Villette

them: he thought his cousin Beck very much to blame in suffering this sort of fluttering inconsistency in a teacher attached to her house. What had a person devoted to a serious calling, that of education, to do with Counts and Countesses, hotels and châteaux? To him, I seemed altogether ›en l'air.‹ On his faith, he believed I went out six days in the seven.«
    I said, »Monsieur exaggerated. I certainly had enjoyed the advantage of a little change lately, but not before it had become necessary; and the privilege was by no means exercised in excess.«
    »Necessary! How was it necessary? I was well enough, he supposed? Change necessary! He would recommend me to look at the Catholic ›réligieuses,‹ and study
their
lives.
They
asked no change.«
    I am no judge of what expression crossed my face when he thus spoke, but it was one which provoked him: he accused me of being reckless, worldly, and epicurean; ambitious of greatness and feverishly athirst for the pomps and vanities of life. It seems I had no ›dévouement,‹ no ›recueillement‹ in my character; no spirit of grace, faith, sacrifice, or self-abasement. Feeling the inutility of answering these charges, I mutely continued the correction of a pile of English exercises.
    »He could see in me nothing Christian: like many other Protestants, I revelled in the pride and self-will of paganism.«
    I slightly turned from him, nestling still closer under the wing of silence.
    A vague sound grumbled between his teeth; it could not surely be a ›juron:‹ he was too religious for that; but I am certain I heard the word
sacré.
Grievous to relate, the same word was repeated, with the unequivocal addition of
mille
something, when I passed him about two hours afterwards in the corridor, prepared to go and take my German lesson in the Rue Crécy. Never was a better little man, in some points, than M. Paul: never, in others, a more waspish little despot.
     
    Our German mistress, Fraülein Anna Braun, was a worthy, hearty woman, of about forty-five; she ought, perhaps, to have lived in the days of Queen Elizabeth, as she habitually consumed, for her first and second breakfasts, beer and beef: also, her direct and downright Deutsch nature seemed to suffer a sensation of cruel restraint from what she called our English reserve; though we thought we were very cordial with her: but we did not slap her on the shoulder, and if we consented to kiss her cheek, it was done quietly, and without any explosive smack. These omissions oppressed and depressed her considerably; still, on the whole, we got on very well. Accustomed to instruct foreign girls, who hardly ever will think and study for themselves – who have no idea of grappling with a difficulty, and overcoming it by dint of reflection or application – our progress, which, in truth, was very leisurely, seemed to astound her. In her eyes, we were a pair of glacial prodigies, cold, proud, and preternatural.
    The young Countess
was
a little proud, a little fastidious: and perhaps, with her native delicacy and beauty, she had a right to these feelings; but I think it was a total mistake to ascribe them to me. I never evaded the morning salute, which Paulina would slip when she could; nor was a certain little manner of still disdain a weapon known in my armoury of defence; whereas, Paulina always kept it clear, fine and bright, and any rough German sally called forth at once its steely glisten.
    Honest Anna Braun, in some measure, felt this difference; and while she half-feared, half-worshipped Paulina, as a sort of dainty nymph – an Undine – she took refuge with me, as a being all mortal, and of easier mood.
    A book we liked well to read and translate was Schiller's Ballads; Paulina soon learned to read them beautifully: the Fraülein would listen to her with a broad smile of pleasure, and say her voice sounded like music. She translated them too with a facile flow of language, and in a strain of kindred and poetic fervour: her cheek would flush, her lips tremblingly smile, her beauteous eyes kindle or melt as she went on. She learnt the best by heart, and would often recite them when we were alone together. One she liked well was »Des Mädchens Klage:« that is, she liked well to repeat the words, she found plaintive melody in the sound; the sense she would criticise. She murmured, as we sat over the fire one evening: –
     
    »Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurück,
    Ich habe genossen das irdische Glück,
    Ich habe