f I did
occasionally suspect the existence of flint or steel under an external
covering of velvet--still we are none of us perfect; and weary as I was
of the atmosphere of brutality and insolence in which I had constantly
lived at X----, I had no inclination now, on casting anchor in calmer
regions, to institute at once a prying search after defects that were
scrupulously withdrawn and carefully veiled from my view. I was willing
to take Pelet for what he seemed--to believe him benevolent and friendly
until some untoward event should prove him otherwise. He was not
married, and I soon perceived he had all a Frenchman's, all a Parisian's
notions about matrimony and women. I suspected a degree of laxity in
his code of morals, there was something so cold and BLASE in his tone
whenever he alluded to what he called "le beau sexe;" but he was too
gentlemanlike to intrude topics I did not invite, and as he was really
intelligent and really fond of intellectual subjects of discourse, he
and I always found enough to talk about, without seeking themes in the
mire. I hated his fashion of mentioning love; I abhorred, from my soul,
mere licentiousness. He felt the difference of our notions, and, by
mutual consent, we kept off ground debateable.

Pelet's house was kept and his kitchen managed by his mother, a real
old Frenchwoman; she had been handsome--at least she told me so, and I
strove to believe her; she was now ugly, as only continental old women
can be; perhaps, though, her style of dress made her look uglier than
she really was. Indoors she would go about without cap, her grey hair
strangely dishevelled; then, when at home, she seldom wore a gown--only
a shabby cotton camisole; shoes, too, were strangers to her feet, and in
lieu of them she sported roomy slippers, trodden down at the heels. On
the other hand, whenever it was her pleasure to appear abroad, as on
Sundays and fete-days, she would put on some very brilliant-coloured
dress, usually of thin texture, a silk bonnet with a wreath of flowers,
and a very fine shawl. She was not, in the main, an ill-natured old
woman, but an incessant and most indiscreet talker; she kept chiefly
in and about the kitchen, and seemed rather to avoid her son's august
presence; of him, indeed, she evidently stood in awe. When he reproved
her, his reproofs were bitter and unsparing; but he seldom gave himself
that trouble.

Madame Pelet had her own society, her own circle of chosen visitors