CHAPTER VIII.
AND Pelet himself? How did I continue to like him? Oh, extremely well!Nothing could be more smooth, gentlemanlike, and even friendly, thanhis demeanour to me. I had to endure from him neither cold neglect,irritating interference, nor pretentious assumption of superiority. Ifear, however, two poor, hard-worked Belgian ushers in the establishmentcould not have said as much; to them the director's manner wasinvariably dry, stern, and cool. I believe he perceived once or twicethat I was a little shocked at the difference he made between them andme, and accounted for it by saying, with a quiet sarcastic smile--
"Ce ne sont que des Flamands--allez!"
And then he took his cigar gently from his lips and spat on the paintedfloor of the room in which we were sitting. Flamands certainly theywere, and both had the true Flamand physiognomy, where intellectualinferiority is marked in lines none can mistake; still they were men,and, in the main, honest men; and I could not see why their beingaboriginals of the flat, dull soil should serve as a pretext fortreating them with perpetual severity and contempt. This idea, ofinjustice somewhat poisoned the pleasure I might otherwise have derivedfrom Pelet's soft affable manner to myself. Certainly it was agreeable,when the day's work was over, to find one's employer an intelligentand cheerful companion and if he was sometimes a little sarcasticand sometimes a little too insinuating, and if I did discover thathis mildness was more a matter of appearance than of reality--if I didoccasionally suspect the existence of flint or steel under an externalcovering of velvet--still we are none of us perfect; and weary as I wasof the atmosphere of brutality and insolence in which I had constantlylived at X----, I had no inclination now, on casting anchor in calmerregions, to institute at once a prying search after defects that werescrupulously withdrawn and carefully veiled from my view. I was willingto take Pelet for what he seemed--to believe him benevolent and friendlyuntil some untoward event should prove him otherwise. He was notmarried, and I soon perceived he had all a Frenchman's, all a Parisian'snotions about matrimony and women. I suspected a degree of laxity inhis code of morals, there was something so cold and BLASE in his tonewhenever he alluded to what he called "le beau sexe;" but he was toogentlemanlike to intrude topics I did not invite, and as he was reallyintelligent and really fond of intellectual subjects of discourse, heand I always found enough to talk about, without seeking themes in themire. I hated his fashion of mentioning love; I abhorred, from my soul,mere licentiousness. He felt the difference of our notions, and, bymutual consent, we kept off ground debateable.
Pelet's house was kept and his kitchen managed by his mother, a realold Frenchwoman; she had been handsome--at least she told me so, and Istrove to believe her; she was now ugly, as only continental old womencan be; perhaps, though, her style of dress made her look uglier thanshe really was. Indoors she would go about without cap, her grey hairstrangely dishevelled; then, when at home, she seldom wore a gown--onlya shabby cotton camisole; shoes, too, were strangers to her feet, and inlieu of them she sported roomy slippers, trodden down at the heels. Onthe other hand, whenever it was her pleasure to appear abroad, as onSundays and fete-days, she would put on some very brilliant-coloureddress, usually of thin texture, a silk bonnet with a wreath of flowers,and a very fine shawl. She was not, in the main, an ill-natured oldwoman, but an incessant and most indiscreet talker; she kept chieflyin and about the kitchen, and seemed rather to avoid her son's augustpresence; of him, indeed, she evidently stood in awe. When he reprovedher, his reproofs were bitter and unsparing; but he seldom gave himselfthat trouble.
Madame Pelet had her own society, her own circle of chosen visitors,whom, however, I seldom saw, as she generally entertained them in whatshe called her "cabinet," a small den of a place adjoining the kitchen,and descending into it by one or two steps. On these steps, by-the-by,I have not unfrequently seen Madame Pelet seated with a trencher onher knee, engaged in the threefold employment of eating her dinner,gossiping with her favourite servant, the housemaid, and scolding herantagonist, the cook; she never dined, and seldom indeed took any mealwith her son and as to showing her face at the boys' table, that wasquite out of the question. These details will sound very odd in Englishears, but Belgium is not England, and its ways are not our ways.
