Chapter III: Preface (3)

On a nearer approach, they discovered that what they had seen was a poor woman, leaning motionless against a tree, and who had by her side a little girl about eight years old. The poor creature held something in her arms, which, as they came closer, they found to be an infant of about two months old, motionless like the mother. It seemed benumbed with cold; and its mother, without making any movement, or uttering a word, stood with her head bent over it, as if to warm it. One could scarcely say whether they were dead or alive. The voice which had been heard proceeded from the little girl, who, also motionless by her mother's side, continued crying in a low tone. At this moment, the moon rendered them distinctly visible. Madame de Vesac and Cecilia approached quite close to the woman, but she did not change her position. They looked at each other and trembled, for they feared that both mother and infant were dead. At last, Madame de Vesac said to her, "My good woman, what are you doing here?" She made no answer.

The little girl, who, on perceiving them, began to cry and sob more violently, pulled her by the skirt, exclaiming, "Mother! mother! some ladies!"

The poor woman raised her head, and pointed by her looks to her child, whose face she again covered with her own; they had, however, time enough to discern the face of the infant, which was pale and still as death. Madame de Vesac wished to ascertain if it yet lived, but knew not how to ask the question. At last she said in a low tone, at the same time laying her hand gently upon him, "He is very cold." "I cannot get him warm again," said the mother, in a still fainter tone, at the same time pressing him more closely to her bosom, as if anxious to make a new effort to impart her warmth to him. "Is he dead?" asked Comtois. The only reply to these terrible words were cries of despair, as the unfortunate creature pressed her infant more firmly to her heart. Madame de Vesac found means of taking its hand: it was cold as ice; but she felt its pulse, and perceiving it beat, she said with animation, "No! most assuredly he is not dead; I feel his pulse beat."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed the poor woman, with a stifled sigh, at the same time raising towards Madame de Vesac eyes beaming with gratitude, and already beginning to be suffused with tears. But she again immediately turned them upon her child, whom she passionately kissed.

"Let us take him," said Madame de Vesac; "we are better able to warm him than you are."

"Give him to me. I will put him under my great coat," said Comtois, as he unfastened his thick, warm travelling coat. The poor woman hesitated. "Give him to me," he continued. "I have children of my own. I know how to manage them."

"Let him take the child," said Madame de Vesac; and the unhappy mother placed the infant in his arms, wrapping the coat round him. In order to make room for him, Comtois removed a bottle from one of the inside pockets.

"Stop!" said he; "this won't hurt him." It was a bottle of brandy; he opened it, and poured a few drops into the mouth of the child, who swallowed it.

"He swallows!" exclaimed the mother, in a transport of joy; and the child began to breathe more freely, and to move its little arms.

"I thought so!" said Comtois; "this would bring the dead to life. It would do you no harm either, to take a little, my good woman."

The poor creature replied that she did not want anything; but Madame de Vesac persuaded her to take a little to warm her. Then the little girl, who since the arrival of Madame de Vesac had ceased crying, watching all that passed around her, again began to sob, in a low tone, but sufficiently loud to make herself heard. Cecilia was the first to observe her, and began to caress her, in order to quiet her, but the child still continued crying, with her eyes directed to the bottle. Cecilia asked if a little might not also be given to her, and Comtois declared that it would do her no harm. "Yes," said Madame de Vesac, "if she only takes a few drops; but if you give her the bottle, she will drink too much." Meanwhile the child still cried and watched the bottle, and her manner was so quiet and gentle, that the heart of Cecilia was vividly touched. At last, by an effort of which she could not have believed herself capable, Cecilia took off her glove, and told the child that she should drink out of her hand; but when the little girl had done so, she hid her hand again, observing that it was very cold; but when the child rejected the brandy, saying it burned her mouth, Cecilia observed to her that it was not worth while to have made her take off her glove. She was on the point of putting it on again, when the mother said that a bit of bread would have been much better for her, as she had eaten nothing since noon. At this the child began to cry more bitterly.

"Oh, dear!" said Cecilia, "if I had but the bun I bought this morning, and did not eat."

"Where is it?" asked her mother.

"In the carriage."

"I thought I told you to put it in your bag."

"Yes, but my bag...." She interrupted herself, and uttered a cry of joy. She had not observed that her bag had remained attached to her arm. She felt the strings, undid them, opened it, and found the bun. It was a little crushed, indeed, by her fall, but the pieces were good. She gave one of them to the mother, who, without saying a word, and thinking herself unobserved, put it into her pocket. Cecilia again felt in the bag, and taking off her other glove, asked whether, if she crumbled a little of the soft part in her hand, they could not make the infant take some of it.

"What he wants," said Madame de Vesac, "is his mother's milk; but even supposing she has any for him, he is not at present sufficiently strong to take it; we must endeavour to reach some inhabited place as speedily as possible, where we may be able to give him the attention he requires."

