"And in England you would be a foreigner; that too would deprive you of influence, and would effectually separate you from all round you; in England you would have as few connections, as little importance as you have here."
"But I should be learning something; for the rest, there are probably difficulties for such as I everywhere, and if I must contend, and perhaps: be conquered, I would rather submit to English pride than to Flemish coarseness; besides, monsieur--"
She stopped--not evidently from any difficulty in finding words to express herself, but because discretion seemed to say, "You have said enough."
"Finish your phrase," I urged.
"Besides, monsieur, I long to live once more among Protestants; they are more honest than Catholics; a Romish school is a building with porous walls, a hollow floor, a false ceiling; every room in this house, monsieur, has eyeholes and ear-holes, and what the house is, the inhabitants are, very treacherous; they all think it lawful to tell lies; they all call it politeness to profess friendship where they feel hatred."
"All?" said I; "you mean the pupils--the mere children--inexperienced, giddy things, who have not learnt to distinguish the difference between right and wrong?"
"On the contrary, monsieur--the children are the most sincere; they have not yet had time to become accomplished in duplicity; they will tell lies, but they do it inartificially, and you know they are lying; but the grown-up people are very false; they deceive strangers, they deceive each other--"
A servant here entered:-"Mdlle. Henri--Mdlle. Reuter vous prie de vouloir bien conduire la petite de Dorlodot chez elle, elle vous attend dans le cabinet de Rosalie la portiere--c'est que sa bonne n'est pas venue la chercher--voyez-vous."
"Eh bien! est-ce que je suis sa bonne--moi?" demanded Mdlle. Henri; then smiling, with that same bitter, derisive smile I had seen on her lips once before, she hastily rose and made her exit.