“He only arrived two days ago,” Mrs. Otter hurried to explain. “He’s a beginner. He’s never studied before.”
“Ca se voit,” the master said. “One sees that.”
He passed on, and Mrs. Otter murmured to him:
“This is the young lady I told you about.”
He looked at her as though she were some repulsive animal, and his voice grew more rasping.
“It appears that you do not think I pay enough attention to you. You have been complaining to the massiere. Well, show me this work to which you wish me to give attention.”
Fanny Price coloured. The blood under her unhealthy skin seemed to be of a strange purple. Without answering she pointed to the drawing on which she had been at work since the beginning of the week. Foinet sat down.
“Well, what do you wish me to say to you? Do you wish me to tell you it is good? It isn’t. Do you wish me to tell you it is well drawn? It isn’t. Do you wish me to say it has merit? It hasn’t. Do you wish me to show you what is wrong with it? It is all wrong. Do you wish me to tell you what to do with it? Tear it up. Are you satisfied now?”
Miss Price became very white. She was furious because he had said all this before Mrs. Otter. Though she had been in France so long and could understand French well enough, she could hardly speak two words.
“He’s got no right to treat me like that. My money’s as good as anyone else’s. I pay him to teach me. That’s not teaching me.”