Then the poor woman, who, after a moment of intense joy, felt all her fears and grief revive, said weeping, "If he only lives until we reach Chambouri, I have my mother there, and she is very skilful in the care of children."

"Where is Chambouri?" inquired Madame de Vesac.

"It is a short league from here," replied the poor woman.

"It is the post town," added Comtois. "Do you know the way to it?"

"Do I know the way to it?" said the woman. "I was born there."

"Why did you not go there instead of remaining against that tree?"

"I fell three times upon the ice; the third time my poor baby gave a scream, and then was silent. At first I thought I had killed him; and then I thought if I fell again, I should be sure to kill him; besides, a moment after, finding he did not move, I believed him dead, and had no heart for anything."

"But now will you conduct us to Chambouri?"

"Certainly, provided we can get there in time," and the poor woman again began to weep.

"Yes, yes, we shall arrive in time;" said Madame de Vesac; "Comtois will carry the infant in one arm, and give the other to Cecilia. You and I," she added, addressing the mother, "will try to keep each other up."

They proceeded in accordance with this arrangement, Cecilia giving her hand to the little girl, and the poor mother walking by the side of her baby, every moment putting her hand upon its head, which was not covered by Comtois' coat, and redoubling her tears each time she felt it cold. Madame de Vesac, perceiving this, stopped to untie a small shawl, which she wore underneath her large one, and gave it to cover the head of the infant.

"It is indeed very cold," said Cecilia, who was beginning to think of her own troubles, and who found that by giving her hand to the little girl, she herself became very cold, from being unable to cover it with her shawl.

"How long have you been exposed to this cold?" inquired Madame de Vesac of the poor woman.

"We have not entered a house since noon," she replied. "I hoped to have reached Chambouri early this evening, but the bad weather and the bad roads have delayed us; and had it not been for you, my good lady, we must have passed the night in the wood."

"But would you have been able to endure the cold?" demanded Madame de Vesac.

"I don't know whether my poor little one would have survived it," she replied, with increased emotion, and then began to enumerate his perfections, as if she had already lost him. "He knew me," she said, weeping; "even this very morning he looked at me and smiled; the beautiful sunshine delighted him, and he raised his little arms, as if he wanted to jump; and then, after the sun had gone down, when, for the last time, I attempted to nurse him, he looked up at me, and tried to smile." At these words her tears again flowed with redoubled force.

"He will look at you; he will smile again," said Madame de Vesac.

"Oh!" continued the unhappy mother, "he has suffered so much; he looked at me, as if for help;" and in calling to mind the sad looks of her child, she could not restrain her sobs. Then Cecilia again, forgetful of her own troubles, withdrew her hand from Comtois' arm, and passing it under that part of his coat which enveloped the child, said to the mother, "Oh! he is very warm: feel him, he moves his little arms; I am sure he is comfortable." "Yes, he does move his arms, I can tell you," said Comtois; "see, he has pulled off the handkerchief which he had on his head;" and Cecilia let go the hand of the little girl to re-arrange the handkerchief. The poor mother knew not how to express her joy and gratitude; but the little girl, who had remained a short distance behind them, because Cecilia no longer held her hand, began to cry. "Come along," then, said her mother; but the poor little thing replied, "I cannot."

Cecilia went to her, and again took her hand, saying, "You must try to come along, my dear."

"How long have you been on foot?" inquired Madame de Vesac.

"Since noon," replied the poor woman. "I had no more money to pay for lodgings; we had eaten all the provisions I had brought for the journey, and I wanted to reach Chambouri."

"And has the child been walking all that time?"

"Yes, the whole time."

"Cecilia is right, my dear," said Madame de Vesac, addressing the little girl. "You must try to walk."

"If Comtois were not carrying the baby," said Cecilia, "I would beg him to take her up."

"Oh! I have another arm," said Comtois; "but then I could not support you, Miss Cecilia."

"Never mind me," said Cecilia. "I am much better able to walk without support, than this poor little thing is to continue the journey on foot."

Comtois then stooped down, and, seating the child upon his arm, raised her from the ground, saying, "You must take hold of my collar with both your hands;" to which the child replied, "I cannot."

"Why not?" demanded Cecilia. But on taking her hands to show her how she must hold the collar, she perceived that they were so cold that the child could not use them. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "she freezes me even through my gloves." Then, remembering that she had two pairs on, the outside ones lined with fur, she took them off, and after well rubbing the child's hands, put them on her; but, finding her still unable to hold the collar, she made her put her arms round Comtois' neck. The child, however, still continued to cry. "What is the matter," asked Cecilia; but she received no answer. "It is her poor feet," said her mother. "Her chilblains are broken, and yet she has walked barefoot the whole day; but now that she is no longer walking, she feels the cold more." Cecilia recollected the socks which she wore over her shoes; she took them off, and put them upon the feet of the little girl, who ceased crying. Then, taking the arm of the poor woman, Madame de Vesac having the other, she walked on courageously, complaining neither of the cold nor of the ice, though she found much more difficulty in maintaining her balance now that she was without her socks.

