Villette

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER VIII.

  MADAME BECK.

  Being delivered into the charge of the maitresse, I was led through along narrow passage into a foreign kitchen, very clean but verystrange. It seemed to contain no means of cooking--neither fireplacenor oven; I did not understand that the great black furnace whichfilled one corner, was an efficient substitute for these. Surely pridewas not already beginning its whispers in my heart; yet I felt a senseof relief when, instead of being left in the kitchen, as I halfanticipated, I was led forward to a small inner room termed a"cabinet." A cook in a jacket, a short petticoat and sabots, brought mysupper: to wit--some meat, nature unknown, served in an odd and acid,but pleasant sauce; some chopped potatoes, made savoury with, I knownot what: vinegar and sugar, I think: a tartine, or slice of bread andbutter, and a baked pear. Being hungry, I ate and was grateful.

  After the "priere du soir," Madame herself came to have another look atme. She desired me to follow her up-stairs. Through a series of thequeerest little dormitories--which, I heard afterwards, had once beennuns' cells: for the premises were in part of ancient date--and throughthe oratory--a long, low, gloomy room, where a crucifix hung, pale,against the wall, and two tapers kept dim vigils--she conducted me toan apartment where three children were asleep in three tiny beds. Aheated stove made the air of this room oppressive; and, to mendmatters, it was scented with an odour rather strong than delicate: aperfume, indeed, altogether surprising and unexpected under thecircumstances, being like the combination of smoke with some spirituousessence--a smell, in short, of whisky.

  Beside a table, on which flared the remnant of a candle guttering towaste in the socket, a coarse woman, heterogeneously clad in a broadstriped showy silk dress, and a stuff apron, sat in a chair fastasleep. To complete the picture, and leave no doubt as to the state ofmatters, a bottle and an empty glass stood at the sleeping beauty'selbow.

  Madame contemplated this remarkable tableau with great calm; sheneither smiled nor scowled; no impress of anger, disgust, or surprise,ruffled the equality of her grave aspect; she did not even wake thewoman! Serenely pointing to a fourth bed, she intimated that it was tobe mine; then, having extinguished the candle and substituted for it anight-lamp, she glided through an inner door, which she left ajar--theentrance to her own chamber, a large, well-furnished apartment; as wasdiscernible through the aperture.

  My devotions that night were all thanksgiving. Strangely had I been ledsince morning--unexpectedly had I been provided for. Scarcely could Ibelieve that not forty-eight hours had elapsed since I left London,under no other guardianship than that which protects thepassenger-bird--with no prospect but the dubious cloud-tracery of hope.

  I was a light sleeper; in the dead of night I suddenly awoke. All washushed, but a white figure stood in the room--Madame in hernight-dress. Moving without perceptible sound, she visited the threechildren in the three beds; she approached me: I feigned sleep, and shestudied me long. A small pantomime ensued, curious enough. I daresayshe sat a quarter of an hour on the edge of my bed, gazing at my face.She then drew nearer, bent close over me; slightly raised my cap, andturned back the border so as to expose my hair; she looked at my handlying on the bedclothes. This done, she turned to the chair where myclothes lay: it was at the foot of the bed. Hearing her touch and liftthem, I opened my eyes with precaution, for I own I felt curious to seehow far her taste for research would lead her. It led her a good way:every article did she inspect. I divined her motive for thisproceeding, viz. the wish to form from the garments a judgmentrespecting the wearer, her station, means, neatness, &c. The end wasnot bad, but the means were hardly fair or justifiable. In my dress wasa pocket; she fairly turned it inside out: she counted the money in mypurse; she opened a little memorandum-book, coolly perused itscontents, and took from between the leaves a small plaited lock of MissMarchmont's grey hair. To a bunch of three keys, being those of mytrunk, desk, and work-box, she accorded special attention: with these,indeed, she withdrew a moment to her own room. I softly rose in my bedand followed her with my eye: these keys, reader, were not brought backtill they had left on the toilet of the adjoining room the impress oftheir wards in wax. All being thus done decently and in order, myproperty was returned to its place, my clothes were carefully refolded.Of what nature were the conclusions deduced from this scrutiny? Werethey favourable or otherwise? Vain question. Madame's face of stone(for of stone in its present night aspect it looked: it had been human,and, as I said before, motherly, in the salon) betrayed no response.

