“I know of no place in Brussels,” answered Mr.Brown, “unlessindeed you were disposed to turn your attention to teaching.I am acquainted with the director of a large establishment who is in want of a professor of English and Latin.”
I thought two minutes, then I seized the idea eagerly.
“The very thing, sir!” said I.
“But,” asked he, “do you understand French well enough to teach Belgian boys English?”
Fortunately I could answer this question in the affirmative; having studied French under a Frenchman, I could speak the language intelligibly though not fluently.I could also read it well, and write it decently.
“Then,” pursued Mr.Brown, “I think I can promise you the place, for Monsieur Pelet will not refuse a professor recommended by me; but come here again at five o’clock this afternoon, and I will introduce you to him.”
The word “professor” struck me.“I am not a professor,” said I.
“Oh,” returned Mr.Brown, “professor, here in Belgium, means a teacher, that is all.”
My conscience thus quieted, I thanked Mr.Brown, and, for thepresent, withdrew.This time I stepped out into the street with a relieved heart; the task I had imposed on myself for that day was executed.I might now take some hours of holiday.I felt free to look up.For the first time I remarked the sparkling clearness of the air, the deep blue of the sky, the gay clean aspect of the white- washed or painted houses; I saw what a fine street was the Rue Royale, and, walking leisurely along its broad pavement, I continued to survey its stately hotels, till the palisades, the gates, and trees of the park appearing in sight, offered to my eye a new attraction.I remember, before entering the park, I stood awhile tocontemplate the statue of General Belliard, and then I advanced to the top of the great staircase just beyond, and I looked down into a narrow back street, which I afterwards learnt was called the Rue d’Isabelle.I well recollect that my eye rested on the green door of a rather large house opposite, where, on a brass plate, was inscribed, “Pensionnat de Demoiselles.” Pensionnat! The word excited an uneasy sensation in my mind; it seemed to speak of restraint.Some of the demoiselles, externats no doubt, were at that moment issuing from the door—I looked for a pretty face amongst them, but their close, little French bonnets hid their features; in a moment they were gone.
I had traversed a good deal of Brussels before five o’clock arrived, but punctually as that hour struck I was again in the Rue Royale.Re-admitted to Mr.Brown’s breakfast-room, I found him, as before, seated at the table, and he was not alone—a gentleman stood by the hearth.Two words of introduction designated him as my future master.“M.Pelet, Mr.Crimsworth; Mr.Crimsworth, M.Pelet” a bow on each side finished the ceremony.I don’t know what sort of a bow I made; an ordinary one, I suppose, for I was in a tranquil, commonplace frame of mind; I felt none of the agitation which had troubled my first interview with Edward Crimsworth.
M.Pelet’s bow was extremely polite, yet not theatrical, scarcelyFrench; he and I were presently seated opposite to each other.In a pleasing voice, low, and, out of consideration to my foreign ears, very distinct and deliberate, M.Pelet intimated that he had just been receiving from “le respectable M.Brown,” an account of my attainments and character, which relieved him from all scruple as to the propriety of engaging me as professor of English and Latin in his establishment; nevertheless, for form’s sake, he would put afew questions to test; my powers.He did, and expressed in flattering terms his satisfaction at my answers.The subject of salary next came on; it was fixed at one thousand francs per annum, besides board and lodging.“And in addition,” suggestedM.Pelet, “as there will be some hours in each day during which your services will not be required in my establishment, you may, in time, obtain employment in other seminaries, and thus turn your vacant moments to profitable account.”
I thought this very kind, and indeed I found afterwards that the terms on which M.Pelet had engaged me were really liberal for Brussels; instruction being extremely cheap there on account of the number of teachers.It was further arranged that I should be installed in my new post the very next day, after which M.Pelet and I parted.
Well, and what was he like? and what were my impressions concerning him? He was a man of about forty years of age, of middle size, and rather emaciated figure; his face was pale, his cheeks were sunk, and his eyes hollow; his features were pleasing and regular, they had a French turn (for M.Pelet was no Fleming, but a Frenchman both by birth and parentage), yet the degree of harshness inseparable from Gallic lineaments was, in his case, softened by a mild blue eye, and a melancholy, almost suffering, expression of countenance; his physiognomy was ‘fine et spirituelle’.I use two French words because they define better than any English terms the species of intelligence with which his features were imbued.He was altogether an interesting and prepossessing personage.I wondered only at the utter absence of all the ordinary characteristics of his profession, and almost feared he could not be stern and resolute enough for a schoolmaster.
Externally at least M.Pelet presented an absolute contrast to my late master, Edward Crimsworth.
