me terribly by almost going intohysterics the first night, when I told her about the Signor being in thestore-room; but I did not mention the jam then, for fear of hurting herfeelings. She said I did quite right about the note; for she couldnever have been happy again if the Signor had killed Achille--just as ifAchille was not a deal more likely to have killed the Signor!
I don't know how the maids knew, but Molly told us that the Signor hadquite left the place, and had not paid his lodging nor yet his washingbill; though I don't want to be spiteful, but I don't think that lastcould have been much, for I never caught sight of anything washable buta tiny bit of turn-down collar. And Molly knew--for James told her whenhe took the packet--that Mrs Blunt sent what salary was owing the sameday, while I afterwards learned from Achille that they never met again;and really it was a very good thing for all parties concerned that thepoor man went.
Yes! No! Let me see--yes, he told me upon the day I enclosed him thehalf-sovereign for the poor refugee family whose troubles in LondonAchille used to paint so vividly I remember he told me, too, that SignorPazzoletto had gone away in his debt too, and that he was afraid theSignor was not an honourable man.
My poor Achille was very charitable, and kept himself terribly poor thatway; but I could not help admiring his generosity towards his fellowexiles, and I used to give him, regularly, all I could from mypocket-money, after he had called my attention to these poor people'scondition; and I must say that papa was very liberal to me in that way,and I could always have a sovereign or two for the asking. Achille usedto tell me that he added all he could, and that the poor people were sograteful, and used to write of me to him as "la belle ange." He saidthat the mother was going to write and thank me some day, but she neverdid; while, I suppose from motives of delicacy, Achille never told metheir names.
He was really exceedingly charitable, and was often finding out caseswhere a little money would be well bestowed; and once or twice I wantedto call myself, and see the poor creatures; but his diffidence was sogreat, that he would not tell me of their places of abode, for he wouldnot be seen moving in such matters, preferring to perform his acts ofkindness in secret.
Poor Clara was down and amongst us once more; while, as I before said,there was no more talk of her being expelled, for since the Signor hadgone, Mrs Blunt thought that all would be right, and she would have nomore trouble. And I must say that, for a long time Clara would neverhelp me a bit in any way, now that she had lost her Giulio, but mopedterribly, and seemed quite an altered girl--even going so far as to saybitter, cruel things. One day she quite upset me by declaring thatAchille only wanted the money for himself, and that I had better be likeher--give up all such folly and love-making: a most cruel, unjust,sour-grapey speech; for as to giving up her black-bearded, Italian-organlooking man, there was little giving up in the case.
At last, down came Lady Fitzacre, and there was such a to-do in thedrawing-room; but Clara was so penitent that she was quite forgiven.And then I was had in to be introduced, and, of course, I expected thata lady with such a name would take after her daughter or that herdaughter took after her--it don't matter which--and be tall,aristocratic, and imposing; but, instead, she was a little, screwy,pale, squeezy body, with her upper teeth sticking out quite forward, soas to make her look ugly. But she was very pleasant and good-tempered,and made a great fuss over me, and told Mrs Blunt that she would soonerkeep a powder magazine than have a troop of such man-killers to manage.
Then she kissed Clara, and said she was afraid that the poor thing was"a naughty, naughty girl," and that it was "so shocking."
"But very natural, Mrs de Blount," I heard her whisper, and it set methinking about what mamma would say when she found me out.
For I was not going to break with Achille just because there wereobstacles thrown in our way. Of course, there were no more meetings tobe held in the conservatory, and for a long time, a very long time, wehad to be content with notes, and they could not always be delivered.As I hinted before, Clara would not help me a bit. She said she hadpromised her mamma that she would not engage in anything of the kindagain, and she did not mean to break her word. Certainly, she said, shemight perhaps come with me some night, or perhaps aid me a little; butit would not be at present, until she had quite got over her late shock.And then the stupid, romantic girl used to talk about her heart being adesert, and asked all sorts of questions about the convent at Guisnes,just as if she had serious thoughts of entering, and turning nunaltogether; for she said there seemed no hope for her in the future.
