He was a Frenchman, who
had been her music-master during the brief period at which she had
attended a school: he had promised her marriage; he had persuaded her
to elope with him. The little money that they had to live on was earned
by her needle, and by his wages as accompanist at a music-hall. While
she was still able to attract him, and to hope for the performance of
his promise, he amused himself by teaching her his own language. When
he deserted her, his letter of farewell contained, among other things
the advice to which she had alluded.
"In your station of life," this man had written, "knowledge of French
is still a rare accomplishment. Keep your knowledge to yourself.
English people of rank have a way of talking French to each other, when
they don't wish to be understood by their inferiors. In the course of
your career, you may surprise secrets which will prove to be a little
fortune, if you play your cards properly. Anyhow, it is the only
fortune I have to leave to you." Such had been the villain's parting
gift to the woman whom he had betrayed.
She had hated him too bitterly to be depraved by his advice.
On the contrary, when the kindness of a friend (now no longer in
England) had helped her to obtain her first employment as a domestic
servant, she had thought it might be to her interest to mention that
she could read, write, and speak French.
Pages:
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363