retired. Some German 
 books I had got hold of had kept me up latei I heard 
 the uproar below, and could distinguish the director's 
 voice exalted in a manner as appalling as it was un- 
 usual. Opening iny door a little, I became aware of 
 a demand on his part for " Creemsvort" to be brought 
 down to him, that he might cut his throat on the hall 
 table, and wash his honor, which he affirmed to- be in 
 a dirty condition, in infernal British blood. " He is 
 either mad or drunk," thought I, "and in either case 
 the old woman and the servants will be. the better of 
 K2 
 
226 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 a man's assistance;" so I descended straight to the 
 hall. I found him staggering about, his eyes in a fine 
 phrensy rolling ; a pretty sight he was, a just medium 
 between the fool and the lunatic. 
 
 "■Come, M. Pelet," said I, "you had better go to 
 bed," and I took hold of his arm. His excitement, 
 of course, increased greatly at sight and touch of the 
 individual for whose blood he had been making appli- 
 cation. He struggled and struck with iury; but a 
 drunken man is no match for a sober one ; and, even 
 in his normal state, Pelet's worn-out frame could not 
 have stood against my sound one. I got him up stairs, 
 and, in process of time, to bed. During the operation 
 he did not fail to utter comminations which, though 
 broken, had a sense in them. While stigmatizing me 
 as the treacherous spawn of a perfidious country, he 
 in the same breath anathematized Zoraide Renter ; he 
 termed her "femme sotte et vicieuse," who, in a fit of 
 lewd caprice, had thrown herself away on an unprin- 
 cipled ■ adventurer, directing the point of the last ap- 
 pellation by a furious blow obliquely aimed at me. I 
 left him in the act of bounding elastically out of the 
 bed into which I had tucked him; but, as I took the 
 precaution of turning the key in the door behind me, 
 I retired to my own room, assured of his safe custody 
 till the morning, and free to draw undisturbed con- 
 clusions from the scene I had just witnessed. 
 
 Now it was precisely about this time that the di- 
 rectress, stung by my coldness, bewitched by my scorn, 
 and excited by the preference she suspected me of 
 cherishing for another, had fallen into a snare of her 
 own laying — was herself caught in the meshes of the 
 
THE PEOFBSSOE. 227 
 
 very passion with which she wished to entangle me. 
 Conscious of the state of things in that quarter, I gath- 
 ered, from the condition in which I saw my employer, 
 that his ladye-love had betrayed the alienation of her , 
 affections — inclinations, rather, I would say ; affection 
 is a word at once too warm and too pure for the sub- 
 ject — had let him see that the cavity of her hollow 
 heart, emptied of his image, was now occupied by that 
 of his usher. It was not without some surprise that 
 I found myself obliged to entertain this view of the 
 case. Pelet, with his old-established school, was so 
 convenient, so profitable a match — Zoraide was so cal- 
 culating, so interested a woman — I wondered mere 
 personal preference could, in her mind, have prevailed 
 for a moment over worldly advantage ; yet it was evi- 
 dent, from what Pelet said, that not only had she re- 
 pulsed him, but had even let slip expressions of par- 
 tiality for me. One of his drunken exclamations was, 
 "Arid the jade dotes on your youth, you raw block- 
 head ! and talks of your noble deportmisnt, as she calls 
 your accursed English fprmality — and your pure mor- 
 als, forsooth ! des moeurs de Caton a-t-elle dit — sotte!" 
 Hers, I thought, must be a curious soul, where, in spite 
 of a strong natural tendency to estimate unduly ad- 
 vantages of wealth an^ fetation, the sardonic disdain 
 of a fortuneless subordinate had wrought a deeper im- 
 pression than could be imprinted by the most flatter- 
 ing assiduities of a prosperous chef cP institution. I 
 smiled inwardly; and, strange to say, though my 
 amour prqpre was excited not disagreeably by the con- 
 quest, my better feelings remained untouched. Next 
 day, when I saw the directress, aind when she made 
 
228 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 an excuse to meet me in the corridor, and besought 
 my notice by a demeanor and look subdiied to Helot 
 humility, I could not lovg, I could scarcely pity her. 
 To answer briefly and dryly some interesting inquiry 
 about my health — ^to pass her by with a stem bow — 
 was all I could. Her presence and manner had then, 
 and for some time previously and consequently, a sin- 
 gijlar effect upon me : they sealed up all that was 
 good, elicited all that was noxious in my nature ; some- 
 times they enervated my senses, but they always hard- 
 ened my heart. I was aware of the detriment done, 
 and quarreled with myself for the change. I had ever 
 hated a tyrant ; and, behold, the possession of a slave,( 
 self-given, went near to transform me into what I ab- 
 horred. There was at once a sort of low gratification 
 in receiving this luscious incense from an attractive 
 and still young worshiper, and an irritating sense of 
 degradation in the very experience of the pleasure. 
 When she stole about me with the soft step of a slave, 
 I felt at once barbarous and sensual as a pacha. I 
 endured her homage sometimes ; sometimes I rebuked 
 it. My indifference or harshness served equally to in- 
 crease the evU I desired to check. 
 
 "Que le dedain lui sied bien!" I once overheard 
 her say to her mother : " il est beau comme Apollon 
 quand il sourit de son air hautain." 
 
 And the jolly old dame laughed, and said she thought 
 her daughter was bewitched, for I had no point of a 
 handsome man about me, except being straight and 
 without deformity. "Pour moi," she continued, "il 
 me fait tout I'effet d'un chat-huant, avec ses besides." 
 
 Worthy old girl ! I could have gone and kissed her 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 229 
 
 had she not been a little too old, too fat, and too red- 
 faced, her sensible, truthful words seemed so whole>- 
 some, contrasted with the morbid illusions of her daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 When Pelet awoke on the morning after his phren- 
 sy fit, he retained no recollection of what had happen* 
 ed the previous night, and his mother fortunately had 
 the discretion to refrain from informing him that I had 
 been a witness of his degradation. He did not again 
 have recourse to wine for curing his griefs, but even in 
 his sober mood he soon showed that the iron of jeal- 
 ousy had entered into his soul. A thorough French- 
 man, the national characteristic of ferocity had not 
 been omitted by nature in compounding the ingre- 
 dients of his character. It had appeared first in his 
 access of drunken wrath, when some of his demonstra- 
 tions of hatred to my person were of a truly fiendish 
 character, and now it was more covertly betrayed by 
 momentary contractions of the features, and flashes of 
 fierceness in his light blue eyes, when their glance 
 chanced to encounter mine. He absolutely avoided 
 speaking to me. I was now spared even the false- 
 hood of his politeness. In this state of our mutual 
 relations, my soul rebelled, sometimes almost ungov- 
 ernably, against living in the house and discharging 
 the service of such a man ; but who is free from the 
 constraint of circumstances ? At that time I was not. 
 I used to rise each morning eager to shake oflFhis yoke, 
 and go out with my portmanteau under my arm, if a 
 beggar, at least a freemanj and in the evening, when 
 I came back from the pensionnat de demoiselles, a cer- 
 tain pleasant voice in mj ear ; a certain face, so intelli- 
 
230 ^TIip PEOPESSOR. 
 
 gent, yet so docile, so reflective, yet so soft, in my eyes ; 
 a certain cast of character, at once proud and pliant, 
 sensitive and sagacious, serious and ardent, in my head; 
 a certain tone of feeling, fervid and modest, refined and 
 practical, pure and powerfiil, delighting and trouhling 
 my, memory — visions of new ties I longed to contract, 
 of new duties I longed to undertake, had taken the rover 
 and the rebel out of me, and had shown endurance of 
 my hated lot in the light of a Spartan virtue. 
 
 But Pelet's fury subsided ; a fortnight 'sufficed for 
 its rise, progress, and extinction ; in that space of time 
 the dismissal of the obnoxious teacher had been effect- 
 ed in the neighboring house, and in the same interval 
 I had declared my resolution to follow and find out 
 my pupil, and upon my application for her address be- 
 ing refused, I had summarily resigned my own post. 
 This, last act seemed at once to restore Mdlle. Keuter 
 to her senses. Her sagacity, her judgment, so long 
 misled by a fascinating delusion, struck again into the 
 right' track the moment that delusion vanished. By 
 the right track I do not mean the steep and difficult 
 path of principle'; in that path she never trod ; but the 
 plain highway of common sense, from which she had 
 of late widely diverged. When there, she carefully 
 sought, and having found, industriously pursued the 
 trail of her old suitor, M. Peiet. She soon overtook 
 him. What arts she employed to soothe and blind 
 him I know not, but she succeeded both in allaying 
 his wrath and hoodwinking his discernment, as was 
 soon proved by the alteration in his mien and manner. 
 She must have managed to convince him that I nei- 
 ther was, nor ever had been, a rival of his, for the fort- 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 231 
 
 night of fury against me terminated in a fit of exceed- 
 ing graciousness and amenity, not unmixed with a dash 
 of exulting self-complacency, more ludicrous than irri- 
 tating. Pelet's hachelor's life had heen passed in prop- 
 er French style, with due disregard to moral restraint, 
 and I thought his married life promised to he very 
 French also. He often toasted to me what a terror 
 he had been to certain husbands of his acquaintance. 
 I perceived it would not now be difficult to pay him 
 back in his own coin. 
 
 The crisis drew on. No sooner had the holidays 
 commenced than note of preparation for some moment- 
 ous event soiinded all through the premises of Pelet : 
 painters, polishers, and upholsterers were immediately 
 set to work, and there was talk of "la chambre de 
 Madame," "le salon de Madame." Not deeming it 
 probable that the old duenna at present graced with 
 that title in our house had inspired her son with such 
 enthusiasm of .filial piety as to induce him to fit up 
 apartments expressly for her use, I concluded, in com- 
 mon with the cook, the two housemaids, and the kitch- 
 en scullion, that a new and more juvenile Madame was 
 destined to be: the' tenant of these gay chambers. 
 
 Presently official announcement of the coming event 
 was put forth. In another week's time, M. Fran9ois 
 Pelet, directeur, andMdlle. Zoraide Eeuter, directrice, 
 were to be joined together in the bands of matrimony. 
 Monsieur, in person, heralded the fact to me, terminat- 
 ing his communication by an obliging expression of 
 his desire that I should continue, as heretofore, his 
 ablest assistant and most trusted friend, and a prop- 
 osition to raise my salary by an additional two hund- 
 
232 THE PEOFESSOB. 
 
 red franes per annum. I thanked him, gave no con- 
 clusive answer at the time, and, when he had left me, 
 threw off my blouse, put on my coat, and set out on a 
 long walk outside the porte de Flandre, in order, as I 
 thdught, to cool my hlood, calm my nerves, and shake 
 my disarranged ideas into some order. In fact, I had 
 just received what was virtually my dismissal. I 
 could not conceal, I did not desire to conceal firom my- 
 self the conviction that, being now certain that Mdlle. 
 Renter was destined to become Madame Pelet, it would 
 not do for me to remain a dependent dweller in the 
 house which was soon to be hers. Her present de- 
 meanor toward me was deficient neither in dignity nor 
 propriety, but ' I knew her former feeUng was un- 
 changed. Decorum now repressed, and Policy mask- 
 ed it, but Opportunity would be too strong for either 
 of these ; Temptation would shiver their restraints. , 
 I was no pope — I could not boast infallibility ; in 
 
 ' short, if I staid, the probabiHty was that, in three 
 months' time, a practical modem French novel would 
 be in full process of concoction iinder the roof of the 
 unsuspecting Pelet. Now modern French novels are 
 not to my taste, either practically or theoretically. 
 
 * Limited as had yet been my experience of life, I had 
 once had the opportunity of contemplating, near at 
 hand, an example of the results produced by a course 
 of interesting and romantic domestic treachery. No 
 golden halo of fiction was about this example; I saw 
 it bare and real, and it was very loathsome. I saw a 
 mind degraded by the practice of mean subterfuge, by 
 the habit of perfidious deception, and a body depraved 
 by the infectious influence of the vice-polluted soul. I 
 
THE PEOPESSOIJ. 233 
 
 had suffered much from the forced and prolonged view 
 of this spectacle ; those sufferings I did not now re- 
 gret, for their simple recollection acted as a most 
 wholesome antidote to temptation. They had in- 
 scribed on my reason the conviction that unlawful 
 pleasure, trenching on. another's rights, is delusive and 
 envenomed pleasure; its hoUowness disappoints at the 
 time, its poison cruelly tortures afterward, its effects 
 deprave forever. 
 
 From all this resulted the conclusion that I must 
 leave Pelet's, and that instantly; "but," said Pru- 
 dence, " you know not where to go nor how to live ;" 
 and then the dream of true love came over me : Fran- 
 ces Henri seemed to stand at my side ; her slender 
 waist to invite my arm ; her hand to court my hand ; 
 I felt it was made to nestle in mine ; I could not re- 
 linquish my right to it, nor could I withdraw my eyes 
 forever from hers, where I saw so much happiness, 
 such a correspondence of heart with heart ; over whose 
 expression I had such influence ; where I could kin- 
 dle bliss, infuse awe, stir deep delight, rouse sparkling 
 spirit, and sometimes waken pleasurable dread. My 
 hopes to win and possess, my resolutions to work and 
 •rise, rose in array against me ; and here I was about 
 to plunge into the gulf of absolute destitution ; " and 
 all this," suggested an inward voice, "because you fear 
 an evil which may never happen !" "It will happen ; 
 you Ttnow '\% will," answered that stubborn monitor. 
 Conscience. "Do what you feel is right ; obey me, 
 and even in the sloughs of want I will plant for you 
 firm footing." And then, as I walked fast along the 
 road, there rose upon me a strange, inly-felt idea of 
 
234 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 some Great Being, unseen, but all present, who, in his 
 beneficence, desired only my welfare, and now watch- 
 ed the struggle of good and evil in my heart, and wait- 
 ed to see whether I should obey his voice, heard in 
 the whispers of my conscience, or lend an ear to the 
 sophisms by which his enemy and mine, the Spirit of 
 Evil, sought to lead me astray. Rough and steep 
 was the path indicated by divine suggestion ; mossy 
 and declining the green way along which Temptation 
 strewed flowers ; but whereas, methought, the Deity 
 of love, the Friend of all that exists, would smile 
 well-pleased were I to gird up my loins and address 
 myself to the rude ascent, so, on the other hand, each 
 inclination to the velvet declivity seemed to kindle a 
 gleam of triumph on the brow of the man-hating, God- 
 defying demon. Sharp and short I turned round; 
 fast I retraced my steps ; in half an hour I was again 
 at M. Pelet's : I sought him in his study ; brief par- 
 ley, concise explanation sufficed ; my manner proved 
 that I was resolved; he, perhaps, at heart approved 
 ray decision. After twenty minutes' conversation I 
 re-entered my own room, self-deprived of the means 
 of living, self- sentenced to leave mj present home, 
 with the short notice of a week in which to provide 
 another. 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Directly as I closed the door, I saw laid on the 
 tahle two letters. My thought was that they were 
 notes of invitation from the friends of some of my pu- 
 pils. I had received such marks of attention occa- 
 sionally, and with me, who had no friends, correspond- 
 ence of more interest was out of the question ; the 
 postman's arrival had never yet been an event of in- 
 terest to' me since I came to Brussels. I laid my hand 
 carelessly on the documents, and, coldly and slowly 
 glancing at them, prepared to break the seals. My 
 eye was arrested, and my hand too ; I saw what ex- 
 cited me, as if I had found a vivid picture where I ex- 
 pected only to discover a blank page. On one cover 
 was an English post-mark ; on the other, a lady's clear, 
 fine autograph : the last I opened first : 
 
 . " Monsieur, — I found out what you had done the 
 very morning after your visit to me. You might be 
 sure I should dust the china every day ; and, as no 
 one but you had been in my room for a week, and as 
 fairy-money is not current in Brussels, I could not 
 doubt who^left the twenty francs on the chimney- 
 piece. I thought I heard you stir the vase when I was 
 stooping to look for your glove under the uible, and I 
 wondered you should imagine it had got into such a 
 little cup. Now, Monsieur, the money is not mine, 
 
236 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 and I shall not keep it ; I will not send it in this note, 
 because it might he lost ; hesides, it is heavy ; hut I 
 will restore it to you the first time I see you, and you 
 must make no diflSculties ahout taking it, because, in 
 the first place, I am sure, Monsieur, you can understand 
 that one likes to pay one's debts ; that it is satisfac- 
 tory to owe no man any thing; and, in the second 
 place, I can now very well afford to be honest, as I am 
 provided with a situation. This last circumstance is, 
 indeed, the reason of my writing to you, for it is pleas- 
 ant to communicate good news ; and, in these days, I 
 have only my master to whom I can tell any thing. 
 
 " A week ago, Monsieur, I was sent for by a Mrs. 
 Wharton, an English lady. Her eldest daughter was 
 going to be married, and some rich relation having 
 made her a present of a veil and dress in costly old 
 lace, as precious, they said, almost as jewels, but a lit- 
 tle damaged by time, I was commissioned to put them 
 in repair. I had to do it at the house ; they gave me, 
 besides, some embroidery to complete, and nearly a 
 week elapsed before I had finished every thing. While 
 I worked, Miss Wharton often came into the room and 
 sat with me, and so did Mrs. Wharton ; they made 
 me talk English ; asked how I had learned to speak 
 it so well ; then they inquired what I knew besides — 
 what books I had read ; soon they seemed to make a 
 sort of wonder of me, considering me, no doubt, as a 
 learned grisette. One afternoon Mrs. Wharton brought 
 in a Parisian lady to test the accuracy of my knowl- 
 edge of French ; the result of it was that, owing prob- 
 ably, in a great degree, to the mother's and daughter's 
 good-humor about the marriage, which inclined them 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 237 
 
 to do beneficent deeds, and partly, I think, because 
 they are natrirally benevolient people, they decided that 
 the wish I had expressed to do something more than 
 mend lace was a very legitimate one, and the same day 
 they took me in their carriage to Mrs. i).'s, who is the^ 
 directress of the first English school at Brussels. It 
 seems she happened to be in want of a French lady to 
 give lessons in geography, history, grammar, and com- 
 position in the French language. Mrs. Wharton rec- 
 ommended me very warmly ; and, as two of her youn- 
 ger daughters are pupUs in the house^ her patronage 
 availed to get me the place. It was settled that I am 
 to attend six hours daily (for, happily, it was not re- 
 quired that I should live in the house ; I should have 
 been sorry to leave my lodgings), and for this Mrs. D. 
 will give me twelve hundred francs per annum. 
 
 "You see, therefore. Monsieur, that I am now rich 
 — ^richer almost than I ever hoped to be. I feel thank- 
 ful for it j especially as my sight was beginning to be 
 injured by constant working at fine lace ; and I was 
 getting, too, very weary of fitting' up late at nights, 
 and yet not being able tp find time for reading or 
 study.' I began to fear that I should fall ill, and be 
 unable to pay my way ; this fear is now, in a great 
 measure, removed ; and, in truth. Monsieur, I am very 
 grateful to God for -the relief; and I feel it necessary, 
 almost, to spieak of my happiness to some one who is 
 kind-hearted enough to, derive joy from seeing others 
 JGj^ul. I could not, therefore, resist the temptation 
 of writing to you. I argued with myself it is- very 
 pleasant for me to write,, and it will not be exactly 
 painful, though it may be tiresome to Monsietir to read. 
 
238 THE PKOFESSOE. 
 
 Do not Ibe too angry with, my circumlocution and inel- 
 eganciea of expression, and believe me your attached 
 pupil, F. E. Henri." 
 
 Having read this letter, I mused on its contents for 
 a few momenta — whether with sentiments pleasurahle 
 or otherwise I will hereafter note — and then took up 
 the other. It was directed in a hand to me unknown 
 — small, ^nd rather neat; neither masculine nor ex- 
 actly feminine ; the seal tore a coat of arms, concern- 
 ing which I could only decipher that it was not that 
 of the Seacome family, consequently the epistle could 
 he from none of my almost forgotten and certainly 
 quite forgetting patrician relations. From whom, then> 
 was it ? I removed the envelope ; the note folded with- 
 in ran as follows : 
 
 " I have no douht in the world that you are doing 
 well in that greasy Flanders ; living probahly on the 
 fat of the unctuous land ; sitting like a black-haired, 
 tawny-skinned, long-nosed Israelite by the flesh-pots 
 of Egypt, or like a rascally son of Levi near the brass 
 caldrons of the sanctuary, and every now and then 
 plunging in a consecrated hook, and drawing out of the 
 sea of broth the fattest of heave -shoulders and the 
 fleshiest of wave-breasts. I know this, because you 
 never write to any one in England, thankless dog that 
 you are ! I, by the sovereign efficacy of my recom- 
 mendation, got you the place where you are now living 
 in clover, and yet not a word of gratitude, or even ac- 
 knowledgment, have you ever oflfered in return ; but I 
 am coming to see you, and small conception can you. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 239 
 
 with your addled aristocratic brains, form of the sort 
 of moral kicking I have ready packed in my carpet- 
 bag, destined to be presented to you immediately on 
 my arrival. 
 
