"The Fool of Quality?" said Mellot. "Of course! I thought I had heard the story before. What a well-written book it is, too, in spite of all extravagance and prolixity. And how wonderfully ahead of his generation the man who wrote it, in politics as well as in religion!"
"I must read it," said Valencia. "You must lend it me, Saint Père."
"Not yet, I think."
"Why?" whispered she, pouting. "I suppose I am not as pure as Grace
Harvey?"
"She has the children to educate, who are in daily contact with coarse sins, of which you know nothing—of which she cannot help knowing. It was written in an age when the morals of our class (more shame to us) were on the same level with the morals of her class now. Let it alone. I often have fancied I should edit a corrected edition of it. When I do, you shall read that."
"Now, Miss Harvey," said Mellot, who had never taken his eyes off her face, "I want to turn schoolmaster, and give your children a drawing lesson. Get your slates, all of you!"
And taking possession of the black board and a piece of chalk, Claude began sketching them imps and angels, dogs and horses, till the school rang with shrieks of delight.
"Now," said he, wiping the board, "I'll draw something, and you shall copy it."
And, without taking off his hand, he drew a single line; and a profile head sprang up, as if by magic, under his firm, unerring touch.
"Somebody?" "A lady!" "No, 'taint; 'tis schoolmistress!"