“Everything—all these things, child. I am afraid of them all.”
“What, all! What a dreadfully unpromising creature I must be!”
“You know you must be very ignorant. You have had no one to teach you anything.”
“Then I will go to the convent to study for four, six, eight, twelve hours a day. I shall soon have learned everything in the world at that rate: and yet I can go on singing to you in the evenings, and bringing your coffee in the mornings. Twelve hours’ study a day may perhaps make me steady, too. That was the next thing, was it not?”
“Now have done. Say only one thing more—that you will perform your promise.”
“That is a thing of course; so I may just ask one other thing. Who is to wait upon you in my place? Ah! I see you have not fixed upon any one yet; and, let me tell you, it will be no easy matter to find one who makes coffee as I do. Then, you have been waited upon by a slave all your life. Yes, you have; and you have a slave now sitting at your knee. People do not like being slaves now-a-days—nobody but me. Now I like it of all things. So, what a pity to change!”
“I know,” said the old man, sighing, “that I am apt to be peremptory. I know it is difficult to please me sometimes. It is very late in life—I am very old to set about improving: but I will try not to hurt any one who will wait upon me, as I am afraid I have often hurt you, my dear. I will make any effort, if I can only feel that you are safe. Some one has been telling you stories of old times, I see. Perhaps you can ask any servant that we may engage—you may make it your request that she will bear with me.”
“Oh, grandpapa! Stop, grandpapa! I cannot bear it,” cried the sobbing girl. “I never will joke again, if you do not see that it is because I love you so, that I will venture anything rather than leave you. We all love you dearly. Pierre would not for the world live with anybody else. You know he would not. And that is just what I feel. But I will do everything you wish. I will never refuse again—I will never jest, or try, even for your own sake, to prevent your having all your own way. Only be so kind, grandpapa, as never to say anything against yourself again. Nobody else would dare to do such a thing to me, and I cannot bear it.”
“Well, well, love! I see now that no one has been babbling to you. We will never quarrel any more. You will do as I wish, and we will have no more disputing. Are they bringing our coffee?”
When Euphrosyne came out from placing her grandfather’s pillows, and bidding him good-night, she found Pierre lingering about, as if wanting to speak to her.