m 'la Grande
Bretagne:' they savoured of island insolence and arrogance."

Lull the second--the girls, not one of whom was ever known to weep a
tear for the rebukes of any other master, now all melting like
snow-statues before the intemperate heat of M. Emanuel: I not yet much
shaken, sitting down, and venturing to resume my work.

Something--either in my continued silence or in the movement of my
hand, stitching--transported M. Emanuel beyond the last boundary of
patience; he actually sprang from his estrade. The stove stood near my
desk, he attacked it; the little iron door was nearly dashed from its
hinges, the fuel was made to fly.

"Est-ce que vous avez l'intention de m'insulter?" said he to me, in a
low, furious voice, as he thus outraged, under pretence of arranging
the fire.

It was time to soothe him a little if possible.

"Mais, Monsieur," said I, "I would not insult you for the world. I
remember too well that you once said we should be friends."

I did not intend my voice to falter, but it did: more, I think, through
the agitation of late delight than in any spasm of present fear. Still
there certainly was something in M. Paul's anger--a kind of passion of
emotion--that specially tended to draw tears. I was not unhappy, nor
much afraid, yet I wept.

"Allons, allons!" said he presently, looking round and seeing the
deluge universal. "Decidedly I am a monster and a ruffian. I have only
one pocket-handkerchief," he added, "but if I had twenty, I would offer
you each one. Your teacher shall be your representative. Here, Miss
Lucy."

And he took forth and held out to me a clean silk handkerchief. Now a
person who did not know M. Paul, who was unused to him and his
impulses, would naturally have bungled at this offer--declined
accepting the same--et cetera. But I too plainly felt this would never
do: the slightest hesitation would have been fatal to the incipient
treaty of peace. I rose and met the handkerchief half-way, received it
with decorum, wiped therewith my eyes, and, resuming my seat, and
retaining the flag of truce in my hand and on my lap, took especial
care during the remainder of the lesson to touch neither needle nor
thimble, scissors nor muslin. Many a jealous glance did M. Paul cast at
these implements; he hated them mortally, considering sewing a source
of distraction from the attention due to himself. A very eloquent
lesson he gave, and very kind and friendly was he to the close. Ere he