Villette

g, on; not lying the stagnant prey of mould and rust, but polishing my faculties and whetting them to a keen edge with constant use. Experience of a certain kind lay b

ecide which was noble and which plebeian; except that, indeed, the latter had often franker and more courteous manners, while the former bore away the bell for a delicately-balanced combination of insolence and deceit. In the former there was often quick Fren

led by the rebuke of conscience. Not a soul in Madame Beck’s house, from the scullion to the directress herself, but was above being ashamed of a lie; they thought nothing of it: to invent might not be precisely a virtue, but it was the most venial of faults. “J’ai menti plusieurs

undisciplined disaffection and wanton indocility, in this first attempt to get on in life. Many hours of the night I used to lie awake, thinking what plan I had best adopt to get a reliable hold on these mutineers, to bring this stiff-necked tribe under permanent influence. In, the first place, I saw plainly that aid in no shape was to be expected from Madame: her righteous plan was to maintain an unbroken popularity with the pupils, at any

d. Severe or continuous mental application they could not, or would not, bear: heavy demand on the memory, the reason, the attention, they rejected point-blank. Where an English girl of not more than average capacity and docility woul

asm with unsparing hand. They would feel the sting, perhaps wince a little under it; but they bore no malice against this sort of attack, provided the sneer was not sour, but hearty, and that it held well up to them, in a clear, light, and bold type, so that she who ran might read, their

e morning; by way of acknowledgment for this little foreign attention, I used sometimes to walk with a select few during recreation. In the course of conversation it befel once or twice that I made an unpremeditated attempt to rectify some of their singularly distorted notions of principle; especially I expressed my ideas of the evil and baseness of a lie. In an unguarded moment, I chanced to say that, of the two errors; I considered falsehood worse than an occasional lapse in church-attendance. The poor girls were tutored to report in Catholic ear

ly expressed to me on one occasion. A pensionnaire, to whom I had rendered some little servi

Isab

z morte — vous br?lerez to

yez-

tout le monde le sait; et d’a

ded, sotto voce: “Pour assurer votre salut là-haut

ed, it was impossib

she encountered me with very little surprise. She must have had good blood in her veins, for never was any duchess more perfectly, radically, unaffectedly nonchalante than she: a weak, transient amaze was all she knew of the sensation of wonder. M

s not to her taste; the people about her, teachers and pupils, she held to be despicable, because they were foreigners. I bore with her abuse of the Friday’s salt fish and hard eggs — with her invective against the soup, the b

d, needed frequent repair. She hated needle-drudgery herself, and she would bring her hose, &c. to me in heaps, to be mended. A compliance of some weeks threatening to result in the establishment of an intolerable bore — I at last

ers. Sunday was a holiday which she always passed with friends resident in town; and amongst these friends she speedily gave me to understand was one who would fain become something more. By glimpses and hints it was shown me, and by the general buoyancy of her look and manner it was ere long proved, that ardent admiration — perha

ome, and he loves me to distraction,

ke serious inquiries as to whether the gentleman was such as her parents, and especially her uncle — on whom, it appeared, she was

courage hi

nt sometime

n that you will be pe

re! I don’t want to be

say, and yet it comes to nothing in

heart. I should be shocked an

this M. Isidore

s him extremely clever: she says he will push his way by his talents; all I know is, that he

ing of his looks, of the changes in his countenance, had touched her heart or dwelt in her memory — that he was “beau, mais plut?t bel homme que joli gar?on,” was all she could assert. My patience would often have failed, and my interest flagged, in listening to her, but for one thing. All the hints she dropped, all the details she gave, went uncons

aware that her stay at school was now limited to a certain period, which would not be extended whether she made progress or not, allowed her great licence in this particular. Mrs. Cholmondeley — her chaperon — a gay, fashionable lady, invited her whenever she had company at her own house, and sometimes took her to evening-parties at the houses of her acquaintance. Ginevra perfectly approved this mode of procedure: it h

y — boldly, I say: not with an air of

your party next week; you must give me a book-muslin dress, and

s presents; but still, visiting went on, and the absolutely necessary dresses continued to be supplied: also many little expensive etcetera — gloves, bouquets, even trinkets. These things, contrary to her custom, and even nature — for she was not secret

t found in the list of continental female charms. Her dress was new, costly, and perfect. I saw at a glance that it lacke

er small blue eyes sparkled gleefully. She was going to bestow on me a kiss, in her school-girl fashion of showing her delights but I said, “Steady! Let

o?” was he

ent ways of doing; and, by my w

ow do

k well d

ous decorative points of her attire. “Look at this parure,” said she. “The brooch, th

.) “Did M. de Bassompier

ows nothing

sents from Mrs

eley is a mean, stingy creature;

any further questions, b

e were her familiar terms for me when

ave no pleasure in looki

she seemed tak

e bouquet. My dress is certainly not paid for, but uncle de Bassompierre will pay it in the bill: he never noti

ery handsome in that ball-attire; but, in my eyes, you will never look so pretty as

stes,” was her angry reply. “And, besides,

d plumes. I have not the least respect for your feathers, Miss Fanshawe; and especially the peacock’s eyes you call a parure: very pretty thi

anshawe!” was announced by the

lved till two or three days afterwards, wh

ebody, papa or M. de Bassompierre, deeply into debt. I assure you nothing rema

t given you by Mrs. Cholmondeley, and that your own means are limite

orld; he particularly remarked to Mrs. Cholmondeley, that, though I was a sweet creature enough, I had rather a bread-and-butter-eating, school-girl air; of which it was his special desire that I should get rid, by an introduction to society here, before I make my regular début in England. Well, then, if I go out, I must dress. Mrs. Cholmondeley is turned shabby, and will give nothing more; it would be too hard upon uncle to make him pay for all the things I need: that you can’t deny —

Isidore is the benefactor: that it is from him you have accepted

to answer; what I mean to say is, that I occasionally allow Isidore th

; but I believe you are doing very wrong — seriously wrong. Perhaps, however, you now feel certain that you will be a

when about to say something specially heartless and p

reat about you, yet you are above profiting by the good nature and purse of a man to whom

he. I often wonder why I feel so very cold to Isidore, for everybody says he is handsome,

an effort to reflect. I

of the state of your mind. To me it seem

rtues, such as I never had, nor intend to have. Now, one can’t help, in his presence, rather trying to justify his good opinion; and it does so tire one to be goody, and to talk sense — for he really thinks I am sensible. I am far more at my ease wi

y which ran risk of being shaken by this whimsical candour, “but it does not alter that wretche

on’t,” said

at by accepting his presents you give him to understand he

ivalent now, in the pleasure of seeing me wear t

cured me of the temporary weakness which had ma

eing a pretty girl; and that we should meet and part and flutter about like two butterflies, and be happy. Lo, and behold! I find him at times as grave as a judge, and deep-feeling and thoughtful. Bah! Les penseurs, les homm

answer to this t

: “je n’aimerai jamais son rival. Je n

my apartment should be relieved of the honour of he