he had chosen a French translation of what he called »un
drame de Williams Shackspire; le faux dieu,« he further announced, »de ces sots
païens, les Anglais.« How far otherwise he would have characterized him had his
temper not been upset, I scarcely need intimate.
    Of course, the translation being French, was very inefficient; nor did I
make any particular effort to conceal the contempt which some of its forlorn
lapses were calculated to excite. Not that it behoved or beseemed me to say
anything; but one can occasionally look the opinion it is forbidden to embody in
words. Monsieur's lunettes being on the alert, he gleamed up every stray look; I
don't think he lost one: the consequence was, his eyes soon discarded a screen,
that their blaze might sparkle free, and he waxed hotter at the north pole to
which he had voluntarily exiled himself, than, considering the general
temperature of the room, it would have been reasonable to become under the
vertical ray of Cancer itself.
    The reading over, it appeared problematic whether he would depart with his
anger unexpressed, or whether he would give it vent. Suppression was not much in
his habits; but still, what had been done to him definite enough to afford
matter for overt reproof? I had not uttered a sound, and could not justly be
deemed amenable to reprimand or penalty for having permitted a slightly freer
action than usual to the muscles about my eyes and mouth.
    The supper, consisting of bread, and milk diluted with tepid water, was
brought in. In respectful consideration of the professor's presence, the rolls
and glasses were allowed to stand instead of being immediately handed round.
    »Take your supper, ladies,« said he, seeming to be occupied in making
marginal notes to his »Williams Shackspire.« They took it. I also accepted a
roll and glass, but being now more than ever interested in my work, I kept my
seat of punishment, and wrought while I munched my bread and sipped my beverage,
the whole with easy sang froid; with a certain snugness of composure, indeed,
scarcely in my habits, and pleasantly novel to my feelings. It seemed as if the
presence of a nature so restless, chafing, thorny as that of M. Paul absorbed
all feverish and unsettling influences like a magnet, and left me none but such
as were placid and harmonious.
    He rose. »Will he go away without saying another word?« Yes; he turned to
the door.
    No: he re-turned on his steps;