The three or four readings they had done during the term alone in the little room had brought them through about a third of the blue-bound volume. Hoarsely whispering, then violently clearing her throat and speaking suddenly in a very loud tone Miriam bade them resume the story. They read and she corrected them in hoarse whispers. No one appeared to be noticing. A steady breeze coming through the open door of the summer-house flowed past them and along the table, but Miriam sat stifling, with beating temples. She had no thoughts. Now and again in correcting a simple word she was not sure that she had given the right English rendering. Behind her distress two impressions went to and fro—Fräulein and the raccommodage party sitting in judgment and the whole roomful waiting for cancer.
Very gently at the end of half an hour Fräulein dismissed the Germans to practise.
Herr Schraub was coming at eleven. Miriam supposed she was free until then and went upstairs.
On the landing she met Mademoiselle coming downstairs with mending.
“Bossy coming?” she said feverishly in French; “are you going to the saal?”
Mademoiselle stood contemplating her.
“I’ve just been giving an English lesson, oh, Mon Dieu,” she proceeded.
Mademoiselle still looked gravely and quietly.
Miriam was passing on. Mademoiselle turned and said hurriedly in a low voice. “Elsa says you are a fool at lessons.”
“Oh,” smiled Miriam.