  Her duty done--I felt that in her eyes this business was a duty--sherose, noiseless as a shadow: she moved towards her own chamber; at thedoor, she turned, fixing her eye on the heroine of the bottle, whostill slept and loudly snored. Mrs. Svini (I presume this was Mrs.Svini, Anglice or Hibernice, Sweeny)--Mrs. Sweeny's doom was in MadameBeck's eye--an immutable purpose that eye spoke: Madame's visitationsfor shortcomings might be slow, but they were sure. All this was veryun-English: truly I was in a foreign land.

  The morrow made me further acquainted with Mrs. Sweeny. It seems shehad introduced herself to her present employer as an English lady inreduced circumstances: a native, indeed, of Middlesex, professing tospeak the English tongue with the purest metropolitan accent.Madame--reliant on her own infallible expedients for finding out thetruth in time--had a singular intrepidity in hiring service off-hand(as indeed seemed abundantly proved in my own case). She received Mrs.Sweeny as nursery-governess to her three children. I need hardlyexplain to the reader that this lady was in effect a native of Ireland;her station I do not pretend to fix: she boldly declared that she had"had the bringing-up of the son and daughter of a marquis." I thinkmyself, she might possibly have been a hanger-on, nurse, fosterer, orwasherwoman, in some Irish family: she spoke a smothered tongue,curiously overlaid with mincing cockney inflections. By some means orother she had acquired, and now held in possession, a wardrobe ofrather suspicious splendour--gowns of stiff and costly silk, fittingher indifferently, and apparently made for other proportions than thosethey now adorned; caps with real lace borders, and--the chief item inthe inventory, the spell by which she struck a certain awe through thehousehold, quelling the otherwise scornfully disposed teachers andservants, and, so long as her broad shoulders _wore_ the folds of thatmajestic drapery, even influencing Madame herself--_a real Indianshawl_--"un veritable cachemire," as Madame Beck said, with unmixedreverence and amaze. I feel quite sure that without this "cachemire"she would not have kept her footing in the pensionnat for two days: byvirtue of it, and it only, she maintained the same a month.

  But when Mrs. Sweeny knew that I was come to fill her shoes, then itwas that she declared herself--then did she rise on Madame Beck in herfull power--then come down on me with her concentrated weight. Madamebore this revelation and visitation so well, so stoically, that I forvery shame could not support it otherwise than with composure. For onelittle moment Madame Beck absented herself from the room; ten minutesafter, an agent of the police stood in the midst of us. Mrs. Sweeny andher effects were removed. Madame's brow had not been ruffled during thescene--her lips had not dropped one sharply-accented word.

  This brisk little affair of the dismissal was all settled beforebreakfast: order to march given, policeman called, mutineer expelled;"chambre d'enfans" fumigated and cleansed, windows thrown open, andevery trace of the accomplished Mrs. Sweeny--even to the fine essenceand spiritual fragrance which gave token so subtle and so fatal of thehead and front of her offending--was annihilated from the Rue Fossette:all this, I say, was done between the moment of Madame Beck's issuinglike Aurora from her chamber, and that in which she coolly sat down topour out her first cup of coffee.

  About noon, I was summoned to dress Madame. (It appeared my place wasto be a hybrid between gouvernante and lady's-maid.) Till noon, shehaunted the house in her wrapping-gown, shawl, and soundless slippers.How would the lady-chief of an English school approve this custom?

