“We’re going to do Bismarck, aren’t we?” she said, linking her hand through Gudrun’s arm.
“Yes, we’re going to do Bismarck. Do you want to?”
“Oh yes-oh I do! I want most awfully to do Bismarck. He looks so splendid this morning, so fierce. He’s almost as big as a lion.” And the child chuckled sardonically at her own hyperbole. “He’s a real king, he really is.”
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” said the little French governess, wavering up with a slight bow, a bow of the sort that Gudrun loathed, insolent.
“Winifred veut tant faire le portrait de Bismarck—! Oh, mais toute la matinée—‘We will do Bismarck this morning!’—Bismarck, Bismarck, toujours Bismarck! C’est un lapin, n’est-ce pas, mademoiselle?”
“Oui, c’est un grand lapin blanc et noir. Vous ne l’avez pas vu?” said Gudrun in her good, but rather heavy French.
“Non, mademoiselle, Winifred n’a jamais voulu me le faire voir. Tant de fois je le lui ai demandé, ‘Qu’est ce donc que ce Bismarck, Winifred?’ Mais elle n’a pas voulu me le dire. Son Bismarck, c’etait un mystère.”
“Oui, c’est un mystère, vraiment un mystère! Miss Brangwen, say that Bismarck is a mystery,” cried Winifred.
“Bismarck, is a mystery, Bismarck, c’est un mystère, der Bismarck, er ist ein Wunder,” said Gudrun, in mocking incantation.
“Ja, er ist ein Wunder,” repeated Winifred, with odd seriousness, under which lay a wicked chuckle.