“I beseech you, my dearest uncle, do not say such things. I love you with all my heart. It is my greatest happiness to have you near me. And hold, you are going to gain your own livelihood. Mr. Finkelstein here wishes to know what you will charge to give him French lessons.”
“Well, I guess I join de class,” said Mr. Marx, when he heard of his father-in-law's studies.
“So will I,” said Mrs. Marx.
“Well, I guess I come in too,” said Mr. Flisch.
“And I want to learn French ever so much,” said Rosalind.
[Ill 0006]
So a class was formed; and a Marquis de la Bourbonnaye, for the first time, no doubt, in the history of that ancient family, ate bread that he had earned by the sweat of his brow. It was a funny and yet a pathetic sight to see him laboring with his pupils. He was very gentle and very patient; but by the melancholy expression of his eyes, I knew that the outrages they committed upon his native language sank deep into his own soul. He and Mr. Finkelstein became great friends. I think they used to play cards together quite six hours every day. Uncle Florimond had studied English as a lad at school; and by and by he screwed his courage to the sticking place, and began to talk that tongue. It was as good as a play to hear him and Mr. Finkelstein converse together.
In due time, surely enough, Mr. Marx procured a situation for me as stenographer in a banking-house down-town. My salary, to start with, was seven dollars a week. Joining that to what Uncle Florimond earned, we had enough to support us in comparative comfort and without loss of self-respect.
And now Mrs. Gregory Brace, who is looking over my shoulder, and whose first name is Rosalind, and whose maiden-name was Earle, warns me that the point is reached where I must write