 " Meantime, I know all about your affairs, and have 
 just got information, by Brown's last letter, that you 
 are said to be on the point of forming an advantageous 
 match with a pursy little Belgian schoolmistress — a 
 Mdlle. Zenobie, or some such name. Won't I have a 
 look at her when I come over ? And this you may rely 
 on : if she pleases my taste, or if I think it worth while 
 in a pecuniary point of view, I'll pounce on your prize 
 and bear her away triumphant in spite of your teeth. 
 Yet I don't like dumpies either, and Brown says she 
 is little and stout — the better fitted for a wiry, starved- 
 looking chap like you. 
 
 " Be on the look-out, for you know neither the day 
 
 nor hour when your (I don't wish to blaspheme, 
 
 so I'll leave a blank) cometh. 
 
 " Yours truly, Hunsden Yoeke Hunsden." 
 
 " Humph !" said I ; and, ere I laid the letter down, 
 I again glanced at the small^ neat handwriting, not a 
 bit like that of a mercantile man, nor, inde,ed, of any 
 man except Hunsden himself. They talk of affinities 
 between the autograph and the character : what affinity 
 was there here ? I recalled the writer's peculiar face, 
 and certain^traits I suspected, rather than knew, to ap- 
 pertain to his nature, and I answered, "A great deal." 
 
 Hunsden, then, was coming to Brussels, and coming 
 I knew not when ; coming charged with the expecta- 
 tion of finding me on the summit of prosperity, about 
 
240 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 to be marriedj to step into a ■warm nest, to lie comfort- 
 ably down by the side of a snug, well-fed little mate. 
 
 " I wish him joy of the, fidelity of the picture he has 
 painted, " thought I. ' ' What will he say when, instead 
 of a pair of plump turtle-doves, billing and cooing in a 
 bower of roses, he finds a single lean cormorant, stand- 
 ing raateless and shelterless on poverty's bleak cliff? 
 Oh, confound him ! Let him come, and let him laugh 
 at the contrast between rumor and fact. Were he the 
 devil himself, instead of being merely very like him, I'd 
 not condescend to get out of his way, or to forge a smile 
 or a cheerful word wherewith to avert his sarcasm." 
 
 Then I recurred to the other letter : that struck a 
 chord whose sound I could not deaden by thrusting 
 my fingers into my ears, for it vibrated within ; and 
 though its swell might be exquisite music, its cadence 
 was a groan. 
 
 That Frances was relieved from the pressure of 
 want, that the curse of excessive labor was taken off 
 her, filled me with happiness ; that her first thought in 
 prosperity should be to augment her joy by sharing it 
 with me, met and satisfied the wish of my heart. Two 
 results of her letter were then pleasant, sweet as two 
 draughts of nectar ; but applying my lips for the third 
 time to the cup, and they Were excoriated as with vine- 
 gar and gall. 
 
 Two persons whose desires are moderate may live 
 well enough in Brussels on an income which would 
 scarcely afford a respectable maintenance for one in 
 London ; and that, not because the necessaries of life 
 are so much dearer in the latter capital, or taxes so 
 much higher than in the former, but because the En- 
 
THE PROFESSOE. 241 
 
 * 
 
 glish surpass in folly all the nations on God's earth, 
 and are more abject slaves to custom, to opinion, to 
 the desire to keep up a certain appearance, than the 
 Italians are to prigstcraft, the French to vainglory, the 
 Russians to their Czar, or the Germans to black beer. 
 I have seen a degree of sense in the modest arrange- 
 ment of one homely Belgian household that might put 
 to shame the elegance, the superfluities, the luxuries, 
 the strained refinements of a hundred genteel English 
 mansions. In Belgium, provided you can make mon- 
 ey, you may save it ; this is scarcely possible in En- 
 gland ; ostentation there lavishes in a month what in- 
 dustry has earned in a year. More shame to aU class- 
 es in that most bountiful and beggarly country for their 
 servile following of Fashion. I could write a chapter 
 or two on this subject, but must forbear, at least for 
 the present. Had I retained my £60 per annum, I 
 could, now that Frances was in possession of £50, have 
 gone straight to her this very evening, and spoken out 
 the words which, repressed, kept fretting my heart with 
 fever; our united income would, as we should have 
 managed it, have sufficed well for our mutual support, 
 since we lived in a country where economy was not 
 confounded with meanness, where frugality in dress, 
 food, and furniture was not synonymous with vulgari- 
 ty in these various points. But the placeless usher, 
 bare of resource, and unsupported by connections, must 
 not thin^^ this ; such a sentiment as love, such a 
 word as marriage, were misplaced in his heart and on 
 his lips. Now, for the first time» did I truly feel what 
 it was to be poor ; now did the sacrifice I had made in 
 casting from me the means of living put on a new as- 
 
242 ' THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 pect ; instead of a correct, just, honorable act, it seem- 
 ed a deed at once light and fanatical. I took several 
 turns in my room, under the goading influence of most 
 poignant remorse ; I walked a quarter of an hour from 
 the wall to the window ; and at the window, Self-re- 
 proach seemed to face me ; at the wall. Self-disdain : 
 all at once out spoke Conscience : 
 
 " Down, stupid tormentors !" cried she ; " the man 
 has done his duty. You shall not bait him thus by 
 thoughts of what might have been ; he relinquished a 
 temporary and contingent good to avoid a permanent 
 and certain evil ; he did well. Let him reflect now, 
 and when your blinding dust and deafening hum sub- 
 side, he will discover a path." 
 
 I sat down ; I propped my forehead on both my 
 hands ; I thought and thought an hour — ^two hours — 
 vainly. I seemed like one sealed in a subterranean 
 vault, who gazes at utter blackness — at blackness in- 
 sured by yard-thick stone walls around, and by piles 
 of building above, expecting light to penetrate through 
 granite, and through cement firm as granite. But 
 there are chinks, or there may be chinks, in the best 
 adjusted masonry ; there was a chink in my cavernous 
 cell ; for eventually I saw, or seemed to see, a ray — . 
 pallid, indeed, and cold, and doubtful, but still a ray, 
 for it showed that narrow path which Conscience had 
 promised. After two, three hours' torturing research 
 in brain and memory, I disinterred certain remains of 
 circumstances, and conceived a hope that by putting 
 them together an expedient might be framed and a re- 
 source discovered. The circumstances were briefly 
 these : 
 
THE PROPESSOE. 243 
 
 Some three months ago M. Eelet had, on the occa- 
 sion of his fete, given the boys a treat, which treat con- 
 sisted in a party of pleasure to a certain place of pub- 
 lic resort in the outskirts of Brussels, of which I do 
 not at this moment remember the name, but near it 
 were several of those lakelets called etangs ; and there 
 was one etang larger than the rest, where on holidays 
 people were accustomed to amuse themselves by row- 
 ing round it in little boats. The boys, having eaten 
 an unlimited quantity of " gaufres," and drunk several 
 bottles of Louvain beer, amid the shades of a garden 
 made and provided for such crams, petitioned the di- 
 rector for leave to take a row on the etang. Half a 
 dozen of the eldest succeeded in obtaining leave, and 
 I was commissioned to accompany theta as surveillant. 
 Among the half dozen happened to be a certain Jean 
 Baptiste Vandenhuten, a most ponderous young Fla- 
 mand, not tall, but even now, at the. early age of- six- 
 teen possessing a breadth and depth of personal deveL 
 dpnient truly national. It chanced that Jea:n was the 
 first lad to step into the boat. He stumbled, rolled to 
 one side, the boat revolted at his weight, and capsized. 
 Vandenhtiten sank like lead, rose, sank again. My 
 coat and waistcoat were off in aii instant. I had not 
 been brought up at Eton, and boated, and bathed, and 
 swum there ten long years for nothing; it was a natural 
 and easy act for me to leap to the rescue. The lads and 
 the boati^an yelled ; they thought there would be two 
 deaths by drowning instead of one ; but as Jean rose 
 the third time, I clutched him by one leg and the col- 
 lar, and in three minutes more both he and I were safe 
 landed. To speak heaven's truth, my merit in the 
 
244 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 action was small indeed, for I had run no risk, and 
 subsequently did not even catch cold from the wet- 
 ting; but when M. and Madame Vandenhuten, of 
 whom Jean Baptiste was the sole hope, came to hear 
 of the exploit, they seemed to think I had evinced a 
 bravery and devotion which no thanks could suffi- 
 ciently repay. Madame, in particular, was "certain 
 I must have- dearly loved their sweet son, or I would 
 not thus have hazarded my own life to save his." 
 Monsieur, an honest-looking though phlegmatic man, 
 said very little, but he would not suffer me to leave 
 the room till I had promised that, in case I ever stood 
 in need of help, I would, by applying to him, give him 
 a chance of discharging the obligation under which he 
 affirmed I had laid him. These words, then, were my 
 glimmer of light ; it was here I found my sole outlet ; 
 and, in truth, though the cold light roused, it did not 
 cheer me, nor did the outlet seem such as I should 
 like to pass through." Eight I had none to M. Van- 
 denhuten's good offices ; it was not on the ground of 
 merit I could apply to him ; no, I must stand on that 
 of necessity : I had no work ; I wanted work ; my 
 best chance of obtaining it lay in securing his recom- 
 mendation. This I knew could be had by asking for 
 it ; not to ask, because the request revolted my pride 
 and contradicted my habits, would, I felt, be an in- 
 dulgence of false and indolent fastidiousness." I might 
 repent the omission all my life ; I would not, then, be 
 guilty of it. 
 
 That evening I went to M. Vandenhuten's ; but I 
 had bent the bow and adjusted the shaft in vain ; the 
 string broke. I rang tlio bell at the great door (it 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 245 
 
 was a large, handsome house in an expensive part of 
 the town) ; a man-servant opened ; I asked for M. Van- 
 denhuten; M. Vandenhilten and family were all out 
 . of town— gone to Ostend — did not know when they 
 would be hack. I left my card and retraced my steps. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A WEEK is gone ; le jour des noces arrived ; the 
 marriage was solemnized at St. Jacques ; MdUe. Zo- 
 ra'ide hecame Madame Pelet, hee Keuter ; and, in about 
 an hour after this transformation, "the happy pair," 
 as newspapers phrase it, were on their way to Paris, 
 where, according to previous arrangement, the honey- 
 moon was to be. spent. The next day I quitted the 
 pensionnat. Myself and my chattels (some books 
 and clothes) were soon transferred to a modest lodg- 
 ing I had hired in a street not far off. In half an 
 hour my clothes were arranged in a commode, vaj 
 books on a shelf, and the " flitting" was effected. I 
 should not have been unhappy that day had not one 
 pang tortured me — a longing to go to the Eue Notre 
 Dame aux Neiges, resisted, yet irritated by an inward 
 resolve to avoid that street till such tinje as the mist 
 of doubt should clear from my prospects. 
 
 It was a sweet September evening^ — ^very mild, very 
 still ; I had nothing to do ; at that hour I knew 
 Frances would be equally released from occupation ; 
 I thought she might possibly be wishing for her mas- 
 ter ; I knew I wished for my pupil. Imagination be- 
 
246 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 gan witli her low whispers, infusing into my soul the 
 soft tale of pleasures that might be. 
 
 " You wiU find her reading or writing," said she ; 
 "70U can take your seat at her side; you need not 
 startle her peace hy undue excitement ; you- need not 
 embarrass her manner by unusual action or language. 
 Be as you always are ; look over what she has writ- 
 ten ; listen while she reads ; chide her, or quietly ap- 
 prove ; you know the effect of either system ; you 
 know her smile when pleased, you know the play of 
 her looks when roused ; you have the secret of awak- 
 ening what expression you wiU, and you can choose 
 among that pleasant variety. With you she will sit 
 silent as long as it suits you to talk alone ; you can 
 hold her under a potent spell : intelligent as she is, 
 eloquent as she can be, you can seal her lips, and veil 
 her bright countenance with diffidence ; yet, you know, 
 she is not all monotonous mildness ; you have seen, 
 with a sort of strange pleasure, revolt, scorn, austerity, 
 bitterness, lay energetic claim to a place in her feel- 
 ings and physiognomy ; you know that few could rule 
 her as you do ; you know she might break, but never 
 bend under the hand of Tyranny and Injustice, but 
 Eeason and Affection can guide her by a sign. Try 
 their influence now. Go : they are not passions ; you 
 may handle them safely." 
 
 " I will not go," was my answer to the sweet tempt- 
 ress. " A man is master of himself to a certain point, 
 but not beyond it. Could I seek Frances to-night, 
 could I sit with her alone in a quiet room, and ad- 
 dress her only in the language of Reason and Affec- 
 tion?" 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 247 
 
 "No," was the brief, fervent reply of that Love 
 which had conquered and now controlled me. 
 
 Time seemed to stagnate ; the sun would not go 
 down ; my watch ticked, hut I thought the hands were 
 ■patalyzed. 
 
 " What a hot evening !" I cried, throwing open the 
 lattice ; for, indeed, I- had seldom felt so feverish. 
 Hearing a step ascending the common stair, I wonder- 
 ed whether the " locataire," now mounting to his apart- 
 ments, were as unsettled in mind and condition as I 
 was, or whether he lived in the calm of certain re- 
 sources, and in the freedom of unfettered feelings. 
 What ! was he coming in person to solve the problem 
 hardly proposed in inaudible thought ? He had act- 
 ually knocked at the door — at my door — a smart, 
 prompt rap ; and, almost before I could invite him in, 
 he was over the threshold, and had closed the door 
 behind him. 
 
 "And how are you?" asked an indifferent, quiet 
 voice, in the English language ; while ray visitor, 
 without any sort of bustle or introduction, put his hat 
 on the table, and his gloves into his hat, and, drawing 
 the only arm-chair the room afforded a little forward, 
 seated himself tranquilly therein. 
 
 " Can't you speak?" he inquired in a few moments, 
 in a tone whose nonchalance seemed to intimate that 
 it was much the same thing whether I answered or 
 not. The fact is, I found it desirable to have recourse 
 to my good friends "les besides ;" not exactly to as- 
 certain the identity of my visitor, for I already knew 
 him, confound his impudence! but to see how he 
 looked — to get a clear notion of his mien and coun- 
 
248 THE PEOFESSOE, 
 
 tenance. I wiped the glasses very deliberately, and 
 put them on quite as deliberately, adjusting them so 
 as not to hurt the bridge of my nose, or get entangled 
 in my short tufts of dun hair. I vras sitting in the 
 window-seat, with my back to the light, and I had him 
 vis-a-vis, a position he would much rather have had 
 reversed ; for, at any time, he preferred scrutinizing to 
 being scrutinized. Yes, it was Ae, and no mistake, 
 with his six feet of length arranged in a sitting atti- 
 tude ; with his dark traveling surtout with its velvet 
 collar, his gray pantaloons, his black stock, and his 
 face, the most original one Nature ever modeled, yet 
 the least obtrusively so ; not one feature that could be 
 termed marked or odd, yet the effect of the whole 
 unique. There is no use in attempting to describe 
 what is indescribable. Being in no hnrry to address 
 him, I sat and stared at my ease. 
 
 "Oh, that's your game, is it?" said he, at last. 
 "Well, we'll see which is soonest tired." And he 
 slowly drew out a fine cigar-case, picked one to his 
 taste, lit it, took a book from the shelf convenient to 
 his hand, then leaning back, proceeded to smoke and 
 read as tranquilly as if he had been in his own room 
 
 in Grove Street, X- shire, England. I knew he 
 
 was capable of continuing in that attitude till mid- 
 night if he conceived the whim, so I rose, and, takiag 
 the book from his hand, said, 
 
 " You did not ask for it, and you shall not have it." 
 " It is silly and dull," he observed, " so I have not 
 lost much ;" then the spell being broken, he went on : 
 " I thought you lived at Pelet's ; I went there this aft- 
 ernoon, expecting to be starved to death by sitting in 
 
^_^ THE PEOPESSOE. 249 
 
 a boarding-school drawing-room, and they told me you 
 were gone — had departed this morning ; you had left 
 your address behind you though, which I wondered at ; 
 it was a more practical and sensible precaution than I 
 should have imagined you capable of. Why di4 you 
 leave ?" 
 
 " Because M. Pelet has just married the lady whom 
 you and Mr. Brown assigned to me as my wife." 
 
 " Oh indeed !" replied Hunsden, with a short laugh; 
 " so you've lost both your wife and your place ?" 
 
 " Precisely so." 
 
 I saw him give a quick, covert glance aU round my 
 room ; he marked its narrow limits, its scanty furni- 
 ture ; in an instant he had comprehended the state of 
 matters — had absolved me from the crime of prosper- 
 ity. A curious effect this discovery wrought in his 
 strange mind. I am morally certain that, if he had 
 found me installed in a handsome parlor, lounging on 
 a soft couch, with a pretty, wealthy wife at my side, 
 he would have hated me ; a brief, cold, haughty visit 
 would in such a case have been the extreme limit of 
 his civilities, and never would ie. have. come near me 
 more, so long as the tide of fortune bore. me smoothly 
 on its surface ; but the painted furniture, the bare 
 walls, the cheerless solitude of my room relaxed his 
 rigid pride, and I know not what softening change had 
 talsen place both in his voice and look" ere he spoke 
 
 "You have got another place?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You are in the way of getting one?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 L2 
 
250 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " That is bad ; have you applied to Brown?" 
 
 "No indeed." 
 
 " You had tetter ; he often has it in his power to 
 give useful information in such matters." 
 
 " He served me once very well ; I have no claim on 
 him, and am not in the humor to bother him again." 
 
 " Oh, if you're bashful, and dread being intrusive, 
 you need only coinmission me. I shall see him to- 
 night ; I can put in a word." 
 
 " I beg you wiU not, Mr. Hunsden ; I am in your 
 debt already ; you did me an important service when 
 I was at X ; got me out of a den where I was dy- 
 ing : that service I have never repaid, and at present I 
 decline positively adding another item to the account." 
 
 " If the wind sits that way, I'm satisfied. I thought 
 my unexampled generosity in turning you out of that 
 accursed counting-house would be duly appreciated 
 some day ; ' Cast your bread on the waters, and it 
 shall be found after many days,' say the Scriptures. 
 Tes, thait's right, lad — make much of me — I'm a non- 
 pareil ; there's nothing like me in the common herd. 
 In the mean time, to put all humbug aside and talk 
 sense for a few moments, you would be greatly the 
 better of a situation, and, what is more, you are a fool 
 if you refuse to take one from any hand that oflFers it." 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Hunsden ; now you have settled 
 that, point, talk of something else. What news from 
 X—?" 
 
 "I have not settled that j)oint, or at least there is 
 
 another to settle before we get to X . Is this Miss 
 
 Zenobie" (Zora'ide, interposed I) — "well, Zoraide — is 
 she reallji married to Pelet ?" 
 
THE PEOEESSOE. 251 
 
 ' J tell you yes; and if you don't believe me, go 
 and ask the cur§ of St. Jacques." 
 
 " And your heart is troken ?" 
 
 " I am not aware that it is ; it feels all right — beats 
 as usual." 
 
 " Then your feelings are less superfine than I took 
 them to be ; you must be a coarse, callous character to 
 bear such a thwack without staggering under it." 
 
 " Staggering under it ? What the deuce is there to 
 stagger under in the circumstance of a Belgian school- 
 mistress marrying a French schoolmaster ? The prog- 
 eny will doubtless be a strange hybrid race ; but that's 
 their look out,, not mine." 
 
 " He indulges in scurrilous jests, and the bride was 
 his affianced one!" 
 
 "Who said so?" 
 
 " Brown." 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Hunsden, Brown is an old gos- 
 sip." 
 
 "He is ; but, in the mean time, if his gossip be found- 
 ed on less than fact — if you took lio particular interest 
 in Miss Zoraide, why, oh youthful pedagogue ! did you 
 leave your place in consequence of her becoming Ma- 
 dame Pelet?" 
 
