hey dislike
the practice in England. The world is happily larger than the British
Islands."

Little sneers like this at England, sarcasms on English prudery, English
reserve, or English distrustfulness, were constantly dropping from her,
and I grew up to believe that while genuine sentiment and unselfish
devotion lived on one side of the Channel, a decorous hypocrisy had its
home on the other.

Now she would contrast the women 'of Balzac's novels with the colder
nonentities of English fiction; and now she would dwell on traits of
fascination in the sex which our writers either did not know of or were
afraid to touch on. "It is entirely the fault of your Englishwomen," she
would say, "that the men invariably fall victims to foreign seductions.
Circe always sings with a bronchitis in the North;" and though I but
dimly saw what she pointed at then, I lived to perceive her meaning more
fully.

As for my father, I saw little of him, but in that little he was always
kind and good-natured with me. He would quiz me about my lessons, as
though I were the tutor, and Ecoles the pupil; and ask me how he got
on with his Aristophanes or his Homer? He talked to me freely about the
people who came to the house, and treated me almost as an equal.
All this time he behaved to Madame with a reserve that was perfectly
chilling, so that it was the rarest thing in the world for the three of
us to be together.

"I don't think you like papa," said I once to her, in an effusion of
confidence. "I am sure you don't like him!"

"And why do you think so?" asked she, with the faintest imaginable flush
on her pale cheek.

While I was puzzling myself what to answer, she said,--

"Come now, Cherubino, what you really meant to say was, I don't think
papa likes _you!_"

Though I never could have made so rude a speech, its truth and force
struck me so palpably that I could not answer.

"Well," cried she, with a little laugh, "he is very fond of Monsieur
Cleremont, and that ought always to be enough for Madame Cleremont. Do
you know, Cherubino, it's the rarest thing in life for a husband and
wife to be liked by the same people? There is in conjugal life some
beautiful little ingredient of discord that sets the two partners to the
compact at opposite poles, and gives them separate followings. I must
n't distract you with the theory, I only want you to see why liking my
husband is sufficient reason for not caring for me."

Now, as I liked her ex