Madame Pelet's habits of life, then, being taken into consideration,I was a good deal surprised when, one Thursday evening (Thursday wasalways a half-holiday), as I was sitting all alone in my apartment,correcting a huge pile of English and Latin exercises, a servanttapped at the door, and, on its being opened, presented Madame Pelet'scompliments, and she would be happy to see me to take my "gouter" (ameal which answers to our English "tea") with her in the dining-room.
"Plait-il?" said I, for I thought I must have misunderstood, themessage and invitation were so unusual; the same words were repeated. Iaccepted, of course, and as I descended the stairs, I wondered whatwhim had entered the old lady's brain; her son was out--gone to pass theevening at the Salle of the Grande Harmonie or some other club of whichhe was a member. Just as I laid my hand on the handle of the dining-roomdoor, a queer idea glanced across my mind.
"Surely she's not going to make love to me," said I. "I've heard ofold Frenchwomen doing odd things in that line; and the gouter? Theygenerally begin such affairs with eating and drinking, I believe."
There was a fearful dismay in this suggestion of my excited imagination,and if I had allowed myself time to dwell upon it, I should no doubthave cut there and then, rushed back to my chamber, and bolted myselfin; but whenever a danger or a horror is veiled with uncertainty,the primary wish of the mind is to ascertain first the naked truth,reserving the expedient of flight for the moment when its dreadanticipation shall be realized. I turned the door-handle, and in aninstant had crossed the fatal threshold, closed the door behind me, andstood in the presence of Madame Pelet.
Gracious heavens! The first view of her seemed to confirm my worstapprehensions. There she sat, dressed out in a light green muslin gown,on her head a lace cap with flourishing red roses in the frill; hertable was carefully spread; there were fruit, cakes, and coffee, with abottle of something--I did not know what. Already the cold sweat startedon my brow, already I glanced back over my shoulder at the closeddoor, when, to my unspeakable relief, my eye, wandering mildly in thedirection of the stove, rested upon a second figure, seated in a largefauteuil beside it. This was a woman, too, and, moreover, an old woman,and as fat and as rubicund as Madame Pelet was meagre and yellow; herattire was likewise very fine, and spring flowers of different huescircled in a bright wreath the crown of her violet-coloured velvetbonnet.
I had only time to make these general observations when Madame Pelet,coming forward with what she intended should be a graceful and elasticstep, thus accosted me:
"Monsieur is indeed most obliging to quit his books, his studies, at therequest of an insignificant person like me--will Monsieur complete hiskindness by allowing me to present him to my dear friend Madame Reuter,who resides in the neighbouring house--the young ladies' school."
"Ah!" thought I, "I knew she was old," and I bowed and took my seat.Madame Reuter placed herself at the table opposite to me.
"How do you like Belgium, Monsieur?" asked she, in an accent of thebroadest Bruxellois. I could now well distinguish the difference betweenthe fine and pure Parisian utterance of M. Pelet, for instance, andthe guttural enunciation of the Flamands. I answered politely, and thenwondered how so coarse and clumsy an old woman as the one before meshould be at the head of a ladies' seminary, which I had always heardspoken of in terms of high commendation. In truth there was somethingto wonder at. Madame Reuter looked more like a joyous, free-living oldFlemish fermiere, or even a maitresse d'auberge, than a staid, grave,rigid directrice de pensionnat. In general the continental, or at leastthe Belgian old women permit themselves a licence of manners, speech,and aspect, such as our venerable granddames would recoil from asabsolutely disreputable, and Madame Reuter's jolly face bore evidencethat she was no exception to the rule of her count
ry; there was atwinkle and leer in her left eye; her right she kept habitually halfshut, which I thought very odd indeed. After several vain attempts tocomprehend the motives of these two droll old creatures for inviting meto join them at their gouter, I at last fairly gave it up, and resigningmyself to inevitable mystification, I sat and looked first at one, thenat the other, taking care meantime to do justice to the confitures,cakes, and coffee, with which they amply supplied me. They, too, ate,and that with no delicate appetite, and having demolished a largeportion of the solids, they proposed a "petit verre." I declined. Notso Mesdames Pelet and Reuter; each mixed herself what I thought rathera stiff tumbler of punch, and placing it on a stand near the stove, theydrew up their chairs to that convenience, and invited me to do the same.I obeyed; and being seated fairly between them, I was thus addressedfirst by Madame Pelet, then by Madame Reuter.