 " Because — " I felt my face grow a little hot ; "be- 
 cause — in short, Mr. Hunsden, I decline answering any 
 more questions," and I plunged my hands deep in my 
 breeches pocket. 
 
 Hunsden triumphed : his eyes — ^his laugh announced 
 victory. \ 
 
 " What the deuce are you laughing at, Mr. Huns- 
 den?" 
 
252 Ti£E PEOPESSOE. 
 
 " At your exemplary composure. Well, lad, I'll not 
 bore you ; I see how it is ; Zoraide has jilted; you — 
 married some one richer, as any sensible woman would 
 have done if she ha(J had the chance." 
 
 I made no reply ; I let him think so, not feeling in- 
 clined to enter into an explanation of the real state of 
 things, and as little to forge a false account ; but it was 
 not easy to blind Hunsden ; my very silence, instead 
 of convincing him that he had hit the truth, seemed to 
 , render him doubtful about it. He went on : 
 
 " I suppose the affair has been conducted as such 
 affairs always are among rational people : you offered 
 her your youth and your talents — such as they are — 
 in exchange for her position and money ; I don't sup- 
 pose you took appearance, or what is called love, into 
 the account, for I understand she is older than you, 
 and, Brown says, rather sensible-looking than beauti- 
 ful. She, having then no chance of making a better 
 bargain, was at first inclined to come to terms with 
 you; but Pelet, the head of a flourishing school, 
 stepped in with a higher bid ; she accepted, and he 
 has 'got her: a correct transaction — perfectly so — 
 business-like and legitimate. And now we'U talk of 
 something else." 
 
 "Do," said I, very glad to dismiss the topic, and 
 especially glad to have baffled the sagacity of my cross- 
 questioner, if, indeed, I had baffled it ; for, though his 
 words now led away from the dangerous point, his eyes, 
 keen and watchful, seemed still preoccupied with the 
 former idea. 
 
 " Tou want to hear news from X ? And what 
 
 interest can you have in X ? Tou left no friends 
 
 I 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 253 
 
 there, for you made none. Notody ever asks after 
 you, neither man' nor woman ; and if I mention your 
 name in company, the men look as if I had spoken of 
 Prester John, and the women sneer covertljfe. Our 
 
 X belles must hajve disliked you. Ho^^^ you 
 
 excite their displeasure ?" ^^ 
 
 " I don't know. I seldom spoke to them ; they 
 were nothing to me. I considered them only as some- 
 thing to he glanced at from a distance. Their dresses 
 and faces were often pleasing enough to the eye, l8nt I 
 could not understand their conversation, nor even read 
 their countenances. When I caught snatches of what 
 they said, I could never make much of it, and the play 
 of their lips and eyes did not help me at all." 
 
 " That was your fault, not theirs. There are sen- 
 sible as well as handsome women in X ; women 
 
 it is worth any man's while to talk to, and with whom 
 I can talk with pleasure ; but you had and have no 
 pleasant address ; there is nothing in you to induce a 
 woman to be affable. Ihave-jeemarked you sitting 
 near the door.in a room full of company, bent on hear- 
 ing, nbt_on speakingj on observing, not. on entertain- / j 
 ing ; looking frigidly shy at the commencement of a 
 party, confusingly vigilant about the middle, and in- 
 sultingly weary toward the end. Is that the way, do 
 you think, ever to communicate pleasure or excite in- 
 terest ? ,'No; and if you are generally unpopular, it is 
 because you, deserve to be so." 
 
 "Content!" I ejaculated. 
 
 " No, you are not content ; you see beauty always 
 turning its back on you ; you are mortified, and then 
 you sneer. I verily believe all that is desirable on 
 
254 THE PEOFESSOR. 
 
 earth — wealth, reputation, love ^ — will forever to you 
 Ibe the ripe grapes on the high trellis : you'll look up 
 at them ; they will tantalize in you the lust of the eye, 
 but they are out of reach ; you have not the address 
 to fe^lpa ladder, and you'll go away calling them 
 sour.' 
 
 Cutting as these words might have teen under some 
 circumstances, they drew no blood now. My life was 
 changed ; my experience had been varied since I left 
 
 X , but Hunsden could not know this ; he had 
 
 seen me only in the character of Mr. Crimsworth's 
 clerk — a dependent among wealthy strangers, meeting 
 disdain with a hard front, conscious of an unsocial and 
 unattractive exterior, refusing to sue for notice which 
 I was sure would be withheld, declining to evince an 
 admiration which I knew would be scorned as worth- 
 less. He could not be aware that, since then, youth 
 and loveliness had been to me every day objects ; that 
 I had studied them at leisure and closely, and had seen 
 the plain texture of truth under the embroidery of ap- 
 pearance ; nor could he, keen-sighted as he was, pen- 
 etrate into my heart, search my brain, and read my 
 peculiar sympathies and antipathies; he had not known 
 me long enough or well enough to perceive how low my 
 feelings would ebb under some influences, powerful over 
 most minds ; how high, how fast they would flow un- 
 der other -influences, that perhaps acted with the more 
 intense force. On me, because they acted on me alone. 
 Neither could he suspect for an instant the history of 
 my communications with Mdlle. Keuter ; secret to him 
 and to all others was the tale of her strange infatua- 
 tion : her blandishments, her wiles had been seen but 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 255 
 
 by me, and to me only were they known ; but they 
 ■hsid changed me, for they had proved that I could im- ; 
 press. A sweeter secret nestled deeper in my heart ; 
 one full of tenderness and as full of strength: it took 
 the sting out of Hunsden's sarcasm ; it kept me un- 
 bent by shame and unstirred by wrath. But of all 
 this I could say nothing — nothing decisive, at least ; un- 
 certainty sealed my lips, and during the interval of si- 
 lence by which alone I replied to Mr. Hunsden, I made 
 up my mind to be for the present wholly misjudged by 
 him, and inisjudged I was. He thought he had been 
 rather -too hard upon me, and that I"was crushed by 
 the weight of his upbraidings ; so, to reassure me, he 
 said (Joabtless I should mend some day ; I was only 
 at the beginning of life yet ; and since happily I was 
 , not quite without, sense, every false step I made would 
 be a good lesson. 
 
 Just then I turned my face a little to the light. 
 The approach of twilight and my position in the win-, 
 dow-seat had for the last ten minutes prevented him 
 from -studying my countenance ; as I moved, however, 
 he caught an expression which he thus interpreted : 
 
 " Confound it, how doggedly self-approving the lad 
 looks ! I thought he was fit to die with shame, and 
 there he sits grinning smiles, as. good as to say, ' Let 
 the world wag as it will, I've the philosopher's stone 
 in my waistcoat pocket, and the elixir of life in my 
 cupboard ; I'm independent of both Fate and For- 
 tune!'"' 
 :" Hunsden, you spoke of grapes; I was thinking of 
 
 a finiit I like better than your X hot-house grapes" 
 
 — an unique fruit, growing wild, which I have marked 
 
256 THE PEOPESSOR. 
 
 as my own, and hope one day to gather and taste. It 
 is of no use your offering me the draught of bitter- 
 ness, or- threatening me with death by thirst ; I have 
 the anticipation of sweetness on my palate ; the hope 
 of freshness on my lips ; I can reject the unsavory, 
 and endure the exhausting." 
 
 " For how long ?" 
 
 "Till, the next opportunity for effort; and as the 
 prize of success will be a treasure after my own heart, 
 I'll bring a bull's strength to the struggle." 
 
 "Bad luck crushes bulls as easy as bullaces; and, 
 I believe, the fury dogs you; you were bom with a 
 wooden spoon in your mouth, depend on it." 
 
 "I believe you; and I mean to make my wooden 
 spoon do the work of some people's silver ladles: 
 grasped firmly, and handled nimbly, even a wooden 
 spoon will shovel up broth." 
 
 Hunsdenrose: "I see," said he; " I suppose you're 
 one of those who develop best unwatched, and act best 
 unaided; work your own way. Now I'll go;" and, 
 without another word, he was going. At the door he 
 turned : 
 
 " Grimsworth Hall is sold," said he. 
 
 ?' Sold !" was my, echo. 
 
 " Yes ; you know, of course, that your brother failed 
 three months ago?" 
 
 " What ! Edward Grimsworth ?" 
 
 " Precisely ; and his wife went home to her father's. 
 When affau's went awry, his temper sympathized with 
 them ; he used her ill ; I told you he would be a ty- 
 ' rant to her some day ; as to him — " 
 
 " Ay, as to him — ^what is become of him ?" ■ 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 257 
 
 "Nothing extraordinary — don't be alarmed; lie 
 put himself tinder the protection of the court, com- 
 pounded with his creditors — tenpence in the pound ; 
 in six weeks- set up again, coaxed, back his wife, and is 
 flourishing like a green bay-tree." 
 
 '*And Crimsworth Hall — was the furniture sold 
 too?" 
 
 "Every thing, from the grand piano down to the 
 rolling-pin." 
 
 "And the contents of the oak dining-room — were 
 they sold?" 
 
 '^Of course; why should the sofas and chairs of 
 that room be held more sacred than those of any 
 other?" 
 
 " And the pictures ?" 
 
 " What pictures ? Crimsworth had no special col-, 
 lection that I know of. He did not profess to be an 
 amateur." 
 
 " There were two portraits, one on each side the 
 mantel-piece ; you can not have forgotten them, Mr. 
 Hunsden ; you once noticed that of the lady — " 
 
 " Oh, I know-^the thin-faced gentlewoman with a 
 shawl put on like drapery. Why, as a matter of 
 course, it would be sold among the other things. If 
 you had been rich, you might liave bought it, for I re- 
 member you said it represented your mother : you see 
 what it is to be without a sou." 
 
 I did. ' " But surely," I thought to myself, "I shall 
 not always be so poverty-stricken ; I may one day 
 buy it back yet. Who purchased it ? do you know ?" 
 I asked. '^. 
 
 "How is it likely? I never inquired who pur- 
 
258 THE PEOPESSOE._ 
 
 chased any thing ; there spoke the unpractical man — 
 to imagine all the world is interested in what interests 
 himself! Now good-night; I'm oif for Germany to- 
 morrow morning ; I shall be hack here in six weeks, 
 and possibly I may call and see you again. I won- 
 der whether you'll be still out of place !" he laughed, 
 / .as mockingly, as heartlessly as Mephistophiles, and so 
 Vv laughing, vanished. 
 
 Some people, however indifferent they may become 
 after a considerable space of absence, always contrive 
 to leave a pleasant impression just at parting ; not so 
 Hunsden ; a conference with him affected one like a 
 draught of Peruvian bark; it seemed a concentration 
 of the specially harsh, stringent bitter ; whether, like 
 bark, it invigorated, I scarcely knew. 
 
 A ruffled mind makes a restless piUow. I slept lit- 
 tle on the night after this interview ; toward morning 
 I began to doze, but hardly had my slumber become 
 sleep when I was roused from it by hearing a noise in 
 my sitting-room, to which my bed-room adjoined — a 
 step, and a shoving of furniture ; the movement lasted 
 barely two minutes ; with the closing of the door it 
 ceased. I listened; not a mouse stirred; perhaps I 
 had dreamed it ; perhaps a locataire had made a mis- 
 take, and entered my apartment instead of his own. It 
 was yet but five o'clock ; neither I nor the day were 
 wide awake; I turned, and was soon unconscious. 
 When I did rise, about two hours later, I had forgot- 
 ten the circumstance ; the first thing I saw, however, 
 on quitting. my chamber, recalled it : just pushed in at 
 the door of my sitting-room, and stiU standing on end,, 
 was a wooden packing-case — a rough deal affair, wide 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 259 
 
 but shallow ;■ a porter had doubtless shoved it forward, 
 but, seeing no oocupant of the room, had left it at the 
 entrance. 
 
 " That is none of mine," thought I, approaching ; 
 "it must be meant for somebody else." I stooped to 
 examine the address : 
 
 " Wm. Crimsworth, Esq., No. Street, 
 
 Brussels." 
 
 I was puzzled^ but, concluding that the best way 
 to obtain information was to ask within, I cut the cords 
 and opened the case. Green baize enveloped its con- 
 tents, sewn carefully at the sides ; I ripped the pack- 
 thread with my penknife, and still, as the seam, gave 
 way, glimpses of gilding appeared through the widen- 
 ing interstices. ' Boards and baize being at length re- 
 moved, I lifted from the case a large picture, in a mag- 
 nificent frame ; leaning it against a chair, in a position 
 where the light from the window fell favorably upon 
 it, I stepped back — already I had mounted my spec- 
 tacles. A portrait painter's sky (the most sombre and 
 threatening of welkins), and distant trees of a conven- 
 tional depth of hue, raised in full relief a pale, pensive- 
 looking female face, shadowed with soft dark hair, al- 
 most blending with the equally dark clouds; large, 
 solemn eyes looked reflectively into mine; a thin cheek 
 rested on a delicate little hand; a shawl, artistically - 
 draped, half hid, half showed a slight figure. A list- 
 ener (had there been one) might "have heard me, after 
 ten minutes' silent gazing, utter the word "Mother!" 
 I might have said more, but with me, the first word I 
 uttered aloud in soliloquy rouses consciousness ; it re^^~^ 
 •Blinds me that only crazy people talk to themselves, 
 
260 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 and then I think out my monologue instead of speak- 
 ing it. I had thought a long while, and a long whUe 
 had contemplated the intelligence, the sweetness, and, 
 alas ! the sadness also of those fine gray eyes, the men- 
 tal power of that forehead, and the rare sensibility of 
 that serious- mouth, when my glance, traveling down- 
 ward, fell on a narrow billet, stuck in the corner of the 
 picture, between the frame and the canvas. Then I 
 first asked, "Who sent this picture? Who thought 
 of me, saved it out of the wreck pf Crimsworth Hall, 
 and now commits it to the care of its natural keeper?" 
 I took the note firom its niche ; thus it spoke : 
 
 " There is a sort of stupid pleasure in giving a child 
 sweets, a fool his bells, a dog a bone. You are repaid 
 by seeing the child besmear his face with sugar ; by 
 witnessing how the fool's ecstasy makes a greater fool 
 of him than ever ; by watching the dog's nature come 
 out over his bone. In giving William Crimsworth his 
 mother's picture, I give him sweets, bells, and bone, all 
 in one. What grieves me is that I can not behold the 
 result ; I would have added five shillings more to my 
 bid if the auctioneer could only have promised me that 
 pleasure. H. T. H. 
 
 " P.S. — Tou said last night you positively declined 
 adding another item to your account with me ; don't 
 you think I've saved you that trouble ?" 
 
 I muffled the picture in its green baize covering, re- 
 stored it to the case, and, having transported the whole 
 concern to my bed-room, put it out of sight under mj 
 bed. My pleasure was now poisoned by pungent pain. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE, 261 
 
 I determined to look no more till I could look at my 
 ease. If Hunsden had come in at that njoment, I 
 should have said to him, " I owe you nothing, Huns- v- 
 den — not a fraction of a farthing ; you have paid your- 
 self in taunts." 
 
 Too anxious to remain- any longer quiescent, I had 
 •no sooner breakfasted than I repaired once more to -^ 
 M. Vandenhuten's, scarcely hoping to find him at 
 home, for a week had harely elapsed since my first 
 call, but fancying I might be able to glean information 
 as to the time when his return was e?:pected. A bet- 
 ter result awaited me than I had anticipated; for, 
 though the family were yet at Ostend, M. Vandenhut- 
 en had come over to Brussels on business for the day. 
 He received me with the quiet kindness of a sincere" 
 though not excitable man. I had not sat five minutes 
 alone with him in his bureau before I became aware of 
 a sense of ease in his presence such as I rarely expe- 
 rienced with strangers. I was surprised at my own 
 composure; for, after all, I had come on business to 
 me exceedingly painful, that of soKciting a favor. I 
 asked on what basis the calm rested ; I feared it might 
 be deceptive.* Ere long I caught a glimpse of the 
 ground, and at once I felt assured of its solidity ; I 
 knew where I was. 
 
 M. Vandenhuten was rich, respected, and influential; 
 I, poor, despised, and powerless ; so we stood to the 
 world at large as members of the world's society'; but 
 to each other, as a pair of human beings, our positions 
 were reversed. The Dutchman (he was not Flamand, 
 but pure Hollandais) was slow, cool, of rather dense 
 intelligence, though sound and accurate judgment ; the 
 
262 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 Englishman far more nervous, active, quicker both to 
 plan and to practice, to conceive and to realize. The 
 Dutchman was benevolent, the Englishman suscepti- 
 ble ; in short, our characters dovetailed, but my mind, 
 having more fire and action than his, instinctively' as- 
 sumed and kept the predominance. 
 
 This point settled, and my position well ascertained, 
 I addressed him. on the subject of my affairs with that 
 genuine frankness which full confidence can alone in- 
 spire. It was a pleasure to him to be so appealed to. 
 He thanked me for giving him this opportunity of using 
 a little exertion in my behalf. I went on to explain 
 to him that my wish was not so much to be helped as 
 to be put into the way of helping myself; of him I did 
 iiot want exertion — ^that was to be 'my part — but only 
 information and recommendation. Soon after I rose 
 to go. He held out his hand at parting— r-an action 
 of greater significance with foreigners than with En- 
 glishmen. As I exchanged a smile with him, I thought 
 the benevolence of his truthful face was better than 
 the intelligence of my own. Characters of my order 
 experience a balm-like solace in the contact of such 
 souls as animated the honest breast of Vittor Vanden- 
 huteh. 
 
 The next fortnight was a period of many, alterna- 
 tions. My existence during its lapse resembled a sky 
 of one of those autumnal nights which are specially 
 haunted by meteors and falling stars. Hopes and 
 fears, expectations and disappointments, descended in 
 glancing showers firom zenith to horizon ; but all were 
 transient, and darkness followed swift each vanishing 
 apparition. M. Vandenhuten aided me faithfully ; he 
 
THE PEOFESSOK. 263 
 
 set me on the track of several places, and himself made 
 efforts to secure them for me ; but for a long time so- 
 licitation and recommendation were vain : the door 
 either shut in my face when I was ahout to walls in, 
 or another candidate, entering before me, rendered my 
 further advance useless. Feverish and roused, no dis- 
 appointment arrested me ; defeat following fast on de- 
 feat served as stimulants to will. I forgot fastidious- 
 ness, conquered reserve, thrust pride from me: I asked, 
 I persevered, I remonstrated, I dunned. It is so that 
 openings are forced into the guarded circle where- For- 
 tune sits dealing favors round. My perseverance made 
 me known; my importunity made me remarked. I 
 was inquired about ; my former pupils' parents, gath- 
 ering the reports of their children, heard me spoken of 
 as talented, and they echoed the word; the sound, 
 bandied about at random, came at last to ears which, 
 but for its universality, it might never have reached ; 
 Bind at the very crisis when I had tried my last effort 
 and knew not what to do. Fortun e looked in at me 
 one morning; as I sat in drear and almost desperate 
 deliberation on mj bedstead, nodded with the familiar- 
 ity of an old acquaintance — though God knows I had 
 never met her before — and threwj;4aizfi_intQjQay.lap. 
 In the second week of October, 18-^, I got the ap- 
 pointment of English professor to all the classes of 
 College, Brussels, with a salary of three thou- 
 sand francs per annum, and the certainty of being 
 able, by dint of the reputation and publicity accom- 
 panying the position, to make as much more by pri- 
 vate lessons. The official notice which communicated 
 this information mentioned also tha;t it was the strong 
 
264 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 recommendation of M. Vandenhuten, negociant, which 
 had turned the scale of choice in my favor. 
 
 No sooner had I read the announcement than I 
 hurried to M. Vandenhuten's bureau, pushed the doc- 
 ument under his nose, and when he had perused it, 
 took both his hands, and thanked him with unrestrain- 
 ed vivacity. My vivid words and emphatic gesture 
 moved his Dutch calm to unwonted sensation. He 
 said he was happy — glad to have served me ; but he 
 had done nothing meriting such thanks. He had not 
 laid out a centime — only scratched a few words on a 
 sheet of paper. 
 
