Uncle Silas, J. Sheridan Le Fanu [10 ebook reader .txt] 📗

“I ’av not conceal myself, Mademoiselle,” retorted the governness. “I ’av act precisally as I ’av been ordered. Your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, he is afraid, Waiatt says, to be interrupted by his creditors, and everything must be done very quaitly. I have been commanded to avoid me faire voir, you know, and I must obey my employer⁠—voilà tout!”

“And for how long have you been residing here?” I persisted, in the same resentful vein.

“ ’Bout a week. It is soche triste place! I am so glad to see you, Maud! I’ve been so isolée, you dear leetle fool!”

“You are not glad, Madame; you don’t love me⁠—you never did,” I exclaimed with sudden vehemence.

“Yes, I am very glad; you know not, chère petite niaise, how I ’av desire to educate you a leetle more. Let us understand one another. You think I do not love you, Mademoiselle, because you have mentioned to your poor papa that little dérèglement in his library. I have repent very often that so great indiscretion of my life. I thought to find some letters of Dr. Braierly. I think that man was trying to get your property, my dear Maud, and if I had found something I would tell you all about. But it was very great sottise, and you were very right to denounce me to Monsieur. Je n’ai point de rancune contre vous. No, no, none at all. On the contrary, I shall be your gardienne tutelaire⁠—wat you call?⁠—guardian angel⁠—ah, yes, that is it. You think I speak par dérision; not at all. No, my dear cheaile, I do not speak par moquerie, unless perhaps the very least degree in the world.”

And with these words Madame laughed unpleasantly, showing the black caverns at the side of her mouth, and with a cold, steady malignity in her gaze.

“Yes,” I said; “I know what you mean, Madame⁠—you hate me.”

“Oh! wat great ogly word! I am shock! Vous me faites honte. Poor Madame, she never hate anyone; she loves all her friends, and her enemies she leaves to Heaven; while I am, as you see, more gay, more joyeuse than ever, they have not been ’appy⁠—no, they have not been fortunate these others. Wen I return, I find always some of my enemy they ’av die, and some they have put themselves into embarrassment, or there has arrived to them some misfortune;” and Madame shrugged and laughed a little scornfully.

A kind of horror chilled my rising anger, and I was silent.

“You see, my dear Maud, it is very natural you should think I hate you. When I was with Mr. Austin Ruthyn, at Knowl, you know you did not like a me⁠—never. But in consequence of our intimacy I confide you that which I ’av of most dear in the world, my reputation. It is always so. The pupil can calomniate, without been discover, the gouvernante. ’Av I not been always kind to you, Maud? Which ’av I use of violence or of sweetness the most? I am, like other persons, jalouse de ma réputation; and it was difficult to suffer with patience the banishment which was invoked by you, because chiefly for your good, and for an indiscretion to which I was excited by motives the most pure and laudable. It was you who spied so cleverly⁠—eh! and denounce me to Monsieur Ruthyn? Helas! wat bad world it is!”

“I do not mean to speak at all about that occurrence, Madame; I will not discuss it. I dare say what you tell me of the cause of your engagement here is true, and I suppose we must travel, as you say, in company; but you must know that the less we see of each other while in this house the better.”

“I am not so sure of that, my sweet little béte; your education has been neglected, or rather entirely abandoned, since you ’av arrive at this place, I am told. You must not be a bestiole. We must do, you and I, as we are ordered. Mr. Silas Ruthyn he will tell us.”

All this time Madame was pulling on her stockings, getting her boots on, and otherwise proceeding with her dowdy toilet. I do not know why I stood there talking to her. We often act very differently from what we would have done upon reflection. I had involved myself in a dialogue, as wiser generals than I have entangled themselves in a general action when they meant only an affair of outposts. I had grown a little angry, and would not betray the least symptom of fear, although I felt that sensation profoundly.

“My beloved father thought you so unfit a companion for me that he dismissed you at an hour’s notice, and I am very sure that my uncle will think as he did; you are not a fit companion for me, and had my uncle known what had passed he would never have admitted you to this house⁠—never!”

“Helas! Quelle disgrace! And you really think so, my dear Maud,” exclaimed Madame, adjusting her wig before her glass, in the corner of which I could see half of her sly, grinning face, as she ogled herself in it.

“I do, and so do you, Madame,” I replied, growing more frightened.

“It may be⁠—we shall see; but everyone is not so cruel as you, ma chère petite calomniatrice.”

“You shan’t call me those names,” I said, in an angry tremor.

“What name, dearest cheaile?”

“Calomniatrice⁠—that is an insult.”

“Why, my most foolish little Maud, we may say ‘rogue,’ and a thousand other little words in play which we do not say seriously.”

“You are not playing⁠—you never play⁠—you are angry, and you hate me,” I exclaimed, vehemently.

“Oh, fie!⁠—wat shame! Do you not perceive, dearest cheaile, how much education you still