s fin et timide" in perfect harmony with the tone:--
"C'est a dire, monsieur sera toujours un peu entete exigeant,
volontaire--?"
"Have I been so, Frances?"
"Mais oui; vous le savez bien."
"Have I been nothing else?"
"Mais oui; vons avez ete mon meilleur ami."
"And what, Frances, are you to me?"
"Votre devouee eleve, qui vous aime de tout son coeur."
"Will my pupil consent to pass her life with me? Speak English now,
Frances."
Some moments were taken for reflection; the answer, pronounced slowly,
ran thus:--
"You have always made me happy; I like to hear you speak; I like to
see you; I like to be near you; I believe you are very good, and very
superior; I know you are stern to those who are careless and idle, but
you are kind, very kind to the attentive and industrious, even if they
are not clever. Master, I should be GLAD to live with you always;"
and she made a sort of movement, as if she would have clung to me, but
restraining herself she only added with earnest emphasis--"Master, I
consent to pass my life with you."
"Very well, Frances."
I drew her a little nearer to my heart; I took a first kiss from her
lips, thereby sealing the compact, now framed between us; afterwards she
and I were silent, nor was our silence brief. Frances' thoughts, during
this interval, I know not, nor did I attempt to guess them; I was not
occupied in searching her countenance, nor in otherwise troubling her
composure. The peace I felt, I wished her to feel; my arm, it is true,
still detained her; but with a restraint that was gentle enough, so long
as no opposition tightened it. My gaze was on the red fire; my heart was
measuring its own content; it sounded and sounded, and found the depth
fathomless.
"Monsieur," at last said my quiet companion, as stirless in her
happiness as a mouse in its terror. Even now in speaking she scarcely
lifted her head.
"Well, Frances?" I like unexaggerated intercourse; it is not my way to
overpower with amorous epithets, any more than to worry with selfishly
importunate caresses.
"Monsieur est raisonnable, n'eut-ce pas?"
"Yes; especially when I am requested to be so in English: but why do
you ask me? You see nothing vehement or obtrusive in my manner; am I not
tranquil enough?"
"Ce n'est pas cela--" began Frances.
"English!" I reminded her.
"Well, monsieur, I wished merely to say, that I should like, of course,
to retain my employment of teaching. You will teach
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