 Again I repeated to him, 
 
 "You have made me quite happy, and in a way 
 that suits me ; I do not feel an obligation irksome con- 
 ferred by your kind hand; I do not feel disposed to 
 shun you because you have done me a favor ; from 
 this day you must consent to admit me to your inti- 
 mate acquaintance, for I shaU hereafter recur again 
 and again to the pleasure of your society." '- 
 
 "Ainsi soit-il," was the reply, accompanied by a 
 smile of benignant content. I- went away with its 
 sunshine in my heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 It was two o'clock when I returned to my lodgings ; 
 my dinner, just brought in from a neighboring hotel, 
 smoked on the table ; I sat down, thinking to eat : had 
 the plate been heaped with potsherds and broken glass 
 
- THE PEOFESSOE. 265 
 
 instead of boiled beef and haricots, I could not have 
 made a more signal failure ; appetite^ had forsaken me. 
 Impatient of seeing food which I could not taste, I put 
 it all aside into a cupboard, and then demanded, "What 
 shall I do till evening ?" for before six P.M. it would 
 be vain to seek the Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges ; its 
 inhabitant (for me it had but one) was detained by her 
 vocation elsewhere. I walked in the streets of Brus- 
 sels, and I walked in my own room from two o'clock 
 till six; never once in that space of time did I sit 
 down. I was in my chamber when the last named 
 hour struck ; I had just bathed my face and feverish 
 hands, and was standing near the glass ; my cheek 
 was crimson, my eye was flame, still all my features 
 looked quite settled and calm. Descending swiftly the 
 stair and stepping out, I was glad to see Twilight draw- 
 ing on in clouds ; such. shade was to me like a grate- 
 ful screen, and the chill of latter Autumn, breathing in 
 a fitful wind ftom the northwest, met me as a refresh- 
 ing coolness. Still I saw it was cold to others, for the 
 women I passed were wrapped in shawls, and the men 
 had their coats buttoned close. 
 
 When are we quite happy ? Was I so then ? No ; 
 an urgent and growing dread worried my nerves, and 
 had worried them since the first moment good tidings 
 had reached me. How was Frances? It was ten 
 weeks since I had seen her, six since I had heard from 
 her or of her. I had answered her letter by a brief 
 note, friendly but calm, in which no mention of contin- 
 ued correspondence or further visits was made. At 
 that hour my bark hung on the topmost curl of a wave 
 of fate, and I knew not on what shoal the onward ro^ 
 
266 THE BEOFESSOE. - 
 
 of the billow might hurl it ; I would not then atta( 
 her destiny to mine by the slightest thread ; if door 
 ed to split on the rock, or run aground on the safli 
 bank, I was resolved no other vessel should share n 
 disaster. But six weeks was a long time, and could 
 be that she was still well and doing well ? Were n 
 all sages agreed in declaring that happiness finds i 
 climax on earth ? Dared I think that but half a stre 
 now divided me from the full cup of contentment — ^t] 
 draught drawn from waters said to flow only in heavei 
 
 I was at the door; I entered the quiet house; 
 mounted the stairs ; the lobby was void and stiU — a 
 the doors closed ; I looked for the neat green mat ; 
 lay duly in its place. 
 
 " Signal of hope !" I said, and advanced. " But 
 wiU be a little calmer ; I am not going to rush in, ar 
 get up a scene directly." Forcibly staying my eag 
 step, I paused on the mat. 
 
 " What an absolute hush ! Is she in ? Is any bod 
 
 in ?" I demanded to myself. A little tinkle, as of cii 
 
 ders falling from a grate, replied ; 'a movement — a fi: 
 
 was gently stirred ; and the slight rustle of life coi 
 
 tinning, a step passed equably backward and forwari 
 
 backward and forward, in the apartment. Fascinata 
 
 I stood ; more fixedly fascinated when a voice rewar( 
 
 ed the attention of my strained ear — so low, so sel 
 
 addressed, I never fancied the speaker otherwise ths 
 
 alone ; solitude might speak thus in a desert, or in tl 
 
 haU of a forsaken house. 
 
 '"And ne'er but once, my son,' he said. 
 Was yon dark cavern trod ; 
 In persecntion's iron days, 
 Wlien the land was left by God. 
 
THE PKOPESSOE. 267 
 
 !Froin Bewley's bog, with slaughter red, 
 
 A wanderer hither drew, 
 '- And oft he stopped and turned his head 
 
 As hy fits the night-winds blew. 
 Pajj trampling rciund by Cheviot-edge 
 
 Were heard the troopers keen ; 
 And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge 
 
 The death-shot flashed between," &c,, &:c. 
 
 The old Scotch Iballad was partly recited, then drop- 
 ped ; a pause ensued ; then another strain followed, in 
 French, of which the purport, translated, ran as follows: 
 
 I gave, at first, attention close ; 
 
 Then interest warm ensued ; 
 Prom interest as improvement rose. 
 
 Succeeded gratitude. 
 Obedience was no effort soon, 
 
 And labor was no pain ; 
 If tired, a word, a glance alone 
 
 Would give me strength again. 
 From others of the studious band 
 
 Ere long he singled me ; 
 But only by more close demand. 
 
 And sterner urgency. 
 The task he from another took. 
 
 From me he did reject ; 
 He would no slight onjission brook, 
 
 And suffer no defect. 
 If my companions went astray, 
 ' He scarce their wanderings blamed; 
 
 If I but faltered in the way, 
 
 His anger fiercely flamed. 
 
 Somethiig stirred in an adjoining chamher; it would 
 not do to he surprised eaves-drop|)ing ; I tapped hast- 
 ily, and as hastily entered. Frances was just hefore 
 me. She had been walldng slowly in her room, and 
 her step was checked by my advent. Twilight only 
 
268 TUE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 was with her, and tranquil, ruddy Firelight : to these 
 ^isters, the Bright and the Dark, she had been speak- 
 ing, ere I entered, in poetry. Sir Walter Scott's voice, 
 to her a foreign, far-off sound, a mountain,echo, had ut- 
 tered itself in the first stanzas ; the second, I thought, 
 from the style and the substance, was the language of 
 her own heart. Her face was grave, its expression con- 
 centrated ; she bent on me an unsmihng eye — an eye 
 just returning from abstraction, just awaking from 
 dreams. Well-arranged was her simple attire, smooth 
 her dark hair, orderly her tranquil room ; but what — 
 with her thoughtful look, her serious self-reliance, her 
 bent to meditation and haply inspiration — what had 
 she to do with love? " Nothing," was the answer of 
 her own sad though gentle countenance ; it seemed to 
 say, " I must cultivate fortitude and cling to poetry ; 
 one is to be my support, and the other my solace 
 through life. Human affections do not bloom, nor do 
 human passions glow for me." Other women have 
 such thoughts. Frances, had she been as desolate as 
 she deemed, would not have been worse off than thou- 
 sands of her sex. Look at the rigid and formal race 
 of old maids — ^the race whom all despise ; they have 
 fed themselves, from youth upward, on maxims of res- 
 ignation and endurance. Many of them get ossified 
 with their dry diet. Self-control is so continually 
 their thought, so perpetually their object, that at last 
 it absorbs the softer and more agreeable qualities of 
 their nature, and they die mere models of austerity, 
 fashioned out of a little parchment and much bone. 
 Anatomists will tell you that there is a heart in the 
 withered old maid's carcass the same as in that of any 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 269 
 
 cherished wife or proud mother in the land. Can this he 
 sof I really don't know, but feel' inclined to doubt it. 
 I came forward, bade Frances "good-evening," and 
 took my seat. The chair I had chosen was one she 
 had probably just left : it stood by a little table where 
 were her open desk and papers. I know not whethen** 
 she had fully recognized me at first, but she did so 
 now ; and in a voice soft but quiet, she returned my 
 greeting. I had shown no eagerness ; she took her 
 cue from me, and evinced no surprise. We met as 
 we had always met, as master and pupil — ^nothing 
 more. I proceeded to handle the papers ; Frances, 
 observant and serviceable, stepped into an inner room, 
 brought a cafidle, lit it, placed it by me, then drew the 
 curtain over the lattice, and having added a little fresh 
 fuel to the already bright fire, she drew a second chair 
 to the table, and sat down at my right hand, a little 
 removed. The paper on the top was a translation of 
 some grave French author into English, but under- 
 neath lay a sheet with stanzas ; on this I laid hands. 
 Frances half rose, made a movement to recover the 
 captured spoil, saying that was nothing — a mere copy 
 of verses. I put by resistance with the decision I 
 knew she never long opposed ; but on this occasion 
 her fingers had fastened on the paper. I had quietly 
 to unloose them ; their hold dissolved to my touch ; 
 her hand shrunk away ; my own would fain have fol- 
 lowed itj^but for the present I forbade such impulse. 
 The first page of the sheet was occupied with the 
 lines I had overheard ; the sequel was not exactly the 
 writer's own experience, but a composition by portions 
 of that experience suggested. Thus, while egotism 
 
270 THK PEOPESSOE. 
 
 was avoided, the fancy was exercised and the heart 
 satisfied. I translate as hefore, and my translatioB is 
 nearly literal ; it continued thus : 
 
 When Bickness stayed a while my course, 
 
 He seemed impatient still, 
 Because his pupil's flagging force 
 
 Could not obey his wUl. 
 
 One day, when summoned to the bed 
 
 Where Pain and I did strive, 
 I heard him, as he bent his head. 
 
 Say, " Grod, she must revive !" 
 
 I felt ]}is hand, with gentle stress, 
 
 A moment laid on mine, 
 And wished to mark my consciousness 
 
 By some responsive sign. 
 
 But pow'rless then to speak or move, 
 
 I only felt, within. 
 The sense of Hope, the strength of Love, 
 
 Their healing work begin. 
 
 And as he from the room withdrew. 
 
 My heart his steps pursued ; 
 I longed to prove, by efforts new. 
 
 My speechless gratitude. 
 
 yVhen once again I took my place. 
 
 Long vacant, in the class, * 
 
 Th' unfrequent smile across his face 
 
 Did for one moment pass. 
 
 The lessons done ; the signal made 
 
 Of glad release and play, 
 He, as he passed, an instant staid. 
 
 One kindly word to say. 
 
 " Jane, till to-morrow you are free 
 ^ Prom tedious task and rule ; 
 This afternoon I must not see 
 That yet pale face in school. 
 
THE PKOFESSOE. 271 
 
 " Seek in the garden shades a seat, 
 
 Far from the play-ground din ; 
 The sun is warm, the air is sweet : 
 
 Stay till I call yon in." 
 
 A long and pleasant afternoon 
 
 I passed in those green bowers ; 
 All silent, tranquil, and alone 
 
 "With birds, and bees, and flowers. 
 
 Tet, when my master's voice I heard 
 Call, from the window, " Jane !" 
 , I entered, joyful, at the word. 
 The busy house again. 
 
 He, in the hall, paced up and down ; 
 
 He paused as I passed by ; 
 His forehead stern relaxed its frown ; 
 
 He raise* his deep-set eye. 
 
 "Not quite so pale," he murmured low. 
 
 " Now, Jane, go rest a while." 
 And as I smiled, his smoothened brow 
 
 Returned as glad a smile. 
 
 My perfect health restored, he took 
 
 His mien austere again ; 
 And, as before, he would not brook 
 
 The slightest fault from Jane. 
 
 The longest task, the hardest theme 
 
 Fell to my share as erst, 
 And still I toiled to place my name 
 
 In every study first. 
 
 He yet begrudged and stinted praise, 
 
 But I had learned to read 
 The secret meaning of his face, 
 
 And that was my best meed. 
 
 Even when his hasty temper spoke 
 
 In tones that sorrow stirred, 
 My grief was lulled as soon as woke 
 
 By some relenting word. 
 
272 THE PEOPESSOK. 
 
 And when he lent some precioas hook. 
 Or gave some fragrant flower, 
 
 I did not quail to Envy's look, 
 Upheld by Pleasure's power. 
 
 At last our school ranks took their ground; 
 
 The hard-fought field I won ; 
 The prize, a laurel-wreath, was bound 
 
 My throbbiiig forehead on. 
 
 Low at my master's knee I bent, 
 The offered crown to meet ; 
 
 Its green leaves through my temples sent 
 A thrill as wild as sweet. 
 
 The strong pulse of Ambition struck 
 
 In every vein I owned ; 
 At the same, instant, bleeding broke 
 
 A secret, inward wound. » 
 
 The; hour of triumph was to me 
 
 The hour of , sorrow sore ; 
 A.day hence I must cross the sea, 
 
 Ne'er to recross it more. 
 
 An hour hence, in my master's room, 
 
 I with him sat alone. 
 And told him what a dreary gloom 
 
 O'er joy had parting thrown. 
 
 He little said ; the time was brief. 
 
 The ship was soon to sail, 
 And while I sobbed in bitter grief. 
 
 My master but looked pale. 
 
 They called in haste ; he bade me go, 
 Then snatched me back again ; 
 
 He held me fast and murmured low, 
 "Why will they part us, Jane? 
 
 " Were you not happy in my care ? 
 
 Did I not faithful prove ? 
 Will others to my darling hear 
 
 As true, as deep a love ? 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 273 
 
 " O God, watch o'er my foster child ! 
 
 O guard her gentle head ! 
 When winds are high and tempests wild, 
 
 Protection round her spread ! 
 
 " They call again ; leave then my hreast ; 
 
 Quit thy true shelter, Jane ; 
 But when deceived, repulsed, oppress' d, 
 
 Come home to me again." 
 
 I read, then dreamily made marks on the margin 
 with my pencil, thinking all the while of other things ; 
 thinking that " Jane" was now at my side — no child, 
 tut a girl of nineteen — and she might be mine, so mj 
 heart affirmed. Poverty's curse was taken off me ; 
 Envy and Jealousy were far away, and imapprised of 
 this our quiet meeting ; the frost of the master's man- 
 ner might melt ; I felt the thaw coming fast, whether 
 I would or not ; no further need for the eye to prac- 
 tice a hard look, for the brow to compress its expanse 
 into a stem fold : it was now permitted to suffer the 
 outward revelation of the inward glow — to seek, de- 
 mand, elicit an answering ardor. While musing thus, 
 I thought that the grass on Hermon never draiik the 
 fresh dews of sunset more gratefully than my feelings 
 ^ank the bliss of this hour, 
 
 Frances rose as if restless ; she passed before me to 
 stir the fire, which did not want stirring ; she lifted 
 and put down the little ornaments on the mantel- 
 piece ; her dress waved within a yard of me ; slight, 
 straight, and elegant, she stood erect on the hearth. 
 
 There are impulses we can control, but there are 
 
 others which control us, because they attain us with a 
 
 tiger-leap, and are our masters ere we have seen them. 
 
 Perhaps, though, such impulses are seldom altogether 
 
 M2 
 
274 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 bad ; perhaps Reason, by a process as brief as quiet, 
 a process that is finished ere felt, has ascertained the 
 sanity of the deed Instinct meditates, and feels justi- 
 fied in remaining passive whUe it is perfomred. I 
 know I did not reason, I did not plan or intend ; yet, 
 whereas one moment I was sitting solus on the chair 
 near the table, the next I held Frances on my knee, 
 placed there with sharpness and decision, and retained 
 with exceeding tenacity. 
 
 "Monsieur!" cried Frances, and was still; not an- 
 other word escaped her lips. Sorely confounded she 
 seemed during the lapse of the first few moments, but 
 the amazement soOn subsided ; terror did not succeed, 
 nor fury ; after aU, she was only, a little nearer than 
 she had ever been before to one she habitually respect- 
 ed and trusted. Embarrassment might have impelled 
 her to contend, but self-respect checked resistance 
 where resistance was useless7 
 
 " Frances, how much regard have you for me ?" was 
 my demand. No answer ; the situation was yet too 
 new and surprising to permit speech. On this con- 
 sideration, I compelled myself for some seconds to tol- 
 erate her silence, though impatient- of it. Presently I 
 repeated the same question, probably not in the calm- 
 est of tones. She looked at me; my face, doubtless, 
 was no model of composure, my eyes no still weUs of 
 tranquillity. 
 
 " Do speak," I urged ; and a very low, hurried, yet 
 still arch voice said, 
 
 " Monsieur, vous me faites mal; de grace lachez un 
 peu ma main droite." 
 
 In truth, I became aware that I was holding the 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 275 
 
 • - ■ 
 
 Bald " main droite" in a somewhat ruthless grasp. I 
 did as desired ; and, for the third time, asked more 
 gently, 
 
 " Frances, how much regard have you for me ?" 
 
 "Men mattre, j'en ai beaucoup," was the truthful 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "Frances, have you enough to give yourself to me 
 as my wife — to accept me as your husband ?" 
 
 I felt the agitation of the heart ; I saw " the purple 
 light of love" cast its glowing reflection on cheek, tem- 
 ples, neck ; I desired to consult the eye, but shelter- 
 ing lash and lid forbade. 
 
 "Monsieur," said the soft voice at last, "Monsieur 
 desire savoir si je consens — si — enfin, si je veux me 
 marier avec lui ?" 
 
 "Justement." 
 
 " Monsieur sera-t-il aussi bon mari qu'il a ete bon 
 maitre?" 
 
 " I will try, Frances." 
 
 A pause ; then, with a new, yet still subdued inflec- 
 tion of the voice — an inflection which provoked while 
 it pleased me — accompanied, too, by a "sourire a la 
 fois fin et timide". in: perfect harmony with the tone, 
 
 " C'est a dire, Monsieur sera toujours un peu entet6, 
 exigeant, voloritaire — " 
 
 " Have I been so, Frances ?" 
 
 " Mais oui ; vous le savez bien." 
 
 " Have I been nothing else?" 
 
 "Mais oui; vous avez ete mon meUleur ami." 
 
 "And what, Frances, are you to me?" 
 
 " Votre devouee eleve, qui vous aime de tout son 
 coeur." 
 
276 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 « 
 
 " Will my pupil consent to pass her life with me ? 
 Speak English now, Frances," 
 
 Some moments were taken for reflection; the an- 
 swer, pronounced slowly, ran thus : 
 
 " You have always made me happy ; I like to hear 
 you speak ; I like to see you ; I like to he near you ; 
 I believe you are very good and very superior ; I know 
 you are stem to those who are careless and idle, hut 
 you are kind, very kind to the attentive and industri- 
 ous, even if they are not clever. Master, I should he 
 glad to live with you always ;" and she made a sort 
 of movement, as if she would have clung to me ; but, 
 restraining herself, she only added, with earnest em- 
 phasis, " Master, I consent to pass my life with you." 
 
 " Very well, Frances." 
 
 I drew her a little nearer to my heart ; I took a first 
 kiss from her lips, thereby sealing the compact now 
 framed between us ; afterward she and I were silent, 
 nor was our silence brief. Frances' thoughts, during 
 this interval, I know not, nor did I attempt to guess 
 them; I was not occupied in searching her counte- 
 nance, nor in otherwise troubling her composure. The 
 peace I felt I wished her to feel ; my arm, it is true, 
 still detained her, but with a restraint that was gentle 
 enough, so long as no opposition tightened it. My 
 gaze was on the red fire ; my heart was measuring its 
 own content ; it sounded, and sounded, and found the 
 depth fathomless. 
 
 " Monsieur," at last said mj quiet companion, as 
 stirless in her happiness as a mouse in its terror. 
 Even now in speaking she scarcely lifted her head. 
 
 « ' Well, Frances ?" I like unexaggerated intercourse ; 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 277 
 
 it is not my way to overpower with amorous epithets, 
 any more than to worry with selfishly importunate ca- 
 resses. 
 
 " Monsieur est raisonnable, n'est-ce pas ?" 
 
 " Yes, especially when I am requested to he so in 
 . English ; hut why do you ask me ? You see nothing 
 vehement or ohtrasive in my manner ; am I not tran- 
 quil enough ?" 
 
 " Ce n'est pas cela — " began Frances. 
 
 "English," I reminded her. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur, I wished merely to say that I 
 should like, of course, to retain my employment of 
 teaching. You will teach still, I suppose. Monsieur ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. It is all I have to depend on." 
 
 "Bon! — I mean good. Thus we shall have both 
 the same profession. I like that ; and my efforts to 
 get on will be as unrestraiued as yours — ^will they not. 
 Monsieur ?" 
 
 " You are laying plans to be independent of me," 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur ; I must be no incumbrance to you 
 — no burden in any way." 
 
 " But, Prances, I have not yet told you what my 
 prospects are. I have left M. Pelet, and after nearly 
 a month's seeking I have got another place, with a sal- 
 ary of three thousand francs a year, which I can easily 
 double by a little additional exertion. Thus you see 
 it would be useless for you to fag yourself by going 
 out to give lessons ; on six thousand francs you and I 
 can live, and live well." 
 
