Villette

not give the old lady for a dozen beauties. That sneer did me all the good in the world. Thank you, Miss Fanshawe!« And he lifted his hat from his waved locks, and made a mock reverence.
    »Yes,« he said, »I thank her. She has made me feel that nine parts in ten of my heart have always been sound as a bell, and the tenth bled from a mere puncture: a lancet-prick that will heal in a trice.«
    »You are angry just now, heated and indignant; you will think and feel differently to-morrow.«
    »
I
heated and indignant! You don't know me. On the contrary, the heat is gone: I am cool as the night – which, by the way, may be too cool for you. We will go back.«
    »Dr. John – this is a sudden change.«
    »Not it: or if it be, there are good reasons for it – two good reasons: I have told you one. But now let us re-enter.«
    We did not easily regain our seats; the lottery was begun, and all was excited confusion; crowds blocked the sort of corridor along which we had to pass: it was necessary to pause for a time. Happening to glance round – indeed I half fancied I heard my name pronounced – I saw quite near, the ubiquitous, the inevitable M. Paul. He was looking at me gravely and intently: at me, or rather, at my pink dress – sardonic comment on which gleamed in his eye. Now it was his habit to indulge in strictures on the dress, both of the teachers and pupils, at Madame Beck's – a habit which the former, at least, held to be an offensive impertinence: as yet I had not suffered from it – my sombre daily attire not being calculated to attract notice. I was in no mood to permit any new encroachment to-night: rather than accept his banter, I would ignore his presence, and accordingly steadily turned my face to the sleeve of Dr. John's coat; finding in that same black sleeve a prospect more redolent of pleasure and comfort, more genial, more friendly, I thought, than was offered by the dark little Professor's unlovely visage. Dr. John seemed unconsciously to sanction the preference by looking down and saying in his kind voice,
    »Ay, keep close to my side, Lucy: these crowding burghers are no respecters of persons.«
    I could not, however, be true to myself. Yielding to some influence, mesmeric or otherwise – an influence unwelcome, displeasing, but effective – I again glanced round to see if M. Paul was gone. No, there he stood on the same spot, looking still, but with a changed eye; he had penetrated my thought and read my wish to shun him. The mocking but not ill-humoured gaze was turned to a swarthy frown, and when I bowed, with a view to conciliation, I got only the stiffest and sternest of nods in return.
    »Whom have you made angry, Lucy?« whispered Dr. Bretton, smiling. »Who is that savage-looking friend of yours?«
    »One of the professors at Madame Beck's: a very cross little man.«
    »He looks mighty cross just now: what have you done to him? What is it all about? Ah, Lucy, Lucy! tell me the meaning of this.«
    »No mystery, I assure you. M. Emanuel is very exigeant, and because I looked at your coat sleeve, instead of curtseying and dipping to him, he thinks I have failed in respect.«
    »The little ––« began Dr. John: I know not what more he would have added, for at that moment I was nearly thrown down amongst the feet of the crowd. M. Paul had rudely pushed past, and was elbowing his way with such utter disregard to the convenience and security to all round him, that a very uncomfortable pressure was the consequence.
    »I think he is what he himself would call ›méchant,‹« said Dr. Bretton. I thought so, too.
    Slowly and with difficulty we made our way along the passage, and at last regained our seats. The drawing of the lottery lasted nearly an hour; it was an animating and amusing scene; and as we each held tickets, we shared in the alternations of hope and fear raised by each turn of the wheel. Two little girls, of five and six years old, drew the numbers; and the prizes were duly proclaimed from the platform. These prizes were numerous, though of small value. It so fell out, that Dr. John and I each gained one: mine was a cigar-case, his a lady's head-dress – a most airy sort of blue and silver turban, with a streamer of plumage on one side, like a light snowy cloud. He was excessively anxious to make an exchange; but I could not be brought to hear reason, and to this day I keep my cigar-case: it serves, when I look at it, to remind me of old times, and one happy evening.
    Dr.