AND Pelet himself? How did I continue to like him? Oh,extremely well! Nothing could be more smooth, gentlemanlike,and even friendly, than his demeanour to me. I had to endurefrom him neither cold neglect, irritating interference, norpretentious assumption of superiority. I fear, however, twopoor, hard-worked Belgian ushers in the establishment could nothave said as much; to them the director's manner was invariablydry, stern, and cool. I believe he perceived once or twice thatI was a little shocked at the difference he made between them andme, and accounted for it by saying, with a quiet sarcasticsmile--

"Ce ne sont que des Flamands--allez!"

And then he took his cigar gently from his lips and spat on thepainted floor of the room in which we were sitting. Flamandscertainly they were, and both had the true Flamand physiognomy,where intellectual inferiority is marked in lines none canmistake; still they were men, and, in the main, honest men; and Icould not see why their being aboriginals of the flat, dull soilshould serve as a pretext for treating them with perpetualseverity and contempt. This idea, of injustice somewhat poisonedthe pleasure I might otherwise have derived from Pelet's softaffable manner to myself. Certainly it was agreeable, when theday's work was over, to find one's employer an intelligent andcheerful companion; and if he was sometimes a little sarcasticand sometimes a little too insinuating, and if I did discoverthat his mildness was more a matter of appearance than ofreality--if I did occasionally suspect the existence of flint orsteel under an external covering of velvet--still we are none ofus perfect; and weary as I was of the atmosphere of brutality andinsolence in which I had constantly lived at X----, I had noinclination now, on casting anchor in calmer regions, toinstitute at once a prying search after defects that werescrupulously withdrawn and carefully veiled from my view. I waswilling to take Pelet for what he seemed--to believe himbenevolent and friendly until some untoward event should provehim otherwise. He was not married, and I soon perceived he hadall a Frenchman's, all a Parisian's notions about matrimony andwomen. I suspected a degree of laxity in his code of morals,there was something so cold and BLASE in his tone whenever healluded to what he called "le beau sexe;" but he was toogentlemanlike to intrude topics I did not invite, and as he wasreally intelligent and really fond of intellectual subjects ofdiscourse, he and I always found enough to talk about, withoutseeking themes in the mire. I hated his fashion of mentioninglove; I abhorred, from my soul, mere licentiousness. He felt thedifference of our notions, and, by mutual consent, we kept offground debateable.

Pelet's house was kept and his kitchen managed by his mother, areal old Frenchwoman; she had been handsome--at least she told meso, and I strove to believe her; she was now ugly, as onlycontinental old women can be; perhaps, though, her style of dressmade her look uglier than she really was. Indoors she would goabout without cap, her grey hair strangely dishevelled; then,when at home, she seldom wore a gown--only a shabby cottoncamisole; shoes, too, were strangers to her feet, and in lieu ofthem she sported roomy slippers, trodden down at the heels. Onthe other hand, whenever it was her pleasure to appear abroad, ason Sundays and fete-days, she would put on some verybrilliant-coloured dress, usually of thin texture, a silk bonnetwith a wreath of flowers, and a very fine shawl. She was not, inthe main, an ill-natured old woman, but an incessant and mostindiscreet talker; she kept chiefly in and about the kitchen, andseemed rather to avoid her son's august presence; of him, indeed,she evidently stood in awe. When he reproved her, his reproofswere bitter and unsparing; but he seldom gave himself thattrouble.

Madame Pelet had her own society, her own circle of chosenvisitors, whom, however, I seldom saw, as she generallyentertained them in what she called her "cabinet," a small den ofa place adjoining the kitchen, and descending into it by one ortwo steps. On these steps, by-the-by, I have not unfrequentlyseen Madame Pelet seated with a trencher on her knee, engaged inthe threefold employment of eating her dinner, gossiping with herfavourite servant, the housemaid, and scolding her antagonist,the cook; she never dined, and seldom indeed took any meal withher son; and as to showing her face at the boys' table, that wasquite out of the question. These details will sound very odd inEnglish ears, but Belgium is not England, and its ways are notour ways.