 Frances se#led to consider. There is something 
 flattering to man's strength, something consonant to 
 
278 THE'PIiOFESSOE. 
 
 his honoraUe pride, in the idea of becoming the prov- 
 idence of what he loves — feeding and clothing it, as 
 God does the lilies of the field. So, to decide her res- 
 olution, I went on : 
 
 " Life has heen painful and laborious enough to you 
 sofar,Franees; you require complete rest ; your twelve 
 hundred francs would not form a very important addi- 
 tion to our income, and what sacrifice of comfort to 
 earn it ! Relinquish your labors — you must be wea- 
 ry — and let me have the happiness of giving you rest." 
 
 I am not sure whether Frances had accorded due 
 attention to my harangue. Instead of answering me 
 with her usual respectful promptitude, she only sighed 
 and said, 
 
 " How rich you are. Monsieur !" and then she stir- 
 red uneasy in my arms. "Three thousand firancs," 
 she murmured, "while I get only twelve hundred!" 
 She went on faster. " However, it must be so for the 
 present ; and, Monsieur, were you not saying some- 
 thing about my giving up my place ? Oh no, I shall 
 hold it fast ;" and her little fingers emphatically tight- 
 ened on mine. 
 
 " Think of ray marrying you to be kept by you, 
 Monsieur ! I could not do it ; and how dull my days 
 would be ! Tou would be away teaching in close, 
 noisy school-rooms from morning tiU evening, and I 
 should be lingering at home, imemployed and solitary ; 
 I should get depressed and sullen, and you would soon 
 tire of me." 
 
 "Frances, you could read and study — ^two things 
 you like so well." <% 
 
 " Monsieur, I could not. I like a contemplative life, 
 
THE PEOFESSOR. 279 
 
 but I like an active life better ; I must act in some 
 way, and act with you. I have taken notice, Mon- 
 sieur, that people who are only in each other's com- 
 pany for amusement never reaUy like each other so 
 well, or esteem each other so highly, as those who 
 work together, and perhaps suffer together." 
 
 " You speak God's truth," said I, at last, " and you 
 shall have your own way, for it is the best way. Now, 
 as a reward for such ready consent, give me a volun- 
 tary kiss." 
 
 After some hesitation, natural to a novice in the art 
 of kissing, she brought her lips into very shy and gen- 
 tle contact with my forehead. I took the small gift 
 as a loan, and repaid it promptly, and with generous 
 interest. 
 
 I know not whether Trances was really much alter- 
 ed since the time I first saw her ; but, as I looked at 
 her now, I felt that she was singularly changed for 
 me ; the sad eye, the pale cheek, the dejected and joy- 
 less countenance I remembered as her early attributes, 
 were quite gone, and now I saw a face dressed in 
 graces ; smile, dimple, and rosy tint rounded its con- 
 tours and brightened its hues. I had been accustom- 
 ed to nurse a flattering idea that my strong attachment 
 to her proved some particular perspicacity in my na- 
 ture. She was not handsome, she was not rich, she 
 was not even accomplished, yet was she my life's 
 treasure. I must, then, be a man pf peculiar discern- 
 ment. To-night my eyes opened on the mistake I had 
 made. I began to suspect that it was only my tastes 
 which were unique, not my power of discovering and 
 'appreciating the superiority of moral worth over phys- 
 
280 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 ioal charms. For me Frances had physical charms ; 
 in her there was no defoririity to get over ; none of 
 those prominent defects of eyes, teeth, complexion, 
 shape, which hold at bay the admiration of the bold- 
 est male champions of intellect (for women can love a 
 downright ugly man if he be but talented) ; had she 
 been either "edentee, myope, rugueuse, ou bo'ssue," 
 my feelings toward her might still have been kindly, 
 but they could never have been impassioned. I had 
 aifection for the poor little misshapen Sylvie, but for 
 her I could never have had love. It is true, Frances' 
 mental points had been the first to interest me, and 
 they still retained the strongest hold on my preference ; 
 but I liked the graces of her person too. I derived a 
 pleasure, purely material, from contemplating the clear- 
 ness of her brown eyes, the fairness of her fine skin, 
 the purity of her well-set^ teeth, the proportion of her 
 delicate form ; and that pleasure I could ill have dis- 
 pensed with. It appeared, then, that I too was a sen- 
 sualist in my temperate and fastidious way. 
 
 Now, reader, during the last two pages I have been 
 giving you honey firesh from flowers, but you must not 
 live «ntirely on food so luscious ; taste, then, a little 
 gall — just a drop, by way of change. 
 
 At a somewhat late hour I returned to my lodgings. 
 Having temporarily forgotten that man had any such 
 coarse cares as those of eating and drinking, I went to 
 bed fasting. I had been excited and in action all day, 
 and had tasted no food since eight that morning ; be- 
 sides, for a fortnight past, I had known no rest either 
 of body or mind ; the last few hours had been a sweet 
 delirium ; it would not subside now, and, tiU long after 
 
THE PEOPESSOB. 281 
 
 midnight, broke with troulbled ecstasy the rest I so 
 much needed. At last I dozed, but not for long ; it 
 was yet quite dark when I awoke, and my waking 
 was like that of Job when a spirit passed before his 
 face, and, like him, " the hair of iny flesh stood up." 
 I might continue the parallel, for, in truth, though I 
 saw nothing, yet " a thing was secretly brought unto 
 me, and mine ear received a little 'thereof; there was 
 silence, and I heard a voice" saying, " In the midst of 
 life we are in death." . 
 
 That siound, and the sensation of chiU anguish ac- 
 companying it, many would have regarded as super- 
 natural ; but I recognized it at once as the effect of 
 reaction. Man is ever clogged with his mortality, and 
 il was ray mortal nature which now faltered and pkin- 
 ed; my nerves, which jarred and gave a false sound, 
 because the soul, of late rushing headlong to an aim, 
 had overstrained the body's comparative weakness. A 
 horror of great darkness fell upon me ; I felt my cham- 
 ber invaded by one I had known formerly, but had 
 thought forever departed. I was temporarily a prey 
 to Hypochondria. • 
 
 She had been my acquaintance, nay, my guest once 
 belore in boyhood. I had entertained her at bed and 
 board for a year ; for that space of time I had her to 
 myself in secret ; she lay with me, she ate with me, 
 she walked out with me, showing me nooks in^woods, 
 hollows in hills, where we could sit together, and where 
 she could drop her drear veil over me, and so hide sky 
 and sun, grass and green tree ; taking me entirely to 
 her death-cold bosom, and holding me with arms of 
 bone. What tales she would tell me at such hours ! 
 
282 THE PROFESSOE. 
 
 What songs she would recite in my ears ! How she 
 would discourse to me of her own country— ^the Grave 
 — and ggain and again promise to conduct me there 
 ere long ; and, drawing me to the very brink of a black, 
 sullen river, show me, on the other side, shores unequal 
 with mound, monument, and tablet, standing up in a 
 glimmer more hoary than moonlight. " Necropolis !" 
 she would whisper, pointing to the pale piles, and add, 
 " It contains a mansion prepared for you." 
 
 But my boyhood was lonely, parentless — ^uncheered 
 by brother or sister ; and there was no marvel that, 
 just as I rose to youth, a sorceress, finding me lost in 
 vague mental wanderings, with many afiections and 
 few objects, glowing aspirations and gloomy prospects, 
 string desires and slender hopes, should lift up her il- 
 lusive lamp to me in the distance, and lure me to her 
 vaulted home of horrors. No wonder her spells then 
 had power ; but now, when my course was widening, 
 my prospect brightening ; when my affections had found 
 a rest ; when my desires, folding wings, weary with 
 long flight, had just alighted on the very lap of Fru- 
 ition, and nestled there warm, content, under the caress 
 of a soft hand, why did Hypochondria accost me now? 
 
 I repulsed her as one would a dreaded and ghastly 
 concubine coming to imbitter a husband's heart toward 
 his young bride ; in vain ; she kept her sway over me 
 for that night and the next day, and eight succeeding 
 days. Afterward my spirits began slowly to recover 
 their tone ; my appetite returned, and in a fortnight I 
 was well. I had gone about as usual all the time, and 
 had said nothing to any body of what I felt, but I was 
 glad when the evil spirit departed from me, and I could 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 283 
 
 again seek Frances, and sit at her side, freed from the 
 dreadful tyranny of my demon. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 One fine, frosty Sunday in November, Frances and 
 I took a long walk ; we made the tour of the city by 
 the Boulevards ; and afterward, Frances being a little 
 tired, we sat down on one of those wayside seats placed 
 under the trees at intervals for the accommodation of 
 the weary. Frances was telling me about Switzer- 
 land ; the subject animated her ; and I was just think- 
 ing that her eyes spoke full as eloquently as her tongue, 
 when she stopped and remarked, 
 
 "Monsieur, there is a gentleman who knows you." 
 I looked up. Three fashionably dressed men were 
 just then passing — Englishmen, I knew by their air 
 and gait as well as by their features. In the tallest 
 of the trio I at once recognized Mr. Hunsden. He was 
 in the act of lifting his hat to Frances ; afterward he 
 made a grimace at me, and passed on. 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " A person I knew in England." 
 " Why did he bow to me ? He does not know me." 
 "Yes, he does know you, in his way." 
 " How, Monsieur?" (she still called me "Monsieur;" 
 I could not persuade her to adopt any more familiar 
 term). 
 
 " Did you not read the expression of his eyes ?" 
 "Of his eyes? No. What did they say ?" 
 
284 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " To you they said, 'How do you do, Wilhelmjna 
 Crimsworth V To me, ' So you have found your 
 counterpart at last ; there she sits, the female of your 
 kind.' " • 
 
 " Monsieur, you could not read all that in his eyes, 
 he was so soon gone." 
 
 " I read that and more, Frances ; I read that he will 
 probably call on me this evening, or on some future 
 occasion shortly ; and I have no doubt he will insist 
 on being introduced to you. Shall I bring him to your 
 rooms ?" 
 
 " If you please, Monsieur — I have no objection. I 
 think, indeed, I should rather like to see him nearer, 
 he looks so original." 
 
 As I had anticipated, Mr. Hunsden came that even- 
 ing. The first thing he said was, 
 
 "You need not begin boasting, Monsieur leProfes- 
 seur. I know about your appointment to Col- 
 lege, and all that ; Brown has told me." Then he in- 
 timated that he had returned from Germany but a day 
 or two since ; afterward he abruptly demanded whether 
 that was Madame Pelet-Reuter with whom he had seen 
 me on the Boulevards. I was going to utter a rather 
 emphatic negative, but, on second thoughts, checked 
 myself, and, seeming to assent, asked what he thought 
 of her. 
 
 "As to her, I'll come to that directly; but first I've 
 a word for you. I see you are a scoundrel ; you've no 
 business to be promenading about with another man's 
 wife. I thought you had sounder sense than to get 
 mixed up in foreign hodge-podge of this sort." 
 
 " But the lady— " 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 285 
 
 " She's too good for 70U, evidently; slie is like you, 
 but something better than you — no beauty, though; 
 yet when she rose (for I looked back to see you both 
 walk away) I thought her figure and carriage good. 
 These foreigners understand grace. What the devil 
 has she done with Pelet? She has not been married 
 to him three months. He must be a spoon!" 
 
 I would not let the mistake go too far ; I did not 
 like it much. ' 
 
 " Pelet ? How your head runs on M. and Madame 
 Pelet ! You are always talking about them. I wish 
 to the gods you had wedded Mdlle. Zoraide yourself!" 
 
 " Was that young gentlewoman not Mdlle. Zora- 
 ide?" 
 
 " No ; nor Madame Zoraide either." 
 
 "Why did you tell a lie, then?" 
 
 " I told no lie ; but you are in such a hurry. She 
 is a pupil of mine — a Swiss girL" 
 
 "And of course you are going to be married to her ? 
 Don't deny that." 
 
 " Married ! I think I shall, if Fate spares us both 
 ten weeks longer. That is my little wild strawberry, 
 Huhsden, whose sweetness made me careless of your 
 hot-house grapes." 
 
 "Stop! No boasting — ^0 heroics; I wont bear 
 them. What is she? To what caste does she be- 
 long?" 
 
 I smiled. Hunsden unconsciously laid stress on 
 the word caste, and, in fact, republican, lord-hater as 
 
 he was, Hunsden was as proud of his old shire 
 
 blood, of his descent and family standing, respectable 
 and respected through long generations back, as any 
 
286 THK PEOPESSOE. 
 
 peer in the realm of his Norman race and Conquest- 
 dated title. Hunsden would as little have thought of 
 taking a wife from a caste inferior to his own as a Stan- 
 ley would think of mating with a Cohden, I enjoyed 
 the surprise I should give ; I enjoyed the triumph of 
 my practice over his theory ; and leaning' over the ta- 
 hle, and uttering the words slowly hut with repressed 
 glee, I said concisely, 
 
 " She is a lace-mender." =r - , 
 
 Hunsden examined me. He did not say he was 
 surprised, hut surprised he was ; he had his own no- 
 tions of good hreeding. I saw he suspected I was 
 going to take some very rash step ; but, repressing 
 declamation or remonstrance, he only answered, 
 
 " Well, you are the best judge of your own affairs. 
 A lace-mender may make a good wife as well as a lady ; 
 but, of course, you have taken care to ascertain thor- 
 oughly that, since she has not education, fortune, or 
 station, she is well furnished with such natural quali- 
 ties as you think most likely to coffduce to your hap- 
 piness. Has she many relations ?" 
 
 "None in Brussels." 
 
 " That is better. Relations are often the real evil 
 in such cases. I can not but think that a train of in- 
 ferior connections would*have been a bore to you to 
 your life's end." 
 
 After sitting in silence a little while longer, Huns- 
 den rose, and was quietly bidding me good-evening ; 
 the polite, considerate manner in which he offered me 
 his hand (a thing he had never done before) convinced 
 me that he thought I had made a terrible fool of my- 
 self; and that, ruined and thrown away as I was, it 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 287 
 
 was no time for sarcasm or cynism, or, indeed, for any- 
 thing but indulgence and forbearance. 
 
 " Good-night, William," he said, in a really soft 
 voice, while his face looked benevolently compassion- 
 ate. " Good-night, lad. I wish you and your future 
 wife much prosperity ; and I hope she will satisfy 
 your fastidious soul." 
 
 I had much ado to refrain from laughing as I be- 
 held the magnanimous pity of his mien. Maintaining, 
 however, a grave air, I said, 
 
 "I thought you would have liked to have seen 
 Mdlle. Henri?" 
 
 " Oh, that is the name ! Yes, if it would be con., 
 venient, I should like to see her ; but—" He hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 "Wen?" 
 
 " I should on no'accqunt wish to intrude." 
 
 " Come, then," said 1. We set out. Hunsden no 
 doubt regarded me as a rash, imprudent man thus to 
 show my poor little grisette sweetheart in her poor 
 little unfurnished grenier ; but he prepared to act the 
 real gentleman, having, in fact, the kernel of that char^. 
 acter under the harsh husk it pleased him to wear by 
 way of mental Mackintosh. He talked affably, and 
 even gently, as we went along the street ; he had never 
 been so civil to me in his life. We reached the house, 
 entered, ascended the stair. On gaining the lobby, 
 Hunsden turned to mount a narrower stair which led 
 to a higher story. I saw his mind was bent on the 
 attics. 
 
 " Here, Mr. Hunsden," said I, quietly, tapping at 
 Frances' door. He turned ; in his genuine politeness 
 
288 THE PEOFESSOK. 
 
 he was a little disconcerted at having made the mis- 
 take ; his eye reverted to the green mat, tut he said 
 nothing. 
 
 We walked in, and Frances rose from her seat near 
 the table to receive us. Her mourning attire gave her 
 a recluse, rather conventual, but, withal, very distin- 
 guished look ; its grave simplicity added nothing to 
 beauty, but much to dignity ; the finish of the white 
 collar and manchettes sufficed for a relief to the meri- 
 no gown of solemn black; ornament was forsworn. 
 Frances courtesied with sedate grace, looking, as she 
 always did look when one first accosted her, more a 
 woman to respect than to love. I introduced Mr. 
 Hunsden, and she expressed her happiness at making 
 his acquaintance in French. The pure and polished 
 accent — ^the low, yet sweet and rather fall voice, pro- 
 duced their effect immediately. Hunsden spoke French 
 in reply. I had not heard him speak that language 
 before : he managed it very well. I retired to the 
 window-seat ; Mr. Hunsden, at his hostess's invitation, 
 occupied a chair near the hearth ; from my position I 
 could see them both, and the room too, at a glance. 
 The room was so clean and bright, it looked like a 
 little polished cabinet ; a glass fiUed with flowers in 
 the centre of the table, a fresh rose in each china cup 
 on the mantel-piece, gave it an air of fete. Frances 
 was serious, and Mr. Hunsden subdued, but both mu- 
 tually polite ; they 'got on at the French swimmingly : 
 ordinary topics were discussed with great state and 
 decorum ; I thought I had never seen two such mod- 
 els of propriety, for Hunsden (thanks to the constraint 
 of the foreign tongue) was obliged to shape his phrases 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 289 
 
 and measure his sentences with a care that forbade 
 any eccentricity. At last England was mentioned, 
 and Frances proceeded to as£ questions. Animated 
 by degrees, she began to change, just as a grave night- 
 sky changes at the approach of sunrise : first it seemed 
 as if her forehead cleared, then her eyes glittered, her 
 features relaxed, and became quite mobile ; her sub- 
 dued complexion grew warm and transparent ; to me, 
 she now looked pretty ; before, she had only looked 
 ladylike. 
 
 She had many things to say to the Englishman just 
 fresh from his island-country, and she urged him with 
 an enthusiasm of curiosity which ere long thawed 
 Hunsden's reserve as fire thaws a congealed vipCT . I 
 use this not very flattering comparison because he i, 
 vividly reminded me of a snake waking from torpor, 
 as he erected his tall form, reared his head, before a 
 little declined, and putting back his hair from his broad 
 Saxon forehead, showed unshaded the gleam of almost 
 savage satire which his interlocutor's tone of eagerness 
 and look of ardor had sufficed at once to kindle in his 
 soul and elicit from his eyes: he was himself, as 
 Frances was herself, and in none but his own language 
 would he now address her. 
 
 "Tou understand English?" was the prefatory 
 question. 
 
 "A little." 
 
 " Well, then, you shall have plenty of it ; and, first, 
 I see youVe not much more sense than some others 
 of my acquaintance" (indicating me with his .thnmla), 
 " or else you'd never turn rabid about that diiif little 
 country called England, for rabid I see you are; I 
 N 
 
290 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 read Anglophobia in your looks, and hear it in your 
 words. Why, Mademoiselle, is it possible that any 
 body with a grain of rationality should feel enthusi- 
 asm about a mere name, and that name England? I 
 thought you were a lady abbess five minutes ago, and 
 respected you accordingly ; and now I see you are a 
 sort of Swiss sibyl, with High-Tory and High-Church 
 principles." 
 
 " England is your country ?" asked Frances. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And you don't like it ?" 
 
 "I'd be sorry to like it. A little, corrupt, venal, 
 lord-and-king-cursed nation, full of mucky pride (as 
 
 they say iri. shire) and helpless pauperism ; rotten 
 
 with abuses, worm-eaten with prejudices !" 
 
 "You might say so of almost every state; there 
 are abuses and prejudices every where, and I thought 
 fewer in England than in other countries." 
 
 " Come to England and see. Come to Birmingham 
 and Manchester ; come to St. Giles' in London, and 
 get a practical notion of how our system works. Ex- 
 amine the footprints of our august aristocracy ; see 
 how they walk in blood, crushing hearts as they go. 
 Just piit your head in at English cottage doors ; get 
 a glimpse of Famine crouched torpid on black hearth- 
 stones ; of Disease lying bare on beds without cover- 
 lets ; of Infamy wantoning viciously with Ignorance, 
 though indeed Luxury is her favorite paramour, and 
 princely halls are dearer to her than thatched hovels—" 
 
 " I was not thinking of the wretchedness and vice 
 in Engjibnd ; I was thinking of the good side — of what 
 is elevated in your character as a nation." 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 291 
 
 " There is no good side — none, at least, of which 
 you can have any knowledge ; for you can not appre- 
 ciate the efforts of industry, the achievements of en- 
 terprise, or the discoveries of science. Narrowness of 
 education and obscurity of position quite incapacitate 
 you from understanding those points ; and as to his- 
 torical and poetical associations, I wUl not insult you. 
 Mademoiselle, by supposing that you alluded to such 
 humbug." 
 
