paring to go down and do
what, after all, I most wished to do in the world--viz., meet him--the
wiry voice of St. Pierre replied glibly and falsely, "Elle est au lit."
And he passed, with the stamp of vexation, into the corridor. There
Madame Beck met, captured, chid, convoyed to the street-door, and
finally dismissed him.

As that street-door closed, a sudden amazement at my own perverse
proceeding struck like a blow upon me. I felt from the first it was me
he wanted--me he was seeking--and had not I wanted him too? What, then,
had carried me away? What had rapt me beyond his reach? He had
something to tell: he was going to tell me that something: my ear
strained its nerve to hear it, and I had made the confidence
impossible. Yearning to listen and console, while I thought audience
and solace beyond hope's reach--no sooner did opportunity suddenly and
fully arrive, than I evaded it as I would have evaded the levelled
shaft of mortality.

Well, my insane inconsistency had its reward. Instead of the comfort,
the certain satisfaction, I might have won--could I but have put
choking panic down, and stood firm two minutes--here was dead blank,
dark doubt, and drear suspense.

I took my wages to my pillow, and passed the night counting them.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

MALEVOLA.

Madame Beck called me on Thursday afternoon, and asked whether I had
any occupation to hinder me from going into town and executing some
little commissions for her at the shops.

Being disengaged, and placing myself at her service, I was presently
furnished with a list of the wools, silks, embroidering thread,
etcetera, wanted in the pupils' work, and having equipped myself in a
manner suiting the threatening aspect of a cloudy and sultry day, I was
just drawing the spring-bolt of the street-door, in act to issue forth,
when Madame's voice again summoned me to the salle-a-manger.

"Pardon, Meess Lucie!" cried she, in the seeming haste of an impromptu
thought, "I have just recollected one more errand for you, if your
good-nature will not deem itself over-burdened?"

Of course I "confounded myself" in asseverations to the contrary; and
Madame, running into the little salon, brought thence a pretty basket,
filled with fine hothouse fruit, rosy, perfect, and tempting, reposing
amongst the dark green, wax-like leaves, and pale yellow stars of, I
know not what, exotic plant.

"There," she said, "it is not heavy, and will not shame your neat
toil