There was a fearful dismay in this suggestion of my excited imagination， and if I had allowed myself time to dwell upon it， I should no doubt have cut there and then， rushed back to my chamber， and bolted myself in； but whenever a danger or a horror is veiled with uncertainty， the primary wish of the mind is to ascertain first the naked truth， reserving the expedient of flight for the moment when its dread anticipation shall be realized.I turned the door-handle， and in an instant had crossed the fatal threshold， closed the door behind me， and stood in the presence of Madame Pelet.
Gracious heavens！ The first view of her seemed to confirm myworst apprehensions.There she sat， dressed out in a light green muslin gown， on her head a lace cap with flourishing red roses in the frill； her table was carefully spread； there were fruit， cakes， and coffee， with a bottle of something—I did not know what.Already the cold sweat started on my brow， already I glanced back over my shoulder at the closed door， when， to my unspeakable relief， my eye， wandering mildly in the direction of the stove，rested upon a second figure， seated in a large fauteuil beside it.This was a woman， too， and， moreover， an old woman， and as fat and as rubicund as Madame Pelet was meagre and yellow； her attire was likewise very fine， and spring flowers of different hues circled in a bright wreath the crown of her violet-coloured velvet bonnet.
I had only time to make these general observations whenMadame Pelet， coming forward with what she intended should be a graceful and elastic step， thus accosted me：-“Monsieur is indeed most obliging to quit his books， his studies，at the request of an insignificant person like me—will Monsieur complete his kindness by allowing me to present him to my dear friend Madame Reuter， who resides in the neighbouring house— the young ladies’ school.”
“Ah！” thought I， “I knew she was old，” and I bowed and took my seat.Madame Reuter placed herself at the table opposite to me.
“How do you like Belgium， Monsieur？” asked she， in an accent of the broadest Bruxellois.I could now well distinguish the difference between the fine and pure Parisian utterance of M.Pelet， for instance， and the guttural enunciation of the Flamands.I answered politely， and then wondered how so coarse and clumsy an old woman as the one before me should be at the head of a ladies’ seminary， which I had always heard spoken of in terms of high commendation.In truth there was something to wonder at.Madame Reuter looked more like a joyous， free-living old Flemish fermière， or even a ma？tresse d’auberge， than a staid， grave， rigid directrice de pensionnat.In general the continental， or at least the Belgian old women permit themselves a licence of manners，speech， and aspect， such as our venerable grand-dames would recoil from as absolutely disreputable， and Madame Reuter’s jolly face bore evidence that she was no exception to the rule of her country； there was a twinkle and leer in her left eye； her right she kept habitually half shut， which I thought very odd indeed.After several vain attempts to comprehend the motives of these two droll old creatures for inviting me to join them at their go？ter， I at last fairly gave it up， and resigning myself to inevitable mystification， I sat and looked first at one， then at the other， taking care meantime to do justice to the confitures， cakes， and coffee， with which they amply supplied me.They， too， ate， and that with no delicate appetite， and having demolished a large portion of the solids， they proposed a “petit verre.” I declined.Not so Mesdames Pelet and Reuter； each mixed herself what I thought rather a stiff tumbler of punch， and placing it on a stand near the stove， they drew up their chairs to that convenience， and invited me to do the same.I obeyed； and being seated fairly between them， I was thus addressed first by Madame Pelet， then by Madame Reuter.