 "But I did, partly." 
 
 Hunsden laughed-^his laugh of unmitigated scorn. 
 
 " I did, Mr. Hunsden. Are you of the number of 
 those to whom such associations give no pleasure ?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle, what is an association? I never 
 saw one. What is its length, breadth, weight, value 
 — ay, value ? What price will it bring in the market?" 
 
 "Your portrait, to any one who loved you, would, 
 for the sake of association, be without price." 
 
 That inscrutable Hunsden heard this remark, and 
 felt it rather acutely, too, somewhere, for he colored — 
 a thing not unusual with him when hit unawares on a 
 tender point. A sortof trouble momentarily darkened 
 his eye, and I believe he filled up the transient pause 
 succeeding his antagonist's home-thrust by a wish that 
 some one did love him as he would like to be loved — 
 some one whose love he could unreservedly return. 
 
 The lady pursued her temporary advantage. 
 
 " If your world is a world without associations, Mr. 
 Hunsden, I no longer wonder that you hate England 
 so. I don't clearly know what Paradise is, and what 
 angels are ; yet, taking it to be the most glorious re- 
 gion I can conceive, and angels the most elevated ex- 
 
292 THE PJiOFESSOK. 
 
 istence, if one of them — if Abdiel the Faithful him- 
 self" (she was thinking of Milton) "were suddenly- 
 stripped of the faculty of association, I think he would 
 soon rush forth from 'the ever-during gates,' leave 
 heaven, and seek what he had lost in heU — ^yes, in the 
 very hell from which he turned 'with retorted scorn.' '' 
 
 Frances' tone in saying this was as marked as her 
 language, and it was when the word " hell" twanged 
 off from her lips with a somewhat startling emphasis 
 that Hunsden deigned to bestow one slight glance of 
 admiration. He liked something strong, whether in 
 man or woman ; he liked whatever dared to clear con- 
 ventional limits. He had never before heard a lady- 
 say "hell" with that uncompromising sort of accent, 
 and the sound pleased him from a lady's.lips ; he would 
 fain bave had Frances to strike the string again, but 
 it was not in her way. The display of eccentric -vigor 
 never gave her pleasure, and it only sounded in her 
 voice or flashed in her countenance when extraordinary 
 circumstances — and those generally painful — ^forced it 
 out of the depths where it burned latent. To me, 
 once or twice, she had in intimate conversation uttered 
 venturous thoughts in nervous language; but When 
 the hour of such manifestation was past, I could not 
 recall it; it came of itself, and of itself departed. 
 Hunsden's excitations she put by soon with a smile, 
 and recurring to the theme of disputation, said, 
 
 " Since England is nothing, why do the Continental 
 nations respect her so ?" 
 
 " I should have thought no child would have asked 
 that question," replied Hunsden, -who never at any 
 time gave information without reproving for stupidity 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 293 
 
 those who asked it of him ; " if you had been mj pu- 
 pil, as I suppose you once had the misfortune to be 
 that of a deplorable character not a hundred miles off, 
 I would have put y^u in the corner for such a ponfes- 
 sion of ignorance. Why, Mademoiselle, can't you see 
 that it is our gold which buys us French politeness, 
 German good-will, and Swiss servility?" And he 
 sneered diabolically. 
 
 " Swiss !" said Frances, catching the word " servil- 
 ity." "Do you call my countrymen servile?" And 
 she started up. I could not suppress a low laugh : 
 there was ire in her glance, and defiance in her atti- 
 tude. "Do you abuse Switzerland to me, Mr. Huns- 
 den ? Do you think I have no associations ? Do you 
 calculate that, I am prepared to dwell only on what 
 vice and degradation may be found in Alpine villages, 
 and to leave quite out of my heart the social greatness 
 of my countrymen, and our blood-earned freedom, and 
 the natural glories of our mountains? You're mis- 
 taken — you're mistaken." 
 
 " Social greatness — call it what you will, your coun- 
 trymen are sensible fellows ; they make a marketable 
 article of what to you is an abstract idea ; they have, 
 ere this, sold their social greatness and also their 
 blood-earned freedom to be the servants of foreign 
 kings." 
 
 "Tou never were in Switzerland?" 
 
 " Yes, I have been there |iwice." 
 
 " You know nothing of it." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And you say the Swiss are mercenary, as a par- 
 rot says ' Poor Poll,' or as the* Belgians here say the 
 
294 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 English are not brave, or as the French accuse them of 
 being perfidious : there is no justice in your dictums." 
 
 "There is truth." 
 
 "I tell you, Mr. Hunsden, you are a more unprac- 
 tical man than I am an unpractical woman, for you 
 don't acknowledge what really exists. You want to 
 annihilate individual patriotism and national greatness 
 as an Atheist would annihilate God and his own soul, 
 by denying their existence." 
 
 " Where are you flying to ? You are off at a tan- 
 gent. I thought we were talking about the mercenary 
 nature of the Swiss." 
 
 " We were ; and if you proved to me that the Swiss 
 are mercenary to-morrow (which you can not do), I 
 should love Switzerland still." 
 
 ^'- You would be mad, then — mad as a March hare 
 — ^to indulge in a passion for millions of ship-loads of 
 soil, timber, snow, and ice." 
 
 " Not so mad as you, who love nothing." 
 
 " There's a method in my madness ; there's none in 
 yours." 
 
 " Your method is to squeeze the sap out of creation, 
 and make manure of the refuse by way of turning it to 
 what you call use." 
 
 "You can not reason at all," said Hunsden; "there's 
 no logic in you." 
 
 "Better to be without logic than without feeling," 
 retorted Frances, who wae now passing backward and 
 forward from her cupboard to the table, intent, if not 
 on hospitable thoughts, at least on hospitable deeds, 
 for she was laying the cloth, and putting plates, knives, 
 and forks thereon. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 295 
 
 "Is that a hit at me. Mademoiselle? Do you sup- 
 pose I am without feeling ?" 
 
 "I suppose you are always interfering with your 
 own feelings and those of other people, and dogmatiz- 
 ing ahout the irrationality of this, that, and the other 
 sentiment, and then ordering it to he suppressed he- 
 cause you imagine it to he inconsistent with logic." 
 
 "J do right." 
 
 Frances had stepped out of sight into a sort of little 
 pantry ; she soon reappeared. 
 
 " Tou do right ? Indeed, no ; you are much mis- 
 taken if you think so. Just he so good as to let me 
 get to the fire, Mr. Hunsden; I have something to 
 cook." (An interval occupied in settling a casserole 
 on the fire ; then, while she stirred its contents), 
 " Eight ! as if it were right to crush any pleasurable 
 sentiment that God has given to man, especially any 
 sentiment that, like patriotism, spreads man's selfish- 
 ness in wider circles" (fire stirred, dish put down be- 
 fore it). 
 
 " Were you born in Switzerland ?" 
 
 " I should think so, or else why should I call it my 
 country ?" 
 
 " And where did you get your English features and 
 figure?" 
 
 " I am English too ; half the blood in my veins is 
 English ; thus I have a right to a double power of 
 patriotism, possessing an interest in two noble, free, 
 and fortunate countries." 
 
 " You had an English mother ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and you, I suppose, had a inother from 
 the moon or from Utopia, since not a nation in Europe 
 has a claim on your interest." 
 
296 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 " On the contrary, I'm a universal patriot, if you 
 could understand me rightly; mj country is the 
 world." 
 
 " Sympathies so widely diffused must he very shal- 
 low : will you have the' goodness to' come to tahle ? 
 Monsieur" (to»me, who appeared to he now ahsorhed in 
 reading hy moonlight) — "Monsieur, supper is served." 
 
 This was said in quite a different voice to that in 
 which she had heen bandying phrases with Mr. Huns- 
 den — not so short, graver and softer. 
 
 " Frances, what do you mean by preparing supper? 
 we had no intention of staying." 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur, hut you have staid, and supper is 
 prepared ; you have only the alternative of eating it." 
 
 The meal was a foreign one, of course : it consisted 
 of two small but tasty dishes of meat, prepared with 
 skill and served with nicety; a salad and "fromage 
 rran9ois" completed it. The business of eating inter- 
 posed a brief truce between the belligerents, but no 
 sooner was supper disposed of than they were at it 
 again. The fresh subject of dispute ran on the spirit 
 of religious intolerance which Mr. Hunsden affirmed to 
 exist strongly in Switzerland, notwithstanding the pro- 
 fessed attachment of ihe Swiss to freedom. Here 
 Frances had greatly the worst of it, not only because 
 she was unskilled to argue, but because her own real 
 opinions on the point in question happened to, coincide 
 pretty nearly with Mr. Hunsden's, and she only con- 
 tradicted him out of opposition. At last she gave in, 
 confessing that she thought as he thought, but bidding 
 him take notice that she did not consider herself 
 beaten. 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 297 
 
 " No more did the French at Waterloo," said Huns- 
 den. 
 
 " There is no comparison Ibetween the cases," re- 
 joined Frances ; "mine was a sham-fight." 
 
 " Sham or real, it's up with you." 
 
 " No ; though I have neither logic nor wealth of 
 words, yet in a case where my opinion really differed 
 from yours, I would adhere to it when I had not another 
 word to say in its defense ; you should he haffled by 
 dumb determination. You speak of Waterloo ; your 
 WeUington ought, to have been conquered there, ac- 
 cording to Napoleon ; but he persevered in spite of the 
 laws of war, and was victorious in defiance of military 
 tactics. I would do as he did." 
 
 " I'll be bound for it you would ; probably you have 
 some of the same sort of stubborn stuff in you." 
 
 " I should be sorry if I had not ; he and Tell were 
 brothers, and I'd scorn the Swiss, man or woman, wUo 
 had none of the much-enduring nature of our heroic 
 William in his soul." 
 
 " If TeU was like WeUington, he was an ass." 
 
 " Does not ass mean haudet ?" asked Frances, turn- 
 ing to me. 
 
 " No, no," I replied, " it means an esprit-fort; and 
 now," I continued, as I saw that fresh occasion of 
 strife was brewing between these two, " it is high time 
 to go." 
 
 Hunsden rose, " Good-by," said he to Frances; 
 "I shall'be off for this glorious England to-morrow, 
 and it may be twelve months or more before I come to 
 Brussels again ; whenever I do come I'U seek you out, 
 and you shall see if I don't find means to make you 
 N2 
 
298 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 fiercer than a dragon. You've done pretty well this 
 evening, but next interview you shall challenge me 
 outright. Meantime you're doomed to become Mrs. 
 WiUiam Crimsworth, I suppose. Poor young lady ! 
 but you have a spark of spirit ; cherish it, and give the 
 Professor the full benefit thereof." 
 
 "Are you married, Mr. Hunsden?" asked Frances, 
 suddenly. * 
 
 "No. I should have thought you might have 
 guessed I was a Benedick by my look." 
 
 " Well, whenever you marry, don't take a wife out 
 of Switzerland ; for if you begin blaspheming Helve- 
 tia, and cursing the cantons — above aU, if you men- 
 tion the word ass in the same breath with the name 
 Tell > (for ass is baudet, I know, though Monsieur is 
 pleased to translate it esprit-fort), your, mountain 
 maid will some night smother her Breton-bretonnant, 
 even as your own Shakspeare's Othello smothered 
 Desdemona." 
 
 " I am warned," said Hunsden ; " and so are you, 
 lad" (nodding to me). " I hope yet to hear of a trav- 
 esty of the Moor and his gentle lady, in which the 
 parts shall be reversed according to the plan just 
 sketched — ^you, however, being in my night-cap. Fare- 
 well, Mademoiselle." He bowed on her hand, abso- 
 lutely like Sir Charles Grandison on that of Harriet 
 Byron ; adding, " Death from such fingers would not 
 be without charms." 
 
 " Mon Dieu!" murmured Frances^ opening her large 
 eyes, and lifting her distinctly arched brows; "c'est 
 qu'il fait des compliments ! je ne m'y suis pas atten- 
 du." She smiled half in ire, half in mirth, courtesied 
 with foreign grace, and so they parted. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 299 
 
 No sooner had we got into the street than Huhsden 
 toUared me. 
 
 "And that is your lace-mender?" said he; "and 
 you reckon you have done a fine, magnanimous thing 
 in offering to marry her ? You, a scion of Seacombe, 
 have proved your disdain of social distinctions by tak- 
 ing up with an ouvriere ! And I pitied the fellow, 
 thinking his feelings had misled him, and that he had 
 hurt himself by contracting a low match !" 
 
 " Just let go my collar, Hunsden." 
 
 On the contrary, he swayed me to and fro ; so I 
 grappled him round the waist. It was dark ; the str«et 
 lonely and^ lampless. We had then a tug for it ; and 
 after we had both rolled on the pavement and with 
 difficulty picked ourselves up, we agreed to walk on 
 more soberly, 
 
 "Yes, that's my lace-mender," said I ; " and she is 
 to be mine for life, God willing." 
 
 " God is not willing — ^you can't suppose it. What 
 busmess have you to be suited so well- with a partner? 
 And she treats you with a sort of respect too, and says 
 'Monsieur,' and modulates her tone in addressing you 
 as if you were something superior ! She could not 
 evince more deference to such a one as me, were she 
 favored by Fortune to the supreme extent of being my 
 choice instead of yours." 
 
 " Hunsden, you're a puppy. But you've only seen 
 the title-page of my happiness ; you don't know the 
 tale that ^follows ; you can not conceive the interest, 
 and sweet variety, and thrilHng excitement of the nar-? 
 rative." 
 
 Hunsden — speaking low and deep, for we had now 
 
300 THE PEOFESSOE- 
 
 entered a busier street — desired me to hold my peace, 
 threatening to do something dreadful if I stimulated 
 his wrath further by boasting. I laughed till my sides 
 ached. "We soon reached his hotel ; before he entered 
 it he said, 
 
 "Don't be vainglorious. Your lace-mender is too 
 good for you, but not good enough for me ; neither 
 physically nor morally does she come up to my ideal 
 of a woman. No ; I dream of something far beyond 
 that pale-faced, excitable little Helvetian (by-the-by, 
 she has infinitely more of the nervous, mobile Paris- 
 iesne in her than of the robust 'jungfrau'). Tour 
 Mdlle. Henri is in person chetive, in mind sans carac- 
 tere, compared with the queen of my visions. Tou, in- 
 deed, may put up with that minois chiffonne ; but when 
 I marry I must have straighter and more harmonious 
 features, to say nothing of a nobler and better devel- 
 oped shape than that perverse, iU- thriven child can 
 boast." 
 
 "Bribe a seraph to fetch you a coal of fire- from 
 heaven if you wUl," said I, "and with it kindle life in 
 the tallest, fattest, most boneless, fullest- blooded of 
 Rubens' painted women — leave me only my Alpine 
 peri, and I'll not envy you." 
 
 With a simultaneous movement, each turned his 
 back to the other. , Neither said "God "bless yon," 
 yet on the morrow the sea was to roll between us. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 In two months more Frances had fulfilled the time 
 of mourning for her aunt. One January morning — the 
 first of the new-year holidays — I went in a fiacre, ac- 
 companied only by M.Vandenhuten, to the Rue Notre 
 Dame aux Neiges, and having alighted alone and walk- 
 ed up stairs, I found Frances apparently waiting for 
 me, dressed in a style scarcely appropriate to that cold, • 
 bright, frosty day. Never till now had I seen her at- 
 tired in any other than black or sad-colored stuff; and 
 there she stood by the window, clad all in white, and 
 white of a most diaphanous texture. Her array was 
 very simple, to be sure, but it looked imposing and 
 festal because it was so clear, full, and floating ; a veil 
 shadowed her head, and hung below her knee ; a little 
 wreath of pink flowers fastened it to her thickly-tress- 
 ed Grecian plat, and thence it fell softly on each side 
 of her face. Singular to state, she was or had been 
 crying. When I asked her if she were ready, she said 
 " yes. Monsieur" with something very like a checked 
 sob ; and when I took a shawl, which lay on the table, 
 and folded it round her, not only did tear after tear 
 course unbidden down her cheek, but she shook to my 
 ministration like a reed. I said I was sorry to see her 
 in such low spirits, and requested to be allowed an iitf 
 sight into the origin thereof. She oiily said "it was 
 impossible to help it," and then voluntarily though 
 
302 TI-IE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 hurriedly putting her hand into mine, accompanied me 
 out of the room, and ran down stairs with a quick, un- 
 certain step, like one who was eager to get some ^r- 
 midable piece of business over. I put her into the 
 fiacre. M. Vandenhuten received her and seated her 
 beside himself; we drove all together to the Protestant 
 chapel, went through a certain service in the Common 
 Prayer-Book, and she and I came out married. M. 
 Vandenhuten had given the bride away. 
 
 We took no bridal trip ; our modesty, screened by 
 the peaceful obscurity of our station, and the pleasant 
 isolation of our circumstances, did not exact that addi- 
 tional precaution. We repaired at once • to a small 
 house I had taken in the faubourg nearest that part of 
 the city where the scene of our avocations lay. 
 
 Three or four hours after the wedding ceremony, 
 Frances, divested of her bridal snow, and attired in a 
 pretty lilac gown of warmer materials, a piquant black 
 silk apron, and a lace collar with some finishing deco- 
 ration of lilac ribbon, was kneeling on the carpet of a 
 neatly-furnished though not spacious parlor, arranging 
 on the shelves of a chiffoniere some books which I 
 handed to her from the table. It was snowing fast 
 out of doors ; the afternoon had turned out wild and 
 cold; the leaden sky seemed full of drifts, and the street 
 was already ankle-deep in the white down-fall. Our 
 fire burned bright, our new habitation looked brilliant- 
 ly clean and fresh, the furniture was all arranged, and 
 there were but some articles of glass, china, books, &c., 
 to put in order. Frances found in this business occu- 
 pation till tea-time, and then, after I had distinctly in- 
 structed her how to make a cup of tea in rational En- 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. SOS 
 
 glish style, and after she had got -over the dismay oc- 
 casioned by seeing such an extravagant amount of ma- 
 terig,! put into the pot, she administered to me a prop- 
 er TBritish repast, at which there wanted neither can- 
 dles nor urn, firelight nor comfort. 
 
 Our week's holiday glided by, and we readdressed 
 ourselves to labor. Both my wife and I began in good 
 earnest with the notion that we were working people, 
 destined to earn our bread by exertion, and that of the 
 most assiduous kind. Our days were thoroughly oc- 
 cupied. We used to part every morning at eight 
 o'clock, and not meet again till five P.M. ; but into 
 what sweet rest did the turmoil of each busy day de- 
 cline ! Looking down the vista of memory, I see the 
 evenings passed in that little parlor like a long string 
 of rubies circling the dusk brow of the past. Unva- 
 ■ried were they as each cut gem, and'like each gem brill- 
 iant and burning. 
 
 A year and a half passed. One morning (it was a 
 fete, and we had the day to ourselves) Frances said 
 to me, with a suddenness peculiar to her when she 
 had been thinking l8ng on a subject, and at last, hav- 
 ing come to a conclusion, wished to test its soundness 
 by the touchstone of my judgment, 
 
 " I don't work enough." 
 
 "What now?" demanded I, looking up from my 
 cofiee, which I had been deliberately stirring while 
 enjoying, in anticipation, a walk I proposed to take 
 with Frances that fine summer day (it was June) to a 
 certain farm-house in the country where we were to 
 dine. " What now ?" and I saw at once, in the seri- 
 ous ardor of her face, a project of vital importance. 
 
304 THE PEOPESSOE. 
 
 "I am not satisfied," returned she: "you are now 
 earning eight thousand francs a year" (it was true; 
 my efforts, punctuality, the fame of my pupils' raog- 
 ress, the publicity of my station, had so far helped 
 me on), "while I am still at my miserable twelve 
 hundred francs. I can do better, and I will." 
 
 "You work as long and as diligently as I do, 
 Frances." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, but I am not working in the right 
 way, and I am convinced of it." 
 
 " You wish to change — you have a plan for progress 
 in your mind ; go and put on your bonnet, and, while 
 we take our walk, you shall tell me of it." 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur." 
 
 She went, as docile as a well-trained child. She 
 was a curious mixture of tractability and firmness. I 
 sat thinking about her, and wondering what her plan 
 could be, when she re-entered. 
 