"We will now speak of business," said Madame Pelet, and she went on tomake an elaborate speech, which, being interpreted, was to the effectthat she had asked for the pleasure of my company that evening inorder to give her friend Madame Reuter an opportunity of broaching animportant proposal, which might turn out greatly to my advantage.
"Pourvu que vous soyez sage," said Madame Reuter, "et a vrai dire,vous en avez bien l'air. Take one drop of the punch" (or ponche, as shepronounced it); "it is an agreeable and wholesome beverage after a fullmeal."
I bowed, but again declined it. She went on:
"I feel," said she, after a solemn sip--"I feel profoundly theimportance of the commission with which my dear daughter has entrustedme, for you are aware, Monsieur, that it is my daughter who directs theestablishment in the next house?"
"Ah! I thought it was yourself, madame." Though, indeed, at that momentI recollected that it was called Mademoiselle, not Madame Reuter'spensionnat.
"I! Oh, no! I manage the house and look after the servants, as my friendMadame Pelet does for Monsieur her son--nothing more. Ah! you thought Igave lessons in class--did you?"
And she laughed loud and long, as though the idea tickled her fancyamazingly.
"Madame is in the wrong to laugh," I observed; "if she does not givelessons, I am sure it is not because she cannot;" and I whipped out awhite pocket-handkerchief and wafted it, with a French grace, past mynose, bowing at the same time.
"Quel charmant jeune homme!" murmured Madame Pelet in a low voice.Madame Reuter, being less sentimental, as she was Flamand and notFrench, only laughed again.
"You are a dangerous person, I fear," said she; "if you can forgecompliments at that rate, Zoraide will positively be afraid of you; butif you are good, I will keep your secret, and not tell her how well youcan flatter. Now, listen what sort of a proposal she makes to you. Shehas heard that you are an excellent professor, and as she wishes to getthe very best masters for her school (car Zoraide fait tout comme unereine, c'est une veritable maitresse-femme), she has commissioned me tostep over this afternoon, and sound Madame Pelet as to the possibilityof engaging you. Zoraide is a wary general; she never advances withoutfirst examining well her ground. I don't think she would be pleasedif she knew I had already disclosed her intentions to you; she did notorder me to go so far, but I thought there would be no harm in lettingyou into the secret, and Madame Pelet was of the same opinion. Takecare, however, you don't betray either of us to Zoraide--to mydaughter, I mean; she is so discreet and circumspect herself, she cannotunderstand that one should find a pleasure in gossiping a little--"
"C'est absolument comme mon fils!" cried Madame Pelet.
"All the world is so changed since our girlhood!" rejoined the other:"young people have such old heads now. But to return, Monsieur. MadamePelet will mention the subject of your giving lessons in my daughter'sestablishment to her son, and he will speak to you; and then to-morrow,you will step over to our house, and ask to see my daughter, and youwill introduce the subject as if the first intimation of it had reachedyou from M. Pelet himself, and be sure you never mention my name, for Iwould not displease Zoraide on any account."
"Bien! bien!" interrupted I--for all this chatter and circumlocutionbegan to bore me very much; "I will consult M. Pelet, and the thingshall be settled as you desire. Good evening, mesdames--I am infinitelyobliged to you."
"Comment! vous vous en allez deja?" exclaimed Madame Pelet.
"Prenez encore quelquechose, monsieur; une pomme cuite, des biscuits,encore une tasse de cafe?"
"Merci, merci, madame--au revoir." And I backed at last out of theapartment.
Having regained my own room, I set myself to turn over in my mindthe incident of the evening. It seemed a queer affair altogether, andqueerly managed; the two old women had made quite a little intricatemess of it; still I found that the uppermost feeling in my mind on thesubject was one of satisfaction. In the first place it would be a changeto give lessons in another seminary, and then to teach young ladieswould be an occupation so interesting--to be admitted at all into aladies' boarding-school would be an incident so new in my life. Besides,thought I, as I glanced at the boarded window, "I shall now at last seethe mysterious garden: I shall gaze both on the angels and their Eden."
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