  The dressing of her hair puzzled me; she had plenty of it: auburn,un
mixed with grey: though she was forty years old. Seeing myembarrassment, she said, "You have not been a femme-de-chambre in yourown country?" And taking the brush from my hand, and setting me aside,not ungently or disrespectfully, she arranged it herself. In performingother offices of the toilet, she half-directed, half-aided me, withoutthe least display of temper or impatience. N.B.--That was the first andlast time I was required to dress her. Henceforth, on Rosine, theportress, devolved that duty.

  When attired, Madame Beck appeared a personage of a figure rather shortand stout, yet still graceful in its own peculiar way; that is, withthe grace resulting from proportion of parts. Her complexion was freshand sanguine, not too rubicund; her eye, blue and serene; her dark silkdress fitted her as a French sempstress alone can make a dress fit; shelooked well, though a little bourgeoise; as bourgeoise, indeed, shewas. I know not what of harmony pervaded her whole person; and yet herface offered contrast, too: its features were by no means such as areusually seen in conjunction with a complexion of such blended freshnessand repose: their outline was stern: her forehead was high but narrow;it expressed capacity and some benevolence, but no expanse; nor did herpeaceful yet watchful eye ever know the fire which is kindled in theheart or the softness which flows thence. Her mouth was hard: it couldbe a little grim; her lips were thin. For sensibility and genius, withall their tenderness and temerity, I felt somehow that Madame would bethe right sort of Minos in petticoats.

  In the long run, I found she was something else in petticoats too. Hername was Modeste Maria Beck, nee Kint: it ought to have been Ignacia.She was a charitable woman, and did a great deal of good. There neverwas a mistress whose rule was milder. I was told that she never onceremonstrated with the intolerable Mrs. Sweeny, despite her tipsiness,disorder, and general neglect; yet Mrs. Sweeny had to go the moment herdeparture became convenient. I was told, too, that neither masters norteachers were found fault with in that establishment; yet both mastersand teachers were often changed: they vanished and others filled theirplaces, none could well explain how.

  The establishment was both a pensionnat and an externat: the externesor day-pupils exceeded one hundred in number; the boarders were about ascore. Madame must have possessed high administrative powers: she ruledall these, together with four teachers, eight masters, six servants,and three children, managing at the same time to perfection the pupils'parents and friends; and that without apparent effort; without bustle,fatigue, fever, or any symptom of undue, excitement: occupied shealways was--busy, rarely. It is true that Madame had her own system formanaging and regulating this mass of machinery; and a very prettysystem it was: the reader has seen a specimen of it, in that smallaffair of turning my pocket inside out, and reading my privatememoranda. "Surveillance," "espionage,"--these were her watchwords.

  Still, Madame knew what honesty was, and liked it--that is, when it didnot obtrude its clumsy scruples in the way of her will and interest.She had a respect for "Angleterre;" and as to "les Anglaises," shewould have the women of no other country about her own children, if shecould help it.

  Often in the evening, after she had been plotting and counter-plotting,spying and receiving the reports of spies all day, she would come up tomy room--a trace of real weariness on her brow--and she would sit downand listen while the children said their little prayers to me inEnglish: the Lord's Prayer, and the hymn beginning "Gentle Jesus,"these little Catholics were permitted to repeat at my knee; and, when Ihad put them to bed, she would talk to me (I soon gained enough Frenchto be able to understand, and even answer her) about England andEnglishwomen, and the reasons for what she was pleased to term theirsuperior intelligence, and more real and reliable probity. Very goodsense she often showed; very sound opinions she often broached: sheseemed to know that keeping girls in distrustful restraint, in blindignorance, and under a surveillance that left them no moment and nocorner for retirement, was not the best way to make them grow up honestand modest women; but she averred that ruinous consequences would ensueif any other method were tried with continental children: they were soaccustomed to restraint, that relaxation, however guarded, would bemisunderstood and fatally presumed on. She was sick, she would declare,of the means she had to use, but use them she must; and afterdiscoursing, often with dignity and delicacy, to me, she would moveaway on her "souliers de silence," and glide ghost-like through thehouse, watching and spying everywhere, peering through every keyhole,listening behind every door.