 "Monsieur, I have given Minnie" (our bonne) "leave 
 to go out too, as it is so very fine ; so will you be 
 kind enough to lock the door, and take the key with 
 you?" 
 
 " Kiss me, Mrs. Crimsworth," was my not very ap- 
 posite reply ; but she looked so engaging in her light 
 summer dress and little cottage bonnet, and her man- 
 ner in speaking to me was then, as always, so unaf- 
 fectedly and suavely respectful, that my heart expand- 
 ed at the sight of her, and a kiss seemed necessary to 
 content its importunity. 
 
 " There, Monsieur." 
 
 "Why do you always call me 'Monsieur?' Say 
 WiUiam." 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 305 
 
 " I can not pronounce your W ; besides, ' Mon- 
 sieur' belongs to you ; I like it best." 
 
 Minnie having departed in clean cap and smart 
 shawl, we too set out, leaving the house solitary and 
 silent — silent, at least, but for the ticking of the clock. 
 We were soon clear of Brussels ; the fields received 
 us, and then the lanes, remote from carriage-resound- 
 ing chaussees. Ere long we came uponpe, nook, so 
 rural, green, and 'secluded, it might have been a spot 
 in some pastoral English province. A bank of short 
 and mossy grass, under a hawthorn, offered- a seat too 
 tempting to be declined. We took it, and when we 
 had admired and examined some English-looking wild- 
 flowers growing at our feet, I recalled Frances' at- 
 tention and my own to the topic touched on at break- 
 fast. 
 
 " What was her plan ?" A natural one — ^the next 
 step to be mounted by us, or, at least, by her, if she^ 
 wanted'^to rise in her profession. She proposed to be- 
 gin a school. We already had the means for com- 
 mencing on a careful scale, having lived greatly within 
 our income. We. possessed too, by this time, an ex- 
 tensive and eligible connection, in the sense advanta- 
 geous to our business ; for, though our circle of visit- 
 ing acquaintance continued as limited as ever, we were 
 now widely known in schools and families as teachers. 
 When Frances had developed her plan, she intimated, 
 in some casing sentences, her hopes for the future. 
 If we only had good health and tolerable success, we 
 ■ might, she was sure, in time realize an independency, 
 and that, perhaps, before we were too old to enjoy it ; 
 and then both she and I would rest ; and what was 
 
306 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 to hinder us from going to live in England ? Ei 
 was still her Promised Land. 
 
 I put no obstacle in her way — ^raised no ohy 
 I knew she was not one who could live quiescej 
 inactive, or even comparatively inactive. Duti 
 must have to fulfill, and important duties ; W( 
 do, and exciting, absorbing, profitable work; 
 faculties a||rred in her frame, and they demand 
 nourishment, free exercise: mine was not the 
 ever to starve or cramp them ; no, I delighted in 
 ing them sustenance, and in clearing them wider 
 for action. 
 
 "You have conceived a plan, Frances," si 
 " and a good plan ; execute it ; you have my fre 
 sent ; and wherever and whenever my assista; 
 wanted, ask and you shall have it." 
 
 Frances' eyes thanked me almost with tears 
 a sparkle or two, soon brushed away ; she posi 
 herself of my hand too, and held it for some timi 
 close clasped in both her own, but she said no 
 than "thank you, Monsieur." 
 
 We passed a divine day, and came home late, 
 ed by a full summer moon. 
 
 Ten years rush now upon me with dusty, vibr 
 unresting wings ; years of bustle, action, unsl 
 endeavor ; years in which I and my wife, h 
 launched ourselves in the full career of progre 
 progress whirls on in European capitals, scarcely 
 repose, were strangers to amusement, never th 
 of indulgence, and yet, as our course ran side bj 
 as we marched hand in hand, we neither murn 
 repented, nor faltered. Hope indeed cheered us ; ] 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 3f)7 
 
 kept us up ; harmony of thought and deed smoothed 
 many difficulties, and finally, success bestowed every 
 now and. then encouraging reward on diligence. Our 
 school became one of the most popular in Brussels, and 
 as by degrees we raised our terms and elevated our 
 system of education, our choice of pupils grew more 
 select, and at length included the children of the best 
 families in Belgium. We had, too, an excellent con- 
 nection in England, first opened by the unsolicited 
 recommendation of Mr. Hunsden, who having been 
 over, and having abused me for my prosperity in set 
 terms, went back, and soon after sent a leash of young 
 
 shire heiresses^ — his cousins, as he said — " to be 
 
 polished off by Mrs. Crimsworth." 
 
 As to this same Mrs. Crimsworth, in one sense she 
 was become another woman, though in another she re- 
 mained unchanged. So different was she under dif- 
 ferent circumstances, I seemed to possess two wives. 
 The faculties of her nature already disclosed when I 
 married her remained fresh and fair, but other facul- 
 ties shot up strong, branched out broad, and quite al- 
 tered the external character of the plant. Firmness, 
 activity, and enterprise covered with grave foliage po- 
 etic feeling and fervor ; but these flowers were still 
 there, preserved pure and dewy under the umbrage of 
 later growth and hardier nature. Perhaps I only in 
 the world knew the secret of their existence, but to 
 me they w^re ever ready to yield an exquisite fra- 
 grance and present a beauty as chaste as radiant. 
 
 In the daytime my house and establishment were 
 conducted by Madame the Directress, a stately and 
 elegant woman, bearing much anxious thought on her 
 
^8 
 
 THE FEOFESSOK. 
 
 large brow, much calculated dignity in her 
 mien. Immediately after breakfast I used 
 ■with this lady : I went to my college, she 
 school-room, Returning for an hour in the co 
 the day, I found her always in class, intenth 
 pied, silence, industry, observance attending 
 presence. When not actuallyteaching, she we 
 looking and guiding by eye and gesture ; she t 
 peared vigilant and solicitous. When commui 
 instruction, her aspect was more animated ; sh 
 ed to feel a certain enjoyment in the occupation 
 language in which she addressed her pupils, 
 simple and unpretending, was never trite or dr 
 did not speak from routine-formulas ; she m; 
 own phrases as she went on, and very nerve 
 impressive phrases they frequently were ; oftei 
 elucidating favorite points of history or geograp 
 would wax genuinely eloquent in her earnc 
 Her pupils, or at least the elder and more int 
 among them, recognized well the language of i 
 rior mind ; they felt too, and some of them r 
 the impression of elevated sentiments. The 
 little fondling between mistress and girls, but s 
 Frances' pupils in time learned to love her sii 
 all of them beheld her with respect : her gene 
 meanor toward them was serious ; sometimes 
 nant when they pleased her with their progress 
 tention, always scrupulously refined and consi 
 In cases where reproof or punishment was call 
 she was usually forbearing enough ; but if ar 
 advantage of that forbearance, which sometim( 
 pened, a sharp, sudden, and lightning-like s 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 309 
 
 taught the culprit this extent of the mistake commit- 
 ted. Sometimes a gleam of tenderness softened her 
 eyes and manner, Iput this was rare ; only when a pu- 
 pil was sick, or when it pined after home, or in the 
 case of some little motherless child, or of one much 
 poorer than its companions, whose scanty wardrohe 
 and mean appointments brought on it the contempt 
 of the jeweled young countesses and silk-clad misses. 
 Over such feehle fledglings the directress spread a 
 wing of kindliest protection : it was to their bedsides 
 she came at night to tuck them warmly in ; it was 
 after them she looked in winter to see that they al- 
 ways had a comfortable seat by the stoVe ; it was 
 they who by turns were summoned to the salon to re- 
 ceive some little dole of cake or fruit-^to sit on a foot- 
 stool at the fireside- — ^to enjoy home-comforts, and al- 
 most home-liberty, for an evening together — -to be 
 spoken to gently and softly, comforted, encouraged, 
 cherished ; and when bedtime came, dismissed with a 
 kiss of true tenderness. As to Julia and Georgiana. 
 
 Gr , daughters of an English baronet, as to MdUe. 
 
 Mathilde de , heiress of a Belgian count, and sun- 
 dry other children of patrician race, the directress was 
 careful of them as of the others, anxious for their prog- 
 ress as for that of the rest, but it never seemed to en- 
 ter her head to distinguish them by a mark of prefer- 
 ence. One girl, of noble blood, she loved dearly — a 
 
 . young Irls^ baroness — Lady Catharine ; but it 
 
 was for her enthusiastic heart and clever head, for her 
 generosity and her genius ; the title and rank went for 
 nothing. 
 My afternoons were spent also in college, wii^ji the 
 
310 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 exceptioij of an hour which my wife daily exacted of 
 me for her establishment, and with which she would 
 not dispense. She said that I must spend that time 
 among her pupils to learn their characters, to be "aw 
 courant" with every thing that was passing in the 
 house, to become interested in what interested her, to 
 be able to give her my opinion on knotty points when 
 she required it, and this she did constantly, never al- 
 lowing my interest in the pupils to fall asleep, and 
 never making any change of importance without my 
 cognizance and consent. She delighted to sit by me 
 when I gave my lessons (lessons in literature), her 
 hands folded on her -knee, the most fixedly attentive 
 of any present. She rarely addressed me in class ; 
 when she did, it was with an air of marked deference ; 
 it was her pleasure, her joy to make me still the mas- 
 ter in all things.' 
 
 At six o'clock P.M. my daily labors ceased. I then 
 came home, for my home was my heaven. Ever at 
 that hour, as I entered our private sitting-room, the 
 lady-directress vanished from before mj eyes, and Fran- 
 ces Henri, my own little lace-mender, was magically 
 restored to my arms. Much disappointed "she would 
 have been if her master had not been as constant to 
 tlie tryste as herself, and if his truthful kiss had not 
 been prompt to answer her soft "Bon soir. Monsieur." 
 
 Talk French to me she would, and many a punish- 
 ment she has had for her willfulness. I fear the choice 
 of chastisement must have been injudicious, for, instead 
 of correcting the fault, it seemed to encourage its re- 
 nsAyal. Our evenings were our own ; that recreation 
 was necessary to refresh our strength for the due dis- 
 
THE PEOPESSOE 311 
 
 charge of our duties. Sometimes we spent them all in 
 conversation ; and my young Genevese, now that she 
 was thoroughly accustomed to her English professor, 
 now that she loved him teo absolutely to fear him 
 much,' reposed in him a confidence so unlimited that 
 topics of conversation could no more he wanting with 
 him than subjects for communion with her own heart. 
 In those moments, happy as a bird with its mate, she 
 would show me what she had of vivacity, of mirth, of 
 oiaginality in her well-dowered nature. She would 
 show, too, some stores of raillery, of " malice," and 
 would vex, tease, pique me sometimes about what she 
 called my "bizarreries Anglaises," my " caprices insu- 
 laires," wi,th a wild and witty wickedness that made a 
 perfect white demon- of her while it lasted. This was 
 rare, however, and the elfish freak was always short. 
 Sometimes, when driven a little hard in the war of 
 words, for her tongue did ample justice to the pith, the 
 point, the delicacy of her native French, in which lan- 
 guage she always attacked me, I used to turn upon her 
 with my old decision, and arrest bodily the sprite that 
 teased me. Vain idea ! no sooner had I grasped hand 
 or arm tha'n the elf was gone ; the provocative smile 
 quenched in the expressive brown eyes, and a ray of 
 gentle homage shone under the lids in its place. I 
 had seized a mere vexing fairy, and found a submissive 
 and supplicating little mortal woman in my arms. 
 Then I ma^e her get a book, and read English to me 
 for ^n hour by way of penance. I frequently dosed 
 her with Wordsworth in this way, and Wordsworth 
 steadied her soon ; she had a difficulty in comprehend- 
 ing his deep, serene, and sober mind ; his language, 
 
312 THE PBOFESSOE. 
 
 too, was not facile to her ; she had to ask questions, 
 to sue for explanations, to be like a child and a novice, 
 and to acknowledge me as her senior and director. Her 
 instinct instantly penetrated and possessed the mean' 
 ing of more ardent and imaginative writers. Byron 
 excited her ; Scott she loved ; Wordsworth only she 
 puzzled at, wondered over, and hesitated to pronounce 
 an opinion upon. 
 
 But whether she read to me or talked with me; 
 whether she teased me in French or entreated me jp. 
 English ; whether she jested with wit or inquired with 
 deference ; narrated with interest or listened with at- 
 tention ; whether she smiled at me or on me, always 
 at nine o'clock I was left-^abandoned. She would 
 extricate herself from my arms, quit my side, take her 
 lamp, and be gone. Her mission was up stairs. I 
 have followed her sometimes and watched her. First 
 she opened the door of the dortoir (the pupils' cham- 
 ber) ; noiselesly she glided up the long room, between 
 the two rows of white beds, and surveyed all the sleep- 
 ers ; if any were wakeful, especially if any were sad, 
 spoke to them and soothed them ; stood some minutes 
 to ascertain that aU was safe and tranquil ; trimmed 
 the watch-light which burned in the apartment all 
 night; then withdrew, closing the door behind her 
 without sound. Thence she glided to our own cham- 
 ber : it had a little cabinet within ; this she sought ; 
 there, too, appeared a bed, but one, and that a very 
 small one ; her face (the night I followed and obsey ved 
 her) changed as she approached this tiny couch ; from 
 grave it warmed to earnest ; she shaded with one hand 
 the lamp she held in the other ; she benf above the 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 313 
 
 pillow and hung over a child asleep ; its slufiiber (that 
 evening at least, and usually, I believe) was sound and 
 calm ; no tear wet its dark eyelashes ; no fever heat- 
 ed its round cheek ; no ill dream discomposed its bud- 
 ding features. Frances gaffed ; she did not smile, and 
 yet the -deepest delight filled, flushed her face ; feeling, 
 pleasurable, powerful, worked in her whole frame, 
 which still was motionless. I saw, indeed, her heart 
 heave ; her lips were a little apart ; her breathing grew 
 somewhat hurried ; the child smiled ; then at last the 
 mother smiled too, and said in a low soliloquy, "God 
 bless my little son!" She stooped closer over him, 
 breathed the softest of kisses on his brow, covered his 
 minute hand with hers, and at last started up and 
 came away. I regained the parlor before her. Enter- 
 ing it two minutes later, she said, quietly, as she put 
 dqwn her extinguished lamp, 
 
 " Victor rests well : he smiled in his sleep ; he has 
 your smile. Monsieur." ' 
 
 The said Victor was, of course, her own boy, born 
 in the third year of our mariiage. His Christian name 
 had been given him in honor of M. Vandenhuten, who 
 continued always our trusty and well-beloved friend. ,^^ 
 
 Frances was then a good and dear wife to me, be- 
 cause I was to her a good, just, and faithful husband. 
 What she would have been had she married a harsh, 
 envious, careless man — a profligate, a prodigal, a drunk- 
 ard, or a tyrant, is another question, and one which I 
 once propounded to her. Her answer, given after some 
 reflection, was," 
 
 " I should have tried to endure the evil or cure it 
 for d while ; and when I found it intolerable and in- 
 
 n 
 
314 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 cuxable, I should have left my torturer suddenly and 
 silently. 
 
 " And if law or might had forced you back again ?" 
 
 " What, to a drunkard, a profligate, a selfish spend- 
 thrift, an unjust fool ?" * 
 
 "Yes." ' 
 
 "I would have gone back; again assured myself 
 whether or not his vice and my misery were capable 
 of remedy, and if not, have left him again." 
 
 "And if again forced to return and compelled, to 
 abide ?" 
 
 " I don't know," she said, hastily. " Why do you 
 ask me, Monsieur ?" 
 
 I would have an answer, because I saw a strange 
 kind of spirit in her eye, whose voice I determined tft 
 waken. 
 
 "Monsieur, if a wife's nature loathes that of the 
 man she is wedded to, marriage must be slavery. 
 Against slavery all right thinkers revolt ; and though 
 torture be the price of resistance, torture must be 
 dared ; though the only road to freedom lie through 
 the gates of death, those gates must be passed, for free- 
 dom is iadispensable. Then, Monsieur, I would re- 
 sist as far as my strength permitted; when that 
 stren^h failed I should be sure of a refiige. Death 
 would certainly screen me both from bad laws and 
 their consequences." 
 
 "Voluntary death, Frances?" 
 
 " No, Monsieur. I'd have courage to live out ev- 
 ery throe of anguish Fate assigned me, and principle 
 to contend for justice and liberty to the last." 
 
 "I see you would have made no patient Grizzle. 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 315 
 
 And now, supposing Fate had merely assigned you 
 the lot of an old maid, what then ? How would you 
 have Hked celibacy ?" 
 
 "Not much, certainly. An old maid's life must 
 doubtless be void and vapid — her heart strained and 
 empty. Had I been an old maid, I should have spent \ 
 existence in efforts to fill the void and ease the aching. ) 
 I should have probably failed, and died weary and dis- ' 
 appointed, despised and of no accpunt, like other sin- 
 gle women. But I'm not an old maid," she added, 
 quickly. " I should have been, though, but for my 
 master. I should never have suited any man but 
 Professor Crimsworth ; no other gentleman, French, 
 English, or Belgian, would have thought me amiable or 
 handsome ; and I doubt whether I should have cared 
 for the approbation of many others, if I could have ob- 
 tained it. Now I have been Professor Crimsworth's 
 wife eight years, and what is he in raj eyes ? Is he 
 honorable, beloved — " She stopped ; her voice was 
 cut off, her eyes suddenly suffused. She and I were 
 standing side by side. She threw her arms around 
 me, and strained me to her heart with passionate ear- 
 nestness : the energy of her whole being glowed in her 
 dark and then dilated eye, and crimsoned her animated 
 cheek ; her look and movement were like inspiration ; 
 in one there was such a flash, in the other such a power. 
 Half an hour afterward, when she had become calm, I 
 asked wh^e all that wild vigor was gone which had 
 transformed her erewhile, arid made her glance so 
 thrilling and ardent — her action so rapid and strong. 
 She looked down, smiling softly and passively : 
 
 "I can not tell where it is gone, Monsieui-," said/ 
 
316 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 she, " but I know that, whenever it is wanted, it will* 
 come back again." 
 
 Behold us now at the close of ten years, and we 
 have realized an independency. The rapidity with 
 which we have attained this end had its origin in three 
 reasons : Firstly, we worked so hard for it ; secondly, 
 we had no incumlprances to delay success ; thirdly, as 
 soon as we had capital to invest, two weU-skilled 
 counselors, one in Belgium, one in England, viz., Van- 
 denhuten and Hunsden, gave us each a word of ad- 
 vice as to the sort of investment to be chosen. The 
 suggestion made was judicious ; and, being promptly 
 acted on, the result proved gainful — I need not say 
 how gainful ; I communicated details to Messrs. Van- 
 denhuten and Hunsden ; nobody else can be interested 
 in hearing them. 
 
 Accounts being wound up, and our professional con- 
 nection disposed of, we both agreed that, as Mammon 
 was not our master, nor his service that in which we 
 desired to spend our lives ; as our desires were tem- 
 perate, and our habits unostentatious, we had now 
 abundance to live on — abundance to leave our boy, 
 and should, besides, always have a balance on hand, 
 which, properly managed by right sympathy and un- 
 selfish activity, might help Philanthropy in her enter- 
 prises, and put solace into the hand of Charity. 
 
 To England we now resolved to take wing. We 
 arrived there safely ; Frances realized the dream of 
 her lifetime. We spent a whole summer and autumn 
 in traveling from end to end of the British islands, and 
 afterward passed a winter in London. Then we 
 thought it high time to fix oui residence. My heart 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 317 
 
 yearned toward my native county of shire, and it 
 
 is in shire I now live ; it is in the library of my 
 
 own home I am now writing. That home lies amid a 
 sequestered and rather hilly region, thirty miles re- 
 moved from X^ ; a region whose verdure the smoke 
 
 of mills has not yet sullied, whose waters still run 
 pure, whose swells of moorland preserve in some ferny 
 glens that lie between them the very primal wildness 
 of nature — ^her moss, her bracken, her blue-bells ; her 
 scents of reed and heather ; her free and fresh breezes. 
 My house is a picturesque and not too spacious dwell- 
 ing, with low and long windows, a trellised and leaf- 
 veiled porch over the front door, just now, on this 
 summer evening, lookiiig like an arch of roses and ivy. 
 The garden is chiefly laid out in lawn, formed of the 
 sod of the hills, with herbage short and soft as moss, 
 full of its own peculiar flowers, tiny and starlike, im- 
 bedded in the minute embroidery, of their fine foliage. 
 Af the bottom of the sloping garden there is a wicket, 
 which opens upon a lane as green as the lawn, very 
 long, shady, and little frequented ; on the turf of this 
 lane generally appear the first daisies of spring, whence 
 its name, Daisy Lane, serving also as a distinction to 
 the house. 
 
