NEXTdaythemorninghoursseemedtopassveryslowlyatM.Pelet’sIwantedtheafternoontocomethatImightgoagaintotheneighbouringpensionnatandgivemyfirstlessonwithinitspleasantprecinctsforpleasanttheyappearedtome.Atnoonthehourofrecreationarrivedatoneo’clockwehadlunchthisgotonthetime,andatlastSt.Gudule’sdeepbell,tollingslowlytwo,markedthemomentforwhichIhadbeenwaiting.
Atthefootofthenarrowback-stairsthatdescendedfrommyroom,ImetM.Pelet.
“Commevousavezl’airrayonnant!”saidhe.“Jenevousaijamaisvuaussigai.Ques’est-ildoncpasse?”
“Apparemmentquej’aimeleschangements,”repliedI.
“Ah!jecomprends—c’estcela—soyezsageseulement.Vousetesbienjeune—tropjeunepourlerolequevousallezjouerilfautprendregarde—savez-vous?”
“Maisqueldangerya-t-il?”
“Jen’ensaisrien—nevouslaissezpasalleradevivesimpressions—voilatout.”
Ilaughed:asentimentofexquisitepleasureplayedovermynervesatthethoughtthat“vivesimpressions”werelikelytobecreateditwasthedeadness,thesamenessoflife’sdailyongoingsthathadhithertobeenmybanemyblouse-clad“eleves”intheboys’seminaryneverstirredinmeany“vivesimpressions”exceptitmightbeoccasionallysomeofanger.IbrokefromM.Pelet,andasIstrodedownthepassagehefollowedmewithoneofhislaughs—averyFrench,rakish,mockingsound.
AgainIstoodattheneighbouringdoor,andsoonwasre-admittedintothecheerfulpassagewithitscleardove-colourimitationmarblewalls.Ifollowedtheportress,anddescendingastep,andmakingaturn,Ifoundmyselfinasortofcorridoraside-dooropened,Mdlle.Reuter’slittlefigure,asgracefulasitwasplump,appeared.Icouldnowseeherdressinfulldaylightaneat,simplemousseline-lainegownfittedhercompactroundshapetoperfection—delicatelittlecollarandmanchettesoflace,trimParisianbrodequinsshowedherneck,wrists,andfeet,tocompleteadvantagebuthowgravewasherfaceasshecamesuddenlyuponme!Solicitudeandbusinesswereinhereye—onherforeheadshelookedalmoststern.Her“Bonjour,monsieur,”wasquitepo