Reload.
By Charlotte Bronte.
Red.
By Stephanie Poppins.
Music.
By John Miles Carter.
Chapter 13 I had occasion to smile,
Nay,
To laugh at Madame again,
Within the space of four-and-twenty hours after the little scene treated of in the last chapter.
Villette owns a climate as variable,
Though not so humid,
As that of any English town.
A night of high wind followed upon that soft sunset,
And all the next day was one of a dry storm,
Dark,
Beclouded,
Yet rainless.
The streets were dim with sand and dust,
Walled from the boulevards.
I know not that even lovely weather would have tempted me to spend the evening time of study and recreation where I had spent it yesterday.
My alley,
And indeed all the walks and shrubs in the garden,
Had acquired a new but not pleasant interest.
Their seclusion was now precarious,
Their calm insecure.
That casement which rained billets had vulgarised the once dear nook it overlooked,
And elsewhere the eyes of the flowers had gained vision,
And the knots in the tree-bowls listened like secret ears.
Some plants there were indeed trodden down by Dr John in his search.
And his hasty and heedless progress,
Which I wish to prop up,
Water and revive.
Some footmarks,
Too,
He had left on the beds.
But these,
In spite of the strong wind,
I found a moment's leisure to efface very early in the morning,
Ere common eyes have discovered them.
With a pensive sort of content,
I sat down to my desk in my German.
While the pupils settled to their evening lessons and the other teachers took up their needlework.
The book brought out was a venerable volume,
Old as the hills,
Grey as the Hotel de Ville.
I would have given two francs for the chance of getting that book once into my hands.
Turning over the sacred yellow leaves and ascertaining the title.
Perusing with my own eyes the enormous figments which,
As an unworthy heretic,
It was only permitted me to drink in with my bewildered ears.
I sat out this lecture for some nights as well as I could,
And quietly too,
Only once breaking off the points of my scissors by involuntarily sticking them somewhere deep in the worm-eaten board of the table before me.
But at last it made me so burning hot,
And my temples and my heart and my wrist throbbed so fast,
And my sleep afterwards was so broken with excitement I could sit no longer.
However,
I did manage somehow to curb and rein in.
And as always,
As soon as Rosine came to light the lamps,
I shot from the room quickly,
Yet quietly.
Seizing that vantage moment given by the little bustle before the dead silence,
And vanishing whilst the boarders put their books away.
This evening,
Fugitive as usual before the Pope and his works,
I mounted the staircase,
Approached the dormitory and quietly opened the door,
Which was always kept carefully shut.
Like every other door in this house it revolved noiselessly on well-oiled hinges.
Before I saw,
I felt that life was in the great room.
Not that there was either stone or breath.
Solitude was not at home.
All the white beds.
.
.
The les donges,
As they were poetically termed,
Lay visible at a glance.
All were empty,
No sleep or repose therein.
The sound of a drawer cautiously slid out,
Struck my ear.
Stepping a little to one side,
My vision took a free range,
Unimpeded by falling curtains.
A dumpy motherly little body in decent shawl in the cleanest of possible nightcaps.
Stood before their toilet hard at work apparently doing me the kindness of tithing out.
Open stood the lid of my workbox.
The top drawer,
Julian impartially,
Was each succeeding drawer opened in turn.
Not an article of the contents was but lifted and folded.
Not a paper was glanced over.
Not a little box,
But unleaded.
But Anne watered it like a true star,
Unhasting yet unresting.
I will not deny it was with a secret glee that I watched her.
Had I been a gentleman,
I believe Madame would have found favour in my eyes.
She was so handy,
Neat and thorough in all she did.
The searcher might have turned and caught me.
A retreat must be beaten.
There would have been nothing for it then but a scene,
And she and I would have had to come to it all at once with a sudden clash.
Where was the use of tempting such a catastrophe?
I was not angry.
And I had no wish in the world to leave her.
I could hardly get another employer whose yoke would be so light and easy of carriage.
And I truly liked Madame for her capital sense,
Whatever I might think of her principles.
As to her system,
It did me no harm.
She might work me with it to her heart's content.
Nothing would come of the operation.
Loveless and inexpectant of love,
I was as safe from spies in my heart poverty.
As the beggar from thieves in his destitution of purse.
I turned then and fled,
Descending the stairs with progress,
As swift and soundless as that of a spider which at the same instant ran down the banister.
How I laughed when I reached the schoolroom.
I knew now she must have seen Dr John in the garden and I knew what her thoughts were.
The spectacle of a suspicious nature so far misled by its own inventions tickled me much,
Yet as the laugh died,
A kind of wrath smote me and then bitterness follows.
I have never felt so strange and contradictory and inward to molt as I felt for an hour that evening.
I cried hot tears.
Not because Madame mistrusted me.
I did not care tuppence for her mistrust.
But for other reasons.
On revisiting my drawers I found them securely locked.
The closest subsequent examination could not discover change or apparent disturbance in the position of one object.
My few dresses were folders as I had left them,
A certain little bunch of white violets that had been silently presented to me by a stranger.
And which I had dried and kept from its sweet perfume,
Lay there unstirred,
My black silk scarf,
My lace chemisette,
And collars were unrumpled.
