wardrobe, and leave her at liberty, as she said,
to "gouter un peu les plaisirs." It had long been rumoured, that her
eye was upon M. Emanuel. Monsieur Emanuel's eye was certainly often
upon her. He would sit and watch her perseveringly for minutes
together. I have seen him give her a quarter-of-an-hour's gaze, while
the class was silently composing, and he sat throned on his estrade,
unoccupied. Conscious always of this basilisk attention, she would
writhe under it, half-flattered, half-puzzled, and Monsieur would
follow her sensations, sometimes looking appallingly acute; for in some
cases, he had the terrible unerring penetration of instinct, and
pierced in its hiding-place the last lurking thought of the heart, and
discerned under florid veilings the bare; barren places of the spirit:
yes, and its perverted tendencies, and its hidden false curves--all
that men and women would not have known--the twisted spine, the
malformed limb that was born with them, and far worse, the stain or
disfigurement they have perhaps brought on themselves. No calamity so
accursed but M. Emanuel could pity and forgive, if it were acknowledged
candidly; but where his questioning eyes met dishonest denial--where
his ruthless researches found deceitful concealment--oh, then, he could
be cruel, and I thought wicked! he would exultantly snatch the screen
from poor shrinking wretches, passionately hurry them to the summit of
the mount of exposure, and there show them all naked, all false--poor
living lies--the spawn of that horrid Truth which cannot be looked on
unveiled. He thought he did justice; for my part I doubt whether man
has a right to do such justice on man: more than once in these his
visitations, I have felt compelled to give tears to his victims, and
not spared ire and keen reproach to himself. He deserved it; but it was
difficult to shake him in his firm conviction that the work was
righteous and needed.

Breakfast being over and mass attended, the school-bell rang and the
rooms filled: a very pretty spectacle was presented in classe. Pupils
and teachers sat neatly arrayed, orderly and expectant, each bearing in
her hand the bouquet of felicitation--the prettiest spring-flowers all
fresh, and filling the air with their fragrance: I only had no bouquet.
I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease
to please. I look on them as things rootless and perishable; their
likeness to life makes me sad. I never offer