  After all, Madame's system was not bad--let me do her justice. Nothingcould be better than all her arrangements for the physical well-beingof her scholars. No minds were overtasked: the lessons were welldistributed and made incomparably easy to the learner; there was aliberty of amusement, and a provision for exercise which kept the girlshealthy; the food was abundant and good: neither pale nor puny faceswere anywhere to be seen in the Rue Fossette. She never grudged aholiday; she allowed plenty of time for sleeping, dressing, washing,eating; her method in all these matters was easy, liberal, salutary,and rational: many an austere English school-mistress would do vastlywell to imitate her--and I believe many would be glad to do so, ifexacting English parents would let them.

  As Madame Beck ruled by espionage, she of course had her staff ofspies: she perfectly knew the quality of the tools she used, and whileshe would not scruple to handle the dirtiest for a dirtyoccasion--flinging this sort from her like refuse rind, after theorange has been duly squeezed--I have known her fastidious in seekingpure metal for clean uses; and when once a bloodless and rustlessinstrument was found, she was careful of the prize, keeping it in silkand cotton-wool. Yet, woe be to that man or woman who relied on her oneinch beyond the point where it was her interest to be trustworthy:interest was the master-key of Madame's nature--the mainspring of hermotives--the alpha and omega of her life. I have seen her _feelings_appealed to, and I have smiled in half-pity, half-scorn at theappellants. None ever gained her ear through that channel, or swayedher purpose by that means. On the contrary, to attempt to touch herheart was the surest way to rouse her antipathy, and to make of her asecret foe. It proved to her that she had no heart to be touched: itreminded her where she was impotent and dead. Never was the distinctionbetween charity and mercy better exemplified than in her. While devoidof sympathy, she had a sufficiency of rational benevolence: she wouldgive in the readiest manner to people she had never seen--rather,however, to classes than to individuals. "Pour les pauvres," she openedher purse freely--against _the poor man_, as a rule, she kept itclosed. In philanthropic schemes for the benefit of society at largeshe took a cheerful part; no private sorrow touched her: no force ormass of suffering concentrated in one heart had power to pierce hers.Not the agony in Gethsemane, not the death on Calvary, could have wrungfrom her eyes one tear.

  I say again, Madame was a very great and a very capable woman. Thatschool offered her for her powers too limited a sphere; she ought tohave swayed a nation: she should have been the leader of a turbulentlegislative assembly. Nobody could have browbeaten her, none irritatedher nerves, exhausted her patience, or over-reached her astuteness. Inher own single person, she could have comprised the duties of a firstminister and a superintendent of police. Wise, firm, faithless; secret,crafty, passionless; watchful and inscrutable; acute andinsensate--withal perfectly decorous--what more could be desired?

  The sensible reader will not suppose that I gained all the knowledgehere condensed for his benefit in one month, or in one half-year. No!what I saw at first was the thriving outside of a large and flourishingeducational establishment. Here was a great house, full of healthy,lively girls, all well-dressed and many of them handsome, gainingknowledge by a marvellously easy method, without painful exertion oruseless waste of spirits; not, perhaps, making very rapid progress inanything; taking it easy, but still always employed, and neveroppressed. Here was a corps of teachers and masters, more stringentlytasked, as all the real head-labour was to be done by them, in order tosave the pupils, yet having their duties so arranged that they relievedeach other in quick s
uccession whenever the work was severe: here, inshort, was a foreign school; of which the life, movement, and varietymade it a complete and most charming contrast to many Englishinstitutions of the same kind.