"My dear Cecilia," said Madame de Vesac, "how much strength we have found since the moment we thought it impossible to go any further!"

"Oh mamma!" exclaimed Cecilia, satisfied with herself, "an occasion like this gives one a great deal of strength."

"No, my child: such occasions merely show us all that we actually possess; and since we do possess it, why not make use of it on all occasions?"

"But they are not all of such importance."

"It is always important to succeed in what we undertake, and to do so as speedily and as completely as possible; we ought therefore to make every effort in our power to ensure success. When we are wanting in resolution, and think we have not sufficient strength on a trifling occasion, there is but one thing to be done, and that is to call up all we should be sure to discover in a case of great emergency."

As she concluded these words they reached the boundary of the wood, and found themselves at the entrance of the village of Chambouri.

"Here it is," exclaimed Cecilia, in a transport of joy.

"Yes!" said the poor woman; "but my mother lives close to the post-house, which is at the other end of the village."

"Oh dear!" cried Cecilia, in a mournful tone.

"Should we not be tempted," inquired Madame de Vesac, "to think it impossible to go any further?"

Cecilia, who was beginning to think so, recollected herself, examined her powers, and inwardly shuddered at the idea of all that she still felt able to endure. Trembling at the thought of being exposed to new trials, she was only re-assured when, after a quarter of an hour's further walking, she had entered the post-house, and was seated by the kitchen fire.

They had persuaded the poor woman to accompany them, to warm herself, and attend to her children, whilst waiting till her mother should be ready to receive them. The infant had fallen asleep in Comtois' arms, and when taken from them, the noise, the people, and the lights awoke him, and he began to cry.

"He cries!" exclaimed the mother, in a transport of joy; and falling on her knees with clasped hands, in front of Madame de Vesac, to whom Comtois had given the child, she repeated, "He cries!" while gazing at him intently, and kissing him. He ceased crying, and, pleased with the warmth of the fire, looked at his mother and smiled. "That is just how he looked at me this morning," she exclaimed, and burst into a flood of tears. They made him take a little milk whilst waiting until his mother was sufficiently rested to nurse him herself, and the pleasure which he manifested in taking it was a fresh subject of joy for the poor woman. Meanwhile Cecilia had taken possession of the little girl; she placed her upon her knees, and warmed her feet and hands, without even complaining that by so doing she was prevented from warming her own. At length the mother of the poor woman, hearing of her daughter's arrival, came for them and took them home, gratefully thanking Madame de Vesac, who would not suffer them to depart until they had a comfortable supper. She ordered her own supper in a private room, and sent for a skilful surgeon, who happened fortunately to be at Chambouri, and who set her arm. In the meantime Comtois had gone in search of the carriage, which he found set to rights, and waiting for them. As he returned with it, a traveller entered the inn, who proved to be Madame de Vesac's man of business. He had come from her estate to meet her, making inquiries for her at every stage on the way, in order to prevent her going farther, as the affair for which she had been summoned was arranged. Cecilia therefore retired to rest, with the satisfaction of knowing that she should not have to continue her journey on the following morning, as Madame de Vesac announced that since she had time she should remain a couple of days at the inn, in order to attend to her arm. The next day they sent for the poor woman, who was full of joy at being able to exhibit her infant, now beginning to regain both strength and colour; nor was she ever weary of looking at him and kissing him. She stated that she had been married at a village some distance from Chambouri, to a mechanic, who had turned out a worthless fellow, and, after wasting all their means, had enlisted a short time before the birth of her infant; and that as soon as she was able to travel, she had set out in order to return to her mother, who had a little property, and with whom she intended to live. Madame de Vesac told her that she should consider herself as godmother to the child, whose life she had been instrumental in saving, and that she took him under her protection. But as he must still remain with his mother, who indeed would not have consented to part with him, she contented herself with giving her some money to assist in their maintenance, and she also permitted Cecilia to beg that the little girl, whose name was Nanette, might be committed to her care.

This proposition was gratefully accepted, and after a few days given to repose, Madame de Vesac set out on her return to Paris, with Cecilia and Nanette. From that moment Cecilia looked upon the child as her own, and so greatly was she delighted with her new possession, that she could speak of nothing else. Already had she disposed of all her old dresses in favour of Nanette. Already had she measured her in every direction, to ascertain whether in a dress stained with ink, and which she was delighted to part with, there would he sufficient to make a dress for Nanette, without employing the piece that was stained. Already had she thought, that by taking from her old black apron the part she had burned at the stove, there would be enough remaining to make an apron for Nanette. Already had she made her take off her cap of quilted cotton, to measure with a string the size of her head, in order to calculate how much cambric and muslin would be wanted to make her some neat little caps, while waiting until the return of the warm weather should enable her to go bare-headed, a habit which Cecilia intended she should acquire, it being so much more healthy for a little girl. Several times already had she said to her, "Nanette, hold yourself up;" but the child, who did not know what was meant by holding herself up, having never heard such an expression, only bent her head a little lower, as she always did when embarrassed. Then Cecilia raised it for her, with a quiet gentleness of manner, mentally repeating, as she did so, that patience is the first duty of one who wishes to bring up a child. Madame de Vesac smiled at her gravity; but counselled her, however, to relax it a little, if she wished to gain the confidence of her pupil.

