ces us to civility because his own manners are so perfect, and holds
us at a distance by the respect he shows us. My father declares that
there is a great deal of the nobleman in Senor Henarez, whom, among
ourselves, he calls in fun Don Henarez.

A few days ago I took the liberty of addressing him thus. He raised his
eyes, which are generally bent on the ground, and flashed a look from
them that quite abashed me; my dear, he certainly has the most beautiful
eyes imaginable. I asked him if I had offended him in any way, and he
said to me in his grand, rolling Spanish:

"I am here only to teach you Spanish."

I blushed and felt quite snubbed. I was on the point of making some pert
answer, when I remembered what our dear mother in God used to say to us,
and I replied instead:

"It would be a kindness to tell me if you have anything to complain of."

A tremor passed through him, the blood rose in his olive cheeks; he
replied in a voice of some emotion:

"Religion must have taught you, better than I can, to respect the
unhappy. Had I been a _don_ in Spain, and lost everything in the triumph
of Ferdinand VII., your witticism would be unkind; but if I am only
a poor teacher of languages, is it not a heartless satire? Neither is
worthy of a young lady of rank."

I took his hand, saying:

"In the name of religion also, I beg you to pardon me."

He bowed, opened my _Don Quixote_, and sat down.

This little incident disturbed me more than the harvest of compliments,
gazing and pretty speeches on my most successful evening. During the
lesson I watched him attentively, which I could do the more safely, as
he never looks at me.

As the result of my observations, I made out that the tutor, whom we
took to be forty, is a young man, some years under thirty. My governess,
to whom I had handed him over, remarked on the beauty of his black hair
and of his pearly teeth. As to his eyes, they are velvet and fire; but
he is plain and insignificant. Though the Spaniards have been described
as not a cleanly people, this man is most carefully got up, and his
hands are whiter than his face. He stoops a little, and has an extremely
large, oddly-shaped head. His ugliness, which, however, has a dash of
piquancy, is aggravated by smallpox marks, which seam his face. His
forehead is very prominent, and the shaggy eyebrows meet, giving a
repellent air of harshness. There is a frowning, plaintive look on his
face, reminding one of a sickly c