The Professor (15 page)

"She watches late," thought I, "for it must be now near midnight.
She is a fascinating little woman," I continued in voiceless
soliloquy; "her image forms a pleasant picture in memory; I know
she is not what the world calls pretty—no matter, there is
harmony in her aspect, and I like it; her brown hair, her blue
eye, the freshness of her cheek, the whiteness of her neck, all
suit my taste. Then I respect her talent; the idea of marrying a
doll or a fool was always abhorrent to me: I know that a pretty
doll, a fair fool, might do well enough for the honeymoon; but
when passion cooled, how dreadful to find a lump of wax and wood
laid in my bosom, a half idiot clasped in my arms, and to
remember that I had made of this my equal—nay, my idol—to know
that I must pass the rest of my dreary life with a creature
incapable of understanding what I said, of appreciating what I
thought, or of sympathizing with what I felt! "Now, Zoraide
Reuter," thought I, "has tact, CARACTERE, judgment, discretion;
has she heart? What a good, simple little smile played about her
lips when she gave me the branch of lilacs! I have thought her
crafty, dissembling, interested sometimes, it is true; but may
not much that looks like cunning and dissimulation in her conduct
be only the efforts made by a bland temper to traverse quietly
perplexing difficulties? And as to interest, she wishes to make
her way in the world, no doubt, and who can blame her? Even if
she be truly deficient in sound principle, is it not rather her
misfortune than her fault? She has been brought up a Catholic:
had she been born an Englishwoman, and reared a Protestant, might
she not have added straight integrity to all her other
excellences? Supposing she were to marry an English and
Protestant husband, would she not, rational, sensible as she is,
quickly acknowledge the superiority of right over expediency,
honesty over policy? It would be worth a man's while to try the
experiment; to-morrow I will renew my observations. She knows
that I watch her: how calm she is under scrutiny! it seems rather
to gratify than annoy her." Here a strain of music stole in upon
my monologue, and suspended it; it was a bugle, very skilfully
played, in the neighbourhood of the park, I thought, or on the
Place Royale. So sweet were the tones, so subduing their effect
at that hour, in the midst of silence and under the quiet reign
of moonlight, I ceased to think, that I might listen more
intently. The strain retreated, its sound waxed fainter and was
soon gone; my ear prepared to repose on the absolute hush of
midnight once more. No. What murmur was that which, low, and
yet near and approaching nearer, frustrated the expectation of
total silence? It was some one conversing—yes, evidently, an
audible, though subdued voice spoke in the garden immediately
below me. Another answered; the first voice was that of a man,
the second that of a woman; and a man and a woman I saw coming
slowly down the alley. Their forms were at first in shade, I
could but discern a dusk outline of each, but a ray of moonlight
met them at the termination of the walk, when they were under my
very nose, and revealed very plainly, very unequivocally, Mdlle.
Zoraide Reuter, arm-in-arm, or hand-in-hand (I forget which) with
my principal, confidant, and counsellor, M. Francois Pelet. And
M. Pelet was saying—

"A quand donc le jour des noces, ma bien-aimee?"

And Mdlle. Reuter answered—

"Mais, Francois, tu sais bien qu'il me serait impossible de me
marier avant les vacances."

"June, July, August, a whole quarter!" exclaimed the director.
"How can I wait so long?—I who am ready, even now, to expire at
your feet with impatience!"

"Ah! if you die, the whole affair will be settled without any
trouble about notaries and contracts; I shall only have to order
a slight mourning dress, which will be much sooner prepared than
the nuptial trousseau."

"Cruel Zoraide! you laugh at the distress of one who loves you so
devotedly as I do: my torment is your sport; you scruple not to
stretch my soul on the rack of jealousy; for, deny it as you
will, I am certain you have cast encouraging glances on that
school-boy, Crimsworth; he has presumed to fall in love, which he
dared not have done unless you had given him room to hope."

"What do you say, Francois? Do you say Crimsworth is in love
with me?"

"Over head and ears."

"Has he told you so?"