Madame Pelet's habits of life, then, being taken intoconsideration, I was a good deal surprised when, one Thursdayevening (Thursday was always a half-holiday), as I was sittingall alone in my apartment, correcting a huge pile of English andLatin exercises, a servant tapped at the door, and, on its beingopened, presented Madame Pelet's compliments, and she would behappy to see me to take my "gouter" (a meal which answers to ourEnglish "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 wererepeated. I accepted, of course, and as I descended the stairs,I wondered what whim had entered the old lady's brain; her sonwas out--gone to pass the evening at the Salle of the GrandeHarmonie or some other club of which he was a member. Just as Ilaid my hand on the handle of the dining-room door, a queer ideaglanced across my mind.

"Surely she's not going to make love to me," said I. "I've heardof old Frenchwomen doing odd things in that line; and the gouter?They generally begin such affairs with eating and drinking, Ibelieve."

There was a fearful dismay in this suggestion of my excitedimagination, and if I had allowed myself time to dwell upon it, Ishould no doubt have cut there and then, rushed back to mychamber, and bolted myself in; but whenever a danger or a horroris veiled with uncertainty, the primary wish of the mind is toascertain first the naked truth, reserving the expedient offlight for the moment when its dread anticipation shall berealized. I turned the door-handle, and in an instant hadcrossed the fatal threshold, closed the door behind me, and stoodin the presence of Madame Pelet.

Gracious heavens! The first view of her seemed to confirm myworst apprehensions. There she sat, dressed out in a light greenmuslin gown, on her head a lace cap with flourishing red roses inthe frill; her table was carefully spread; there were fruit,cakes, and coffee, with a bottle of something--I did not knowwhat. Already the cold sweat started on my brow, already Iglanced back over my shoulder at the closed door, when, to myunspeakable relief, my eye, wandering mildly in the direction ofthe stove, rested upon a second figure, seated in a largefauteuil beside it. This was a woman, too, and, moreover, an oldwoman, and as fat and as rubicund as Madame Pelet was meagre andyellow; her attire was likewise very fine, and spring flowers ofdifferent hues circled in a bright wreath the crown of herviolet-coloured velvet bonnet.

I had only time to make these general observations when MadamePelet, coming forward with what she intended should be a gracefuland elastic step, thus accosted me:-

"Monsieur is indeed most obliging to quit his books, his studies,at the request of an insignificant person like me--will Monsieurcomplete his kindness by allowing me to present him to my dearfriend Madame Reuter, who resides in the neighbouring house--theyoung ladies' school."

"Ah!" thought I, "I knew she was old," and I bowed and took myseat. Madame Reuter placed herself at the table opposite to me.

"How do you like Belgium, Monsieur?" asked she, in an accent ofthe broadest Bruxellois. I could now well distinguish thedifference between the fine and pure Parisian utterance of M.Pelet, for instance, and the guttural enunciation of theFlamands. I answered politely, and then wondered how so coarseand clumsy an old woman as the one before me should be at thehead of a ladies' seminary, which I had always heard spoken of interms of high commendation. In truth there was something towonder at. Madame Reuter looked more like a joyous, free-livingold Flemish fermiere, or even a maitresse d'auberge, than astaid, grave, rigid directrice de pensionnat. In general thecontinental, or at least the Belgian old women permit themselvesa licence of manners, speech, and aspect, such as our venerablegranddames would recoil from as absolutely disreputable, andMadame Reuter's jolly face bore evidence that she was noexception to the rule of her country; there was a twinkle andleer in her left eye; her right she kept habitually half shut,which I thought very odd indeed. After several vain attempts tocomprehend the motives of these two droll old creatures forinviting me to join them at their gouter, I at last fairly gaveit up, and resigning myself to inevitable mystification, I satand looked first at one, then at the other, taking care meantimeto do justice to the confitures, cakes, and coffee, with whichthey amply supplied me. They, too, ate, and that with nodelicate appetite, and having demolished a large portion of thesolids, they proposed a "petit verre." I declined. Not soMesdames Pelet and Reuter; each mixed herself what I thoughtrather a stiff tumbler of punch, and placing it on a stand nearthe stove, they drew up their chairs to that convenience, andinvited me to do the same. I obeyed; and being seated fairlybetween them, I was thus addressed first by Madame Pelet, then byMadame Reuter.