Had she creased one solitary article,
I own I should have felt much greater difficulty in forgiving her.
But finding all straight and orderly,
I said,
Let bygones be bygones.
I am unharmed.
Why should I bear malice?
A thing there was which puzzled myself and I sorted my brain a key to that riddle.
Was how was it Dr.
John,
If he had not been accessory to the dropping of that casket into the garden,
Should have known that it was dropped and appeared so promptly on the spot to seek it.
Why may I not,
In case I should ever have the opportunity,
Ask Dr John himself?
To explain this coincidence.
So long as Dr John was absent,
I really believed I had the courage to test him with such a question.
Little Georgette was now convalescent and her physician accordingly made his visits very rare.
Indeed,
He would have ceased them altogether,
Had not Madame insisted on his giving an occasional call,
Till the child be quite well.
Now the child was well enough,
But Madame was leaving for the evening.
Moreover,
This was the first time she'd chosen to absent herself on the occasion of a visit from Dr John.
She departed a tide very smartly in a shawl of price.
Hazardous the chapeau she wore as to its tint.
Or any complexion less fresh than hers.
It would not be becoming.
I wondered whether she would really send Dr John or not.
Whether indeed he would come.
He might be engaged.
Madame had charged me not to let Georgette sleep until the doctor came.
I had therefore sufficient occupation in telling her nursery tales.
I affected Georgette,
She was a sensitive and loving child.
To hold her in my lap or carry her in my arms was to me a treat.
Tonight she would have me lay my head on the pillow of her crib and she even put her little arms around my neck.
Hark,
There is the ring of the bell,
And there the tread.
Astonishing the staircases by the flintness with which it left the steps behind,
In came Dr John.
Rosine introduced him with a freedom of manner not altogether peculiar to herself.
But characteristic of the domestics of Villette generally.
She stayed to hear what he had to say.
Eyeing Dr John with no more fear or shyness than if he had been a picture instead of a living gentleman,
She stood,
Her hand in each pocket of her gay grisette apron.
Then,
While he put up his pencil,
She said,
And the box,
Did you get it?
Monsieur went off like a coup de vent the other night.
I had not time to ask him.
I found it,
Yes.
And who threw it there?
Continued Rosine,
Speaking quite freely the very words I should very much have liked to say.
That may be my secret,
Rejoined Dr John briefly.
Then she pouted and he laughed.
How many times have you opened the door for me within this last month?
He asked her.
Monsieur ought to be kept in count of that,
" said Roussine quite readily.
As if I'd got something better to do.
We joined teams.
But then I saw him give her a piece of gold,
Which she took unscrupulously,
Then danced off to answer the doorbell,
Ringing just now every five minutes,
As the various servants came to fetch the half-borders.
I had learned something from the above scene.
However,
I said to myself,
It is no affair of yours.
And turning from the face on which I'd been unconsciously dwelling with questioning gaze,
I looked through the window which commanded the garden below.
Dr.
John,
Meantime,
Standing by the bedside,
Was slowly drawing on his gloves and watching his little patient.
Just as he took his hat,
My eyes,
Fixed on the tall houses bound in the garden,
Saw the one lattice,
Already commemorated,
Cautiously open.
Forth from the aperture projected a hand and a white handkerchief.
Both ways.
I know not whether the signal was answered from some viewless quarter of our own dwelling.
But immediately after they're fluttered from the lattice falling object,
White and light,
Billet the second,
Of course.
I ejaculated involuntarily.
Where?
Asked Dr John.
Making direct for the window.
What is it?
They've gone and done it again!
Handkerchief waved and something fell.
I pointed to the lattice,
Now closed.
Go at once.
Pick it up and bring it here.
This is prompt direction.
Nobody will take notice of you.
I should be seen.
Straight away I went and after some little search I found a folded paper lodged on the lower branch of a shrub.
I seized it and brought it direct to Dr John.
Where he tore it to pieces.
I am no farther interested than a spectator,
Said he with a modesty.
But I happen to be acquainted with the rather worthless character of the person who from the house opposite has now twice invaded the sanctity of this place.
I would guard her.
From evil if I could.
The object whom these vulgar attempts are aimed.
But I can do nothing.
I cannot come near her.
I'm willing to help you.
Said I.
Just tell me how.
I run over the list of our inmates,
Seeking this paragon,
This pearl of great price,
This gem without flaw.
It must be Madame,
I concluded.
She,
Only amongst us all,
Has the art even to seem superior.
Just notify the quarter to which my care is to be directed.
" I continued gravely.
Then the colour rose to his cheek.
With half a smile he turned and took his hat.
He was going.
I will.
I will help you,
Said I eagerly.
I will do what you wish.
I will watch over your angel.
I'll take care of her.
Just tell me who she is.
But you must know,
Said he with earnestness,
So spotless,
So unspeakably beautiful.
Possible that one house should contain two like her I allude of course to Then here the latch of Madame Beck's chamber door opening into the nursery gave a sudden click.
Madame Excellent Woman was then on duty.
She had come home quietly,
Stolen upstairs on tiptoe,
And she was in her chamber all the time.