  Behind the house was a large garden, and, in summer, the pupils almostlived out of doors amongst the rose-bushes and the fruit-trees. Underthe vast and vine-draped berceau, Madame would take her seat on summerafternoons, and send for the classes, in turns, to sit round her andsew and read. Meantime, masters came and went, delivering short andlively lectures, rather than lessons, and the pupils made notes oftheir instructions, or did _not_ make them--just as inclinationprompted; secure that, in case of neglect, they could copy the notes oftheir companions. Besides the regular monthly _jours de sortie_, theCatholic fete-days brought a succession of holidays all the year round;and sometimes on a bright summer morning, or soft summer evening; theboarders were taken out for a long walk into the country, regaled with_gaufres_ and _vin blanc_, or new milk and _pain bis_, or _pistolets aubeurre_ (rolls) and coffee. All this seemed very pleasant, and Madameappeared goodness itself; and the teachers not so bad but they might beworse; and the pupils, perhaps, a little noisy and rough, but types ofhealth and glee.

  Thus did the view appear, seen through the enchantment of distance; butthere came a time when distance was to melt for me--when I was to becalled down from my watch-tower of the nursery, whence I had hithertomade my observations, and was to be compelled into closer intercoursewith this little world of the Rue Fossette.

  I was one day sitting up-stairs, as usual, hearing the children theirEnglish lessons, and at the same time turning a silk dress for Madame,when she came sauntering into the room with that absorbed air and browof hard thought she sometimes wore, and which made her look so littlegenial. Dropping into a seat opposite mine, she remained some minutessilent. Desiree, the eldest girl, was reading to me some little essayof Mrs. Barbauld's, and I was making her translate currently fromEnglish to French as she proceeded, by way of ascertaining that shecomprehended what she read: Madame listened.

  Presently, without preface or prelude, she said, almost in the tone ofone making an accusation, "Meess, in England you were a governess?"

  "No, Madame," said I smiling, "you are mistaken."

  "Is this your first essay at teaching--this attempt with my children?"

  I assured her it was. Again she became silent; but looking up, as Itook a pin from the cushion, I found myself an object of study: sheheld me under her eye; she seemed turning me round in herthoughts--measuring my fitness for a purpose, weighing my value in aplan. Madame had, ere this, scrutinized all I had, and I believe sheesteemed herself cognizant of much that I was; but from that day, forthe space of about a fortnight, she tried me by new tests. She listenedat the nursery door when I was shut in with the children; she followedme at a cautious distance when I walked out with them, stealing withinear-shot whenever the trees of park or boulevard afforded a sufficientscreen: a strict preliminary process having thus been observed, shemade a move forward.

  One morning, coming on me abruptly, and with the semblance of hurry,she said she found herself placed in a little dilemma. Mr. Wilson, theEnglish master, had failed to come at his hour, she feared he was ill;the pupils were waiting in classe; there was no one to give a lesson;should I, for once, object to giving a short dictation exercise, justthat the pupils might not have it to say they had missed their Englishlesson?

  "In classe, Madame?" I asked.

  "Yes, in classe: in the second division."

  "Where there are sixty pupils," said I; for I knew the number, and withmy usual base habit of cowardice, I shrank into my sloth like a snailinto its shell, and alleged incapacity and impracticability as apretext to escape action. If left to myself, I should infallibly havelet this chance slip. Inadventurous, unstirred by impulses of practicalambition, I was capable of sitting twenty years teaching infants thehornbook, turning silk dresses and making children's frocks. Not thattrue contentment dignified this infatuated resignation: my work hadneither charm for my taste, nor hold on my interest; but it seemed tome a great thing to be without heavy anxiety, and relieved fromintimate trial: the negation of severe suffering was the nearestapproach to happiness I expected to know. Besides, I seemed to hold twolives--the life of thought, and that of reality; and, provided theformer was nourished with a sufficiency of the strange necromantic joysof fancy, the privileges of the latter might remain limited to dailybread, hourly work, and a roof of shelter.

  "Come," said Madame, as I stooped more busily than ever over thecutting-out of a child's pinafore, "leave that work."

  "But Fifine wants it, Madame."

  "Fifine must want it, then, for I want _you_."