Cecilia had formed the most extensive projects for the education of her protegée. "First of all," she said, "I will teach her to work well; this is absolutely necessary for a girl. I mean her to learn history and geography; perhaps even, if she has talent for them, I may teach her the piano and drawing. I am not sufficiently advanced myself to carry her very far, but I shall be improving every day, and then, when I am married and rich, I will give her masters, for I intend her to be very accomplished:" and Cecilia became more and more excited as she advanced with her projects and her hopes. Her mother listened to her, and smiled. Cecilia, perceiving this, was a little annoyed, and asked whether she were not right in wishing to give Nanette a good education.

"Certainly," replied Madame de Vesac; "that is why I advise you to commence by teaching her to read."

"That is a matter of course; but perhaps she can read already. Nanette, can you read?"

The child looked at her, then bent her head without answering. Cecilia raised her chin with her finger, again repeating, "Can you read?" But Nanette's only answer was to bend a little lower than before, as soon as Cecilia had withdrawn her finger. Cecilia, with a look at her mother, which seemed to say, "What patience one must have with children!" drew from her bag a book, which she had brought to read on her journey, and opening it at the title-page, she placed it before Nanette, and pointing to an A, said, "What is that?" Nanette raised her eyes, glanced askance at the A, and then cast them down again, without saying a word. Cecilia repeated, "What is that?" But Nanette continued silent. "It is an A," said Cecilia, lowering her voice, like one becoming impatient, and anxious to restrain herself. The child looked at her earnestly, as if she would have said, "What does it matter to me if it is an A?" "It is an A," repeated Cecilia; but Nanette only looked at her without answering. Cecilia was beginning to lose patience, but she called to mind the self-control her new duties required from her, and, taking Nanette upon her knees, she began to caress her, saying as she did so, "Why will you not say A?" Nanette did not stir. "Say A," continued Cecilia, "and I will give you this plum." Nanette looked first at the plum and then at Cecilia, and smiled. Cecilia smiled too, and repeated, "Say A." Nanette, still smiling, and with her head bent down, glanced slyly at the plum, and said A in a very low tone. Cecilia kissed her with delight. When the plum was eaten, she pointed to another A, but without being able to elicit any opinion on the matter from Nanette. "Say A," she repeated, in an affectionate manner, and Nanette looked round to see if there was another plum coming. However, whether in gratitude for the one she had already eaten, or from the hope of obtaining another, or from politeness to Cecilia, she once more consented to say A. This was a new joy for Cecilia, who, persuaded that Nanette was now quite perfect in the A, and enchanted at this first triumph in her education, returned with delight to the former A, expecting her to recognize it immediately; but this time it was impossible to obtain a syllable from her. Nanette had never seen a book--did not know what it was, nor what could be its use. She could not understand this fancy of making her say A. She had said it without regarding the form of the letter, and without thinking it was the name of the thing shown to her; and had all the A's in the world been placed before her, she would not have been any the wiser. After many useless efforts, Cecilia, completely discouraged, looked at her mother, with an expression of annoyance, saying, "What shall we do if she will not even learn to read?"

Madame de Vesac represented to her that she was beginning to despair very quickly, that it was quite natural that Nanette, astonished at the novelty of her situation, stunned by the carriage, and timid at finding herself among strangers, should have a difficulty in understanding what was shown her, and that it would be better to wait for a quieter time before commencing her instructions.

Cecilia was a little consoled by these words, and glad, moreover, to have a sufficient reason for deferring lessons of which, for the moment, she was heartily tired. However, considering, in the meantime, that she must endeavour to correct Nanette of whatever faults she might have, she determined that on the following morning, when they would he obliged to start at five o'clock, she would not allow her to complain of being so early awakened, or of the cold; but she had no occasion to enforce her lessons. Nanette, accustomed to suffering, never murmured nor complained of anything; and Cecilia was at a loss to know what to do with a child so gentle and docile as not to need scolding, and so little intelligent that it was difficult to tell what method to adopt for her instruction. However, the desire she felt of setting Nanette an example, and the good opinion she began to entertain of her own sense, now that she found herself intrusted with the education of another, prevented her from even thinking of complaining of the cold, or of the annoyance of being disturbed at five o'clock in the morning. She busied herself in arranging her things, in order to show Nanette how to manage; and Nanette, who would rather have packed and unpacked a dozen parcels than have said A once, endeavoured to obey her, and did not acquit herself badly. Cecilia testified her satisfaction, and they resumed their journey, mutually pleased, and, in order to maintain this good understanding, nothing more was said about the A until their arrival in Paris.

