Villette

large shawl, a wrapping-gown, and a clean, trim night-cap.
    I said I was English, and immediately, without further prelude, we fell to a most remarkable conversation. Madame Beck (for Madame Beck it was – she had entered by a little door behind me, and, being shod with the shoes of silence, I had heard neither her entrance nor approach) – Madame Beck had exhausted her command of insular speech when she said »You ayre Engliss,« and she now proceeded to work away volubly in her own tongue. I answered in mine. She partly understood me, but as I did not at all understand her – though we made together an awful clamour (anything like madame's gift of utterance I had not hitherto heard or imagined) – we achieved little progress. She rang, ere long, for aid; which arrived in the shape of a ›maîtresse,‹ who had been partly educated in an Irish convent, and was esteemed a perfect adept in the English language. A bluff little personage this maîtresse was – Labassecourienne from top to toe: and how she did slaughter the speech of Albion! However, I told her a plain tale, which she translated. I told her how I had left my own country, intent on extending my knowledge, and gaining my bread; how I was ready to turn my hand to any useful thing, provided it was not wrong or degrading: how I would be a child's-nurse or a lady's-maid, and would not refuse even housework adapted to my strength. Madame heard this; and, questioning her countenance, I almost thought the tale won her ear:
    »Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises,« said she: »sont-elles donc intrépides ces femmes là!«
    She asked my name, my age; she sat and looked at me – not pityingly, not with interest: never a gleam of sympathy, or a shade of compassion, crossed her countenance during the interview. I felt she was not one to be led an inch by her feelings: grave and considerate, she gazed, consulting her judgment and studying my narrative. A bell rang.
    »Voilà pour la prière du soir!« said she, and rose. Through her interpreter, she desired me to depart now, and come back on the morrow; but this did not suit me: I could not bear to return to the perils of darkness and the street. With energy, yet with a collected and controlled manner, I said, addressing herself personally, and not the maîtresse:
    »Be assured, madame, that by instantly securing my services, your interests will be served and not injured: you will find me one who will wish to give, in her labour, a full equivalent for her wages; and if you hire me, it will be better that I should stay here this night: having no acquaintance in Villette, and not possessing the language of the country, how can I secure a lodging?«
    »It is true;« said she, »but at least you can give a reference?«
    »None.«
    She inquired after my luggage: I told her when it would arrive. She mused. At that moment a man's step was heard in the vestibule, hastily proceeding to the outer door. (I shall go on with this part of my tale as if I had understood all that passed; for though it was then scarce intelligible to me, I heard it translated afterwards).
    »Who goes out now?« demanded Madame Beck, listening to the tread.
    »M. Paul,« replied the teacher. »He came this evening to give a reading to the first class.«
    »The very man I should at this moment most wish to see. Call him.«
    The teacher ran to the salon door. M. Paul was summoned. He entered: a small, dark and spare man, in spectacles.
    »Mon cousin,« began madame, »I want your opinion. We know your skill in physiognomy; use it now. Read that countenance.«
    The little man fixed on me his spectacles. A resolute compression of the lips, and gathering of the brow, seemed to say that he meant to see through me, and that a veil would be no veil for him.
    »I read it,« he pronounced.
    »Et qu'en dîtes vous?«
    »Mais – bien des choses,« was the oracular answer.
    »Bad or good?«
    »Of each kind, without doubt,« pursued the diviner.
    »May one trust her word?«
    »Are you negotiating a matter of importance?«
    »She wishes me to engage her as bonne or gouvernante; tells a tale full of integrity, but gives no reference.«
    »She is a stranger?«
    »An Englishwoman, as one may see.«
    »She speaks French?«
    »Not a word.«
    »She understands it?«
    »No.«
    »One may then speak plainly in her presence?«
    »Doubtless.«
    He gazed steadily. »Do you need her services?«
    »I could do with them. You know I am disgusted with