interpassage of a sealed envelope, cake and
English "sherri" were introduced—it
always made him cough and me laugh—the
whole concluding with my being abruptly
hurried out to a cell. He used sometimes
to moralise over me in my own presence,
first blowing his nose and then looking
fixedly into the handkerchief as if remarking
there something quite unusual. " A ce
que me parfait, madame, cet enfant là a un
naturel effréné qu'il faut tenir à main bride.
Mais j'espère "—sip from the glass of sherri
—" que le bon Dieu—qu'enfin les prières
de sa bonne mère," &c. &c. Then seeing
the consternation this denunciation caused,
as it were hinting at crimes that he could
not disclose, he would change his note
altogether. " Poah! We must have courage,
madame. He has a brave spirit. We shall
make a man of him! As for the good boys,
I would not give that for them. Puer bonae
indolis. II a de l'esprit, mais il faut seulement
le faire borner!"

Now I see Mr. John showing in another
gentleman, the professor of music, M.
Belcour, a handsome young man with long
brown hair, which he tossed a good deal.
To him Miss Simpson's manner was quite
different, being curt and haughty to the
last degree, as though she suspected him.
We could not understand the motive of this,
which was indeed only a frail guard for her
unprotected heart. The handsome Belcour
had, indeed, subdued it to his own. Not
that he cared for that cheap victory—a
governess, indeed! He dreamed of the
great English countess, with an estate in
the rich fat England, among " ces gens de
bierre et puddin." He was full of sentiment,
and made his dark eyes roll for practice.
He used to play with frantic energy,
"splashing" the notes about, as it were,
with liis eyes on the ceiling. He had this
singularity, he would teach nothing but his
own music, bringing " them little wisps o'
songs," as Mr. John happily described them,
a picture of a mournful young man on the
title, following a flight of birds with an
inexpressible look of depression. " RÊVE DE
BONHEUR," it was called; and I remember the
morning that he brought it, presenting it
with an infinite homage and melancholy
empressernent to the head of the house,
conveying that it had been composed expressly in
her honour. He fancied, I think, that the
vast estates of which he dreamed were
somewhere, for there was an air of substantial
comfort, not to say luxury—wine from
England, &c.—which beguiled him. Later
it was discovered the Rêve de Bonheur had
been presented, with a similar declaration
of its production, to several ladies during
the last three or four years. He was too
romantic for the humble sphere he moved
in: actual instruction formed a very small
portion of his school of teaching, the main
principle of which was to ramble in a
dreamy way over the chords, to play and
sing "little things of his own." When at
last he was firmly remonstrated with upon
this unprofitable system, he answered
haughtily that, " as it seemed to him, there
was a disposition to find fault?"—- " Well,
scarcely that——" "Yes yes, there was.
Let it end, then; it was a mere slavery.
He could not teach these children; they
had no esprit, no emotion—point d'âme!"

This unwarrantable attack produced
quite a new tone, and a quiet dismissal; on
which M. Belcour quite lost his temper,
behaved like an enraged one, held out a
wrist that quivered as he proclaimed that
he had been treated " brutally," and quite
unconsciously revealed a not too-white shirt,
with very saw-like edges. He withdrew for
ever, but the next day sent in a charge for
two francs fifty cents, for a piece of music,
which was duly sent to him. Later a
mysterious story reached the house— brought, I
believe, by M. Bernard—and which, from the
secrecy and awful looks, we concluded was
nothing less than Housebreaking, or a great
case of Arson; but I believe the real truth
was, that the music-publisher's wife— ahem!
—"ce pauvre Schneider!" said M. Bernard
—which must have referred to an elopement
of some description.

M. Belcour's successor was quite a different
sort of man, a half German, Weimar by
name, stout, red-faced, yellow-haired, and
lame. He always seemed to be fragrant of
cherry-brandy; not that I had made
acquaintance yet with that agreeable liqueur,
but it seemed to have an air of familiarity.
He sometimes indirectly apologised for
introducing that aroma, laying it on "the
heat of the day." He was a great professor,
in heavy practice, and had the duty of
teaching three times a week, at contract
price, the young ladies of a convent close
by. This simple fact accounted for the
almost malignant hostility of Belcour, whom
the thought of the various young English
heiresses there pursuing their education,
inflamed to madness. M. Weimar was a
true anchorite, and cared only for his piano,
after, of course, his well-known Harmonies
Pratiques, a vast work, of which he had
done only the first number, and in which he