We may easily imagine how often, after her return home, Cecilia related the history of Nanette and the forest, and mentioned her intention of bringing up this little girl. The interest inspired by her narrative, and the importance she seemed to herself to acquire, whenever Nanette was asked for, revived those projects of education which the ill-success of her first attempts had somewhat cooled. Besides, she had felt so much pleasure in commencing Nanette's wardrobe, in trying on a dress which she had made for her in two days, and thought it so delightful to have some one to command and send about her little commissions in the house, that she became daily more attached to this species of property. She wished to have Nanette sleep in her room, that she might be completely under her protection, but this Madame de Vesac would not permit, as she felt it would give rise to a thousand inconveniences, which Cecilia, in her eagerness for present gratification, could not foresee. It was therefore arranged that she should sleep with Madame de Vesac's maid, and go down to Cecilia's room every morning to receive the lessons of her young instructress. Cecilia at first declared that this was not enough, and that if more time was not allowed, it would be impossible for her to teach Nanette all she wished her to learn. Her mother, however, advised her to be content with this as a beginning, promising that, if in a little while, she still wished it, the time should be increased. The day Cecilia tried on Nanette's dress and bonnet, which seemed to delight the child very much, and while still exhibiting the apron she had cut out, she took advantage of the opportunity to tell her that if she wished to gain all these pretty things she must learn to read. Nanette did not very well know what was meant by learning to read, but she had seen Cecilia look into books, and remembered that it was in a book she was made to say A. This recollection was by no means agreeable, but as she was becoming accustomed to obey Cecilia, she consented for once to repeat after her, first A, then B, then C; and at last, all the letters of the alphabet. Cecilia made her repeat them two or three times, showing them to her in the different styles; and greatly pleased at having so easily obtained Nanette's submission, which she had so much difficulty in doing at the commencement, she flattered herself that the most important point was gained, and that her education would now rapidly advance. The same day she put her fingers on the piano, and Nanette was at first delighted with the sounds she produced by striking the keys, but she did not find it quite so amusing to go through the gamut, and repeat after Cecilia a dozen times, _ut_, _re_, _mi_, _fa_, _sol_, _la_, _si_, _ut_. However, she obeyed, and all went on to the satisfaction of the teacher. Cecilia next gave her a thimble, some needles, and a pair of scissors, which she had bought for her, together with a piece of linen, which she was to learn to hem. Nanette was farther advanced in this department than in the others. She had seen her mother work, and had tried to imitate her. Cecilia was very well pleased with the manner in which she held her needle, and fixed her hem; and praised her accordingly; and, thus encouraged, the hem was finished pretty quickly and tolerably well. At length, after two hours spent in this manner, hours which appeared to the mistress somewhat tedious, Nanette was dismissed, and Cecilia, while congratulating herself on the success of her efforts, found, nevertheless, that the task of education was not the easiest of work.

The next day she resumed her lessons with renewed courage, hoping to advance still farther than on the preceding one, but she found that everything had to be begun again. Nanette was as much puzzled to say A as she had been the first time. She did not recognize one of the letters, which she had repeated mechanically after Cecilia, who, as she now made her say them again one after the other, had the utmost difficulty in getting her to give two or three times by herself the name of the letter which had been taught her the moment before. At the piano, when Cecilia wanted her to begin the scale of _ut_, she put her finger upon _sol_, and when asked the name of the note she had struck, it was impossible for her to find any name for it: she did not even understand that the notes had names. Thus, all the success obtained that day was, that after half-an-hour's study, Nanette named at random a _fa_ for a _la_, or a _si_ for a _re_. Cecilia became very angry, and Nanette, who could not bear to be scolded, made so much haste to finish her hem, in order to escape from her, that when Cecilia examined it, she found six stitches one over the other, and another half-an-inch long.

The following days were not much more fortunate; for, on each occasion, Nanette had forgotten pretty nearly the whole of what little she had seemed to know on the previous day. As up to that time, she had never been taught anything, she was not accustomed to apply her mind, or fix her attention on things of which she did not understand the use, for it could not be said that she was deficient in sense, or abilities, for her age. She was by no means awkward, and did all she was capable of doing carefully enough; for instance, if she carried a light, she did not, like most children of her age, hold it in such a manner as to let the grease fall upon the ground; she even took care to snuff it for fear of sparks, before removing it from one place to another, and she managed to snuff it without putting it out; if she had to carry anything rather heavy from one room to another, she first opened the door and removed whatever might be in her way; or if, while holding a jug of water, she happened to catch her dress in any object, she did not, like most children, give a sudden jerk, and spill the water, but quietly put down her jug, and removed the obstacle. It was evident that she was accustomed to act, and seek the means of acting in the most useful manner. Moreover, she rendered a thousand little services to Mademoiselle Gerard, Madame de Vesac's lady's maid, who was extremely fond of her, and who, from having her continually with her, contrived, without tormenting her, to teach her many things which Nanette willingly learnt.

