"You had better not wait until I do tell you all. Such extra communicativeness could give you no pleasure. March!"
"Cross thing!" said she; but she obeyed, and, indeed, the first classe is my territory, and she could not there legally resist a notice of quittance from me.
Yet, to speak the truth, never had I been less dissatisfied with her than I was then. There was pleasure in thinking of the contrast between the reality and my description—to remember Dr. John enjoying the drive home, eating his supper with relish, and retiring to rest with Christian composure. It was only when I saw him really unhappy that I felt really vexed with the fair, frail cause of his suffering.
A fortnight passed; I was getting once more inured to the harness of school, and lapsing from the passionate pain of change to the palsy of custom. One afternoon in crossing the carré, on my way to the first class, where I was expected to assist at a lesson of "style and literature", I saw, standing by one of the long and large windows, Rosine, the portress. Her attitude, as usual, was quite nonchalant. She always "stood at ease"; one of her hands rested in her apron-pocket, the other, at this moment, held to her eyes a letter, whereof Mademoiselle Olive coolly perused the address, and deliberately studied the seal.
A letter! The shape of a letter similar to that had haunted my brain in its very core for seven days past. I had dreamed of a letter last night. Strong magnetism drew me to that letter now; yet, whether I should have ventured to demand of Rosine so much as a glance at that white envelope, with the spot of red wax in the middle, I know not. No; I think I should have sneaked past in terror of a rebuff from Disappointment; my heart throbbed now as if I already heard the tramp of her approach. Nervous mistake! It was the rapid step of the Professor of Literature measuring the corridor. I fled before him. Could I but be seated quietly at my desk before his arrival, with the class under my orders all in disciplined readiness, he would, perhaps, exempt me from notice; but, if caught lingering in the carré, I should be sure to come in for a special harangue. I had time to get