"No—but I see it in his face: he blushes whenever your name is
mentioned." A little laugh of exulting coquetry announced Mdlle.
Reuter's gratification at this piece of intelligence (which was a
lie, by-the-by—I had never been so far gone as that, after all).
M. Pelet proceeded to ask what she intended to do with me,
intimating pretty plainly, and not very gallantly, that it was
nonsense for her to think of taking such a "blanc-bec" as a
husband, since she must be at least ten years older than I (was
she then thirty-two? I should not have thought it). I heard her
disclaim any intentions on the subject—the director, however,
still pressed her to give a definite answer.

"Francois," said she, "you are jealous," and still she laughed;
then, as if suddenly recollecting that this coquetry was not
consistent with the character for modest dignity she wished to
establish, she proceeded, in a demure voice: "Truly, my dear
Francois, I will not deny that this young Englishman may have
made some attempts to ingratiate himself with me; but, so far
from giving him any encouragement, I have always treated him
with as much reserve as it was possible to combine with civility;
affianced as I am to you, I would give no man false hopes;
believe me, dear friend." Still Pelet uttered murmurs of
distrust—so I judged, at least, from her reply.

"What folly! How could I prefer an unknown foreigner to you?
And then—not to flatter your vanity—Crimsworth could not bear
comparison with you either physically or mentally; he is not a
handsome man at all; some may call him gentleman-like and
intelligent-looking, but for my part—"

The rest of the sentence was lost in the distance, as the pair,
rising from the chair in which they had been seated, moved away.
I waited their return, but soon the opening and shutting of a
door informed me that they had re-entered the house; I listened
a little longer, all was perfectly still; I listened more than an
hour—at last I heard M. Pelet come in and ascend to his chamber.
Glancing once more towards the long front of the garden-house, I
perceived that its solitary light was at length extinguished; so,
for a time, was my faith is love and friendship. I went to bed,
but something feverish and fiery had got into my veins which
prevented me from sleeping much that night.

NEXT morning I rose with the dawn, and having dressed myself and
stood half-an-hour, my elbow leaning on the chest of drawers,
considering what means I should adopt to restore my spirits,
fagged with sleeplessness, to their ordinary tone—for I had no
intention of getting up a scene with M. Pelet, reproaching him
with perfidy, sending him a challenge, or performing other
gambadoes of the sort—I hit at last on the expedient of walking
out in the cool of the morning to a neighbouring establishment of
baths, and treating myself to a bracing plunge. The remedy
produced the desired effect. I came back at seven o'clock
steadied and invigorated, and was able to greet M. Pelet, when he
entered to breakfast, with an unchanged and tranquil countenance;
even a cordial offering of the hand and the flattering
appellation of "mon fils," pronounced in that caressing tone with
which Monsieur had, of late days especially, been accustomed to
address me, did not elicit any external sign of the feeling
which, though subdued, still glowed at my heart. Not that I
nursed vengeance—no; but the sense of insult and treachery lived
in me like a kindling, though as yet smothered coal. God knows I
am not by nature vindictive; I would not hurt a man because I can
no longer trust or like him; but neither my reason nor feelings
are of the vacillating order—they are not of that sand-like sort
where impressions, if soon made, are as soon effaced. Once
convinced that my friend's disposition is incompatible with my
own, once assured that he is indelibly stained with certain
defects obnoxious to my principles, and I dissolve the
connection. I did so with Edward. As to Pelet, the discovery
was yet new; should I act thus with him? It was the question I
placed before my mind as I stirred my cup of coffee with a
half-pistolet (we never had spoons), Pelet meantime being seated
opposite, his pallid face looking as knowing and more haggard
than usual, his blue eye turned, now sternly on his boys and
ushers, and now graciously on me.

"Circumstances must guide me," said I; and meeting Pelet's false
glance and insinuating smile, I thanked heaven that I had last
night opened my window and read by the light of a full moon the
true meaning of that guileful countenance. I felt half his
master, because the reality of his nature was now known to me;
smile and flatter as he would, I saw his soul lurk behind his
smile, and heard in every one of his smooth phrases a voice
interpreting their treacherous import.