As to the lessons with Cecilia, they went on worse and worse every day: the pupil knew not how to learn, nor the mistress how to teach; Cecilia often lost patience, and Nanette, who saw her only to be scolded and wearied, feeling but little desire to please her, became at last careless; besides, after having studied for a few minutes a lesson in which she took no interest, her ideas became so completely confused by the irksomeness of her task, that she did not know what she was doing; so that, after having said her letters, and spelt very well with the lady's maid, who endeavoured to teach her, in order that she might not be scolded, when she came to Cecilia everything went wrong, and it was but an additional annoyance to the latter to find that it was only with Mademoiselle Gerard that Nanette read well.

Thanks, however, to Mademoiselle Gerard, Nanette did make some progress in reading and needlework; but as for music, at the end of six weeks she was no farther advanced than on the first day, and Cecilia, who entertained the idea of giving her an education which would enable her to shine in the world, became disgusted with efforts which could have no higher result than that of fitting her to become a shopkeeper or a lady's maid. The lessons, therefore, were but a succession of irritabilities, which prevented Cecilia from seeking the best means of making herself understood, and which ended by worrying Nanette. These two hours, so uselessly employed, became equally disagreeable to mistress and pupil, and both were delighted when any accident occurred to shorten them; and shortened they often were; for Cecilia, being on one occasion busy, hurried over all the lessons in half-an-hour, and this, having once occurred, occurred often. Sometimes, too, she made Nanette repeat her lesson without listening to her, or put her before the piano and told her to play, while she went about her own affairs, so that during this time, Nanette amused herself at her leisure, in playing whatever happened to suit her fancy. Sometimes, in fine, when Cecilia was busy with her drawing or anything that amused her, she would tell Nanette to take her books or her work, and then think no more about her. Nanette, meanwhile, would either be looking out at the window or catching flies; and when at last, after half-an-hour had elapsed, Cecilia observed her, she would scold her for her idleness, and send her away, saying that she had now no time to attend to her lessons.

All this took place in Cecilia's room, which was close to her mother's. For some time Madame de Vesac said nothing; she had never expected that Cecilia would carry out her projects of education with any perseverance, and she relied much more upon Mademoiselle Gerard, who was a respectable and sensible person, and whom she knew to be quite capable of bringing up Nanette in a manner suited to her station. Still she did not wish her daughter to get into the habit of doing carelessly what she undertook, nor to fancy that the duties of the day were performed when they were only gone through in appearance. Cecilia herself felt that things were not as they ought to be; so that, after having several times complained to her mother of the trouble which Nanette gave, she ceased to speak of the matter. At length one day, Madame de Vesac, after listening for half-an-hour to Nanette, who was strumming on the piano according to her own fancy, without receiving any attention from Cecilia, she asked the latter, if it was by giving lessons in that style that she hoped to make Nanette a great musician. Cecilia blushed, for she felt she was wrong; but she assured her mother, that Nanette had not the slightest taste for music. Madame de Vesac observed, that, from the way in which she had been taught, it was impossible to know whether this was the case or not.

"Mamma," said Cecilia, "I assure you she has no talent whatever; and it is this which has discouraged me."

"But I do not think she displays less inclination to learn to read and work than other children of her age; and yet I do not see that you are at all more zealous in these branches of her education."

"Oh, I attended especially to her music. Mademoiselle Gerard can teach her the rest, as well as I can."

"So then, you have taken Nanette in order to have her brought up by Mademoiselle Gerard?"

"No, mamma; but I thought Nanette would be able to learn what I wanted to teach her."

"And because she does not learn what you want to teach her, you do not think it worth while to teach her what she can learn: to do for her, at least, all that is in your power."

"But still, mamma, it is, I think, a lucky thing for Nanette that we have taken her, and I certainly shall always take care of her; but you must allow that there is no very great pleasure in teaching a little girl to read and sew, when it is evident that she can learn nothing more than that."

"To agree with you, I must first know precisely what kind of pleasure you expected when you took charge of Nanette?"

"The pleasure of being useful to her, by giving her a good education."

"And supposing her incapable of profiting by what you call a good education, you would not care to be useful to her by giving her at least such an education as she is capable of receiving."

"At all events, this would not give me so much pleasure."

"And to continue a good action which you have commenced, it is necessary that you should find it productive of much pleasure to yourself?"

"No, mamma; but...."

--"But, my child, there are many persons like you in that respect; they commence a good work with delight, and afterwards abandon it because their success is not as complete as they had expected."

