“But I don’t know yet....” Anne said this very low, and had a feeling as if the floor had caught hold of her heel. She could only advance slowly on tiptoe. She bent her head sideways and her side ringlets touched her shoulders. Her hand clung to her cashmere petticoat.
The silence was interrupted by Sztaviarsky’s voice:
“One.... Two ... complimentum.”
Meanwhile John Hubert sat solemnly on a high, uncomfortable chair and, contrary to his habit, kept himself erect and never leaned back once. It seemed to Anne that he nodded contentedly. Everybody nodded. How good everybody was to her ... and she started to go to Bertha Bajmoczy. But the Pole stopped her with a sign. The lesson continued.
Studies in school suffered seriously that week. Twice Christopher was given impositions.
The Sundays passed.... In the Geramb educational institute’s cold, sombre drawing room the children were already learning the gavotte.
It was towards the end of a lesson. The crooked tallow candles on the top of the wardrobe had burnt nearly to the end. Sztaviarsky was muttering Polish. Bertha Bajmoczy, wherever she stepped, tripped over her own foot. All of a sudden, she began to weep. The young Baroness Szepesy ran to her; Martha Illey stood in the middle of the room and laughed wickedly; Anne had to laugh too. The boys roared.
“Mes enfants.... Silence!” Baroness Geramb’s voice was more expiring than ever and her face was stern.
Silence was restored. Bertha wiped her eyes furiously. She happened to look at Anne.
“Since she came here everything has gone wrong.”