 It terminates (the lane I mean) in a valley full of 
 wood, which wood— chiefly oak and beech — spreads 
 shadowy about the vicinage of a very, old mansion, one 
 of the Elizabethan, structures, much larger, as well as 
 more antique than Daisy Lane, the property and res- 
 idence of an individual familiar both to me and to the 
 reader. Yes, in Hunsden Wood — for so are those 
 glades and that gray, building, with many gables and 
 
318 THE PKOFESSOR. 
 
 more chimneys, named — abides Yorke Htinsden, still 
 unmarried; never, I suppose, having yet found his 
 ideal, though I know at least a score of young ladies 
 within a circuit of forty miles who would he willing 
 to assist him in the search. 
 
 The estate fell to him Iby the death of his father five 
 years since. He has given up trade, after having 
 made hy it sufficient to pay off some incumbralices by 
 which the family heritage was burdened. _ I say he 
 abides here, but I do not think he is resident above 
 five months out of the twelve ; he wanders from- land 
 to land, and spends some part of each winter in town; 
 he frequently brings visitors with him when he comes 
 
 to shire, and these visitors are often foreigners : 
 
 sometimes he has a German metaphysician, sometimes 
 a French savant ; he had once a dissatisfied and sav- 
 age-looking Italian, who neither sang nor played, and 
 of whom Frances affirmed that he had "tout I'air d'un 
 conspirateiir." "" 
 
 What English guests Hunsden invites are all either 
 men of Birmingham or Manchester — hard men, seem- 
 ingly knit up in one thought, whose talk is of free 
 trade. The foreign visitors, too,, are politicians: they 
 take a wider theme — European progress — the spread 
 of liberal sentiments over the Continent; on their 
 mental tablets, the names of Russia, Austria, and the 
 Pope are inscribed in red ink, I have heard some of 
 them talk vigorous sense — ^yea, I have been present at 
 polyglot discussions in the old, oak-lined dining-room 
 at Hunsden Wood, where a singular insight was gi'-on 
 of the sentiments entertained by resolute minds respect- 
 ing old northern despotisms, and older southern super- 
 
THE PEOPESSOE. 319 
 
 stitions; also I have heard much twaddle, enounced 
 chiefly in French and Deutsch, hut let that pass. 
 Hunsden himself tolerated the driveling theorists; with 
 the practical men he seemed 4eagued hand and heart. 
 
 When Hunsden is staying alone at the Wood (which 
 seldom happens), he generally finds his way two or 
 three times a week to Daisy Lane. He has a philan- 
 thropic motive for coming to smoke his cigar in our 
 porch on summer evenings : he says he does it to kill 
 the earwigs among the roses, with which insects, but 
 for his benevolent fumigations, he intimates we should 
 certainly be overrun. On wet days, too, we are al- 
 most sure to see him. According to- him, it gets on 
 time to work me into lunacy by treading on my men- 
 tal corns, or to force from Mrs. Crimsworth revelations 
 of the dragoUi within her by insulting the memory of 
 Hofer and Tell. 
 
 We also go frequently to Hunsden Wood, and both 
 I and Frances relish a visit there highly. If there are 
 other guests, their characters are an interesting study; 
 their conversation is exciting and strange ; the absence 
 of all local narrowness both in the host and his chosen 
 society gives a metropolitan, almost a cosmopolitan 
 freedom and largeness to the talk. Hunsden himself 
 is a polite man in his own house. He has, when he 
 chooses to employ it, an inexhaustible power of enter- 
 taining guests. His very mansion, too, is interesting; 
 the rooms look storied, the passages legendary, the 
 low-ceiled chambers, with their long rows of diamond- 
 jjaned lattices, have an Old-World, haunted air. In 
 '..'^i travels he has collected store of articles of virtu, 
 which are well and tastefidly disposed in his panel- 
 
320 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 ed or tapestried rooms. I have seen there one or two 
 pictures, and one or two pieces of statuary which many 
 an aristocratic connoisseur might have envied. 
 
 When I and Frances have dined and spent an even- 
 ing with Hunsden, he often walks home with us. His 
 wood is large, and some of the timber is old and of 
 huge growth. There are winding ways in it, which, 
 pursued through glade and hrake, make the walk back 
 to Daisy Lane a somewhat long one. Many a time, 
 when we have had the benefit of a full moon, and 
 when the night has been mild and balmy; when, 
 moreover, a certain nightingale has been singing, and 
 a certain stream, hid in alders, has lent the song a soft 
 accompaniment, the remote church-bell of the one ham- 
 let in a district of ten miles has tolled midnight ere 
 the lord of the wood left us at our porch. Free-flow- 
 ing was his talk at such hours, and far more quiet and 
 gentle than in the daytime and before numbers. He 
 would then forget politics and discussion, and would 
 dwell on the past times of his house, on his family 
 history, on himself and his own feelings — subjects 
 each and all invested with a peculiar zest, for they 
 were each and all unique. One glorious night in 
 June, after I had been taunting him about his ideal 
 bride, and asking him when she would come and graft 
 her foreign beauty on the old Hunsden oak, he answer- 
 ed suddenly, 
 
 " You call her ideal ; but see, here is her shadow ; 
 and there can not be a shadow without a substance." 
 
 He had led us from the depth of the " winding way" 
 into a glade fijom whence the beeches withdrew, leav- 
 ing it open to the sky ; an unclouded moon poured her 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 321 
 
 light into this glade, and Hunsden held out under her 
 beam an ivory miniature. 
 
 Frances, with eagerness, examined it first ; then she 
 gave it to me, still, however, pushing her little face 
 close to mine, and seeking in my eyes what I thought 
 of the portrait. I thought it represented a very hand- 
 some and very individual-looking female face, with, as 
 he had once said, " straight and harmonious features." 
 It was dark ; the hair, raven-black, swept not only 
 from the brow, but from the temples, seemed thrust 
 away carelessly, as if such beauty dispensed with, nay, 
 despised arrangement. The Italian eye looked straight 
 into you, and an independent, determined eye it was ; 
 the mouth was -as firm as fine ; the chin ditto. On 
 the back of the miniature was gilded "Lucia." 
 
 " That is a real head," was my conclusion. 
 
 Hunsden smiled. 
 
 " I think so," he replied. " All was real in Lucia." 
 
 " And she was somebody you would have liked to 
 marry, but could not ?" 
 
 "I should certainly have liked to marry her, and 
 that I have not done so is a proof that I could not." 
 
 He repossessed himself of the miniature, now again 
 in Frances' hand, and put it away. 
 
 "What do ywM think of it?" he asked of my wife, 
 as he buttoned his coat over it. 
 
 "I am sure Lucia once wore chains and broke 
 them," was the strange answer. "I do not mean 
 matrimonial chains," she added, correcting herself, as 
 if she feared misinterpretation, " but social chains of 
 some sort. The face is that of one who has made an 
 efibrt, and a successful and triumphant efibrt, to wrest 
 02 
 
322 THE PKOPESSOE, 
 
 some vigorous and valued faculty from insupportable' 
 consti'aint ; and when Lucia's faculty got free, I am 
 certain it spread wide pinions and carried her higher 
 than — " She hesitated. 
 
 " Than what ?" demanded Hunsden. 
 
 " Than ' les convenances' permitted you to follow." 
 
 "I think you grow spiteful — impertinent." 
 
 " Lucia has trodden the stage," continued Frances. 
 " Tou never seriously thought of marrying her. You 
 admired her originality, her fearlessness, her energy of 
 body and mind ; you delighted in her talent, whatever 
 that was, whether song, dance, or dramatic represent- 
 ation ; you worshiped her beauty, which was of the 
 sort after your own heart ; but I am sure she filled a 
 sphere from whence you would never have thought of 
 taking a wife." 
 
 "Ingenious," remarked Hunsden; "whether true 
 or not is another question. Meantime, don't you feel 
 your little lamp of a spirit wax very pale beside such 
 a girandole as Lucia's ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Candid, at least ; and the Professor wiU soon be 
 dissatisfied with the dim light you give?" 
 
 " WiU you. Monsieur ?" 
 
 "My sight was always too weak to endure a blaze, 
 Frances," and we had now reached the wicket. 
 
 I said, a few pages back, that this is a sweet sum- 
 mer evening ; it is : there has been a series of lovely 
 days, and this is the loveliest ; the hay is just carried 
 from my fields, its perfume stiU lingers in the air. 
 Frances proposed to me, an hour or two since, to take 
 tea out on the lawn ; I see the round table, loaded with 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. ' 323 
 
 china, placed under a certain beech ; Hunsden is ex- 
 pected — nay, I hear he is come ; there is his voice lay- 
 ing down the law on some point with authority ; thatt 
 of Frances replies : she opposes him, of course. They 
 are disputing about Victor, of whom Hunsden affirms 
 that his mother is making a milksop. Mrs. Crims- 
 worth retaliates : 
 
 " Better a thousand times he should be a milksop 
 than what he, Hunsden, calls ' a fine lad ;' and, more- 
 over, she says that if Hunsden were to become a fix- 
 ture in the neighborhood, and were not a mere comet, 
 coming and going, no one knows how, when, where, or 
 why, she would be quite uneasy till she had got Victor 
 away to a school at least a hundred miles oif ; for that, 
 with his mutinous maxims and unpractical dogmas, he 
 would ruin a score of children." 
 
 1 have a word to say of Victor ere I shut this man- 
 uscript in my desk, but it must be a brief one, for I 
 hear the tinkle of silver on porcelain. 
 
 Victor is as little of a pretty child as I am ot a 
 handsome man, or his mother of a fine woman ; he is 
 pale and spare, with large eyes, as dark as those of 
 Frances, and as deeply set as mine. His shape is 
 symmetrical enough, but slight ; his health is good. 
 I never saw a child smile less than he does, nor one 
 who knits such a formidable brow when sitting over a 
 book that interests him, or while listening to tales of 
 adventure, peril, or wonder narrated by his mother, 
 Hunsden, or myself. But, though still, he is not un- 
 happy ; though serious, not morose : he has a suscep- 
 tibility to pleasurable sensations almost too keen, for 
 it amounts to enthusiasm. He learned to read in the 
 
324 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 old-fashioned way out of a spelling-book at his moth- 
 er's knee, and as he got on without driving by that 
 method, she thought it unnecessary to buy him ivory 
 letters, or to try any of the other inducements to learn- 
 ing now deemed indispensable. When he could read 
 he became a glutton of books, and is so still. His 
 toys have been few, and he has never wanted more ; 
 for those he possesses he seems to have contracted a 
 partiality amounting to affection : this feeling, directed 
 toward one or two living animals of the house, strength- 
 ens almost to a passion. 
 
 Mr, Hunsden gave him a mastiff cub, which he call- 
 ed Yorke, after the donor. It grew to a superb dog, 
 whose fierceness, however, was much modified by the 
 companionship and caresses of its young master. He 
 would go nowhere, do nothing without Yorke ; Yorke 
 lay at his feet while he learned his lessons, played with 
 him in the garden, walked with him in the lane and 
 wood, sat near his chair at meals, was fed always by 
 his own hand, was the first thing he sought in the 
 morning, the last he left at night. Yorke accompanied 
 
 Mr. Hunsden one day to X , and was bitten in the 
 
 street by a dog in a rabid state. As soon as Hunsden 
 had brought him home, and had informed me of the 
 circumstance, I went into the yard and shot him where 
 he lay licking his wound : he was dead in an instant ; 
 he had not seen me level the gun — I stood behind him. 
 I had scarcely been ten minutes in the house when 
 my ear was struck with sounds of anguish. I repair- 
 ed to the yard once more, for they proceeded thence. 
 Victor was kneeling beside his dead mastiff, bent over 
 it, embracing its buU-like neck, and lost in a passion 
 of the wildest woe. He saw me. 
 
THE PKOPESSOE. 325 
 
 " Oh, papa, I'll never forgive you ! I'll never forgive 
 you!" was his exclamation. "You shot Yorke- I 
 saw it from the window. I never helieved you could 
 te so cruel ; I can love you no more ! " 
 
 I had much ado to explain to him, with steady 
 voice, the stern necessity of the deed. He still, with 
 that inconsolable and hitter accent which I can not 
 render, hut which pierced my heart, repeated, 
 
 "He might have been cured — you should have 
 tried — you should have burnt the wound with a hot 
 
 ♦ iron, or covered it with caustic. You gave no time ; 
 and now it is too late : he is dead !" 
 
 He sank fairly down on -the senseless carcass. I 
 waited patiently a long while, till his grief had some- 
 what exhausted him, and then I lifted him in my arms 
 and carried him to his mother, sure that she would 
 comfort him best. She had witnessed the whole scene 
 
 " from a window. She would not come out for fear of 
 increasing my difEculties by her emotion, but she was 
 ready now to receive him. She took him to her kind 
 heart, and on to her gentle lap ; consoled him but with 
 her lips, her eyes, her soft embrace, for some time ; and 
 then, when his sobs diminished, told him that Yorke 
 had felt no pain in dying, and that, if he had been left 
 to expire naturally, his end would have been most 
 horrible ; above all, she told him that I was not cruel 
 (for that idea seemed__^to give exquisite pain to poor 
 Victor) ; »that it was my affection for Yorke and him 
 which had made me act so, and that I was now al- 
 most heartbroken to see him weep thus bitterly. 
 
 Victor would have been no true son of his father 
 had these considerations, these reasons, breathed in so 
 
326 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 low, SO sweet a tone — married to caresses so Ibenign, 
 so tender — ^to looks so inspired with pitying sympa- 
 thy, produced no effect on him. They did produce an 
 effect : he grew calmer, rested his face on her shoulder, 
 and lay still in her arms. Looking up shortly, he 
 asked his mother to tell him over again what she had 
 said about Torke having suffered no pain, and my not 
 being cruel ; the balmy words being repeated, he again 
 pillowed his cheek on her breast, and was again tran- 
 quil. 
 
 Some hours after, he came to me in my library,* 
 asked if I forgave him, and desired to be reconciled. 
 I drew the lad to my side, and there I kept him a good 
 while, and had much talk with him, in the course of 
 which he disclosed many points of feehng and thought 
 I approved of in my son. I found, it is true, few ele- 
 ments of the "good feUow" or the "fine fellow" in 
 him ; scant sparkles of the spirit which loves to flash 
 over the wine-cup, or which kindles the passions to a 
 destroying fire ; but I saw in. the soil of his heart 
 healthy and swelling germs of compassion, affection, 
 fidelity. I discovered in the garden of his intellect a 
 rich growth of wholesome principles — ^reason, justice, 
 moral courage, promised, if not blighted, a fertile bear- 
 ing. So I bestowed on his large forehead and on his 
 cheek — still pale with tears — a proud and contented 
 kiss, and sent him away comforted. Yet I saw him 
 the next day laid on the mound under which Torke 
 had been buried, his face covered with his hands. He 
 was melancholy, for some weeks; and more than a 
 year • elapsed before he would listen to any proposal 
 of having another dog. . 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 327 
 
 Victor learns fast. He must soon go to Eton, 
 where, I suspect, his first year or two will be litter 
 wretchedness : to leave me, his mother, and his home, 
 will give his heart an agonized wrench; then the 
 fagging yyiU not suit him ; but emulation, thirst after 
 knowledge, the glory of success, will stir and reward 
 him in time. Meantime, I feel in myself a strong 
 repugnance to fix the hour which wiU uproot my sole 
 olive-branch, and transplant it far from me; and, 
 when I speak to Frances on the subject, I am heard 
 with a kind of patient pain, as though I aUuded to 
 some fearful operation, at which her nature shudders, 
 but from which her fortitude will not permit her to re- 
 coil. The step must, however, be taken, and it shxM 
 be ; for, though Frances will not make a mUlcsop of 
 her son, she wiU accustom him to a style -of treat- 
 ment, a forbearance, a congenial tenderness he will 
 meet with from no one else. She sees, as I also see, 
 a something in Victor's temper — -a kind of electrical 
 ardor and power-— which emits, now and then, ominous 
 sparks. Hunsden calls it hife spirit, and says it should 
 not be curbed. I call it the leaven of the offending 
 Adam, and .consider that it should be, if not whipped 
 out of him, at least soundly disciplined ; &nd that he 
 will be cheap of any amount of either bodily or men- 
 tal sufiering which wLQ ground him radically in the art 
 of self-control. Frances gives this sometMng in her 
 son's marked character no name ; but when it appears 
 in the grinding of his teeth, in the glittering of his eye, 
 in the fierce revolt of feeling against disappointment, 
 mischance, sudden sorrow, or supposed injustice, she 
 folds him to her breast, or takes him to walk with her 
 
328 THE PEOFESSOE. 
 
 alone in the wood ; then she reasons with him like any 
 philosopher, and to reason Victor is ever accessible ; 
 then she looks at him with eyes of love, and by love 
 Victor can be infallibly subjugated ; but will reason or 
 love be the weapons with which in future the world will 
 meet his violence ? Oh no ; for that flash in his black 
 eye — for that cloud on his bony brow — for that com- 
 pression of his statuesque lips, the lad will some day 
 get blows instead of blandishments — kicks instead of 
 kisses ; then for the fit of mute fury which will sicken 
 his body and madden his soul ; then for the ordeal of 
 merited and salutary suffering, out of which he wiU 
 come (I trust) a wiser and a better man. 
 
 I see him now ; he stands by Hunsden, who is seat- 
 ed on the lawn under the beech ; Hunsden's hand 
 rests on the boy's collar, and he is instilling God 
 knows what principles into his ear. Victor looks well 
 just now, for- he listens with a sort of smiling interest ; 
 he never looks so like his mother as when he smiles — 
 pity the sunshine breaks out so rarely ! Victor has 
 a preference for Hunsden, full as -strong as I deem de- 
 sirable, being considerably more potent, decided, and 
 indiscriminating than any I ever entertained for that 
 personage myself. Frances, too, regards it with a 
 sort of unexpressed anxiety ; while her son leans on 
 Hunsden's knee, or rests against his shoulder, she 
 roves with restless movement round, like a doye guard- 
 ing its young from a hovering hawk. She says she 
 wishes Hunsden had children of his own, for then he 
 would better know the danger of inciting their pride 
 and indulging then- foibles. 
 
 Frances approaches my library window, puts aside 
 
THE PEOFESSOE. 329 
 
 the honeysuckle which half covers it, and teUs me tea 
 is ready. Seeing that I continue busy, she enters the 
 room, comes near me quietly, and puts her l^nd on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Monsieur est trop applique." 
 
 " I shall soon have done." 
 
 She draws a chair near, arid sits down to wait till 
 I have finished. Her presence is as pleasant to my 
 mind as the .perfume of the fresh hay and spicy flow- 
 ers, as the glow of the westering sun, as the repose of 
 the midsummer eve are to my senses. 
 
 But Hunsden comes ; I hear his step, and there he 
 is, tending through the lattice from which he has thrust 
 away the woodbine with unsparing hand, disturbing 
 two bees and a butterfly. 
 
 "Crimsworth! I say,Crimsworth! Take that pen 
 out of his hand, mistress, and make him lift up his 
 head." 
 
 " Well, Hunsden, I hear you." 
 
 " I was at X yesterday ; your brother Ned is 
 
 getting richer than Croesus by railway speculations ; 
 they call him in the Piece-Hall a stag of ten ; and I 
 have heard from Brown. M. and Madame Vanden- 
 hnten and Jean Baptiste talk of coming to see you 
 next month. He mentions the Pelets too ; he says 
 their domestic harmony is not ^he finest in the world, 
 but in business they are doing "on ne pent mieux," 
 which cir^mstance, he concludes, will be a sufficient 
 consolation to both for any little crosses in the affec- 
 tions. Why don't yon invite the Pelets to shire, 
 
 Crimsworth ? I should so like to see your first flame, 
 Zoraide. Mistress, don't be jealous, but he loved that 
 
330 THE PBOFESSOK. 
 
 lady to distraction ; I know it for a fact. Brown says 
 she weighs twelve stone now; you see what you've 
 lost, Mr.J^ofessor. Now,^ Monsieur and Madame, if 
 you don't come to tea, Victor and I will begin without 
 you." 
 
 "Papa, come!" 
 
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