"You must see, mamma," said Cecilia, a little piqued, "that it was not for my own advantage that I wished to give lessons to Nanette."

"I believe, indeed, it was for hers, and that you had fully reflected on the advantage she would derive from them."

"Indeed, mamma, it is a very fine thing for a little peasant girl, who would have remained ignorant, vulgar, and illiterate all her life, to be well educated and accomplished, and to be able to become amiable and agreeable, and fitted to move in elevated society."

"Especially," said Madame de Vesac, smiling, "when she is destined to move in elevated society."

"Who knows, mamma? a good marriage," resumed Cecilia, with vivacity; for her imagination was always ready to rush into romantic ideas, because it is such ideas that require the least reflection.

"Have you seen many of these marriages?" asked her mother.

"Though I may never have seen any, still..."

"Still you suppose, probably, that they are not unfrequent."

"I do not say that, but..."

"But I say," continued her mother, seriously, "that we are not permitted to amuse ourselves with such child's play, when the welfare of one of whom we have taken charge is at stake; and if you had bestowed upon Nanette an education which would make her disdain the humble career to which she is no doubt destined, you would have rendered her a very mischievous service."

"So then, mamma, you did not think I ought to give lessons to Nanette?"

"Not at all; but I was quite easy about the matter."

"Besides," said Cecilia, blushing, "here I am always interrupted, and then two hours for all the lessons are nothing; but we shall be going into the country in a month, where, if you will allow it, she will be more frequently with me, and I shall easily find the means of giving her a proper education."

"Very well," said Madame de Vesac, smiling; for she did not place much more reliance on her daughter's perseverance in the country than in Paris. Cecilia did not observe this smile; quite absorbed in her plans for the future education of Nanette, she began by interrupting it for the present, as if the good that was to be done at some distant day exempted her from performing that which was in her power at the actual moment. She therefore told Nanette, that she would give her no more lessons until they went into the country; and Nanette, to whom a month seemed a lifetime, imagined herself for ever freed, both from Cecilia and her lessons. Cecilia, whose month was taken up with two or three balls, with purchases, packing, and receiving visits from the friends who called to bid her good-bye, completely lost the habit of thinking of Nanette; and this habit she found so unpleasant to resume, that they had been a whole week in the country when her mother said to her:--

"And Nanette?"

"We are going to recommence our lessons," she replied, somewhat ashamed at not having done so earlier. "But you know," she added, "that on arriving in the country there are a thousand things to be done; besides, I do not think Nanette is very anxious."

"Nor you either, I suspect."

"It certainly does not amuse me much."

"But it will not amuse you more to-morrow than to-day; so that I do not see you have any more reason to begin to-morrow than you have had for the last week."

"But still you know, mamma, there is no need of being in a hurry when there is plenty of time."

"My child, we have never sufficient time before us to do all that ought to be done, for we can never be sure of time. A thousand accidents may deprive us of it; therefore we ought always to be anxious to do what has to be done, just as if we had only the time absolutely necessary for it. In this uncertainty as to the future, it was as necessary to have devoted to Nanette's education the week you have lost, as to give to it that which is to come."

Cecilia made no answer, but resumed her drawing. Madame de Vesac took up the book she had been reading. After the lapse of half-an-hour, Cecilia interrupted her occupation, saying, with a heavy sigh, "I am afraid I shall not succeed."

"In what?" inquired her mother.

"In what we were speaking of a short time since," said Cecilia, wishing to be understood without being forced to explain; "in Nanette's education."

"And why should you not succeed, if you desire it?" replied Madame de Vesac, still reading.

"I cannot manage to make her study properly."

"I do not see why you may not do what another can do;" and the conversation was again dropped, much to Cecilia's annoyance, for she had an idea which she was anxious though afraid to express. At length, after a quarter of an hour's silence, she again continued. "There is one very simple plan," she said.

"What for?" asked Madame de Vesac, without laying down her book.

"To educate Nanette," said Cecilia, impatiently.

"That plan would be, I think, to give her lessons."

"Mamma, I assure you it is very difficult, extremely difficult. If you would permit me to send her to the village school she would learn to read, and they could give her the elementary lessons in writing, which you know I cannot do; and when we return to Paris she will be sufficiently advanced for me to continue with her."

"Cecilia," said Madame de Vesac, "if you alone were concerned, I should not consent to this, for you must acquire the habit of persevering in what you undertake, and learn to bear the consequences of your own determinations. But Nanette would suffer from it; because, as you are neither sufficiently reasonable nor sufficiently patient to adopt the proper means of ensuring success, you would scold her for learning badly what you taught her badly, and thus she would be ill brought up and unhappy. You may therefore send her to school."

