Wetooknobridaltripourmodesty,screenedbythepeacefulobscurityofourstation,andthepleasantisolationofourcircumstances,didnotexactthatadditionalprecaution.WerepairedatoncetoasmallhouseIhadtakeninthefaubourgnearesttothatpartofthecitywherethesceneofouravocationslay. Threeorfourhoursaftertheweddingceremony,Frances,divestedofherbridalsnow,andattiredinaprettylilacgownofwarmermaterials,apiquantblacksilkapron,andalacecollarwithsomefinishingdecorationoflilacribbon,waskneelingonthecarpetofaneatlyfurnishedthoughnotspaciousparlour,arrangingontheshelvesofachiffonieresomebooks,whichIhandedtoherfromthetable.Itwassnowingfastoutofdoorstheafternoonhadturnedoutwildandcoldtheleadenskyseemedfullofdrifts,andthestreetwasalreadyankle-deepinthewhitedownfall.Ourfireburnedbright,ournewhabitationlookedbrilliantlycleanandfresh,thefurniturewasallarranged,andtherewerebutsomearticlesofglass,china,books,&c.,toputinorder.Francesfoundinthisbusinessoccupationtilltea-time,andthen,afterIhaddistinctlyinstructedherhowtomakeacupofteainrationalEnglishstyle,andaftershehadgotoverthedismayoccasionedbyseeingsuchanextravagantamountofmaterialputintothepot,sheadministeredtomeaproperBritishrepast,atwhichtherewantedneithercandlesnorurn,firelightnorcomfort. Ourweek’sholidayglidedby,andwereaddressedourselvestolabour.BothmywifeandIbeganingoodearnestwiththenotionthatwewereworkingpeople,destinedtoearnourbreadbyexertion,andthatofthemostassiduouskind.Ourdayswerethoroughlyoccupiedweusedtoparteverymorningateighto’clock,andnotmeetagaintillfiveP.M.butintowhatsweetrestdidtheturmoilofeachbusydaydecline!Lookingdownthevistaofmemory,Iseetheeveningspassedinthatlittleparlourlikealongstringofrubiescirclingtheduskybrowofthepast.Unvariedweretheyaseachcutgem,andlikeeachgembrilliantandburning. Ayearandahalfpassed.Onemorning(itwasaFETE,andwehadthedaytoourselves)Francessaidtome,withasuddennesspeculiartoherwhenshehadbeenthinkinglongonasubject,andatlast,havingcometoaconclusion,wishedtotestitssoundnessbythetouchstoneofmyjudgment:— “Idon’tworkenough.” “Whatnow?”demandedI,lookingupfrommycoffee,whichIhadbeendeliberatelystirringwhileenjoying,inanticipation,awalkIproposedtotakewithFrances,thatfinesummerday(itwasJune),toacertainfarmhouseinthecountry,whereweweretodine.“Whatnow?”andIsawatonce,intheseriousardourofherface,aprojectofvitalimportance. “Iamnotsatisfied,”returnedshe“youarenowearningeightthousandfrancsayear”(itwastruemyefforts,punctuality,thefameofmypupils’progress,thepublicityofmystation,hadsofarhelpedmeon),“whileIamstillatmymiserabletwelvehundredfrancs.ICANdobetter,andIWILL.” “YouworkaslongandasdiligentlyasIdo,Frances.” “Yes,monsieur,butIamnotworkingintherightway,andIamconvincedofit.” “Youwishtochange—youhaveaplanforprogressinyourmindgoandputonyourbonnetand,whilewetakeourwalk,youshalltellmeofit.”