  And as Madame Beck did really want and was resolved to have me--as shehad long been dissatisfied with the English master, with hisshortcomings in punctuality, and his careless method of tuition--as,too, _she_ did not lack resolution and practical activity, whether _I_lacked them or not--she, without more ado, made me relinquish thimbleand needle; my hand was taken into hers, and I was conducteddown-stairs. When we reached the carre, a large square hall between thedwelling-house and the pensionnat, she paused, dropped my hand, faced,and scrutinized me. I was flushed, and tremulous from head to foot:tell it not in Gath, I believe I was crying. In fact, the difficultiesbefore me were far from being wholly imaginary; some of them were realenough; and not the least substantial lay in my want of mastery overthe medium through which I should be obliged to teach. I had, indeed,studied French closely since my arrival in Villette; learning itspractice by day, and its theory in every leisure moment at night, to aslate an hour as the rule of the house would allow candle-light; but Iwas far from yet being able to trust my powers of correct oralexpression.

  "Dites donc," said Madame sternly, "vous sentez vous reellement tropfaible?"

  I might have said "Yes," and gone back to nursery obscurity, and there,perhaps, mouldered for the rest of my life; but looking up at Madame, Isaw in her countenance a something that made me think twice ere Idecided. At that instant she did not wear a woman's aspect, but rathera man's. Power of a particular kind strongly limned itself in all hertraits, and that power was not my kind of power: neither sympathy, norcongeniality, nor submission, were the emotions it awakened. Istood--not soothed, nor won, nor overwhelmed. It seemed as if achallenge of strength between opposing gifts was given, and I suddenlyfelt all the dishonour of my diffidence--all the pusillanimity of myslackness to aspire.

  "Will you," she said, "go backward or forward?" indicating with herhand, first, the small door of communication with the dwelling-house,and then the great double portals of the classes or schoolrooms.

  "En avant," I said.

  "But," pursued she, cooling as I warmed, and continuing the hard look,from very antipathy to which I drew strength and determination, "canyou face the classes, or are you over-excited?"

  She sneered slightly in saying this: nervous excitability was not muchto Madame's taste.

  "I am no more excited than this stone," I said, tapping the flag withmy toe: "or than you," I added, returning her look.

  "Bon! But let me tell you these are not quiet, decorous, English girlsyou are going to encounter. Ce sont des Labassecouriennes, rondes,franches, brusques, et tant soit peu rebelles."

  I said: "I know; and I know, too, that though I have studied Frenchhard since I came here, yet I still speak it with far too muchhesitation--too little accuracy to be able to command their respect Ishall make blunders that will lay me open to the scorn of the mostignorant. Still I mean to give the lesson."

  "They always throw over timid teachers," said she.

  "I know that too, Madame; I have heard how they rebelled against andpersecuted Miss Turner"--a poor friendless English teacher, whom Madamehad employed, and lightly discarded; and to whose piteous history I wasno stranger.

  "C'est vrai," said she, coolly. "Miss Turner had no more command overthem than a servant from the kitchen would have had. She was weak andwaveri
ng; she had neither tact nor intelligence, decision nor dignity.Miss Turner would not do for these girls at all."

  I made no reply, but advanced to the closed schoolroom door.

  "You will not expect aid from me, or from any one," said Madame. "Thatwould at once set you down as incompetent for your office."

  I opened the door, let her pass with courtesy, and followed her. Therewere three schoolrooms, all large. That dedicated to the seconddivision, where I was to figure, was considerably the largest, andaccommodated an assemblage more numerous, more turbulent, andinfinitely more unmanageable than the other two. In after days, when Iknew the ground better, I used to think sometimes (if such a comparisonmay be permitted), that the quiet, polished, tame first division was tothe robust, riotous, demonstrative second division, what the EnglishHouse of Lords is to the House of Commons.

  The first glance informed me that many of the pupils were more thangirls--quite young women; I knew that some of them were of noble family(as nobility goes in Labassecour), and I was well convinced that notone amongst them was ignorant of my position in Madame's household. AsI mounted the estrade (a low platform, raised a step above theflooring), where stood the teacher's chair and desk, I beheld oppositeto me a row of eyes and brows that threatened stormy weather--eyes fullof an insolent light, and brows hard and unblushing as marble. Thecontinental "female" is quite a different being to the insular "female"of the same age and class: I never saw such eyes and brows in England.Madame Beck introduced me in one cool phrase, sailed from the room, andleft me alone in my glory.