There certainly was not much temptation for her to break her word to hermamma with the new Italian master, Signor Pompare. For of all thefrights--oh, dear me! A great, overgrown, stuffy, fat pig; and insteadof being dark-eyed, and with beautiful, glossy, black hair, he wasactually quite sandy--bird-sandy--and very bald-headed; while his face,where the beautiful, silky, black beard should have been, was all closeshaved, and soapy and shiny. And then, too, he used to take such lotsof snuff; and there was a crinkly little hole in his upper lip, where hecould not shave, and this was always half full of brown powder, so thatwe decided to call it the reservoir. When he breathed, you used to seethe snuff puff out of the place in little tiny, tiny clouds, and fall ina brown bloom over his closely-shaven chin. Not much fear of any of thepupils taking a fancy to him, you would have thought; though I declareif Patty Smith did not say he was a very nice-looking man. But not thatthat meant anything, for the highest love to which Patty could ascendwas love for something tasty to eat.
Actually, two months had passed since we had had an interview, and notone plan could I hit upon, though I had tortured my poor head until Igrew quite desperate. Of course, I saw Achille every week for lessons,and twice on Sundays. But, then, all that seemed to count for nothing;and once more I was beginning to grow so miserable and dejected, a statefrom which his letters hardly seemed to revive me.
Any disloyal thoughts I may have had were thoroughly chased away by thedifficulties we had encountered. But, still, leading such a quiet,regular life as we lived, it seemed very hard work to find words andremarks with which to fill up one's notes. I declare that if they didnot grow to be as difficult to write as Miss Furness's essays; and I hadto use the same adjectives over and over and over again, till I wasquite ashamed of them, and almost wondered that they did not turn soureven though they were meant to be sweet and endearing. As for Achille'snotes--heigho! I could excuse him, knowing how difficult it was to findwords myself; but towards the latter part of our dear intimacy, hisletters grew to be either political, or else full of the sorrows of thepoor people whose cause he espoused, and whose sufferings he tried, touse his own words, "to make a little softer."
Of course it was too bad to gape, and keep his notes in one's pocketuntil they grew quite worn before I opened them, and then to feel that Iknew by heart all that he was going to say; but I could not help it,though I tried hard to love and appreciate the things which interestedhim, and pinched myself terribly to send him half-sovereigns for his"chers pauvres." But, I don't mind owning to it, I did not care asingle button or pen nib for the French Royal family, though I did notlike to tell him so when he asked me to subscribe for the poordescendants of the noblest of "la belle France." I'm afraid I was notso patriotic as I should have been. I could not help it.
I did try; and no doubt in time I should have grown to have loved thesame things as he did; but I did wish that he would have made his notesa little more--more--well, what shall I say?--there, less matter of factand worldly, when I wanted them to be tender, and sympathising, andethereal.
Yes--I grew quite disgusted, in spite of Clara's nasty badinage; for shehad recovered her spirits as I lost mine, and used to tell me to try herrecipe, and I should soon be well again. But, of course, I treated herremarks as they deserved; and grew paler every day in spite of thepleasant country walks, though they were totally spoiled by our havingto tramp along like a regiment of soldiers.
For my part, I should have liked
to go wandering through the woods,spending ten minutes here and ten minutes there; now stopping to pluck aflower, and now to sit down upon some mossy fallen tree; or else to havelost myself amongst the embowering leaves. In short, I should haveliked to do just as I pleased; while all the time the rule seemed to bethat we should do just as some one else liked; and "some one else" wasgenerally that detestable, screwy, old Miss Furness, with her"Keep together, young ladies," or "Now, a little faster," or"Straightforward," or "To the right" Oh! it was so sickening, I declarethat I would rather have sat up in the dormitory--pooh, such nonsense!--in the bedroom, and watched and envied the birds in the long, wavyboughs of the beautiful cedars. I know I could have contrived severalmeetings if it had not been for Miss Furness, who was always prying andpeering about, as suspiciously as possible, though half of
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