Cecilia, delighted at having obtained this permission, hastened to Mademoiselle Gerard, to beg her to inform the schoolmaster, and arrange with him the terms of Nanette's tuition. Mademoiselle Gerard, annoyed at being deprived of Nanette during so many hours in the morning, and foreseeing that this arrangement would displease her little pupil, declared that it was unnecessary, and wished to point out inconveniences in the plan. But Cecilia became angry at the first word (as always happens when we are not sure of being in the right), and said that it was Madame de Vesac's wish. The matter was therefore settled, and Nanette sent to school. For some time, Cecilia took an interest in her progress, and paid for her instruction cheerfully enough; and on her birthday, when Nanette recited some complimentary verses, composed by the schoolmaster, and in which she was styled her _illustrious benefactress_, Cecilia gave her a new dress, which Mademoiselle Gerard promised to make. But in course of time Cecilia had other fancies; and when the first of the month came round, she was annoyed at having to pay for Nanette's schooling. Mademoiselle Gerard had several times to remind her that Nanette required shoes; that she had worn and outgrown those she had; and that the small quantity of linen, and the caps and petticoats which had been made for her at first, were insufficient. Madame de Vesac had more than once contributed to her wardrobe; and Cecilia was one day a little ashamed at seeing the child in an apron made out of an old dress of Mademoiselle Gerard's. But in time she got reconciled to this, and began to see in Nanette only the _protégée_ of the lady's maid. She never thought of her but when they happened to meet; and they became almost strangers to each other.

When they were about to return to Paris, Mademoiselle Gerard, whose health had been much impaired for some time past, was not in a condition to undertake the journey: so that Madame de Vesac resolved to leave her in the country until she got well. Mademoiselle Gerard had become so much accustomed to Nanette, that she could not bear the thought of parting with her; she therefore asked permission to retain her. Cecilia, as may be imagined, seconded the request; and Madame de Vesac, being then without a maid, and seeing that Nanette would only be an additional inconvenience, thought it as well to leave her with Mademoiselle Gerard, to whom she would be useful.

Thus was Cecilia, for the moment, relieved from all care of Nanette, and fully determined to think of her as little as possible, for the recollection was troublesome, as she could not but feel that she had not done for her all that she might have done. However, every month brought Mademoiselle Gerard's bill for Nanette's schooling, and other necessary expenses incurred on her account. Then came demands for shoes, linen, &c.; and although Mademoiselle Gerard was in this respect extremely economical, and not unfrequently assisted Nanette from her own wardrobe, still Cecilia found these expenses encroach sadly upon her allowance. Madame de Vesac, unknown to her, willingly undertook a part of them; but she would not undertake the whole, not thinking it right that her daughter should feel herself at liberty to transfer to her a duty which she had voluntarily imposed upon herself; and she insisted that Cecilia should not neglect the demands of Mademoiselle Gerard. But it happened that Madame de Vesac's husband was wounded while with the army, and though the wound was not dangerous, it was still of sufficient importance to prevent his being removed. His wife was therefore obliged to set off immediately to attend to him; and not wishing to take her daughter with her, she left her in the care of one of her aunts, who had two girls of her own, with whom Cecilia was delighted to have an opportunity of spending some time.

She had been with them about three days, when she received a letter from Mademoiselle Gerard. This letter could not have come at a more unwelcome moment, Cecilia having just taken a fancy to purchase a bonnet like one bought by her cousin, and imagining that Mademoiselle Gerard applied to her for money, "Oh!" she said, ill-temperedly, the moment she recognized the post-mark and handwriting, "I was quite sure this would not fail me; Mademoiselle Gerard always takes care to write whenever I want to buy anything for my own pleasure," and she threw the letter, unopened, upon the mantel-piece, and resumed her drawing, saying, "I shall read it quite soon enough."

"You had better spare yourself the trouble altogether," said the youngest of her cousins, who was very thoughtless, and, saying this, she took the letter, and threw it into the fire. Cecilia uttered a cry, and hastily rose to regain it, but before she had time to move her table, reach the fire-place, and seize the tongs, in spite of her cousin, who, laughing with all her might, endeavoured to prevent her, the letter was half destroyed. When, after having got it out, she wished to take hold of it, the flame burned her fingers, so that she let it fall, and, while vainly endeavouring to extinguish it with the tongs, her cousin, still laughing, took a large glass of water, and threw it over it. The letter ceased to burn, but the little that remained of it, was so blackened and impregnated with the water, that it was quite illegible, and Cecilia was, therefore, obliged to give up all thoughts of reading it. She scolded her cousin, telling her that she should now be obliged to write to Mademoiselle Gerard to know the contents of her letter, but, meanwhile, she bought the bonnet, and as, after having done so, she found herself without money, she was in no great hurry to know what Mademoiselle Gerard had written about; she, therefore, deferred writing from day to day, until a week or ten days had passed; then a fortnight elapsed, and the letter was still forgotten--finally, it remained unwritten at the end of three weeks. She little knew what was going on at the Château during this time.