AND Pelet himself? How did I
continue to like him? Oh, extremely
well! Nothing could be more smooth,
gentlemanlike, and even friendly,
than his demeanour 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 establishment could
not have said as much; to them
the director's manner was invariably
dry, stern, and cool. I believe
he perceived once or twice that
I was a little shocked at the
difference he made between them
and me, 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 intellectual 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 with perpetual severity
and contempt. This idea, of injustice
somewhat poisoned the pleasure
I might otherwise have derived
from Pelet's soft affable manner
to myself. Certainly it was agreeable,
when the day's work was over,
to find one's employer an intelligent
and cheerful companion; and if
he was sometimes a little sarcastic
and sometimes a little too insinuating,
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 under
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that were scrupulously withdrawn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 perceived he had all
a Frenchman's, all a Parisian's
notions about matrimony and women.
I suspected a degree of laxity
in his code of morals, there
was something so cold and BLASE
in his tone whenever he alluded
to what he called "le beau sexe;" but
he was too gentlemanlike to intrude
topics I did not 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 of our
notions, and, by mutual consent,
we kept off ground debateable.
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. Indoors she would
go about without cap, her grey
hair strangely dishevelled; 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 slippers, 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-coloured
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 indiscreet
talker; she kept chiefly in and
about the kitchen, and seemed
rather to avoid her son's august
presence; of him, indeed, she
evidently stood in awe. When
he reproved her, his reproofs
were bitter 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 kitchen, 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, engaged in the threefold
employment of eating her dinner,
gossiping with her favourite
servant, the housemaid, and scolding
her antagonist, the cook; she
never 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 sound very odd in English
ears, but Belgium is not England,
and its ways are not our ways.
Madame Pelet's
habits of life, then, being
taken into consideration,
I was a good deal surprised when,
one Thursday evening (Thursday
was always a half-holiday), as
I was sitting all alone in my
apartment, correcting 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
misunderstood, the
message and invitation were so
unusual; 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 Frenchwomen 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 myself in; but whenever
a danger or a horror is veiled
with uncertainty, the primary
wish of the mind is to ascertain
first the naked truth, reserving
the expedient of flight for the
moment when its dread anticipation
shall be realized. I turned the
door-handle, and in an instant
had crossed the fatal threshold,
closed the door behind me, and
stood in the presence of Madame
Pelet.
Gracious heavens! The first
view of her seemed to confirm
my worst apprehensions. There
she sat, dressed out in a light
green muslin gown, on her head
a lace cap with flourishing red
roses in the frill; her table
was carefully spread; there were
fruit, cakes, and coffee, with
a bottle of something--I did
not know what. Already the cold
sweat started on my brow, already
I glanced back over my shoulder
at the closed door, when, to
my unspeakable relief, my eye,
wandering mildly in the direction
of the stove, rested upon a second
figure, seated in a large fauteuil
beside it. This was a woman,
too, and, moreover, an old woman,
and as fat and as rubicund as
Madame Pelet was meagre and yellow;
her attire was likewise very
fine, and spring flowers of different
hues circled in a bright wreath
the crown of her violet-coloured
velvet bonnet.
I had only time to make these
general observations when Madame
Pelet, coming forward with what
she intended should be a graceful
and elastic step, thus accosted
me:-
"Monsieur is
indeed most obliging to quit
his books, his studies,
at the request of an insignificant
person like me--will Monsieur
complete his kindness by allowing
me to present him to my dear
friend Madame Reuter, who resides
in the neighbouring house--the
young ladies' school."
"Ah!" thought I, "I knew she
was old," and I bowed and took
my seat. Madame Reuter placed
herself 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 Parisian utterance
of M. Pelet, for instance, and
the guttural enunciation of the
Flamands. I answered politely,
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 Reuter looked
more like a joyous, free-living
old Flemish fermiere, 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 licence of manners, speech,
and aspect, such as our venerable
granddames would recoil from
as absolutely disreputable, and
Madame Reuter'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 myself to inevitable
mystification, I sat and looked
first at one, then at the other,
taking care meantime to do justice
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
portion of the solids, they proposed
a "petit verre." I declined.
