He was venerable, genial-looking man, with flowing white hair and beard, and he wore gold-bowed spectacles, through which his clear blue eyes beamed kindly upon them.
“Pardon me,” he said, courteously rising and addressing Brownie, “but I wished to ask you if you are a teacher of French?”
“No, sir,” replied the young girl, blushing, as she thus became aware that he had been listening to her. “I only read for my own profit and amusement.”
“Your accent is remarkably pure. Pardon me again, but where were you instructed in the language?”
“In Philadelphia, sir. I had a teacher who was a native, and who never allowed his class, after they once understood the language, to utter a word in any other tongue during the hours for recitation.”
“An excellent plan, young lady. Now, if it would not tax your patience too far, will you kindly read me two or three more sentences in French from this book?”
The old gentleman took up the book she had but just laid aside, and held it out to her.
Brownie bowed gracefully, wondering what his object could be in thus testing her powers, as she took the book and began reading again, fluently.
“Thank you,” he said, after a few minutes, during which time he had been intently reading the face of the beautiful girl before him.
He then immediately asked her a question in French.