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affron teeth ever much in evidence。 Her speciality； as I soon discovered； was sentiment。 Like her sisters； she had had her 'affaires' in the plural。 A Greek prince； so far as I could make out； was the last of her adorers。 But I sometimes got into scrapes by mixing up the Greek prince with a Polish count； and then confounding either one or both with a Hungarian pianoforte player。
Without formulating my deductions； I came instinctively to the conclusion that 'En fait d'amour；' as Figaro puts it； 'trop n'est pas meme assez。' From Miss Aglae's point of view a lover was a lover。 As to the superiority of one over another； this was … nay； is … purely subjective。 'We receive but what we give。' And； from what Mademoiselle then told me； I cannot but infer that she had given without stint。
Be that as it may； nothing could be more kind than her care of me。 She tucked me up at night； and used to send for me in the morning before she rose； to partake of her CAFE…AU…LAIT。 In return for her indulgences； I would 'make eyes' such as I had seen Auguste； the young man…servant； cast at Rose the cook。 I would present her with little scraps which I copied in roundhand from a volume of French poems。 Once I drew； and coloured with red ink； two hearts pierced with an arrow； a copious pool of red ink beneath； emblematic of both the quality and quantity of my passion。 This work of art produced so deep a sigh that I abstained thenceforth from repeating such sanguinary endearments。
Not the least interesting part of the family was the servants。 I say 'family；' for a French family； unlike an English one； includes its domestics； wherein our neighbours have the advantage over us。 In the British establishment the household is but too often thought of and treated as furniture。 I was as fond of Rose the cook and maid…of…all… work as I was of anyone in the house。 She showed me how to peel potatoes； break eggs； and make POT…AU…FEU。 She made me little delicacies in pastry … swans with split almonds for wings； comic little pigs with cloves in their eyes … for all of which my affection and my liver duly acknowledged receipt in full。 She taught me more provincial pronunciation and bad grammar than ever I could unlearn。 She was very intelligent； and radiant with good humour。 One peculiarity especially took my fancy … the yellow bandana in which she enveloped her head。 I was always wondering whether she was born without hair … there was none to be seen。 This puzzled me so that one day I consulted Auguste； who was my chief companion。 He was quite indignant； and declared with warmth that Mam'selle Rose had the most beautiful hair he had ever beheld。 He flushed even with enthusiasm。 If it hadn't been for his manner； I should have asked him how he knew。 But somehow I felt the subject was a delicate one。
How incessantly they worked； Auguste and Rose； and how cheerfully they worked！ One could hear her singing； and him whistling； at it all day。 Yet they seemed to have abundant leisure to exchange a deal of pleasantry and harmless banter。 Auguste was a Swiss； and a bigoted Protestant； and never lost an opportunity of holding forth on the superiority of the reformed religion。 If he thought the family were out of hearing； he would grow very animated and declamatory。 But Rose； who also had hopes； though perhaps faint； for my salvation； would suddenly rush into the room with the carpet broom； and drive him out； with threats of Miss Aglae； and the broomstick。
The gardener； Monsieur Benoit； was also a great favourite of mine； and I of his； for I was never tired of listening to his wonderful adventures。 He had； so he informed me； been a soldier in the GRANDE ARMEE。 He enthralled me with hair… raising accounts of his exploits： how； when leading a storming party … he was always the leader … one dark and terrible night； the vivid and incessant lightning betrayed them by the flashing of their bayonets； and how in a few minutes they were mowed down by MITRAILLE。 He had led forlorn hopes； and performed deeds of astounding prowess。 How many Life…guardsmen he had annihilated： 'Ah！ ben oui！' he was afraid to say。 He had been personally noticed by 'Le p'tit caporal。' There were many； whose deeds were not to compare with his； who had been made princes and mareschals。 PARBLEU！ but his luck was bad。 'Pas d'chance！ pas d'chance！ Mo'sieu Henri。' As Monsieur Benoit recorded his feats； and witnessed my unbounded admiration； his voice would grow more and more sepulchral； till it dropped to a hoarse and scarcely audible whisper。
I was a little bewildered one day when； having breathlessly repeated some of his heroic deeds to the Marquise； she with a quiet smile assured me that 'ce petit bon…homme；' as she called him； had for a short time been a drummer in the National Guard； but had never been a soldier。 This was a blow to me； moreover； I was troubled by the composure of the Marquise。 Monsieur Benoit had actually been telling me what was not true。 Was it； then； possible that grown…up people acquired the privilege of fibbing with impunity？ I wondered whether this right would eventually become mine！
At Bourg…la…Reine there is； or was； a large school。 Three days in the week I had to join one of the classes there； on the other three one of the ushers came up to Larue for a couple of hours of private tuition。 At the school itself I did not learn very much； except that boys everywhere are pretty similar； especially in the badness of their manners。 I also learnt that shrugging the shoulders while exhibiting the palms of the hands； and smiting oneself vehemently on the chest； are indispensable elements of the French idiom。 The indiscriminate use of the word 'parfaitement' I also noticed to be essential when at a loss for either language or ideas； and have made valuable use of it ever since。
Monsieur Vincent； my tutor； was a most good…natured and patient teacher。 I incline； however； to think that I taught him more English than he taught me French。 He certainly worked hard at his lessons。 He read English aloud to me； and made me correct his pronunciation。 The mental agony this caused me makes me hot to think of still。 I had never heard his kind of Franco…English before。 To my ignorance it was the most comic language in the world。 There were some words which； in spite of my endeavours； he persisted in pronouncing in his own way。 I have since got quite used to the most of them； and their only effect is to remind me of my own rash ventures in a foreign tongue。 There are one or two words which recall the pain it gave me to control my emotions。 He would produce his penknife； for instance； and； contemplating it with a despondent air； would declare it to be the most difficult word in the English language to pronounce。 'Ow you say 'im？' 'Penknife；' I explained。 He would bid me write it down； then having spelt it； he would； with much effort； and a sound like sneezing … oh！ the pain I endured！ … slowly repeat 'Penkneef。' I gave it up at last； and he was gratified with his success。 As my explosion generally occurred about five mi