All was speedily settled for the lessons—hour, terms, and mode of instruction. It was to be entirely conversational, with a little theme-writing, no getting by heart, no irregular verbs, no declensions, no genders. I did beg hard for a little grammar, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was against his “system,” and so I gave in.
We began the next day, but the Count ignored me altogether, directing almost all his attentions to Mrs O’D.; and as I had already some small knowledge of the elementary part of the language, I was just as well pleased that she should come up, as it were, to my level. From this cause I often walked off before the lesson was over, and sometimes, indeed, I skulked it altogether, finding the system, as well as Gioberti’s friend, to be an unconscionable bore. Mrs O’D., on the contrary, displayed an industry I never believed her to possess, and would pass whole evenings over her exercises, which often covered several sheets of letter-paper.
We had now been about five weeks in Turin, when my brother wrote to request I would come back as speedily as I could, that a case in which I held a brief was high in the cause-list, and would be tried very early in the session. I own I was not sorry at the recall. I detested the dreary life I was leading. I hated Turin and its bad feeding and bad theatres, its rough wines and its rougher inhabitants.
“Did you tell the Count we are off on Saturday?” asked I of Mrs O’D.
“Yes,” said she, dryly.
“I suppose he’s inconsolable,” said I, with a sneer.
“He’s very sorry we’re going, if you mean that, Mr O’Dowd; and so am I too.”
“Well, so am not I; and you may call me a Dutchman if you catch me here again.”
“The Count hopes you will permit him to see you. He asked this morning whether he might call on you about four o’clock.”
“Yes, I’ll see him with sincere pleasure for once,” I cried; “since it is to say good-bye to him.”