"Oh, it comes still better," replied Bemperlein, smiling; "you will marvel at my talent. In the course of the conversation the baroness spoke also of French lessons, and mentioned how inconvenient it was to have to engage a French teacher, although she had a French woman in the house, because she had little confidence in mademoiselle's grammatical knowledge. I said at once--I do not know yet how I gathered courage to do so--that I was sure mademoiselle would very quickly learn grammar, and be able to teach it hereafter, if she had been carried once through a regular course of grammar. My time, I told her, was fully occupied; but half an hour every day--the baroness did not let me finish, and accepted my offer at once. The very next day the lessons were to begin."
"When did you have that interview with the baroness?"
"Yesterday was a week, on the same day on which I had come home very full of this interview, and of another which I had had on my return home with--with--I must not tell you, Miss Sophie, with whom--when I hastened to you. I found Mr. Stein here."
Bemperlein paused; his face darkened once more, and he took hold again of the poker.
Sophie took it quietly out of his hand, placed it further away, and said:
"You were excited that evening, and did not stay long. Does the other interview with the great unknown stand in any connection with your story?"
"Not directly," replied Bemperlein, seizing once more the cushion, "only, inasmuch as it increased my interest in poor Marguerite, to whom--and afterwards my suspicions have been most remarkably confirmed--some thing similar might have happened; but never mind that! Next day, then, I began my lessons. The lesson with that boy, Malte, was soon over. I was left alone in the room, and waited for my fair pupil; I can tell you, Miss Sophie, my heart beat! Why, I could not tell myself. I only know that I felt all of a sudden as if I were a very bad man. I had never yet in all my life played comedy; and these lessons in grammar were, after all, nothing but comedy. I had a great mind to run away; but as that could not very well be done, I could only pull up my collar, make a bow before the mirror, and say with my best accent: 'Ah, bon jour, Mademoiselle, comment vous portez-vous!' As I repeated the question a third time--and this time to my complete satisfaction--the lady came into the room, a book in her hand, and I was so much confused by the fear she might have seen me before the mirror that I blushed all over, and stammered something, which might possibly have been French, but which certainly was very foolish, for Mademoiselle Marguerite smiled and said something of bonté and enseigner. Next I only know that we were sitting opposite each other, and that we were turning over the leaves without saying a word--what else can I tell you, Miss Sophie? What is best and most necessary I can, after all, not tell you. I have been with Marguerite now for a week daily, quite alone, during a whole hour. We have not studied grammar; at least, we never read beyond the first pages; but, in return, she has opened to me the book of her life, and I have been allowed to read it, word by word, from the first to the last page. I tell you, Miss Sophie, there is not a bad word in it, and not a page of which she need be ashamed. She has had to fight her way through the world, poor thing--much worse than I! Her parents died so early that she has never known them; brothers and sisters or near relations she never had, except a wicked aunt, who made her life a hell, until at fourteen she fell among strangers, who at least did not beat her like her wretched aunt. Alas! Miss Sophie, if I were to tell you what the poor thing has suffered, you would say: 'Such things are impossible,' and your heart would overflow with sympathy as mine did."
Mr. Bemperlein paused because his emotion was too deep. Sophie took his hand and said, "Good Bemperly!" Bemperlein returned the pressure warmly, and continued, after having cleared his voice repeatedly to hide his emotion:
"She kept nothing from me; not even that she has of late come in contact with a bad man (I repeat, Miss Sophie, that I am not speaking of Mr. Stein)--with a man who has cheated her most egregiously, and who wished to hand her over to a notorious scapegrace. But that is such a mean, low story that I would rather not speak of it, even if I had not promised Marguerite never to mention the person in question to any one, whoever it be. And now," concluded Bemperlein, taking both of Sophie's hands in his own, "what do you say, now you know all?"
Sophie was somewhat embarrassed by the sudden question. She had formed a picture of Marguerite from casual remarks made by Helen, Oswald, and her betrothed, which was by no means flattering for the young lady; and even Bemperlein's account was not calculated to remove her prejudice completely. She was pained to have to hurt the feelings of the poor man, whose kind face was turned towards her with an excited, anxious expression, as if life and death depended on her decision, and yet she could and would not prevaricate, and an answer she must give. She assumed, therefore, a charming air of wisdom, shaking her head gently and thoughtfully,