to my poor father, in his second childhood,
the choice of a daily pudding was far more
important than all.

One Sunday, in that August of eighteen
hundred and fifteen, I went to church. It was
many weeks since I had been able to leave
my father for so long a time before. Since I
had been last there to worship, it seemed as
if my youth had passed away; gone without
a warning; leaving no trace behind. After
service, I went through the long grass to the
unfrequented part of the churchyard where
my dear mother lay buried. A garland of
brilliant yellow immortelles lay on her grave;
and the unwonted offering took me by
surprise. I knew of the foreign custom, although
I had never seen the kind of wreath before.
I took it up, and read one word in the black
floral letters; it was simply "Adieu." I
knew, from the first moment I saw it, that
M. de Chalabre must have returned to
England. Such a token of regard was like him,
and could spring from no one else. But I
wondered a little that we had never heard or
seen anything of him; nothing, in fact, since
Lady Ashburton had told me that her
husband had met with him in Belgium, hurrying
to offer himself as a volunteer to one of the
eleven generals appointed by the Duc de
Feltre to receive such applications. General
Ashburton himself had since this died at
Brussels, in consequence of wounds received
at Waterloo. As the recollection of all these
circumstances gathered in my mind, I found
I was drawing near the field-path which led
out of the direct road home, to farmer
Dobson's, and thither I suddenly determined to
go, and hear if they had heard anything
respecting their former lodger. As I went
up the garden-walk leading to the house, I
caught M. de Chalabre's eye; he was gazing
abstractedly out of the window of what used
to be his sitting-room. In an instant he had
joined me in the garden. If my youth had
flown, his youth and middle-age as well had
vanished altogether. He looked older by at
least twenty years than when he had left us
twelve months ago. How much of this was
owing to the change in the arrangement of
his dress, I cannot tell. He had formerly
been remarkably dainty in all these things;
now he was careless, even to the verge of
slovenliness. He asked after my sister, after
my father, in a manner which evinced the
deepest, most respectful, interest; but, somehow,
it appeared to me as if he hurried
question after question rather to stop any
inquiries which I, in my turn, might wish to
make

"I return here to my duties; to my only
duties. The good God has not seen me fit to
undertake any higher. Henceforth I am the
faithful French teacher; the diligent, punctual
French teacher, nothing more. But I
do hope to teach the French language as
becomes a gentleman and a Christian; to do
my best. Henceforth the grammar and the
syntax are my estate, my coat of arms." He
said this with a proud humility which
prevented any reply. I could only change the
subject, and urge him to come and see my
poor sick father. He replied:

"To visit the sick, that is my duty as well
as my pleasure. For the mere society—I
renounce all that. That is now beyond my
position, to which I accommodate myself with
all my strength."

Accordingly, when he came to spend an
hour with my father, he brought a small
bundle of printed papers, announcing the
terms on which M. Chalabre (the "de" was
dropped now and for evermore) was desirous
of teaching French, and a little paragraph at
the bottom of the page solicited the patronage
of schools. Now this was a great coming-down.
In former days, non-teaching at
schools had been the line which marked that
M. de Chalabre had taken up teaching rather
as an amateur profession, than with any
intention of devoting his life to it. He
respectfully asked me to distribute these papers
where I thought fit. I say "respectfully"
advisedly; there was none of the old deferential
gallantry, as offered by a gentleman to a
lady, his equal in birth and fortune—instead,
there was the matter-of-fact request and
statement which a workman offers to his
employer. Only in my father's room, he was
the former M. de Chalabre; he seemed to
understand how vain would be all attempts to
recount or explain the circumstances which
had led him so decidedly to take a lower
level in society. To my father, to the day of
his death, M. de Chalabre maintained the old
easy footing; assumed a gaiety which he
never even pretended to feel anywhere else;
listened to my father's childish interests with
a true and kindly sympathy for which I ever
felt grateful, although he purposely put a
deferential reserve between him and me, as a
barrier to any expression of such feeling on
my part.

His former lessons had been held in such
high esteem by those who were privileged to
receive them, that he was soon sought after
on all sides. The schools of the two principal
county towns put forward their claims, and
considered it a favour to receive his instructions.
Morning, noon, and night he was
engaged; even if he had not proudly
withdrawn himself from all merely society
engagements, he would have had no leisure for
them. His only visits were paid to my
father, who looked for them with a kind of
childish longing. One day, to my surprise,
he asked to be allowed to speak to me for an
instant alone. He stood silent for a moment,
turning his hat in his hand.

"You have a right to know—you, my first
pupil; next Tuesday I marry myself to Miss
Susan Dobson—good, respectable woman, to
whose happiness I mean to devote my life, or
as much of it as is not occujued with the
duties of instruction." He looked up at me,