第62章

“MONSIEUR，—“I came to Mdlle Reuter’s house yesterday， at the time when I knew you would be just about finishing your lesson， and I asked if I might go into the schoolroom and speak to you.Mdlle Reuter came out and said you were already gone； it had not yet struck four， so I thought she must be mistaken， but concluded it would be vain to call another day on the same errand.In one sense a note will do as well—it will wrap up the 20 francs， the price of the lessons I have received from you； and if it will not fully express the thanks I owe you in addition—if it will not bid you good-bye as I could wish to have done—if it will not tell you， as I long to do， how sorry I am that I shall probably never see you more—why， spoken words would hardly be more adequate to the task.Had I seen you， I should probably have stammered out something feeble and unsatisfactory—something belying my feelings rather than explaining them； so it is perhaps as well that I was denied admission to your presence.You often remarked， monsieur， that my devoirs dwelt a great deal on fortitude inbearing grief—you said I introduced that theme too often： I find indeed that it is much easier to write about a severe duty than to perform it， for I am oppressed when I see and feel to what a reverse fate has condemned me； you were kind to me， monsieur— very kind； I am afflicted—I am heart-broken to be quite separated from you； soon I shall have no friend on earth.But it is useless troubling you with my distresses.What claim have I on your sympathy？ None； I will then say no more.—Farewell， Monsieur.

“F.E.HENRI.”

I put up the note in my pocket-book.I slipped the five-franc pieces into my purse—then I took a turn through my narrow chamber.

“Mdlle Reuter talked about her poverty，” said I， “and she is poor； yet she pays her debts and more.I have not yet given her a quarter’s lessons， and she has sent me a quarter’s due.I wonder of what she deprived herself to scrape together the twenty francs—I wonder what sort of a place she has to live in， and what sort of a woman her aunt is， and whether she is likely to get employment to supply the place she has lost.No doubt she will have to trudge about long enough from school to school， to inquire here， and apply there—be rejected in this place， disappointed in that.Many an evening she’ll go to her bed tired and unsuccessful.And the directress would not let her in to bid me good-bye？ I might not have the chance of standing with her for a few minutes at a window in the schoolroom and exchanging some half-dozen of sentences—getting to know where she lived—putting matters in train for having all things arranged to my mind？ No address on the note”—I continued， drawing it again from the pocket-book andexamining it on each side of the two leaves： “women are women， that is certain， and always do business like women； men mechanically put a date and address to their communications.And these five-franc pieces？”—(I hauled them forth from my purse)—“if she had offered me them herself instead of tying them up with a thread of green silk in a kind of Lilliputian packet， I could have thrust them back into her little hand， and shut up the small， taper fingers over them—so—and compelled her shame， her pride， her shyness， all to yield to a little bit of determined Will— now where is she？ How can I get at her？”

Opening my chamber door I walked down into the kitchen.“Who brought the packet ？” I asked of the servant who haddelivered it to me.

“Un petit commissionaire， monsieur.” “Did he say anything？”

“Rien.”

And I wended my way up the back-stairs， wondrously the wiser for my inquiries.

“No matter，” said I to myself， as I again closed the door.“Nomatter—I’ll seek her through Brussels.”

And I did.I sought her day by day whenever I had a moment’s leisure， for four weeks； I sought her on Sundays all day long； I sought her on the Boulevards， in the Allée Verte， in the Park； I sought her in Ste.Gudule and St.Jacques； I sought her in the two Protestant chapels； I attended these latter at the German， French， and English services， not doubting that I should meet her at one of them.All my researches were absolutely fruitless； my security on the last point was proved by the event to be equally groundless with my other calculations.I stood at the door of each chapel afterthe service， and waited till every individual had come out， scrutinizing every gown draping a slender form， peering under every bonnet covering a young head.In vain； I saw girlish figures pass me， drawing their black scarfs over their sloping shoulders， but none of them had the exact turn and air of Mdlle Henri’s； I saw pale and thoughtful faces “encadrées” in bands of brown hair， but I never found her forehead， her eyes， her eyebrows.All the features of all the faces I met seemed frittered away， because my eye failed to recognize the peculiarities it was bent upon； an ample space of brow and a large， dark， and serious eye， with a fine but decided line of eyebrow traced above.