“Do you live alone?”
“No—I have an aunt—ma tante Julienne.”
“Your father’s sister?”
“Justement, monsieur.”
“Is that English?”
“No—but I forget—”
“For which, mademoiselle, if you were a child I should certainly devise some slight punishment; at your age—you must be two or three and twenty, I should think?”
“Pas encore, monsieur—en un mois j’aurai dix-neuf ans.”
“Well, nineteen is a mature age, and, having attained it, you ought to be so solicitous for your own improvement, that it should not be needful for a master to remind you twice of the expediency of your speaking English whenever practicable.”
To this wise speech I received no answer; and, when I looked up, my pupil was smiling to herself a much-meaning, though not very gay smile; it seemed to say, “He talks of he knows not what:” it said this so plainly, that I determined to request information on the point concerning which my ignorance seemed to be thus tacitly affirmed.