,
whom, however, I seldom saw, as she generally entertained them in what
she called her "cabinet," a small den of a place adjoining the kitchen,
and descending into it by one or two steps. On these steps, by-the-by,
I have not unfrequently seen Madame Pelet seated with a trencher on
her knee, engaged in the threefold employment of eating her dinner,
gossiping with her favourite servant, the housemaid, and scolding her
antagonist, the cook; she never dined, and seldom indeed took any meal
with her son; and as to showing her face at the boys' table, that was
quite out of the question. These details will sound very odd in English
ears, but Belgium is not England, and its ways are not our ways.

Madame Pelet's habits of life, then, being taken into consideration,
I was a good deal surprised when, one Thursday evening (Thursday was
always a half-holiday), as I was sitting all alone in my apartment,
correcting a huge pile of English and Latin exercises, a servant
tapped at the door, and, on its being opened, presented Madame Pelet's
compliments, and she would be happy to see me to take my "gouter" (a
meal which answers to our English "tea") with her in the dining-room.

"Plait-il?" said I, for I thought I must have misunderstood, the
message and invitation were so unusual; the same words were repeated. I
accepted, of course, and as I descended the stairs, I wondered what
whim had entered the old lady's brain; her son was out--gone to pass the
evening at the Salle of the Grande Harmonie or some other club of which
he was a member. Just as I laid my hand on the handle of the dining-room
door, a queer idea glanced across my mind.

"Surely she's not going to make love to me," said I. "I've heard of
old Frenchwomen doing odd things in that line; and the gouter? They
generally begin such affairs with eating and drinking, I believe."

There was a fearful dismay in this suggestion of my excited imagination,
and if I had allowed myself time to dwell upon it, I should no doubt
have cut there and then, rushed back to my chamber, and bolted myself
in; but whenever a danger or a horror is veiled with uncertainty,
the primary wish of the mind is to ascertain first the naked truth,
reserving the expedient of flight for the moment when its dread
anticipation shall be realized. I turned the door-handle, and in an
instant had crossed the fatal threshold, closed the door behind me, and
stood in the presence of Madame Pelet.

Gracious heave