"We will now speak of business," said Madame Pelet, and she wenton to make an elaborate speech, which, being interpreted, was tothe effect that she had asked for the pleasure of my company thatevening in order to give her friend Madame Reuter an opportunityof broaching an important proposal, which might turn out greatlyto my advantage.

"Pourvu que vous soyez sage," said Madame Reuter, "et a vraidire, vous en avez bien l'air. Take one drop of the punch" (orponche, as she pronounced it); "it is an agreeable and wholesomebeverage after a full meal."

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 hasentrusted me, for you are aware, Monsieur, that it is my daughterwho directs the establishment in the next house?"

"Ah! I thought it was yourself, madame." Though, indeed, at thatmoment I recollected that it was called Mademoiselle, not MadameReuter's pensionnat.

"I! Oh, no! I manage the house and look after the servants, asmy friend Madame Pelet does for Monsieur her son--nothing more.Ah! you thought I gave lessons in class--did you?"

And she laughed loud and long, as though the idea tickled herfancy amazingly.

"Madame is in the wrong to laugh," I observed; "if she does notgive lessons, I am sure it is not because she cannot;" and Iwhipped out a white pocket-handkerchief and wafted it, with aFrench grace, past my nose, bowing at the name time.

"Quel charmant jeune homme!" murmured Madame Pelet in a lowvoice. Madame Reuter, being less sentimental, as she was Flamandand not French, only laughed again.

"You are a dangerous person, I fear," said she; "if you can forgecompliments at that rate, Zoraide will positively be afraid ofyou; but if you are good, I will keep your secret, and not tellher how well you can flatter. Now, listen what sort of aproposal she makes to you. She has heard that you are anexcellent professor, and as she wishes to get the very beetmasters for her school (car Zoraide fait tout comme une reine,c'est une veritable maitresse-femme), she has commissioned me tostep over this afternoon, and sound Madame Pelet as to thepossibility of engaging you. Zoraide is a wary general; she neveradvances without first examining well her ground I don't thinkshe would be pleased if she knew I had already disclosed herintentions to you; she did not order me to go so far, but Ithought there would be no harm in letting you into the secret,and Madame Pelet was of the same opinion. Take care, however,you don't betray either of us to Zoraide--to my daughter, I mean;she is so discreet and circumspect herself, she cannot understandthat 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 theother: "young people have such old heads now. But to return,Monsieur. Madame Pelet will mention the subject of your givinglessons in my daughter's establishment to her son, and he willspeak to you; and then to-morrow, you will step over to ourhouse, and ask to see my daughter, and you will introduce thesubject as if the first intimation of it had reached you from M.Pelet himself, and be sure you never mention my name, for I wouldnot displease Zoraide on any account.

"Bien! bien!" interrupted I--for all this chatter andcircumlocution began to bore me very much; "I will consult M.Pelet, and the thing shall be settled as you desire. Goodevening, mesdames--I am infinitely obliged to you."

"Comment! vous vous en allez deja?" exclaimed Madame Pelet.

"Prenez encore quelquechose, monsieur; une pomme cuite, desbiscuits, encore une tasse de cafe?"

"Merci, merci, madame--au revoir." And I backed at last out ofthe apartment.

Having regained my own room, I set myself to turn over in my mindthe incident of the evening. It seemed a queer affairaltogether, and queerly managed; the two old women had made quitea little intricate mess of it; still I found that the uppermostfeeling in my mind on the subject was one of satisfaction. Inthe first place it would be a change to give lessons in anotherseminary, and then to teach young ladies would be an occupationso interesting--to be admitted at all into a ladies'boarding-school would be an incident so new in my life. Besides,thought I, as I glanced at the boarded window, "I shall now atlast see the mysterious garden: I shall gaze both on the angelsand their Eden."