Not so Mesdames Pelet and Reuter;
each mixed herself what I thought
rather a stiff tumbler of punch,
and placing it on a stand near
the stove, they drew up their
chairs to that convenience, and
invited me to do the same. I
obeyed; and being seated fairly
between them, I was thus addressed
first by Madame Pelet, then by
Madame Reuter.
"We will now speak of business," said
Madame Pelet, and she went on
to make an elaborate speech,
which, being interpreted, was
to the effect that she had asked
for the pleasure of my company
that evening in order to give
her friend Madame Reuter an opportunity
of broaching an important proposal,
which might turn out greatly
to my advantage.
"Pourvu que vous soyez sage," said
Madame Reuter, "et a vrai dire,
vous en avez bien l'air. Take
one drop of the punch" (or ponche,
as she pronounced it); "it is
an agreeable and wholesome beverage
after a full meal."
I bowed, but again declined
it. She went on:-
"I feel," said she, after a
solemn sip--"I feel profoundly
the importance of the commission
with which my dear daughter has
entrusted me, for you are aware,
Monsieur, that it is my daughter
who directs the establishment
in the next house?"
"Ah! I thought it was yourself,
madame." Though, indeed, at that
moment I recollected that it
was called Mademoiselle, not
Madame Reuter's pensionnat.
"I! Oh, no!
I manage the house and look
after the servants,
as my friend Madame Pelet does
for Monsieur her son--nothing
more. Ah! you thought I gave
lessons in class--did you?"
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 because she cannot;" and
I whipped out a white pocket-handkerchief
and wafted it, with a French
grace, past my nose, bowing at
the name time.
"Quel charmant jeune homme!" murmured
Madame Pelet in a low voice.
Madame Reuter, 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
excellent professor, and as she
wishes to get the very beet 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 without
first examining well her ground
I don't think she would be pleased
if she knew I had already disclosed
her intentions to you; she did
not order me to go so far, but
I thought there would be no harm
in letting you into the secret,
and Madame Pelet was of the same
opinion. Take care, however,
you don't betray either of us
to Zoraide--to my daughter, I
mean; she is so discreet and
circumspect herself, she cannot
understand that one should find
a pleasure in gossiping a little--"
"C'est absolument comme mon
fils!" cried Madame Pelet.
"All the world is so changed
since our girlhood!" rejoined
the other: "young people have
such old heads now. But to return,
Monsieur. Madame Pelet will mention
the subject of your giving lessons
in my daughter's establishment
to her son, and he will speak
to you; and then to-morrow, you
will step over to our house,
and ask to see my daughter, and
you will introduce the subject
as if the first intimation of
it had reached you from M. Pelet
himself, and be sure you never
mention my name, for I would
not displease Zoraide on any
account.
"Bien! bien!" interrupted I--for
all this chatter and circumlocution
began to bore me very much; "I
will consult M. Pelet, and the
thing shall be settled as you
desire. Good evening, mesdames--I
am infinitely obliged to you."
"Comment! vous vous en allez
deja?" exclaimed Madame Pelet.
"Prenez encore
quelquechose, monsieur; une
pomme cuite, des
biscuits, encore une tasse de
cafe?"
"Merci, merci, madame--au revoir." And
I backed at last out of the apartment.
Having regained
my own room, I set myself to
turn over in
my mind the incident of the evening.
It seemed a queer affair altogether,
and queerly managed; the two
old women had made quite a little
intricate mess of it; still I
found that the uppermost feeling
in my mind on the subject was
one of satisfaction. In the first
place it would be a change to
give lessons in another seminary,
and then to teach young ladies
would be 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 mysterious garden: I
shall gaze both on the angels
and their Eden."
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