  I shall never forget that first lesson, nor all the under-current oflife and character it opened up to me. Then first did I begin rightlyto see the wide difference that lies between the novelist's and poet'sideal "jeune fille" and the said "jeune fille" as she really is.

  It seems that three titled belles in the first row had sat downpredetermined that a _bonne d'enfants_ should not give them lessons inEnglish. They knew they had succeeded in expelling obnoxious teachersbefore now; they knew that Madame would at any time throw overboard aprofesseur or maitresse who became unpopular with the school--that shenever assisted a weak official to retain his place--that if he had notstrength to fight, or tact to win his way, down he went: looking at"Miss Snowe," they promised themselves an easy victory.

  Mesdemoiselles Blanche, Virginie, and Angelique opened the campaign bya series of titterings and whisperings; these soon swelled into murmursand short laughs, which the remoter benches caught up and echoed moreloudly. This growing revolt of sixty against one, soon becameoppressive enough; my command of French being so limited, and exercisedunder such cruel constraint.

  Could I but have spoken in my own tongue, I felt as if I might havegained a hearing; for, in the first place, though I knew I looked apoor creature, and in many respects actually was so, yet nature hadgiven me a voice that could make itself heard, if lifted in excitementor deepened by emotion. In the second place, while I had no flow, onlya hesitating trickle of language, in ordinary circumstances, yet--understimulus such as was now rife through the mutinous mass--I could, inEnglish, have rolled out readily phrases stigmatizing their proceedingsas such proceedings deserved to be stigmatized; and then with somesarcasm, flavoured with contemptuous bitterness for the ringleaders,and relieved with easy banter for the weaker but less knavishfollowers, it seemed to me that one might possibly get command overthis wild herd, and bring them into training, at least. All I could nowdo was to walk up to Blanche--Mademoiselle de Melcy, a youngbaronne--the eldest, tallest, handsomest, and most vicious--standbefore her desk, take from under her hand her exercise-book, remountthe estrade, deliberately read the composition, which I found verystupid, and, as deliberately, and in the face of the whole school, tearthe blotted page in two.

  This action availed to draw attention and check noise. One girl alone,quite in the background, persevered in the riot with undiminishedenergy. I looked at her attentively. She had a pale face, hair likenight, broad strong eyebrows, decided features, and a dark, mutinous,sinister eye: I noted that she sat close by a little door, which door,I was well aware, opened into a small closet where books were kept. Shewas standing up for the purpose of conducting her clamour with freerenergies. I measured her stature and calculated her strength. She seemedboth tall and wiry; but, so the conflict were brief and the attackunexpected, I thought I might manage her.

  Advancing up the room, looking as cool and careless as I possiblycould, in short, _ayant l'air de rien_, I slightly pushed the door andfound it was ajar. In an instant, and with sharpness, I had turned onher. In another instant she occupied the closet, the door was shut, andthe key in my pocket.

  It so happened that this girl, Dolores by name, and a Catalonian byrace, was the sort of character at once dreaded and hated by all herassociates; the act of summary justice above noted proved popular:there was not one present but, in her heart, liked to see it done. Theywere stilled for a moment; then a smile--not a laugh--passed from deskto desk: then--when I had gravely and tranquilly returned to theestrade, courteously requested silence, and commenced a dictation as ifnothing at all had happened--the pens travelled peacefully over thepages, and the remainder of the lesson passed in order and industry.

  "C'est bien," said Madame Beck, when I came out of class, hot and alittle exhausted. "Ca ira."

  She had been listening and peeping through a spy-hole the whole time.

  From that day I ceased to be nursery governess, and became Englishteacher. Madame raised my salary; but she got thrice the work out of meshe had extracted from Mr. Wilson, at half the expense.