“Monsieur， might not one learn something by analogy？ An échantillon—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 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 underground would seem narrow even to me.”
“Well， mademoiselle—what then？ Proceed.”
“Mais， monsieur， vous me comprenez.”
“Not in the least； have the goodness to explain.”
“Why， monsieur， it is just so.In Switzerland I have done but little， learnt 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 skilful， 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， because 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 Geneva， now I know something of the bourgeois of Brussels； if I went to London， I would 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 proposeto devote your life to teaching， and you are a most unsuccessful teacher； you cannot keep your pupils in order.”
A flush of painful confusion was the result of this harsh remark； she bent her head to the desk， but soon raising it replied—“Monsieur， I am not a skilful teacher， it is true， but practice improves； besides， I work under difficulties； 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 woulddeprive you of influence， and would effectually separate you from all round you； in England you would have as few connections， as little importance as you have here.”
“But I should be learning something； for the rest， there are probably difficulties for such as I everywhere， 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.
“Besides， monsieur， I long to live once more among Protestants； they are more honest than Catholics； a Romish school is a building with porous walls， a hollow floor， a false ceiling； every room in this house， monsieur， has eyeholes 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 politeness to profess friendship where they feel hatred.”
“All？” said I； “you mean the pupils—the mere children—inexperienced， giddy things， who have not learnt 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 tell lies， but they do it inartificially， and you know they are lying； but the grown-up people are very false； they deceive strangers， they deceive each other—”
A servant here entered：—
“Mdlle Henri—Mdlle Reuter vous prie de vouloir bien conduire la petite de Dorlodot chez elle， elle vous attend dans le cabinet de Rosalie la portière—c’est que sa bonne n’est pas venue la chercher—voyez-vous.”
“Eh bien！ est-ce que je suis sa bonne—moi？” demanded MdlleHenri； then smiling， with that same bitter， derisive smile I had seen on her lips once before， she hastily rose and made her exit.
