I had occasion to smile — nay¹, 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 dry storm — dark, beclouded, yet rainless — the streets were dim with sand and dust, whirled from the boulevards. I know not that even lovely weather would have tempted² me to spend the evening-time of study and recreation where I had spent it yesterday. My alley³, and, indeed, all the walks and shrubs⁴ in the garden, had acquired a new, but not a pleasant interest; their seclusion⁶ was now become precarious⁷; their calm — insecure. That casement⁸ which rained billets, had vulgarized the once dear nook it overlooked; and elsewhere, the eyes of the flowers had gained vision, and the knots in the tree-boles 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 wished to prop⁹ 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 efface¹⁰ very early in the morning, ere common eyes had discovered them. With a pensive¹¹ sort of content, I sat down to my desk and my German, while the pupils settled to their evening lessons; and the other teachers took up their needlework.

The scene of the “etude du soir” was always the refectory, a much smaller apartment than any of the three classes or schoolrooms; for here none, save the boarders, were ever admitted, and these numbered only a score. Two lamps hung from the ceiling over the two tables; these were lit at dusk, and their

分享到：