But Zoraide Reuter? Of course her defection had cut me to the
quick? That stint; must have gone too deep for any consolations
of philosophy to be available in curing its smart? Not at all.
The night fever over, I looked about for balm to that wound also,
and found some nearer home than at Gilead. Reason was my
physician; she began by proving that the prize I had missed was
of little value: she admitted that, physically, Zoraide might
have suited me, but affirmed that our souls were not in harmony,
and that discord must have resulted from the union of her mind
with mine. She then insisted on the suppression of all repining,
and commanded me rather to rejoice that I had escaped a snare.
Her medicament did me good. I felt its strengthening effect when
I met the directress the next day; its stringent operation on the
nerves suffered no trembling, no faltering; it enabled me to face
her with firmness, to pass her with ease. She had held out her
hand to me—that I did not choose to see. She had greeted me
with a charming smile—it fell on my heart like light on stone.
I passed on to the estrade, she followed me; her eye, fastened on
my face, demanded of every feature the meaning of my changed and
careless manner. "I will give her an answer," thought I; and,
meeting her gaze full, arresting, fixing her glance, I shot into
her eyes, from my own, a look, where there was no respect, no
love, no tenderness, no gallantry; where the strictest analysis
could detect nothing but scorn, hardihood, irony. I made her
bear it, and feel it; her steady countenance did not change, but
her colour rose, and she approached me as if fascinated. She
stepped on to the estrade, and stood close by my side; she had
nothing to say. I would not relieve her embarrassment, and
negligently turned over the leaves of a book.

"I hope you feel quite recovered to-day," at last she said, in a
low tone.

"And I, mademoiselle, hope that you took no cold last night in
consequence of your late walk in the garden."

Quick enough of comprehension, she understood me directly; her
face became a little blanched—a very little—but no muscle in
her rather marked features moved; and, calm and self-possessed,
she retired from the estrade, taking her seat quietly at a little
distance, and occupying herself with netting a purse. I
proceeded to give my lesson; it was a "Composition," i.e., I
dictated certain general questions, of which the pupils were to
compose the answers from memory, access to books being forbidden.
While Mdlle. Eulalie, Hortense, Caroline, &c., were pondering
over the string of rather abstruse grammatical interrogatories I
had propounded, I was at liberty to employ the vacant half hour
in further observing the directress herself. The green silk
purse was progressing fast in her hands; her eyes were bent upon
it; her attitude, as she sat netting within two yards of me, was
still yet guarded; in her whole person were expressed at once,
and with equal clearness, vigilance and repose—a rare union!
Looking at her, I was forced, as I had often been before, to
offer her good sense, her wondrous self-control, the tribute of
involuntary admiration. She had felt that I had withdrawn from
her my esteem; she had seen contempt and coldness in my eye, and
to her, who coveted the approbation of all around her, who
thirsted after universal good opinion, such discovery must have
been an acute wound. I had witnessed its effect in the momentary
pallor of her cheek-cheek unused to vary; yet how quickly, by
dint of self-control, had she recovered her composure! With what
quiet dignity she now sat, almost at my side, sustained by her
sound and vigorous sense; no trembling in her somewhat
lengthened, though shrewd upper lip, no coward shame on her
austere forehead!

"There is metal there," I said, as I gazed. "Would that there
were fire also, living ardour to make the steel glow—then I
could love her."

Presently I discovered that she knew I was watching her, for she
stirred not, she lifted not her crafty eyelid; she had glanced
down from her netting to her small foot, peeping from the soft
folds of her purple merino gown; thence her eye reverted to her
hand, ivory white, with a bright garnet ring on the forefinger,
and a light frill of lace round the wrist; with a scarcely
perceptible movement she turned her head, causing her nut-brown
curls to wave gracefully. In these slight signs I read that the
wish of her heart, the design of her brain, was to lure back the
game she had scared. A little incident gave her the opportunity
of addressing me again.

While all was silence in the class—silence, but for the rustling
of copy-books and the travelling of pens over their pages—a leaf
of the large folding-door, opening from the hall, unclosed,
admitting a pupil who, after making a hasty obeisance, ensconced
herself with some appearance of trepidation, probably occasioned
by her entering so late, in a vacant seat at the desk nearest the
door. Being seated, she proceeded, still with an air of hurry
and embarrassment, to open her cabas, to take out her books; and,
while I was waiting for her to look up, in order to make out her
identity—for, shortsighted as I was, I had not recognized her at
her entrance—Mdlle. Reuter, leaving her chair, approached the
estrade.